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A More Worldly Man	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 10960 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Chapter Twelve—Resistance and Breaking

            The pain chewed through the corners and defenses of Harry’s mind, through magic that he hadn’t realized existed, through strands of thought that had supported his assumptions and memories for years. He could feel it replacing those corners and defenses and magic and strands of thought with itself, replicating like a Muggle virus, leaving the inside of his skull as washed and clean and sterile as a new cauldron.

            He braced his feet against the floor—which might be a real one or might be imagined, like the current of water that had carried him into Draco’s mind—and fought hopelessly back.

            The pain grew stronger, and then turned into a whispering voice, layering commands over the top of his own thoughts, sinking deeper, replacing them, too. I will not take up Draco Malfoy’s time anymore. I will do what I can to give him freedom and happiness, and freedom and happiness mean being reunited with his family. I will step away from him and urge him to go back to his parents.

            That won’t work, Harry thought, his head hazy. Draco would know something was wrong if I just turned around and changed my mind about everything I’ve believed for weeks now.

            The force of the spell changed, and blades of ice began to slice Harry’s justifications apart. But if he can sense the truth of my inclinations, then he’ll have to go back. He’ll learn that I had an enlightening conversation with his mother in the prison cell, and that she made her love for Draco and her desire to support him clear to me. I’ve got to give him back to the life he was always meant to lead. What is better, after all, than the magic and the security of a pure-blood home for a business like selling the Desire potion?

            Harry was gasping, twisting, thrashing in the middle of a frozen sea that ate a little more of him every time he paused. His true thoughts had either frozen as well or were gone. He could feel the parts of his personality and his mind that were still his swimming in an increasingly small circle. He was being formed into the image of the perfect person that Narcissa could command and use for her own ends.

            Narcissa and Diggory, Harry thought. He was certain Charlemagne Diggory was behind the ease with which Narcissa had walked into his cell. If Diggory could arrange for one of his own relatives to sit on the Potions committee that would judge Desire, then he could arrange for his flunkies to get Kingsley’s people out of the way for a short time.

            If Diggory could command Harry to support him, then more people than Draco might suffer.

            But he had no weapons, and meanwhile the crystallizing of his mind continued, not so much painful now as inevitable, destroying him.

*

            Kingsley Shacklebolt up close at this time of night looked like only one more wizard, Draco thought, and tried to hide his contempt as the Minister yawned and then cast a Tempus Charm, shaking his head at the numbers that appeared.

            “I agree that he’ll need to be allowed to go ahead,” said Shacklebolt, with a nod at Littlesmith. The man bit his lip, and tried not to show that he was flattered too openly. Draco swallowed laughter. “But it would be for the best if the opposition didn’t know that he existed yet. Mr. Littlesmith, do you mind staying out of sight in a special safehouse until the day comes when you’re called to the trial?”

            Littlesmith shook his head, beaming. Draco thought the arrangements were rather exciting him. Finally, his body proclaimed as he sat upright in his seat, slightly vibrating, someone thinks I’m important!



            “Good.” Shacklebolt studied the list in his hand. “The Malfoys have already requested Harry’s genealogical charts, to check for any magical creature blood. And they’ve—“ He cleared his throat. “They’ve also requested that the Wizengamot be allowed to view the Pensieve memories that show Harry eating magic.”

            “Do you have to allow that?” Draco asked. He was encouraged by the fact that Shacklebolt had let himself be dragged out of bed for Harry. Perhaps they could presume on that friendship and free Harry that much sooner.

            Shacklebolt gave him a heavy look, however, which warned Draco not to presume that much. “Yes, I do,” he said stiffly. “It’s normal procedure, especially in a case as unusual as this one, and with larger implications for the wizarding world as a whole, which will be judged by the Wizengamot. The Wizengamot, of course, is free to reject the evidence if they don’t think it relevant or decide it was obtained improperly, but I can’t make the decision for them.” He again looked at the list of items and crossed one of them off. Then he nodded to Littlesmith. “If you’ll exit the office, Mr. Littlesmith, you’ll find one of the Aurors waiting to escort you to the safehouse I mentioned.”

            Littlesmith paraded out, glancing back at Granger now and then. He appeared disappointed when she didn’t return the look, though he slipped out silently. Granger leaned forwards the moment he was gone, eyes fastened on Shacklebolt.

            “You know why they’re doing this,” she said. “They’re Diggory’s allies, and they don’t want Harry in the way of his political run. And they’re Malfoy’s parents, and they think Harry should be as far away from their son as possible.”

            Shacklebolt sighed and dragged the back of his hand across his eyes, leaving it on his forehead for a moment. “Yes, I know that, Hermione,” he said. “I’m neither blind nor stupid.”

            “Then how can you allow it to go on?” Granger’s voice was deep with passion but controlled, something Draco had thought he would never hear from any Gryffindor. Her hand told the truth, of course, coiling around a piece of paper from Shacklebolt’s desk and turning it into a wrinkled mess. “How can you let something like this happen to Harry, when you know it’s wrong?”

            “There are delicate considerations,” Shacklebolt said, and looked at her again. “Diggory’s running a strong campaign now, concentrating on the changes he’ll make to the Ministry—which include changes that would favor Muggleborns, incidentally. I reckon he knows that his allies will take care of Harry.” He sighed. “And if I fight back too much against him, I’ll show I’m afraid of him. So far, my own campaign is based on stoicism, and making changes to the Ministry and the wizarding world in general as though I always expected to be in office to make them.”

            “You can show that you’re strong in other ways.” Granger leaned even nearer, and Draco didn’t think all the light in her eyes came from Desire. He experienced a sudden and unexpected stab of regret that he hadn’t made friends with her in Hogwarts. That passion and determination and unwavering loyalty backing him up would have made his life very different. “By acknowledging the debt the Ministry owes Harry and has never paid. By showing that you despise underhanded political moves, and you’re going to change things by challenging that kind of corruption. By—“

            “By showing that Harry’s above the law?” Shacklebolt shook his head, his eyes weary. “I can’t do that, Hermione, and dismissing the charges would argue a blindness to the larger political ground that I simply can’t afford. He’s like any other citizen, something he’s often said himself. He has to be tried fairly.”

            “But you know it won’t be fair,” Draco said. He could no longer keep silent. Directness and forthrightness was all very fine—he suspected Shacklebolt had been a Gryffindor—but one didn’t allow devotion to those tactics to let one’s loved ones be hurt. “You know that the Wizengamot is also full of people who despise Harry and want to hurt him. And any powerful wizard is a target of fear as well as envy.”

            Shacklebolt gave him a steady look that made Draco suspect Diggory was not the only person in the Ministry who didn’t really like Draco himself. “I know that, but any underhanded tactics would be easy to expose, and that would increase the resentment against Harry, as well as the distrust of me. It would make me more likely to lose the election, as well. It’s best to be as honest as possible—“

            “In which case your enemies make up the rumors about you,” Millicent cut in, her voice smooth and sharp as a glass knife. Draco was glad he wasn’t the only Slytherin in the room. “And the wizarding public has never shown itself unready to believe the slightest shred of gossip they hear.”

            “What would you suggest, then?” The Minister was also good at keeping sarcasm out of his voice. He sounded sincerely interested in Millicent’s suggestion. “Diggory has more experience at this, no matter how imperative it might be for me to adopt some of his strategies.” His voice held disdain on those last words, but Draco thought it was more practiced than anything else.

            “I suggest a tactic Potter had already started to try before he was shoved into a prison cell,” said Millicent. “Turn to those who would like to use his influence and show them what a bad idea it would be if he were imprisoned and they were unable to use him.”

            “Harry wouldn’t like that,” Granger said at once.

            “He went to the party at my parents’ house specifically to meet owners of charitable foundations and the like he hoped would be there,” Draco told her. “He doesn’t like the power of his name, no, but he’s finally becoming worldly enough to realize it’s better to use it than to hide from it.”

            “Make the truth of his imprisonment known,” said Millicent. “That would happen in any case. But make sure that the people who would be most dismayed on learning of Potter’s imprisonment know who brought the charges and why. The knowledge of the alliance between the Malfoys and Diggory isn’t yet common knowledge. Make it so.”

            Shacklebolt said nothing for long moments. Then he sighed. “I could do this,” he said. “But I’m not entirely convinced it’s the right thing to do.”

            “Neither am I,” said Granger, and set her jaw. Draco knew they had to hurry before Granger convinced herself it really wasn’t right. They couldn’t waste the time fighting her on it would take, and she was more useful as an ally.

            “You were the one who told us this was about more people than Harry,” Draco said. He spoke as gently and persuasively as he could, trying to make it sound as if he really did care about all the faceless idiots Shacklebolt had mentioned. “Using these tactics will help you stay in power and prevent Diggory from getting his hands on the Wizengamot or the Ministry. Isn’t that what you want?”

            Shacklebolt gave him an unexpectedly grim smile. “I’m no stranger to temptation, Mr. Malfoy, and I don’t think—“

            Someone knocked on the door of the Minister’s office so hard that it rattled in its frame. Granger immediately turned to face it, and Draco thought she would blast anyone who came through it with a curse. But instead, she made several sharp passes, and he, Millicent, and Granger herself all vanished under simultaneous Disillusionment Charms.

            As though he had expected this, Shacklebolt called out without any sign of surprise, “Yes, I’m here.”

            One of the Aurors who had come to their flat to collect Harry opened the door and sagged against it. His name was Willowberry, from what Draco remembered. His face was pale, and stained with sweat. But somehow, he managed to speak around the heaving breaths that tore through him instead of gasping and rendering his message incomprehensible. Maybe that was special training all Aurors received.

            “Sir! I went to check one more time on the Potter prisoner and make sure procedures are being followed, and his cell is warded with Dark magic! Two of the Aurors along the way display signs of Memory Charms, and the others are missing!”

            Shacklebolt cursed softly in his throat and began to run with Willowberry at his side. Draco followed, his wand slipping into his hand. He knew what Dark magic meant. He doubted Diggory would use any in the Ministry, this close to the election that he hoped would set him decisively in power.

            But he would have the power to allow someone else to enter—someone who would have no compunctions about using that kind of magic.

*

            More and more of Harry’s defenses cracked and froze and fell away. The deadly cold was all around him, creeping in.

It was worse than possession by Voldemort, because that, at least, he had been able to reject with his entire soul. But he knew that when Narcissa’s spell reached and destroyed his innermost sanctuary, he would be someone else, rewritten like a piece of parchment. There would nothing of him left to reject the new thoughts anymore.

            He might have used his wandless magic against her, he thought, bitter and numb and freezing to death, even if it wasn’t as obedient as before thanks to his dropping of his potion. But she was still Draco’s mother. No matter what Draco believed, no matter that Harry knew the relations between Draco and his parents were not the best, he hesitated to damage someone who had once been so important to the man he loved. And if he had killed or deeply wounded Narcissa, he didn’t think Draco would be able to forgive him.

            So, instead, I’ll die.

            Harry snarled and shattered the thought, but it didn’t go far. Already he could hear the new voice that would become his and speak through his lips whispering different truths. I’ll live, and send Draco far away from me. It’s what he deserves. I won’t fit into his life, and he won’t fit into mine. He’ll always have people to support and shelter him, and that’s the important thing. He’ll retain his magic, and that’s important, too.

            The pressure crept inwards, buckling the last defenses of his mind, forcing them open, forcing him to acknowledge that his presence in Draco’s life was disruptive and it would be for the best if he left. Harry had one moment when he truly believed that, and he couldn’t throw the belief away as he could have if someone was trying to force Imperius on him.

            And then he thought of the way Draco had struggled to build an independent life for himself, and his devastation when his shop collapsed, and that he wouldn’t be able to build his fortune again with Desire, which he couldn’t brew without Harry—

            And he had a weapon after all, the one thing Narcissa’s commanding will could not take from him, because it was violent and wild and hot, and she didn’t understand it any more than Voldemort had.

            His love for Draco burst through him, seared the last parts of his mind that he could call his own, and then attacked the spell.

*

            They reached the holding cells, and then Shacklebolt and Willowberry both came to a stop, swaying on their heels. Their faces were faintly sick for a few moments. Draco knew the disgust would quickly build to nausea. Granger was already coughing, her hand across her mouth as if she thought that could diminish the impact of the spell. The Disillusionment Charms faded as her concentration faltered, but Willowberry, aside from giving them a single startled glance, didn’t react.

            Draco forced his way past them and forwards. Millicent was beside him immediately, her lip curled but her face no more than normally green.

            They had been in the Slytherin common room together, and they were the children of pure-blood political parents. They’d had the chance to grow accustomed to this kind of Dark magic, which functioned in part by literally repulsing those who tried to get close to it.

            Being able to get close to the door did not mean being able to break the ward. Draco drew out his wand and murmured a Revealing Charm. The air flashed once and revealed a dense net of deep purple strands knotted together above the door’s surface. Draco snarled under his breath. He didn’t know of any single spell that could break this one from the outside, but the person who had cast it could dissipate it and get out at once.

            “Let me.”

            Millicent strode up to stand at his shoulder. Draco let her go by doubtfully; he didn’t think her father could have taught her magic that his parents didn’t know.

            On the other hand, he thought, his fingers digging into the skin of his wand arm as he watched Millicent examine the door in a leisurely fashion, maybe my parents didn’t teach me to break this ward precisely because they knew they might have to use it against me someday. It was paranoid thinking, but paranoid thinking was useful around Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.

            Millicent nodded and then stepped back. Draco waited for her to say that she had no idea how to break the spell. She would wear that same calm expression whether she had succeeded or failed, after all. She had done that during the days when she failed exams in Slytherin House.

            But Millicent pointed her wand at the ward and said an incantation that resembled, “Accido ceram!”

            An extremely bad smell, like burning metal, rose up from the ward. Draco took a step back, holding his hand over his nose, and thought briefly that he was imitating Granger. But there were tiny flashes and flares of light darting over the indigo knots of the ward, and though they were coiling tighter, as they had done whenever Draco attempted to break this spell in the past, they were also burning through. In moments, the ward fell apart into a shower of particles like pepper and vanished, leaving the surface of the door scorched but still usable.

            Behind him, he could hear Granger asking Millicent how she did that, and Millicent saying something about Muggle computers, but he didn’t care. He used a quick spell that would reneder his hand cooler than normal, just in case the knob was hot from the remnants of the Dark magic, and then threw the door open.

*

            The spell retreated only a short distance before the onslaught of love Harry threw at it. Then it started coming back, more slowly but still with a dull determination that nearly made Harry despair.

            He decided that love’s wild, uncontrollable nature was his best defense, though, and summoned more and more of it. Narcissa’s spell was designed to instill him with the same relentless logic that guided her in dealing with Draco. And that was the reason she kept letting her son slip through her fingers, too. She didn’t understand his passion. Harry highly doubted that she would understand his, but if he focused on the same memories all the time, her magic might be able to get used to and overcome them.

            So, instead, he conjured memory after memory: the way Draco had looked when Harry pulled him from his shop; his sated and overjoyed expression after Harry had sucked him off; the passionate way he approached the brewing the first time they managed a successful cauldron of Desire; his strong, tender hold when Harry had used the wandless magic at the Malfoys’ party and had needed someone to support him; the murderous look on his face if he ever heard of what his mother had done.

            Harry felt another upsurge of concern and worry and affection as he thought of that last possibility. He didn’t want to damage Draco’s relationship with his parents anymore than he already had. Draco must not know, if Harry could avoid it.

            He opened his eyes when he could, when the last shards of Narcissa’s spell were melting like icebergs set floating on a lava flow, and realized almost at once that he probably wouldn’t have managed to win if Narcissa hadn’t been distracted by something else. She was facing the door of the holding cell, her wand moving as if she were creating many small, individual wards across its surface.

            Harry clenched his fists together, wondering whether he should pretend to be under her control for a moment longer, so that she wouldn’t try and renew the spell, or distract her so she wouldn’t hurt whoever might be on the other side of the door.

            And then he thought that Draco could be trying to reach him, and that meant the decision was made.

            He cleared his throat.

            Narcissa spun to face him, her lips and her nostrils both shut so tightly Harry was surprised she could still breathe. She lifted a hand as if she would use wandless magic of her own, and then recovered and aimed her wand.

            “Whatever that spell was,” Harry pointed out helpfully, “it didn’t work.” He saw the door shudder twice, as if with hard impacts, and then someone seized the knob. He brought his eyes back to Narcissa’s face at once when it started to swing inwards, and lifted his voice. “I wasn’t in any serious danger from it anyway.”

            Draco stood framed in the door at his mother’s back, his wand pointing directly at her. His face wore an expression Harry had never seen on it before, though its closest equivalent came from those terrible moments when he had hesitated on the roof of the Tower and listened to Dumbledore offer him another choice. His eyes met Harry’s, and a flash like a firework went through them.

            “You’ll excuse me if I don’t believe that for a moment,” he said.

            Narcissa sighed and put her wand in her sleeve. She was good, at least, Harry thought, leaning against the wall as dizziness and leftover pain from fighting the spell took him. The moment she realized her plan had faltered, she chose a new one. She faced Draco and shook her head. “He is right, Draco,” she said. “I was trying to threaten him to get him to cooperate, but I would not have hurt him. I know that would alienate you from us forever.”

            Harry held his breath, hoping the deception would work. He had survived Narcissa’s attempt to control him, and he doubted the spell—which he thought translated to something like I control eternally—had done him any lasting harm. Surely it was better for Draco to believe that his mother wouldn’t stoop that low. Harry wanted to be with Draco, but he wanted Draco to have his family, too.

            “You’re a liar,” Draco said, not a muscle of his face shifting other than those he needed to talk. He lifted his gaze to Harry, and his eyes were brilliant again, but this time with fury. “And I know she tried to wound you. Don’t you dare try to spare her, Harry. The mandate of hero doesn’t cover people like her.”

            Harry flinched from the contempt in his voice. But he lowered his eyes to the floor and nodded. The motion started to tip him forwards, but he caught himself with an elbow on the wall in time. There was really no reason for the speed with which Draco leaped across the floor between them and seized Harry in his arms.

            Draco hissed a spell under his breath, and Harry blinked, nearly blinded by the indigo glow that issued from his head. Draco cradled him closer and stroked his brow, tracing his scar. “She used Dark magic on you,” he whispered. “You won’t spare her. You won’t lie for her. You need a Healer to look at you, Harry.”

            “Mrs. Malfoy,” Kingsley’s voice said from the corridor, “we have a few questions to ask you.”

            Harry sighed and leaned his head on Draco’s shoulder. “I just wanted you to have a chance of liking your parents, still,” he said.

            Draco clenched his fingers down on Harry’s chin, but didn’t turn Harry to face him. “Liking them is of much less importance to me at the moment than loving you,” he said, and his voice shook a little.

            Harry looked up slowly, straining to catch Draco’s eyes again. If those last words had meant what he thought they meant—

            And that was when he fell unconscious.

*

            Lilith: At this point, redemption for the Malfoys does look pretty unlikely, but Harry will try.

            Mangacat: Thank you! Narcissa would have been content to get Harry away from Draco; she thinks she can deal with Draco if he doesn’t have Harry to support him.

            nomdeplume: Afraid it only gets more suspenseful from here.

            avihenda: Thanks for reviewing!

SP777: Thank you! And yes, the meaning is in this chapter.

            Yume111: Littlesmith has sunk from his heights, but he was ambitious once, and clever, and that was enough to attract Daphne.

            Draco would probably work to make sure no one found out about his jealousy, but more so that political enemies can’t use it against them than anything else.

            Narcissa really does think that ensuring Draco’s magic will ensure Draco’s survival. And she thinks Harry’s hesitation to hurt her means he agrees.

            Narcissa would indeed see Harry as less of a threat if he couldn’t devour magic.

            Harry would give up Draco only if he was really convinced doing so would make Draco happier. But that’s one reason why Narcissa’s spell in this chapter so nearly worked.
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A More Worldly Man