Ten Steps

Author’s Note: Thanks again to Kasey, TutelaTwin and Shannon, my betas, as well as all the people who have been reading and reviewing the story thus far. This is easily one of my favorite things to write at the moment (in the midst of 17 projects that's saying something).

Chapter 5 No News is Good News

It was easier than Draco had suspected it would be to get the answers to his personality test from Oliver Wood. The man was so used to being a sought after celebrity athlete, all Draco had to do was bribe one of his fellow staff members at the Quibbler to slip all of his questions into a fake interview. He chose Molly Rothschild, because she owed him for setting her up with her husband, a famous Healer at St. Mungo’s. She was coy, knowing the questions before she even finished scanning the document, having taken the same test herself, but surprisingly she didn’t ask who wanted to know about Wood’s results. She probably assumed it was Draco who fancied the Quidditch star but the blond didn’t bother correcting her.

She had the answers for him within a few days and Draco tabulated the answers, comparing them carefully to Potter’s. By some strange miracle the men turned out to be a great match. They both had similar goals and interests, similar backgrounds, and the same passion for their work. Just like Potter, Wood had just a few close friends while he tried to maintain his privacy in the wizarding world as much as his career would allow him. Outside of Quidditch he was laid back and mellow, content to lounge in bed with a lover and simply listen to the Wireless. All and all, Draco could find little fault with him, and neither could the union spell he’d cast on the documents, which was a mixed blessing.

Part of Draco had hoped he could Owl Harry and tell him that Oliver was a rubbish match, and try and persuade him to go out to dinner with him instead, but the more reasonable side of Draco’s brain knew that this pairing was a brilliant turn of events. Both Harry and Oliver were immersed in the glow of public curiosity and such a star-studded match was sure to draw attention, which Draco would cleverly direct toward his matchmaking business. With a successful couple like Potter and Wood on his resume, Draco could finally reveal himself as the man behind Professor Amore. His reputation as a Voldemort sympathizer wouldn’t hold a candle to the instant respect he would garner for his craft if a marriage were to take place between the two celebrities.

There were several levels of bonds the spell he used on the results could predict. The topmost level was the pure bond, the namesake given from the burst of pure white light expelled when the spell activated. It symbolized soul mates, which were far more rare than people speculated, in fact, Draco had never seen that bond come up between two people he'd matched throughout his entire career. The next was the golden bond, which was what most of the clientele he worked with achieved. It was a powerful, long-term match that always meant a lasting marriage was imminent between the pair. Lesser was the silver bond, which showed love and admiration, but was usually somewhat one-sided. Even if a pair with a silver bond was to marry, one would always be chasing after the other and they would never be true partners in every way. Outside of these three bonds, Draco rarely bothered with a couple. There were several other levels, but they were all destined for hardship and Draco didn’t like to sully his reputation with those pairings.

Potter and Wood shared a golden bond, same as all of Harry’s friends had shared, which meant that, with a little coaxing, they could form a life-long companionship. It was powerful magic he evoked when doing what he did best, and even had he wanted to, he couldn’t interfere with a golden bond once it was sealed and announced through the initial spell he used. His life would be cursed and forfeit were he to even try.

He reasoned that it didn’t matter anyway if he had a personal interest in the Gryffindor hero. Potter was a looker for sure; darkly handsome and adorable even as he stammered in conversation, but it was a shallow observation, one that Draco could find in any number of wizards this side of the pond. If he were to look deeper, Draco was certain his own profile wouldn’t match with Potter’s at all, let alone the nearly perfect match of the golden bond Potter shared with Wood.

Eager to alert Potter to his findings and get his lessons underway, Draco wandered into his study and extracted a scroll and quill to scribble out a short letter to the Gryffindor. He would have preferred to meet the man in person, but he assumed Harry would be ensconced in his Auror duties at this time of day.

Even in his haste, his scrawl was elegant, and Draco quickly sealed the letter and sent it away with his eagle owl, Shadow. He watched impatiently as the owl flew off in the direction of the Ministry building and sighed, wishing he could just fire call the man and get an instant answer.

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Harry was covered in soot and grime when he got back to headquarters. He’d spent the entire morning helping officials put out a fire started with several strategically placed Incendios on a Muggle daycare building. It was atrocious the kind of evil it would take to attack defenseless children, but luckily everyone was spared and the worst of the harm had been to the building, not to the people inside. Once he helped get the blaze under control, he had to wipe the memories of all the Muggles that had gathered to watch.

He was so exhausted that he couldn’t even spare the energy for a cleansing Charm, so he was rather grateful when Hermione popped by with lunch. He ignored her look of distaste and lectures on personal grooming since she had him looking spotless with a few clever flicks of her wand. “Really, Harry. How ever are you supposed to meet someone if you don’t take care of yourself?”

When he explained about the magical arson she looked suitably chagrined and apologized. “Seriously, Mione,” he huffed, “do you think I come into work looking the way I did when you got here?”

“It was a good deal worse than your usual unkemptness,” she admitted, smiling when he glared at her. Hermione Granger-Longbottom was impossible.

“What are you doing here on a school day anyway?” Harry asked, glancing at his watch.

“I thought we could chat,” she mused. “I have free periods for the rest of the afternoon,” she explained at Harry’s persistent skepticism. “Okay, fine. I wanted to hear about your date with Malfoy!”

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed, sinking back into his chair. He’d feared this attack for a few days now and frankly he was surprised it hadn’t come sooner. In fact, he’d been avoiding his gossiping female friends since Saturday evening for this very reason.

“It wasn’t a date,” Harry corrected. “But it was fine, if you must know.”

“So, obviously you didn’t murder one another, does that mean you two are getting along?” she asked.

“I’d hardly jump to that conclusion,” he scoffed, “but I find him slightly less repulsive than I did before. I’ll even admit he knows what he’s doing with his matchmaking business. His profile questions were more insightful than I would have given such a self-absorbed prat credit for.”

“You took the personality profile?” she asked, barely keeping her tone within an octave human ears could hear.

“Yes, I did. He was rather insistent.” Harry hadn’t minded nearly as much as he thought he would. The blond had an ease about him when they were alone that made Harry comfortable.

“So, you’re taking the program?” she pressed, but Harry merely shrugged.

“We’ll see. I haven’t really decided yet. He’s going to give the test to Oliver somehow and see if we match up. I guess I’ll see from there.” The truth of it was, Harry was still going back and forth on his decision. One minute he thought it was a brilliant idea, and the next had him discounting the whole thing. Harry didn’t really want to go through dating lessons with Malfoy. It seemed humiliating and so very wrong on many different levels. He knew his friends wouldn’t judge him, since they’d all been through the program themselves, but it didn’t stop Harry from being leery. This was a man he’d spent the better part of his life loathing, and then suddenly he was supposed to just yield to him and accept love advice? It was hardly an ideal scenario.

“I can’t believe you’re thinking about refusing,” she quipped. “He doesn’t do this for just anyone, you know.”

“Well, I don’t trust him enough yet to simply spill all my personal secrets. Maybe I’ll change my mind, but right now I’m just not comfortable with the idea of having Draco inside my brain,” he explained.

“I know it’s difficult to get over your animosity toward him, trust me I do, but he really is magnificent at what he does,” she told him. “You should cut him some slack. Your rivalry is more than a decade old now, Harry.”

“I know, I know,” Harry sighed, running his hands through his hair with frustration. “I keep telling myself the same thing, but something about being there with him feels off, like he can see straight into my soul when he looks at me. I’m just not sure I can go through with it.”

Hermione smiled, just a subtle curve of her mouth and she nodded. “I think I understand completely,” she said and stood, smoothing her skirt down as she did. “I know you’ll make the choice that’s right for you, Harry. Of course we’ll all support you no matter what you decide.”

“Thanks, Mi,” he replied, grateful she had been so easy going about it. When he saw her arrive he had wondered if he should have his assistant clear his schedule for the rest of the day so that he would have time to argue with her. The fact that she gave in so easily was a suspicious relief, but one he wasn’t going to argue with at the moment. He was still drained from the day’s activities so far and still had to find and capture the madman who had started the fire.

“Don’t forget to eat,” she prompted, pointing at the brown paper bag she’d left on his desk and slipped out the way she’d come in with a wave. Harry reached for the sack, hungrily pulling out the contents. It was his favorite club sandwich from The Three Broomsticks and a bottle of butterbeer. Hermione knew him so well, why couldn’t he ever find a boyfriend who was this considerate?

As he swallowed down his meal, his eyes landed on a scroll he hadn’t noticed before. It bore an intricate crest in green foil on the surface and was sealed with black wax. He broke the seal and scanned the document quickly, accidentally smudging mayonnaise on the page as he did. It was from Malfoy of course; no one else would bother with such an ornate scroll for such a simple message.

Potter,

I got the results back from Wood’s personality test and I’m happy to note that you two seem to be a great match. I’ve gone over both of your answers and I’ve worked up a program I think would best suit you both in trying to achieve your end goal of marriage. Owl me back to let me know what evening will work best for our first lesson. Look forward to seeing you soon.

DM

Well, that was a relief at least. Harry had to admit he was a little anxious about whether or not Malfoy would even be able to get the answers and what he would find if he did. He hated to admit it, but part of Harry wondered if he would bother perusing a relationship with Wood if Draco’s test told him it wasn’t a good match. Time was catching up to Harry and he didn’t feel like he had loads of it to waste on someone who was destined not to work out for him.

A little spark fluttered within him as he realized that Malfoy’s letter practically told him that he’d finally found the man he was meant to be with. He was so ecstatic that he nearly wrote the blond back to find out if he was available to start lessons as soon as tonight, but caution stilled his hand and he decided to give it more thought before he replied. He’d just told Hermione why he didn’t want to begin Malfoy’s program, and all of those things were still true. Perhaps he should try to date Oliver as he normally would, without any relationship homework assignments issued by Professor Amore.

He set the parchment aside, willing himself to, at the very least, wait until after work to reply. It was unprofessional to take so much time out of his day thinking about personal business when there was a crazy magical arsonist on the loose. Focusing at last, Harry set up a team of Aurors to survey similar Muggle establishments in the region in case the person responsible tried to strike again, while he and three other Aurors went back to the sight of the first attack. Now that the fire was doused, they had a better chance of finding clues as to the identity of the villain.

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It was so late when Harry finished up at the site of the fire that he totally forgot about the letter Draco had written him earlier in the day. It wasn’t until he Apparated home to find Malfoy waiting impatiently on his doorstep that he realized he had forgotten to write back. He grimaced as he approached the angry blond, noticing what appeared to be relief flooding his features before settling back into his indignant mask.

“I thought something might have happened to you,” Draco told him, narrowing his eyes.

“Just because I didn’t reply to your letter right away?” Harry scoffed, folding his arms across his chest in annoyance. “It’s not as if my world revolves around you, Malfoy.”

“I’m aware of that, you silly twit,” Draco snapped. “I heard about the attack over the Wireless this afternoon and it mentioned that you had been there, but then nothing else. I even went to your office and you weren’t there.”

“Aw, I didn’t know you cared so much, Malfoy,” he teased but Draco didn’t seem amused. Harry was slightly shocked by the man’s overt concern and reached out to grasp his arm. “I’m fine,” he assured the blond. “I was helping to put the fire out and trying to investigate who started it. It was nothing out of the ordinary for an Auror.”

“Oh,” Draco huffed, yanking his arm away. “Of course. They just should have been more specific on in their Wireless reports. I’m sure they managed to get quite a few people in a tizzy for no good reason.”

“I’m sure,” Harry agreed, stifling the urge to grin. Judging from the state of Malfoy’s rumpled robes, he’d been sitting on Harry’s stoop for quite some time, and the fact that he’d gone all the way to the Ministry to seek him out and get assurance that he was okay was rather touching.

“Do you want to come inside?” Harry offered, digging his keys out of his robe pocket. He turned away and winced in the very next moment, cursing himself for the brash invite. This was still Malfoy, not some best mate who visited him on social calls. He’d somehow forgotten that they weren’t even friends in the midst of his surprise that Malfoy had been concerned for his safety.

“No thanks,” Malfoy replied hastily and Harry nodded. Of course the man wouldn’t want to, it wasn’t as if they were close. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright and see if you got my letter.”

“I did,” Harry replied, his shoulders slumping as he discovered the real reason for Malfoy’s appearance. “I think I’ll pass on the lessons. I really appreciate what you’ve done so far, and it’s great news about Oliver and me, really. I’m more than happy to pay you for your time-”

“Don’t insult me, Potter,” he replied acidly. “It was a merely a favor for a hapless single man.”

“Right,” Harry replied with a curt nod. Obviously any chance of Malfoy one day being counted among his friends was a silly fantasy. The man clearly wanted nothing to do with Harry outside of his own matchmaking profession. It was a shame really, the evening he’d spent at Malfoy’s house had been more enjoyable than he’d expected, but then, the Slytherin always had been a brilliant actor. “Well, I suppose I’ll see you around then,” he muttered, opening the door before stepping across the threshold. He turned around; giving Malfoy once last glance but the man refused to meet his eyes and shifted away from him.

“Have a nice night, Potter.” The tone with which he said the words was rather peculiar, and Harry couldn’t understand the resigned quiet that had met his ears. It didn’t leave his thoughts though, even as he spooned out and reheated a bowl of stew from a large pot of it he’d made over the weekend, or as he scrubbed the filth from his skin, or even as he climbed into his warm cottony sheets for the night.

Draco had seemed almost sad, but Harry eventually shook away the thought. If the man was sad it certainly had nothing to do with him, nor was it any of his business. Besides, he had other things to worry about. Tomorrow night he would meet Oliver out on the Puddlemere pitch for their second date and he had no idea what to wear.

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Draco trudged home, not even bothering to Apparate. Harry’s flat was surprisingly close to his own and the fresh air would do him some good. It always cleared his head to go for a walk, and his head certainly needed clearing.

He couldn’t believe what an idiot he’d been, rushing over to Potter’s office and house like he was some worried spouse. He rolled his eyes even though there was no one around to see him do so. It was ridiculous really, and Draco was dead set on putting this Potter nonsense to rest. Sure he liked Potter, but the Gryffindor clearly liked someone else, and that man was actually a good match for him. It wasn’t right to try and get in the way of that. As much as he would have enjoyed slipping into Harry’s home and sharing a drink, it seemed he couldn’t predict his behavior when the other man was near. That brief, unreturned kiss in Ginevra’s wine cellar was proof enough of that.

Had he been anyone else, and not the haughty Malfoy with pure-blood breeding that he was, Draco would have beat his forehead against a wall to drive the thoughts of Harry Potter out of his brain. As it was, he had another, more sophisticated option available to him. Sitting at home, locked up tightly in his private safe, warded by all manners of spells, was his own results to the personality test he’d given Potter. All he had to do was go home and compare his own test to the Gryffindor’s and he’d finally be clear of any attraction he might have for the man.

Draco was a devout believer in the test, and the spell results never lied. When Draco discovered that Harry was a poor match for him, he would have no choice but to simply back off and focus his attention on a more worthy subject. It was just a physical chemistry they shared; nothing deeper than the kind of pull one fit bloke might have for another fit bloke. Seeing in person how much Potter had changed from the stumbling boy from Hogwarts into a handsome man that practically reeked of power had simply caught Draco off guard and made him think there might be more to the hero than he had originally thought. Those ludicrous thoughts could easily be remedied though, and he would do that tonight.

With renewed vigor in his step, Draco set a path for his house, not stopping until he reached his study. On the wall adjacent to his desk was a large portrait of his family, and behind that was a safe that held all of the valuables he didn’t trust to the Goblins at Gringotts. One of those prized possessions was the pristine parchment that held the answers and profile results to his very own personality test. He’d matched it against every bloke that had taken the test, and even a couple of women he could see himself growing attracted to, but no one had come even close to his high standards.

It was true; Draco was a high maintenance lover. He knew this, and he wasn’t the least bit ashamed about it. He was who he was and the person he would spend the rest of his life with would love him for it, not in spite of it. But the man he wanted would need to be more than just attentive and pleasant to look at. They needed to be independent, engaging, powerful, witty and charming. Yes, he was fully aware that it was a tall order, but Draco knew there had to be someone out there who met each and every one of his lofty requirements, he just hadn’t found him yet.

Carefully he extracted his results and laid them almost reverently on the top of his desk before pulling Harry’s results from the drawer to his left. Side by side, Draco scanned them, looking for any flaw in Potter’s answers against his own. When he could find nothing off-putting from Potter’s answers alone, he lifted his wand and waved it over the pages. “Amicus vel inimicus,” he whispered over the results, watching as they flew into the air in front of them and spun circles around one another. After a moment, both parchments lit brilliantly with color, gold, emerald and fiery red met the silver, blue and deep green of Draco’s results until they melted together, first creating a shadowy black before bursting into a white light so glaring that Draco had to avert his eyes.

A woman’s voice spoke then, and he knew it was his mother’s because that was what he’d devised the spell to do. It helped him heed whatever advice the spell gave because he’d always respected and trusted his mother implicitly. “This is a pure bond,” it told him and Draco cringed at the words. “The love you would share would be passionate and true, free of hardship and pain. Your souls are complimentary, and should you choose to move forward, they would remain intertwined long after death.”

The spell faded, leaving the parchments clean and smooth on the desk’s surface once more and Draco groaned. Staring down at his results, the incantation’s proclamation echoing in his ears, Draco was afraid for the first time in ages. He’d already evoked the magic once before and Harry’s bond with Oliver Wood was strong, but if he trusted the spell – as he always did – he had actually found his soul mate in none other than Harry Potter. Something like this had never happened before, and he was left at a loss for what he could do about it. Would the magic evoked previously, naming Harry and Oliver as a golden match, thwart him if he were to try and court Harry now? Did he even want that?

Sure he wanted to know and love and hold his soul mate, but Harry was reluctant at best to have anything to do with him. He laughed aloud at the preposterous situation, and staring down at the parchments, shook his head, assuming he must have done something wrong with the incantation the first time.

So he tried again.

And again.

And again, each time with the same results. Magically spent, Draco let his head fall to the desk as he let out a deep sigh. What the hell was he going to do now?

“Fuck.”

Author’s Note: Well how about that?! Now that I’ve gotten you all good and attached to Draco, it’s time to switch back over to Oliver. Grumble all you like. It’s happening. lol.