mahoganyhandle (mahoganyhandle) wrote in santas_lap, @ 2007-12-20 22:10:00 |
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Draco first met his lover on the night of his seventh birthday. His parents hosted a party to celebrate his birth at le jardin. It had been a surprise for him. He was so taken in by the fairy games, the professional Quidditch team games and stunt shows, an aerial merry-go-round of whinnying Pegasi, and a sprawling feast of sweets that he had not noticed the air of intrigue that undercut the simplicity of his fun until the night was almost over. His mother gathered all of the children from their play on the bank of the lake and sat them down in preparation for serving cake. Then his father levitated in a delightful confection of plum-flavored sugar fairies, diricawls and dragons—a magical menagerie of all his favorite creatures.
Everyone sang to him, and he made a wish before blowing out his candles. The cake was scrumptious. He ate two large slices—a special treat for him, as his father frowned upon overindulging his sweet tooth. Then his father called for attention and said that it was time to receive gifts. That confused him—his guests had set presents aside on a table when they arrived, and he wouldn't be allowed to open those gifts until the next morning, after breakfast.
Only men approached him. He knew most of them—some were the fathers of his friends; some were his father's associates, political and social allies, or even aspirants who he'd seen visiting with his father in his father's private office. They each gave him the same gift, a crystalline blossom with their name carefully painted onto a leaf. He took each one carefully in both hands, wary of dropping it and inadvertently hurting their feelings. Still ignorant of the larger implications of their gifts, he thought only that the flowers were very pretty and delicate, like the figurines his mother kept and occasionally let him hold.
Once they'd given him the flower, each man kissed him briefly on the mouth. Some of their kisses were hard, some soft. Some allowed their tongues to snake out over his bottom lip; others tasted him fully. Always, he glanced to his father afterward to see that this was acceptable; his father would nod his head in approval, take the flower with which he had been presented and pass it to his mother, who set them in a showcase.
Draco's mouth tingled. He felt confused, and his chest fluttered as if there were butterflies inside. Flushing, he tried to focus on the next person, telling himself that it was almost over, and he could go back to playing with his friends by the waterside. Yet the line of guests seemed unending. At one point, he even felt that he might cry.
Then, it was finally over. He came, Draco's lover-to-be, and gave him a pure white chrysanthemum, and kissed him, caressing his hair to soothe his mounting anxiety. Draco felt like he might burst open from the sudden, inexplicable swell of magic that flowed from the man's kiss. A strangled whimper escaped him, and he clutched the man's robes in his small fists, trying to ground himself as he squirmed. The man pulled back and smiled at him kindly, eyes gleaming behind his glasses. His smile made Draco feel nervous about his strange reaction, and Draco looked over the man's shoulder to meet his father's eyes, hoping for reassurance. His father seemed inordinately pleased. A hush fell over the guests, who had, the whole time Draco collected his flowers, murmured and laughed amongst themselves so much that they had seemed like buzzing wasps.
"Would you like to take a turn through the garden, Draco?" The man asked, holding out his hand.
Again, Draco looked to his father for guidance. Lucius tilted his head and smiled, so Draco took the man's hand. His heart hammered against his ribcage, and he felt shaky as he stepped down from his chair on the raised dais.
"Okay," he said quietly. "Thank you, Mister."
"Please, call me Albus," the man said, leading him away from the main pavilion where the party was held, toward a gazebo in a secluded night-blooming garden. The air was thick and sweet there; it smelled of jasmine most of all, and Draco found it calming. Albus could tell when the tension of Draco's befuddlement left him, and lifted him onto a tall balustrade, urging him to lean back against Albus's broad chest. Albus tilted Draco's head skyward, and he gasped, utterly enchanted by the first explosion of fireworks.
~
There were rules of engagement, of course, but at that tender age when he did not even understand what was going on, the point wasn't that Draco knew them. The point was that he understood such things were acceptable to his parents—his parents even greatly desired to foster a relationship between Albus and himself.
As such, the next morning, Albus came to settle terms with his parents. Draco had already eaten breakfast and opened his presents, and was in the middle of making a list with his governess so that he could send out thank you cards. His father spoke with Albus privately for an hour, during which time Draco finished his task and began his language lessons. They were shortly interrupted, however, when Lucius called Narcissa and Draco into the study.
Albus was very terse and tense as Lucius reiterated the terms of the arrangement for Draco's benefit. Draco listened attentively, and could detail the rules by rote, but he actually did not follow the conversation very well. He didn't ask questions. He never mentioned how confused and frightened he had felt when Albus had kissed him. He knew his parents wanted this for him and, from past experience, he understood that that was all he needed to know. When the meeting ended, Albus kissed him goodbye and went home.
The next week, Albus returned to pick Draco up. Draco was to stay at Hogwarts with him for the remainder of the summer, to build a rapport. Draco's governess and tutors would go with him, to mind him when Albus was busy and to continue his lessons while there, but even that didn't put a damper on his good mood. He'd heard a lot about Hogwarts, from friends with older siblings, and in stories, and from tales his parents told him. He'd looked forward to finally getting his Hogwarts letter when he turned eleven, and now… by some twist of good fortune, he'd get to go early, and for most of the summer, at that.
Draco could hardly sit still on the morning that he was set to leave. Albus was going to pick him up after breakfast, and he'd been scolded several times for trying to rush it along—either by gobbling his food without tasting it first or inadvertently speeding up all the clocks in the manor, so that the hour rang every two minutes. His parents were exasperated with him by the time Albus came in, accompanied by a dour-looking man in severe black robes.
"Good morning, gentlemen," Narcissa said, as she swept into the sitting room. Draco had been skipping along beside her, until he caught sight of the other man scowling around the room, and skittered back to hug his mother's skirts. She glanced down at him wryly and pried him away. "Say hello to Albus, Draco, and Severus, too."
"Professor Snape," the stranger said curtly. Lucius laughed his dry, phony laugh reserved for political allies who'd said or done something to make him angry. As a matter of course, Draco gave Professor Snape a wide berth as he approached Albus, hesitantly. Draco whispered hello and gave him a quick peck on the corner of his mouth. Lucius pursed his lips, displeased by that, but neither Narcissa (who tittered in amusement) nor Albus (who smiled kindly, his blue eyes twinkling) seemed to mind. Then, when Draco turned to Snape to greet him, too, Snape took a step back and folded his arms forbiddingly across his chest. "Good day, Master Malfoy," he said, but he might as well have warned, "Don't even think about kissing me hello, you grubby little brat!"
Uncertain, Draco bowed and said, "How do you do, Sir?" which was as formal a greeting as he knew. That put Snape at ease, and he bowed back, just as stiff.
"Professor Snape is the Head of Slytherin house," Albus told Draco, putting his hand on Draco's head. "I told him that you had a particular interest in it, and he agreed to let you stay in the dormitory—"
"We agreed that he would be staying in your quarters, Dumbledore," Narcissa interrupted coolly before Draco could get his hopes up about living in Slytherin for the duration of the summer. Professor Snape glanced sharply at Narcissa and frowned; even the twinkle faded from Albus's eyes.
"Yes, of course," was Albus's brusque reply. "I thought he might like to invite his friends over on occasion and they could use the Slytherin common room as a playroom. Unless you think he should be deprived of youthful company…"
"That's acceptable," Narcissa said. Then she smiled at Draco, and Draco smiled back. His parents said their goodbyes, promising to write twice a week and come to dinner every Thursday, so he wouldn't miss home too much. Then Draco left with Albus and Professor Snape, sitting between them in a horse-less carriage. He pretended to read a comic as Albus and Professor Snape talked over his head.
"Already rumors are flying," said Professor Snape. "There's even talk of your father… suggestions that you've—changed."
"It's as Lucius intended," Albus said. "It was a bold move, though—I'll give him that. He knew what he was doing when he sent me that invitation."
"Reopening le jardin will certainly impact the upcoming election. It makes the old ways acceptable again."
Albus laid a hand on Draco's head. Draco sighed and turned a page.
"Do you enjoy it?"
"Severus, please—"
"They say there's a… predilection in every mage-born wizard. Studies have implicated a hormone in the magical metabolism. And, of course, there's the tried and true empirical method, backed up by centuries of child development specialists," he drawled, as if he had not heard the plea in Albus's voice as well as his words. "It seems to me that if you must, you might as well take pleasure in it. He's… an attractive child."
Albus withdrew his hand from Draco, and glanced away as if Professor Snape's words shamed him.
"Although, I wonder why his parents Opened him practically from the womb…"
"That's because they did not want a short-term contract."
"I don't follow. Everyone knows that the pederasty years are best terminated at seventeen. It isn't really a matter of short-term or long-term, is it?"
"Severus—this is not merely pederasty. They intended to pair in him a Wizarding Partnership, and… have done so. The difference is that I will have him at a much younger age, and may mold him into the lover of my choosing, because our contract endures beyond his seventeenth birthday."
"Why would you—"
"I didn't have a choice, did I? One cannot turn down an invitation to le jardin, or what it entails." Albus's voice was clipped, putting an end to that line of questioning. Then, sighing, he said, "I will require assistance to overcome the backlash."
Snape did not answer for a moment. Draco felt Snape's eyes on him, and looked up to see what Snape wanted, but his face was guarded. "I will do what I can to cast this in a positive light," Snape said at last. "Perhaps… as a bid to reunify the wizarding world after the Dark Lord's fall, a focus on our future?"
"It will do," Albus said. The carriage pulled to a stop in front of The Leaky Cauldron, and Albus gathered up Draco's comics with a flick of his wrist. Draco watched as they stacked themselves neatly in a box. "We'll meet you at Florean Fortescue's in an hour."
Professor Snape nodded and exited the car. He walked briskly into the pub. Albus and Draco sat back to wait for a few moments before heading in themselves.
"Where's Professor Snape going?" Draco asked.
"He's going to do a favor for us."
"What sort of favor?"
"A grown-up, political favor," was the only answer he got. Albus tried to distract him then, saying, "I've got a surprise for you—a belated birthday present. I noticed that you had Quidditch players at your party. How would you like your own broom?"
"A real broom, and not a training broom?" Draco asked, suspiciously. He'd gotten his own broom before and hadn't been very impressed that it couldn't soar high in the sky like the professional ones.
"Of course," Albus said. "We have a Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts. I thought you would like to learn to fly."
Draco was suitably distracted and couldn't get out of the carriage fast enough. He wanted to race ahead of Albus, weaving and squirming through the crowds to get to Quality Quidditch Supplies, but Albus seemed to sense this and held Draco's hand instead. Moving at such a sedate pace, Draco couldn't help but notice all the stares they were getting.
Before he could ask why so many people were watching them, a red-haired man with a gaggle of red and freckly children clamoring around him stopped them in the middle of the alley. "Hello, Albus," the man said, and frowned down at Draco. "Is that the Malfoy boy?"
"Yes," Albus said.
"So, it's true, then, that… that you went traipsing through the Secret Garden with the little Malfoy!" When Albus stared at him, expression very guarded and eyes a little blank, the man spluttered. "Is it true, Albus? That you're a pederast – that you're advocating the old ways?" These last two words he uttered at an urgent whisper, as if it were a crime even to speak the phrase.
"It seems to be true, doesn't it? Just this morning I learned that I had mended Hogwarts' curriculum to include mandatory mentorship and optional sponsorship. I had to double-check my Pensieve to see when I'd done it. Couldn't find the memory, though, and the curriculum seemed largely unchanged. So, perhaps this Daily Prophet isn't all it's cracked up to be? I must say, I don't discount your intelligence, Arthur, and I think you know that there is more to this ploy than meets the eye."
"But—the boy!" the man spluttered indignantly, going red in the face. He gestured wildly to Draco and then pulled his older, freckly and pimply sons closer. "Is he yours, or isn't he?"
"He is my Eromenos, yes," Albus said, nodding. He spared Draco a brief, reassuring smile. "We were just on the way to buy him a broomstick, actually, for his seventh birthday—and then we were going to return to Hogwarts."
"But he's just a child, Albus! Surely you wouldn't—why, I told Molly the rumors were all calumnies and… and rubbish! I mean, how could you—you're the Headmaster of Hogwarts, in Merlin's name!"
The man looked like he was going to snatch Draco near him for a moment, but Albus stepped between them and the man reared back as if stung. Coolly, Albus said, "I understand your concerns and respect them as valid, but the matter has already been settled between his parents and me."
"Why, I… I can't believe… You're a filthy old man, Albus, forcing yourself on a boy like that. Truly your father's son, you are!" He spat and marched away, a coppery train of children weaving after him.
Draco turned away from them and glanced at Albus warily. Albus smiled again and picked him up. Draco wrapped his arms and legs around Albus and kissed Albus chastely and tentatively, trying to remind himself that it was what his parents wanted for him, and that they thought it was a good idea. Albus stiffened, and tightened his arms around Draco as their magic crashed together, each twisting about the other as if to tangle so as to become inseparable. Even when Albus pulled back, that aura of entwined magic lingered between and around them, and, with each passing breath, it grew ever stronger, tighter. Draco swooned, and out of the corners of his eyes, he could see that more people than ever were now gawking at them openly; some of them even stopped in the middle of the street to watch. His chest felt light and fluttery again, and he was warm and tingly all over, and his head started to swim, so he closed his eyes. He wondered if the watchers could tell how weird he felt, kissing Albus, and he grew uncomfortable. He hid his face in the curve of Albus's neck and took several deep breaths. Albus's robes smelled like musky cologne and reminded him of his father.
Albus carried him to the store so that he didn't have to face any more onlookers. Getting a grown-up broom made Draco feel a lot better and he clutched it to his chest, just basking in the feel of having his own real broom, its handle embossed with his name. The shopkeeper leered at him and said, "You make certain to thank him properly, young man."
Albus gave the shopkeeper a sharp look, making him withdraw, but Draco hadn't understood the innuendo, and only said, "Oh, thank you, Albus! Very much!"
They were ready to go, then. Albus tried to pick Draco up again, but Draco wanted to fly instead. Albus helped him to get it hovering a few feet off the ground, just higher than the maximum for a training broom, and made Draco promise to keep at his side.
After the Quidditch store, they went to the bookstore and then the pet store, so Draco could get some owl treats for the birds his parents would send with his letters. Neither of them had much shopping to do, but Albus said that they had to make a public appearance to stem the rumors and speculation. That had explained why everyone was staring at them, and Draco wasn't as bothered by it anymore by the time they made it to the ice cream parlor. Professor Snape was waiting for them at a table outside, glaring down at the menu the proprietor had set in front of him. Albus passed it over to Draco and said he should pick out which kind of ice cream he wanted.
Albus thought that it consumed his attention, but Draco knew the ice cream parlor's menu from memory, and could order what he wanted without any help. To be polite, he pretended to read it, but he ended up eavesdropping.
"How did it go?" Albus asked.
"Well enough," said Professor Snape dryly. "Wellington agreed to publish his findings, on the condition that the next time he needed a large supply of delicate potions, I wouldn't refuse to brew them… It's no small favor, on my part."
"I thank you," Albus said, "and owe you one, of course."
"Of course you do, and I hope you shan't forget it oh-so-conveniently when the time comes to repay me." Albus's eyes twinkled behind his half-moon glasses, which seemed to particularly offend Professor Snape. He bristled as he said, "He showed me some of the papers he had prepared. It was convincing enough, although I certainly would have expanded the study group and left out that useless bit about the Muggles. They haven't got any magic to complement another's and so wouldn't benefit from a symbiotic magical relationship, would they? Although—damn him—the—"
"Language, Severus," said Albus cheerfully.
Snape glowered at Draco resentfully, and then continued as if he'd never been interrupted, "The inquiry into the magical development of Squibs was intriguing. He concluded that Squib children also benefit from communion, and especially union, with a more experienced partner; the effects are usually exhibited at a lesser degree than what your average boy wizard would experience, but some Squib children may even develop average skill at the wand later on in life. If pederastic joining can do that for a Squib, it's fairly obvious that your little brat's magical signature will strengthen explosively, and I doubt there's a wizard in the world who'd turn his nose at having a powerful son, no matter how he's brought up. The only thing that seemed to deviate from what society has long held about pederasty is that he claims the younger the child at the start of the mentorship, the more intense his magical signature will turn out to be. So there you have it--as long as you make it worth my effort," said Snape, his voice brusque and annoyed.
"That certainly will aid us in the days to come," Albus replied.
"I should expect so." Snape sniffed. He didn't say anything else for a moment, but after sitting under Albus's expectant gaze, he asked, "How did it go with you?"
"We will be a spectacle for a while."
"Until Lucius has every pureblood family in the western world clamoring to go back to pederasty… Not for long, in other words…"
"I fear that," Albus said, frowning. "I saw Arthur Weasley today."
"No need to ask how he reacted to seeing you two together."
"He would have killed me if he could."
"And for a Malfoy, at that! Strong sentiments, coming from a Weasley..."
Albus heaved a sigh. "You've no idea what it's like, Severus."
"I never will. Pederasty is a tradition of which I will never take part, pretentious fathers conniving to turn their sons into powerful mages—or, at least, find their sons influential lovers. And we both know what my father would think of that."
"Oh, you may still have the opportunity to join the institution. Your mother's family advocated for the tradition long after it went out of favor, and half-bloods of certain heritage are often… invited into it."
Professor Snape's eyes flew wide and his lip curled back in a snarl. Seething, he glanced about himself as if he feared somebody had overheard and now was gawking at their table in horror, and spat, "I would never! I abhor children!"
"Well, there have always been those who despised the tradition and rejected the invitation, but you would have about as much choice as I had," said Albus gravely. "Our world always has been undersized and the war has taken so many of us. Hogwarts' classes are growing smaller and… children are precious. Society deals with those men who disregard the welfare of a child for his own peace of mind most harshly. The punishment for refusing the invitation is blacklisting—and that is a penalty even I could not overcome. Obviously."
"You're political," said Snape dismissively.
"You also are in a delicate position, Severus. Surely, you have not forgotten?"
Snape frowned and didn't refute that. Draco glanced up to catch the calculating look in Albus's eyes. When Albus turned toward him, Draco bent his head over the menu and touched one of the pictures. The taste of fresh blackberries flooded his mouth and he had a craving for more. The dish popped up in front of him, along with several napkins and a long-handled silver spoon. Albus tucked the napkin into his shirt like a bib before letting Draco start eating, and then ordered a lemon sorbet for himself.
"Please, order something, Severus."
A bowl filed with black ice cream appeared in front of Snape. It piqued Draco's curiosity, having never seen black ice cream before, and Draco stuck his spoon into it before Snape even had a chance to pick up his own. Snape scowled at Draco, but Albus chuckled as he tasted it and made a face.
"Licorice!" He choked.
"Nobody asked you to taste it," said Snape irritably.
~
Hogwarts fascinated him. Draco had delighted in the stairs that changed direction at a whim, and all the wandering ghosts, and talkative suits of armor. He might have tried to make friends with every portrait he passed if Albus hadn't enticed him away by promising to show him the common rooms.
After the tour, Albus gave him a bath and prepared to put him to bed. Draco had had a rather eventful day and a long and relaxing bath, so he was quite tired by the time Albus took him from the tub and dried him off. He smiled at Albus blearily.
"Do you know bedtime stories?" he asked. "Mum reads me to sleep."
"I know quite a few." Albus sounded hesitant, although Draco could not fathom why. He remained pliant as Albus rubbed him down with jasmine-scented moisturizer.
"Do you have any children, Albus?"
"No, unfortunately not." Albus's eyes glazed over and he seemed to stare somewhere far away, right through Draco. Then, he shook himself and smiled one of his kind smiles. "Were you hoping for a playmate?"
"I just thought… You're older even than my mum and dad, so why not?"
Albus shrugged and flipped back the covers on the bed. "No time, I suppose. I always felt awfully busy and children… children like a lot of attention."
Draco's brow furrowed. He hesitated before crawling into bed when Albus patted it, but obeyed anyway. The sheets were cool and soft against his bare skin, and he sighed as he settled down.
Albus laid down on his side next to Draco and lightly drew his hand across Draco's chest. It tickled a little, and Draco squirmed. That didn't deter Albus, though, who leaned in to kiss him. All of the funny feelings returned—the tingly, fluttery sensation in his chest; the heat that swept down his spine, pooled between his legs—and were intensified by Albus's unrelenting caresses. Draco squirmed and whimpered, and a flush suffused his cheeks. He twisted about in embarrassment at his inexplicable reaction. He'd never felt such pleasure and yearning before. When he turned, Albus pulled him closer, and never faltered in the caresses that made him feel like a fluttering fire had somehow been lit in his chest. Albus's hands were soft and plump with wrinkles, deft and gentle. Those hands were everywhere, fueling the heat that made him dizzy—nobody had ever touched him like this. He felt himself grow hard.
"Wha…?"
"Shh," Albus soothed, curling his hand around Draco's tiny cock, gently pulling back the foreskin. He swept his thumb over the tip and Draco gasped at the sensation and twisted his hands into the sheets, trying to find purchase. It was overwhelming, having Albus's softly stroke him. He squeezed his eyes shut, but even that could not help him to contain himself and he began to cry quietly. "Do you like that? Or does it hurt?"
"It's… n-nice." Albus continued to fondle him with gentle, teasing strokes.
"Good… You must tell me if I hurt you, Draco. All right? I don't want you to feel uncomfortable." The look in Albus's eyes was grave and the tone of his voice was the same firm one that Draco's father always used when Draco had done something rambunctious or improper, or even bad; and as he'd spoken, he shifted to lean over Draco and withdrew to cup Draco's face and make certain Draco looked him in the eyes. Draco nodded fitfully and Albus touched him again. "And… you must never allow anyone—anyone else—to touch you like this. Do you understand?"
"Just you?" Draco said breathlessly, arching closer.
"Yes. Only me," said Albus. His voice quivered.
"Why you?"
Albus stiffened and drew his hand away. Draco whined and pressed closer. After a moment, Albus acquiesced to the unarticulated request and touched him again.
"I can touch you like this because you're mine—only mine. I'm your special teacher, your special friend. Your parents entrusted you to my care and promised you to me—so that one day we will be together like your mum and dad are. And I am yours in return. This is why no one else is allowed to touch you like I am touching you—no one in the world. Do you understand?"
"Yes." Draco hissed in a breath. "Albus… I—I—"
"You want this," Albus said softly, lowering his mouth to Draco's aching cock. It took only a few sucks and hot, velvety swipes of the tongue before Draco was keening and trembling and convulsing. He writhed and flailed, curling his hands into fists. Albus stilled him, shushed him, enfolded him in a warm, firm embrace. He petted Draco's hair, which was still a little damp from the bath and pressed sweet, soothing kisses to Draco's temple. "Sleep now, my darling."
"Okay," Draco murmured around a yawn. His eyelids began to droop and he snuggled deeper into Albus's arms, breathing in deeply the scent of Albus's pomade and curling his fingers into Albus's long beard, which he was so fond of even now. "Goodnight, Albus… Will you wait until I get to sleep to turn the light out?"
"Of course," Albus promised. "I will be right here with you the whole time."
"…Thanks."
~
Draco attended his first political dinner three days later. Albus had taken Draco aside earlier that day to explain the situation to him—several lifetime seats on the Wizengamot had just opened up after a epidemic of Dragon Pox had swept through the wizarding world, and the Primary Council was meeting with the Minister for Magic and his Cabinet of officers to come to terms about the preliminary hearings. Draco hadn't really understood what all of that meant, or why anyone expected his attendance or input, especially at an hour when he was usually getting ready for bed. He'd asked his governess why he had to go to the dinner, and she'd said it was part of his training to become a fully certified wizard. Albus had many such lessons to teach him, and he, Draco, could look forward to a never-ending cycle of dinners, functions, and ceremonies now that he was fated to Albus Dumbledore.
The guests were set to arrive at the private ballroom at six for an hour of hors d'eouvres and drinks. Albus and Draco Apparated in promptly and registered with the cleric before being announced in the antechamber for the cocktail hour. Draco blinked owlishly up at the cleric, an elderly man with hands that shook as they pressed the tip of his wand to his throat for the Sonorous. He had a deep, steady, soothing voice though, and enunciated so well that his voice sounded clipped as he said, "Now arriving: the Mage Lords Dumbledore—Albus Percival Wulfric Brian and his Eromenos, Draco Narcissus Nigellus Malfoy."
Almost as soon as they stepped into the antechamber, Draco clutching Albus's hand and trailing a step behind, people swarmed around them. Most greeted them formally, with stiff bows and practiced pleasantries, but some put on airs of familiarity that made Draco feel uneasy. He especially disliked when wizards ruffled his hair affectionately and witches noisily pressed their colored, waxy lips to his cheeks and purred at him. They all remarked laughingly, conspiratorially, what a darling he was, how handsome he was, and how fortunate Albus was to have claimed him at such a tender, impressionable age.
When Amelia Bones approached, all the others politely slipped away unnoticed. She didn't put on airs like most others—she had no need; her familiarity with Albus was genuine, it seemed—but merely nodded to Albus and smiled pleasantly at Draco.
"Good evening, Master Malfoy," she said once Albus had properly introduced them.
Draco bowed to her and said, "How do you do, Ma'am?"
"How does Hogwarts suit you so far?"
"Very well!" Draco said eagerly. "I have a lot of fun. Albus lets me play in the Slytherin common room, and I've made friends with the ghosts and a lot of the portraits. And I threw stones at the giant squid and he juggled them with all his flailing tentacles!"
"You've had a very eventful three days, I must say," she laughed. Draco nodded happily, and she looked back to Albus and placed a hand on his arm. "And you?"
"I've also had a very eventful three days, but I am holding up rather well."
"I'm glad to hear it. I must say, I never imagined that it would come to this again. The old families longed for it, but our world has become… inundated with Muggle ideas and Muggle ideals. How could it not be, with so many Muggleborn witches and wizards entering the world each year?"
"We must change with the times," Albus said gravely. "I admit, I always appreciated the chaste form of pederasty. It has its advantages, but it's always fallen through. It is too easy to abuse that power over one so… vulnerable to you."
"Indeed." Madam Bones glanced at Draco again and smiled a brittle smile. "The Malfoys certainly would not have made provisions to protect his chastity. Unless they are being cautious?"
Albus shook his head sharply. "They believe in the power of union… As a matter of course, they have made extensive provisions to ensure that I make no attempts to keep him chaste."
"I see." She glanced between Albus and Draco once more, and, upon realizing that Draco was listening attentively to their conversation, she managed a reassuring smile that was strained only around the corners of her mouth. "Then this will, inevitably, be brought before the Wizengamot."
"As the Malfoys intended," Albus nodded. "It will pass. No amount of public outcry will succeed in ousting this tradition. It is too engrained in us."
"Is it engrained in you, too, Albus?"
Albus glanced at Draco, letting his gaze linger overlong as their eyes locked. Draco could sense his hesitance and unease and took his hand, hoping to make him feel a little better. Sometimes Albus seemed to waver and shy away from their friendship, but Draco liked him—he thought Albus was interesting and smart and a lot of fun—and didn't want him to go away.
"You have no idea, Amelia," Albus said, "of the sway of pederasty. He will be a powerful wizard someday—I can mold him into a strong mage, a good man. His parents have given me free reign over his upbringing—and, yes, his magic calls to me and mine answers in turn. You have no idea of the magic between us, binding us together with each kiss, each touch, each passing moment, fating us for each other… Do you think I would choose a child? No. It is engrained in me, as well."
Amelia patted his hand. "For what it's worth, Albus, I'll stand by you." Albus looked surprised to hear it, and thanked her. She downplayed his gratitude and bent down to stand eye-to-eye with Draco. "And you, little one, I'm in your corner, too. This special bond you share with Albus will possess you in the upcoming years, and you will become like one person. You must never resist this special bond—let it possess you. Do you understand?" Draco nodded and solemnly promised that he did. "Good. You take good care of each other from now on. And do not hesitate to call on me—in friendship."
"I'm glad to have you for a friend," Draco said.
She laughed and kissed his forehead. "I'm glad to have you for a friend, too," she said, and then slipped away.
Albus squeezed Draco's hand. "Would you like a little something to eat or drink, now that we've a moment to ourselves, Draco?"
Draco said that he would, so they went over to the buffet table and picked up a few hors d'eouvres, and then they stopped at the bar to get something to drink. They ordered sparkling gillywaters, and Draco giggled as he sipped at it because the bubbles tickled his nose.
Albus and Draco received a lot of attention from politicians and potentates that night. Rumors still were circulating and tensions still were high. Everyone was curious and anxious. Were the Malfoys—and Dumbledore—attempting to bring the Old Ways back into popularity and respectability? They must have some sort of fool-proof plan or trump card if they'd use their own son as a guinea pig. What would the reopening of le jardin mean for the wizarding world at large?
Draco was becoming accustomed to the attention Albus and he got wherever they went, so he managed to pass the time at the dinner easily. Except… he found it despairingly dull. The dinner was delicious, but everyone around him wanted to talk only about grown-up things. Conversation at the table rarely strayed from the Wizengamot preliminary hearings for lifetime Mugwump candidates. One of the candidates was a Squib-born wizard who'd been raised as a Muggle, and his inauspicious beginnings seemed to be a major point of contention for the Primary Council. They insisted that permanent electorate seats were traditionally reserved for pureblood witches and wizards, and while it was an elitist practice, it had been put in place to appease old wizarding families that felt threatened by the constant and overwhelming influx of Muggles and their culture to the wizarding world. Purebloods on the Wizengamot were clamoring to protect pureblood interests.
The conversation dragged on long after dessert was served and cleared away. Draco's eyes began to sting and droop. He squirmed in his seat for a full half-hour before tugging on Albus's sleeve. Albus glanced at Draco, startled, as if he'd completely forgotten that Draco was there.
"Yes?" he whispered.
"Have to go potty," Draco whispered back, but not quite quietly enough. Several people nearby tittered. Their laughter embarrassed him because he couldn't explain it; everyone needed the loo sometimes. A flush crept up his neck and burned his ears. He trembled, trying not to weep, but a choked sob escaped him anyway. He bowed his head, hating that everyone had seen him so vulnerable after they'd laughed at him.
A gentle hand fell on his shaky, hunched shoulders and lightly squeezed, lending support. Everyone in the room grew silent.
"I have to go potty, too, Draco," said Albus kindly. "Will you go with me?"
Grateful for Albus's compassion, Draco nodded and clambered out of his chair. He still felt wobbly. Albus seemed to sense this, and he swept Draco up in his strong arms. Draco curled into him, clung to him, and hid his face in Albus's neck. Albus rubbed circles on his back, soothing him on the way to the restroom.
Once alone, Albus set him down and let him into the stall to use the toilet. When finished, Draco went back out and Albus tucked in his shirt and fixed his robes for him.
"Why did they laugh at me, Albus?" Draco asked, staring downward as he scuffed his shoe over the tiles. The marks disappeared almost as soon as they were made, like letters written in sand on a windy day.
"Oh, Draco, they weren't laughing at you. They were laughing at the irony of the situation… Do you know what irony is?"
"Grown-up humor, Daddy said," he whispered, fidgeting. "When something's funny, but it's not really funny." Albus nodded. "What's funny about using the loo?"
Albus hesitated, leaned close and said, "Nothing." He grinned. After a moment, Draco grinned back.
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