Ten Steps

Author's Note: First thanks go to Kasey, TutelaTwin and Shannon for their beta work, and the rest of my thanks go to the readers who inspire me to write more with their lovely reviews. If you happen to be on Twitter or LJ, you can find me there too under the name of Digitallace or as Alexis@digitallace.net on Facebook. And then of course there is my yahoo group. Let's face it folks, I'm all over the fucking internet. There is no getting rid of me...

Chapter 7 Unbreakable

Deep green robes billowed softly around him as Harry balanced from the distant Apparition to Hogsmeade. He stood passively on the stoop to Hermione and Neville’s garden cottage and raised his hand to knock, only to have the door swing open before he even had the chance.

“Oh,” a soft gasp issued from Malfoy’s mouth as he took note of Harry standing there in the doorway looking surprised. “Sorry. I was just leaving. I didn’t know you were standing out here.”

“Leaving?” Harry asked, disregarding the unnecessary apology. “But why?”

“I hadn’t even planned to be here this long, I only came by to drop off a bottle of wine to Hermione but she and Ginny saw fit to detain me,” he explained. “I’m afraid I’m behind schedule on some things and can’t afford to be away from my desk for too long.”

“I see,” Harry whispered, staring up into Draco’s eyes through his own narrowed ones. “You’re lying to me.”

“Am not,” Draco replied more petulantly than he’d intended.

“You are so. Your eyes betray you, Malfoy,” he countered. He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from those glistening pools of gray. It was just like it had been at Malfoy’s flat the night before. Those haunting eyes bored through him and straight into his soul.

“I’m far too busy for this, Potter. It matters very little to me whether you believe me or not,” he huffed and shifted past Harry onto the gravel path. Harry’s only reply was to fold his arms over his chest while pouting ever so slightly. “You look nice tonight, by the way,” Draco added before tilting his head in farewell and Apparating away, leaving Harry to stare out into the empty night sky after him.

Harry wondered why his heart gave a violent pang at the man’s departure and reasoned that it was nothing, probably just indigestion.

As he turned away from the spot where Malfoy had just popped away, he ventured inside and was immediately met with a barrage of light and chatter. Hermione and Ginny hovered near the kitchen, gossiping animatedly while their husbands played a game of chess with Ron watching on, waiting to challenge the winner. Luna emerged from the kitchen as Harry hung his robes on the stand by the door. She was carrying a tray laden with her latest concoction, a brownish tart that Harry wasn’t terribly keen on trying. It wasn’t that Luna was a horrible cook; it was just that her imagination and palate were clearly far more sophisticated than anyone else’s. At least that’s what they all would tell her after discreetly spitting the bite out into a napkin.

Harry was immediately summoned over to the hovering women by Ginny’s beckoning hand. He’d expected to be grilled about his date with Oliver, but he wasn’t looking forward to it. “The date went well enough and we plan to see one another soon,” Harry prefaced without even a greeting, figuring the chatty women would prefer to get straight to the point.

“I hear you accepted the classes with Draco,” Ginny said, clearly caring very little about Harry’s progress with Oliver, falling back on her odd obsession with Malfoy instead.

“What is it with you and Malfoy?” Harry asked somewhat bitterly. “Should Clive be worried? Do you have a thing for him?”

Ginny giggled and glanced pointedly to Hermione who nodded and smiled knowingly in return. Their silent conversations were beginning to wear on Harry’s nerves. “I think the real question is, what is with you and Malfoy? Do you have a thing for him?”

“I’m dating Oliver,” Harry replied.

“Did you notice how carefully he sidestepped my question, Mi?” Ginny asked, directing the question to her friend as if Harry wasn’t even there.

“I did,” Hermione replied. “Very curious. I wonder what that means?”

“I think it means he’s trying to lust after our blond friend in secret, but secrets won’t do in this group, Harry,” she chastised and Harry fought desperately not to roll his eyes.

“I’m not lusting after anyone in secret. I’m lusting for Oliver in the open and he’s the only one I have lusty feelings for,” Harry replied in clipped tones. “Okay?”

“We’ll see,” Ginny replied with a wink and patted Harry on the shoulder before gliding over to sit on her husband’s lap, effectively distracting him from their game.

“She’s got a screw loose,” Harry muttered and Hermione grinned.

“She’s just commenting on what we all see, Harry. It’s rather obvious that something is going on between you and Draco. I think you’re just too afraid to acknowledge it,” she replied, sipping at her cocktail.

“What do I have to be afraid of?” he balked. The whole lot of them needed therapy.

“I think that’s what you need to figure out, Harry,” she replied before she too drifted off to linger behind her husband, leaving Harry to stare exasperatedly at the empty kitchen.

“Care for an apple bacon tart, Harry?” Luna chimed behind him, causing him to whirl around to face her.

“Er, apple bacon?” he repeated curiously and she nodded. He took one and bit into it tentatively, trying not to actually touch it with his tongue. He made a move to turn so that he could dispose of it without her seeing, but then realized the salty-sweet flavor lingering in his mouth was quite tasty. “Oh,” he gasped, chewing it more gingerly before swallowing it down. “That’s actually good. Who would have thought?”

“I did, of course,” she quipped, settling in beside Harry.

They shared a moment of silence together before Harry sighed. “Are you going to tell me that I should be dating Malfoy too?”

“I thought you were dating Oliver Wood,” she replied, looking confused.

“I am.”

“So, then why would I mention Draco? I don’t condone cheating, Harry,” she told him firmly. Her directness made him relax and he shook his head.

“I don’t either, but Hermione and Ginny seem convinced that I should be dating Malfoy instead of Oliver,” Harry explained.

“Draco’s a lovely man, but I like Oliver. I think he’s well suited for you. But it doesn’t really matter what any of us think. What do you think, Harry?” she asked wisely.

“I like Oliver.” It seemed fairly obvious to Harry that Draco was merely toying with him, so why wasn’t that obvious to anyone else? Ginny’s attraction to him was understandable he supposed, she harbored no ill will to Slytherin’s since long before her own marriage to one, but Harry would have hoped at least Hermione would see logic.

“Well, I would ignore what everyone else has to say on the matter then,” she mused and handed Harry another tart before wandering over to offer some to the other guests. Harry was glad that at least one of his friends was sane when it came to this whole Malfoy-Oliver situation, even if it was the one who occasionally spouted off about Wrackspurts.

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Oliver never showed up at the party the night before and Harry found a deeply apologetic letter waiting for him when he returned home. Apparently training had run late, as some of the team members weren’t playing up to par and Wood kept them there until the wee hours of the morning. Harry remembered all too well the plight of a teammate under the captainship of Oliver Wood and shuddered in sympathy for poor Puddlemere United.

Harry fell asleep to the thought, and wondered when he would get to see Oliver again. Because of the man’s heavy training schedule, it seemed that much more prudent that he carry on with his lessons from Malfoy, who he was to meet with the very next afternoon. Harry didn’t know what was up with the blond, or why Draco had chosen to focus all of his teasing flirtations on him now, but he didn’t like that it was garnering the attention of his friends, and worse, that his friends thought Malfoy’s flirtations to be honest. Couldn’t they see the smirk behind every word? It was just like the sausage incident, which was admittedly funny, but was also a perfect example of the kind of games Malfoy played. He might not turn Harry away if he were to proposition the blond for a one-night stand, but Malfoy was hardly the type to devote more of his time or energy than that. Harry couldn’t think of the last true relationship Malfoy had, and that had to mean something.

He didn’t know why he was so worried about it though. As long as Malfoy could do for him what he’d done for so many of his friends, Harry had no gripes with the man.

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Draco paced the expanse of his living room, and cursed himself for doing so even as his feet struck the carpet. It was a sign of weakness to allow himself so much anxiety over such a small thing. It was only Potter after all. What harm could possibly come from giving the man a few pointers on dating?

He shuddered at the thought of what terrible things might befall him if he interfered with the Golden Match between Potter and Wood. Last night he’d barely been able to tear his eyes away from the brunet. Those green robes were so well tailored and brought out the luminescence of Potter’s eyes and it took everything in Draco’s arsenal to make himself leave the party. He couldn’t have stayed another moment, not with Harry looking the way he did, and still keep his promise to the gods. By Salazar, Potter would have been his by the night’s end whether he wanted it or not, and then Draco would be stuck in some hell dimension for wizard’s who misused the dark spells. That was all he needed.

Just knowing Potter was on his way right then placed him in his own mental hell; he didn’t need the added effect of tangible flames licking at his naked flesh to accompany it, thank you very much.

It was shortly after noon, their allotted meeting time, and Harry remained a no show. Draco grew hopeful that the raven-haired man had changed his mind again, or perhaps he just grabbed Oliver up and eloped, saving Draco the trouble. Alas, just as his body began to relax and his pacing slowed, there was a knock on the door.

“Perhaps I should conjure you a dictionary so that you can look up the definition of punctuality?” he lectured upon yanking the door open. Potter stared up at him balefully and muttered some incongruent apology, but Malfoy shook it off and opened the door wider to allow Harry to enter.

The brunet strode inside, apparently recalling the way to the living room, and Draco followed, his eyes staring carefully at the back of Potter’s head to keep them from lingering down to the man’s arse. “He belongs to Wood,” Draco reminded himself silently as he made his way to the bar and poured himself a stout drink. He raised an empty glass in Potter’s direction but Harry shook his head. “Do you always drink so early?” he asked with an upturned nose.

“Not usually, no, but I have a feeling I’m going to need it today,” Draco answered curtly.

“Do you really hate me so much?” Harry asked suddenly, looking mildly offended even though Draco hadn’t answered him yet.

“Sometimes you are extraordinarily dim, Potter,” he snapped. Of course he didn’t hate him, wasn’t that obvious to the Gryffindor twat?

Harry bristled, but moved beyond the insult. “Still, that hardly seems reason enough for your seething hostility toward me over the last few days.”

Draco took a deep breath and massaged the bridge of his nose. This infuriating Gryffindor was supposed to be his soul mate? Draco thought he’d made up for his youthful transgressions a long time ago, but apparently Merlin had a vicious sense of humor, sidling him with Harry Potter as a life long punishment. Perhaps it was lucky for Draco that Potter didn’t want him.

“Shall we get on with the lessons?” Malfoy tried, “Seeing as though you’re already more than half an hour late?”

“How am I supposed to trust you if you hate me so much? How are we supposed to do this?” he asked, standing up from the armchair he’d taken. “Maybe this was a mistake.”

“Would you sit down, Potter, and stop acting like a child. Sometimes you just have to work with people who don’t like you. It’s life, get over it,” Malfoy spat. “Not everyone is head over heels infatuated with the Gryffindor Golden Boy.”

Harry blanched at the title. It had been a long time since he’d seen it in print and even longer since he’d heard it aloud. It rattled something loose inside of him and he glared down his rival menacingly. “No, actually. I don’t have to work with people who don’t like me. In fact, part of the beauty of being the Gryffindor Golden Boy, as you so put it, is being able to do pretty much anything I want,” he spat.

That wasn’t true at all, Harry was just like any other bloke, but apparently Malfoy didn’t think so, so why not fuel the twisted image Malfoy had of him in his head? It wasn’t as if he cared what Malfoy thought anyway. He started to march out when he felt Draco’s arm circle around his waist, pulling him back and effectively against his own chest.

“I don’t hate you,” he whispered, staring intently into those angry green eyes. “I don’t hate you,” he repeated with more clarity and emotion than Harry had ever seen from the man so far. When Draco let go and stepped away, Harry felt a rush of vertigo, as if he suddenly couldn’t stand without Draco bracing him. “Things between us are just complicated,” he explained when it appeared Harry wasn’t going to rush out. “They always have been, and they always will be.”

“They don’t have to be,” Harry rasped, getting his bearings as he stumbled over to the armchair he’d been previously occupying. Suddenly it seemed he was the one who had consumed Malfoy’s drink, along with another three or four to chase it down.

“I’ll try not to lose my temper again,” Draco promised noncommittally. He knew just how complicated things were between he and Harry, but he had no intention of sharing his knowledge with the brunet. He was risking enough already.

Harry nodded and sighed. “I’ll do my best to be on time.”

“Thanks,” Draco replied, trying not to roll his eyes. That wasn’t at all what he was upset about, but damned if he was going to look like a tosser by shedding light on his own personal shame. It mattered very little though, because Draco was a professional, and he had a job to do, even if it was a distasteful situation. Clearly Potter was hapless in the love department and needed as much help as he could get and, as the best matchmaker in England, if not the world, it was Draco’s responsibility to offer his expertise.

They sat there looking awkwardly at one another for a moment, Draco’s drink completely forgotten. “So,” Harry began tentatively. “What’s first?”

“The Unbreakable Vow,” Draco explained, shaking himself out of his Harry inspired stupor. “Though to be honest, I’m hoping I might be able to use your success with Wood as a bolster for my business,” he admitted reluctantly. “Would you think about letting me do that, given the lessons are successful, which I have no doubt they will be? It would be a big help to my career.”

Harry had a rebuttal on the tip of his tongue about how he was paying Malfoy double and counted on their sessions being kept in strict confidence just like his friends when the man fell into a flurry of stammering cuteness that Harry found nearly impossible to resist. Nearly.

“What would that mean for me, though? You’d release my information to the public?” he asked warily.

“Your name only,” Draco replied hurriedly. “A celebrity match like you and Wood would make headlines for months. It would allow me to stop hiding behind Professor Amore if they knew I was the one behind the marriage.”

Harry wanted to decline and take the Vow as his friends had done before him but aside from his own desire for anonymity, he couldn’t think of a valid reason why Malfoy shouldn’t benefit from his hard work once it paid off. It’s not as if the media was going to leave him alone regardless. A marriage between him and Oliver would be front-page news as Malfoy said, and there would be nothing Harry could do to avoid that. “I suppose it would be alright, so long as no details we discuss are released to the press.”

“Just think about it-” he began and then Harry’s words registered and he gaped slightly. He’d been expecting an argument, perhaps an all out war with his suggestion. This calm acceptance wasn’t at all what he’d imagined. “Did you just agree?”

Harry laughed and nodded, holding out his hand. “So, let’s get this Vow over with so we can move on.”

“Since it’s a mutual Vow we don’t need a bonder. Wand out, Potter,” he instructed, grasping Harry’s hand firmly, his fingers twining at the wrist. An electric shock zapped through him with a force that nearly had him toppling backward. Harry’s eyes went wide and Draco had to concentrate on regulating his breathing before he spoke again. “It’s just the spell,” he assured the brunet, knowing full well that only a fraction of the pull they felt toward one another had to do with the Unbreakable Vow.

“But we haven’t said anything yet,” he whispered, as if speaking through mottled cloth.

“The magic can sense our intent,” he replied, which was partially true anyway. For a fleeting moment Draco felt mad. With their hands joined this way, and with Potter so willing and pliable across from him, Draco could just cast a bonding spell instead, binding he and Harry together forever, damn the consequences. But logic and reason set in soon enough when a vase at the other end of the room broke with a deafening crack, reminding Draco of his responsibility and the strength of the magic he evoked daily. “Harry belongs to Oliver,” Draco repeated internally for the hundredth time as he raised his wand over their joined hands.

White flames licked harmlessly along Draco’s skin, symbols of the actual flames that would claim them if one of the pair was to break the vow. “Harry Potter, will you accept my council in the matters of your relationship with Oliver Wood.”

“I will,” Harry replied firmly, his eyes locked on Draco’s molten gaze.

“And will you promise to keep my identity secret until such a time as I am ready to reveal it?” he asked and Harry nodded.

“I will.”

“And will you make these promises under pain of death if you were to break them?” he asked, finality in his tone and the flames grew so bright that neither man could look at them directly if they tried.

“I will,” Harry promised and the white fire flared up as it seeped into his hand and made his entire body glow with the force of it for a moment before disappearing completely.

Harry’s eyes snapped shut and his teeth anchored into his bottom lip roughly. When those eyes finally fluttered back open, they were such an intense green that Draco nearly lost himself in their brilliance. “Wow,” Harry rasped clasping Draco’s hand more firmly within his own. “That’s powerful magic.”

“Some of the most powerful there is,” Draco agreed. “Are you ready with my vow?”

Harry nodded and leveled his wand, barely touching their joined hands as Draco had done and again the white flames emerged. The first time he had done this, Draco expected the flames to sear him, but they were cool and soft like a spring breeze against his skin. He was getting aroused just watching Harry with his lips parted, the faint flush on his cheeks from his turn at the Vow, and then their gazes locked and Harry caught his breath.

“Will you promise to instruct me to the fullest extent of your capabilities during my courtship of Oliver Wood?” he asked at last, steeling himself.

“I will,” Draco breathed reluctantly.

“And will you promise to keep all of my personal details a secret when you reveal my name to the public?” he pressed.

“I will,” he replied more firmly.

“And will you make these promises under pain of death if you were to break them?” Harry asked, cringing even as he said the words.

“I will,” Draco replied and felt the telltale tug of magic flow through him, binding his soul to his promise, binding his soul to Harry, but he supposed that didn’t matter much since he and Harry had twin souls to begin with.

He shuddered as the last of the magic left him with only Harry’s cool palm resting against his own. He knew he should be thankful the spell took, thankful the gods had accepted their promises and twined them together, but instead Draco felt bereft of his choices and he knew then that part of him had still been entertaining the idea of sabotaging Harry’s relationship with Wood. That wasn’t possible anymore. He had not one, but two very powerful and deadly magicks levied against him now. He would help Potter woo and capture Oliver Wood, he would have to, or else his own life would be forfeit.

Author's Note: Well, Draco's in quite a pickle now, isn't he?