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Made of Common Clay	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 10987 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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Chapter Ten—Walked With the Angels
“How do you know it was me?”
Harry lifts his eyebrows. “It’s interesting how many people condemn themselves right out of their own mouths.” Simon still looks confused, so Harry condescends to explain. “You would have spluttered and asked other questions first, such as what all this was about. Instead, you leap right to denying your guilt.”
“You don’t have any proof he was guilty!” Ginny shoves forwards and tries to get in between them. Harry simply takes a dancing step to the side. He isn’t going to let anyone interfere with him pointing his wand at Simon. “Harry, put that down now!”
Harry only glances at her, but it blows the fire in Ginny to ash. She stumbles back with her eyes so wide they look like they hurt.
“Don’t,” Harry says mildly, “scold me.” Then he turns back to Simon. “I’m still waiting to hear why you gave the key to my wards to Parkinson. Or Malfoy. Or I can name one of the others if you want, but they seemed to be the ringleaders.”
Simon stands very straight and stares him in the eye. Harry raises a slow brow. He thought confronting the man this way would cure at least part of his stupidity, but it doesn’t seem to be working out like that.
“Because,” Simon says, and his voice is low and intense, “they asked me.”
Yes, it isn’t working out. Harry surveys Simon. “What an interesting statement. Why don’t you explain it?”
“They’re Lords and Ladies!” Simon’s face is clouded with awe. He’s waving his hands around the way he did when he first met Harry. “Of course I’m going to tell them whatever they need to know! Why did you think I wouldn’t?”
Harry doesn’t pinch the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t sigh. He just wants to. “Did it occur to you that if they wanted private information like the key to the wards of my house, they probably wanted it for a terrible purpose? Or else that they would have asked me if they had a legitimate one?”
“They’re Lords and Ladies!”
“Saying it twice doesn’t make your head sound any less empty.”
“Harry…” Ginny has edged towards him and looks almost like she wants to make a grab for his wand. Harry looks at her again, and freezes her in place. The fire he used on Carzel the other night would be no surprise to her, even though she hasn’t actually seen him use it in person.
“They’re our rulers,” Simon says. His voice is hushed. His face still has that strange clouded awe on it. At least he’s stopped waving his bloody hands around. “Of course I’m going to give them what they want. They’re the only ones who would know what to do with it.”
“I never knew that I turned your orientation into one focused on idiots,” Harry tells Ginny.
She flushes so badly that he knows he’s going to pay for that. The thing is, that’s not right now. Harry turns back to Simon. “Blood means nothing. Pure blood means nothing. Did it ever occur to you that, if they abided by their own principles, I couldn’t be part of their little Sun Chamber since my mum was a Muggleborn?”
Simon blinks. “But it’s still blood.”
No driving through that brick wall, noted, Harry decides dryly. “And they made an exception for me,” he says. “And they make exceptions for people who aren’t technically members of the families that have Lords and Ladies in the Sun Chamber, only distantly related to them.” It’s an effort, but he manages “Lords and Ladies” without sneering. “They manipulate trials so that those people don’t go to prison—”
“But they shouldn’t! What would be the point of blood if it couldn’t get you something you wanted like that?”
“They claim that they’re nobler than other wizards,” Harry continues, not lifting his voice. “Or there would be no point in differentiating between those families and others. Like, say, the Weasleys.” He glances at Ginny, and she flinches and lowers her eyes and doesn’t raise them for the rest of the conversation. “But do they act noble?”
He pauses, because in fact he wants Simon to answer that. Simon only stares at him. Then he says, “Of course they do.”
“Apparently lying into people and breaking into their fellow Lords’ houses and playing underhanded tricks with justice is noble behavior, then. Good to know where you stand, I suppose.”
“Listen to me, Lord Potter. I don’t want to speak to you disrespectfully, but you don’t really seem to understand how it works. Maybe because you had a Muggleborn mother. It’s just—they’re noble because their blood is noble. They had ancestors who fought great duels and kept the wizarding world safe from Muggles and won wars. It’s about the whole bloodline, not just one person you happen to not like! They deserve their fortunes and the renown they have.”
“And they deserve not to be opposed?”
“No, of course not. But only other Lords and Ladies should oppose them.”
“Which is what I’m doing.”
Simon looks confounded for the first time since the conversation began. “I mean—I mean, it does have to do with blood. I told you there could have been a Lord Morreth. You would have been honor-bound to treat me like an equal then.”
Harry takes a step forwards, a delicate, sliding step. “Treating you like an equal simply because I respect you as a human being isn’t possible?”
“It’s not as good as being treated like a Lord.”
“But you didn’t treat me like a Lord, either,” Harry says, and then wonders why he’s wasting his time. Simon has already shown that he’s impervious to logic. Harry also suspects that Lily Evans is interfering in his brain even if he seemed awed by Harry’s Lordship before.
Harry Stuns Simon, and catches him with a Levitation Charm as he falls. Simon could bang his head and never wake up for all Harry cares, but it would be a little more inconvenient not to have him around to testify.
“You can’t do that to my boyfriend.”
Ginny’s brave enough now, when she doesn’t have to face the consequences of slipping up in front of Simon. Harry just arches an eyebrow at her. “And he’s not supposed to be able to help people try to blackmail me, but I suppose that’s just the way things are. I’m not allowed to do all sorts of things other people can.”
Ginny balls her hands into fists. “He didn’t know what they would do!”
“He still betrayed a secret to them that wasn’t his to betray.”
“He didn’t do it on purpose! You’ve seen what he’s like, Harry. He—he’s—”
“Stupid?”
“No, damn it!” Ginny takes a single aggressive step forwards, and then shrinks just as fast when Harry’s magic whips up around him, a whirlwind edged here and there with sparks where it dances next to his hair. “He just has too much consideration for Lords and Ladies. Most people raised in the wizarding world do. You can’t fault him for that! You can’t arrest him for that!”
“Who said anything about arresting?”
“But you’re taking him away like an Auror—”
“No, like a Lord,” Harry says, and Lightens Simon so he can sling him over his shoulder. “He wanted so much to get better-acquainted with the system he thinks is great. I’m going to make sure he has a chance.”
“You’ll take him in front of the Sun Chamber?”
“No. Arbitrary justice.” Harry grins a sharp-edged grin at Ginny and then Apparates out of her flat, which tears the wards up something fierce. Well, he considers that punishment enough for the re-keying of his own wards that she forced him to do.
*
“Excuse me! Can I have your attention, please?”
The people doing their afternoon shopping in Diagon Alley turn around to stare at him. Harry is posing impressively on a little conjured platform of wood and silver in the middle of the alley. It bobs up and down, floating on the curls of a mist Hermione taught him to create. The platform, though, is a spell from the books Honeywell sent him.
Simon is lying next to him, draped over the edge of the platform. Harry glances down at him and non-verbally returns him to consciousness. Simon bolts up, then almost slips off the platform and claws desperately at the wood to keep on.
“Yes, thank you,” Harry says, when he notices even more people stopping and craning their necks, and a few laughing. The spectacle of Simon sliding around like that is making everyone curious. “You probably know me best as Harry Potter. I suppose you can also call me Lord Potter and Lord Black if you like, but that’s a little awkward. Harry will do.”
“Who’s he?” yells someone near the back of the crowd. Harry would think it was George, but he doesn’t recognize the voice.
Someone else brave enough to recognize the ridiculous when he sees it, then. Good.
“His name’s Simon Morreth,” says Harry. “But you don’t have to call him by his whole name, either. That’s even more awkward.” He moves away as Simon tries to grab his robes to right himself, and Simon stands up on his own, glaring and flushed. “He thinks one of his ancestors could have slept with a Lord, so you can call him Lord Morreth.”
That makes more people laugh. Simon turns pale for the first time. “What are you doing?” he hisses out of the corner of his mouth. “This makes a mockery of the concept of Lords and Ladies! You can’t—can’t just tell them—”
“Lords are allowed to punish those who betray them,” Harry says, with his eyes wide and round, and making sure his voice carries. “As long as it’s in public, so everyone can see justice done, and the curse isn’t too damning.” He leaves unsaid the fact that most Lords and Ladies of the Sun Chamber haven’t done anything like this in centuries. It would have required alerting the public to what they were, and Merlin knows that would have been something they wouldn’t like dealing with the consequences of.
Besides, that would have limited their ability to use Dark Arts and devastating curses. Harry has no need for that kind of revenge, not when he can—play.
Simon is staring at him. Then he swings around and points a finger at Harry. “He’s angry because I’m dating his ex-girlfriend!” he bleats. Much like the sheep he is, Harry thinks idly as he stands and watches Simon. “That’s the only reason I’m here! Anyone who thinks the great Harry Potter is compassionate and forgiving is wrong! His mother must have something to do with it!”
A few uneasy titters rise from the audience. Harry only shakes his head and sighs. “He’s been like this most of his life,” he confesses to the crowd. “He thinks only blood is important, and then when someone turns against him, it’s all about their character being affected by their blood. Not their actions. Just some strange idea of what flows in their veins. I don’t know how to help him.”
“Was he dating Ginny Weasley?” someone calls.
“Oh, he still is,” Harry say calmly. “What she does is her business. But he acquired the secret to my home wards, and betrayed it to a few other people, and that’s not on. So.” He spins his wand in Simon’s direction. “Veritatis perpetua.”
The curse settles, gleaming, over Simon, and he stiffens as the silver light, shaped like a hood and cloak, sinks into his skin. Then he stares at Harry, his eyes hateful. “What did you do to me, you Potter bastard?”
“You’ll tell the truth now.” Harry puts his wand away and shrugs.
“I was right about you,” Simon says, with the gloomy air of someone who can only take pleasure in being right. “Your Mudblood mother was the reason the Potter line went wrong. My father knew your father, and he says James Potter would never have done something like this.”
Some people gasp, although Harry knows it’s more in pretended outrage over the word than real outrage. He smiles at Simon, who only stares at him. “What? It’s the truth.”
“Indeed,” Harry says, and he leaps down from the platform and walks away. Behind him, Simon swears as the platform dissolves, along with the mist it was floating on, and dumps him on the ground. People immediately surround him and start asking questions. From the sound of it, he’s trying to give them the key to Harry’s wards.
Harry snorts. He’s changed the wards long since, but that’s the sort of pathetic he has to expect from a man who admires pure-blood politics.
*
“Did you have to do that, Harry?”
Kingsley sounds so long-suffering as he barges into Harry’s office. Harry puts down the paperwork he’s been writing and gives Kingsley a faint smile. “Tell me what you mean? I’ve done so many things lately, I could be missing something you want to remind me of.”
Kingsley considers the ceiling, considers the corner of Harry’s desk, considers him. “I meant subject Simon Morreth to the Perpetual Truth Curse.”
“Oh, is he trying to sue the Ministry while at the same time talking about all sorts of unfortunate blood purist bollocks?” Harry asks, and makes his tone gentle and shocked.
Kingsley pauses. “Yes, actually.”
Harry shakes his head. “You can see the books that make it perfectly legal if you want. I can curse him like that because I’m a Lord and I can get away with it. He spread knowledge that could have meant my death. Why would I do anything else except take revenge on him?” He picks up his quill and goes back to writing.
“That’s not the sort of thing a Lord does.”
“Perfectly legal.”
“Because it’s legal doesn’t make it right.”
Harry can’t help it. He does laugh, and it’s the sort of belly-shaking, body-shaking laugh that’s going to go on for a long time. Kingsley actually shoots a Sobering Charm at him to help him out of it, and Harry sits back, smiling and shaking his head as he wipes the tears from his eyes.
“And, of course, that’s more morally reprehensible than making sure criminals related to pure-blood families aren’t tried for crimes,” he says. “Or making sure that accused Muggleborns are always convicted. Or influencing the Wizengamot and lying to the wizarding world about their existence. Or—”
“Yes, yes, Harry. I understand.” Kingsley grips his wand and stares around as though he could break through the walls. “But do you understand? You’ve destroyed a man’s life. Morreth won’t be able to get employment anywhere if he can’t speak the little lies that make it necessary to flatter people and pretend that he’s interested—”
“And it doesn’t destroy a Muggleborn witch’s or wizard’s chance of employment to have spent years in Azkaban for a crime they didn’t commit? Or an offense that would only get a pure-blood charged with a month or so?”
Kingsley shuts his eyes. “What do you want me to do about it?” he breathes. “This is the world we live in, Harry. You can rail at it and pretend that you don’t understand why what you did to Morreth is horrendous, or you can correct your error and apologize, and we’ll make sure the implications of this don’t spread too far.”
Harry only shakes his head. He knows they need him to get the Perpetual Truth Curse off Simon. It’s one of those annoying curses that can only be lifted by the caster. “No. This is the way Lords can pursue revenge. I took it.”
“But if you think that what those Lords did was so wrong, why would you adopt their tactics?”
Because no others will work to destroy them. Kingsley will hardly want to hear that, though, and Harry knows he’ll have few things to cling to as the Ministry comes tumbling down. His illusions might as well be among them. Harry shrugs. “They keep saying that what they do is right, and so do you. It’s only when I do it that it’s wrong. Why, Kingsley? Why not give me the same benefit of the doubt that you give other Lords? Is it because my mother was Muggleborn?”
As expected, that makes Kingsley shoot up from the chair. “No! Of course not! But you’re supposed to be better than them, Harry.”
“Do you think they’re horrible people?”
Kingsley’s eyes slide away.
Harry nods. Kingsley is too invested in those notions of pure blood mattering and not allowing those notions to surface in his thoughts too often. “Please leave, Kingsley. I’m trying to work, and it’s difficult when hypocrisy is distracting me.”
Kingsley does go. Harry gets a Howler a few minutes later from Ginny, who is yelling at him for “forcing” Simon to tell her some unflattering truths about her wardrobe and her hair, and what he finds most attractive in other witches.
Harry smiles a little, listens to the Howler for enjoyment, and then destroys it. Seconds later, he’s back at work, part of his mind on the way Neville’s plot is probably playing out, part of him contemplating when people like Kingsley got so cowardly.
It’s only when he’s preparing to leave that he gets a Floo call. Harry turns towards the fireplace, one hand loosely on his wand. Molly Weasley’s face appears in the flames and stares at him.
“Harry. Can you come over? We need to talk.”
We probably do, Harry thinks, and goes through the flames, vaguely curious about where she’ll lay Ginny’s and Ron’s competing claims as the daughter who’s been “wronged” and the son who’s still his best friend.
*
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