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The Rising of the Stones	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 13237 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 11
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Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Twelve—Meeting at the Hog’s Head

            “Thank you for coming.”

            Potter was the one who spoke, his voice hushed and warm. Draco let him. He didn’t have enough personal liking for Doge to sound sincere.

            “You’re welcome.” Doge looked back and forth between the two of them, his beard bristling out like the edge of a sword. Draco restrained his disgust, as usual, at the matted state of Doge’s moustache. You should tend all the hair you grew on your face, not just some of it, he thought. “I heard that you’d vanished, Mr. Potter.”

            Potter inclined his head. He had a smile as dry as his laughter could sometimes be, Draco thought, and wondered how he hadn’t known about that before. “Well, I can come back for a good cause. And this is one.”

            “Mind telling me why?” Doge’s hands were moving as he spoke, drawing out parchment and ink with subtle movements that reminded Draco strongly of Rita Skeeter.

            “Yes.” Potter hesitated for a moment, then sat back with what was almost a toss of his shoulders, his mouth hardening. Draco stared at him. He had transformed his whole affect at once, and it was a war-leader that sat there, or someone who could be one.

            Of course, after a moment Draco’s wonder curdled in his stomach. Then he could have done this at any time. And he only didn’t do it because of his bloody modesty or whatever name he would give his pride.

            Draco sat back with cool eyes and waited for Potter to finish setting up the charms that would guarantee them privacy. He didn’t intend to look away from Potter. Doge wouldn’t make any interesting moves as long as he was just scribbling, anyway.

            Potter leaned forwards and lifted his fringe away from the remains of the lightning bolt scar. “You know the rumors that my soul-mark was this scar, or hidden underneath it.”

            Doge eyed the scar for a minute. “Yes. I never did hear if it changed enough for you to find out what your mark was.”

            Potter shook his head and let the fringe fall back. “It never changed because I have no soul-mark.”

            Doge started, so that his readied quill scratched a long, useless line across the paper in front of him. “What?” he breathed.

            Potter waited, with an exquisite sense of timing, for the old man to get his breath back. Then he nodded. Draco felt a prickle of intrigue himself, watching Potter get ready to tell his story, and he knew all of it already.

            Why did I have to push him to take charge of telling his story? He could have done this. He might not have thought of Doge, he might have gone to Lovegood instead, but he could have done it. Why didn’t he stand and fight?

            It was a question Draco would insist on having answered when they were out of here, but in the meantime, Potter was murmuring, “I was born without one. My birth records confirm it. No soul-mark present. And I’m even luckier than I knew to be sitting here with you today—luckier than Voldemort made me.” He pressed one hand to his heart as if it had jumped the way Draco’s automatically had at the sound of the Dark Lord’s name.

            “How—how are you alive?” Doge whispered.

            Does he know about the Ministry? Draco thought, with one tight glance at him. No, I don’t think so. He probably jumped to the idea of someone without a soul-mark having a soul and wonders how Potter could be walking around breathing the way I did.

            “The Ministry missed me,” said Potter, smiling with a twisted edge to it and fielding Doge’s question, Draco had to admit, in a way that worked really well. “They normally kill markless children. Something about how they’ll become Dark Lords with no other half of their souls to ground them, and supposedly no soul.” He shook his head. “But because of the confusion of the war, they missed me, and then someone would really have noticed if they tried to kill me.”

            “You dare accuse them of this?” Doge asked.

            Potter pulled out the small book he’d shown Draco in answer. Doge only flipped through a few pages, but he grew so pale that Draco had to stifle concern he’d have a heart attack in the next little while.

            “You see,” Potter said, leaning back, a little pale himself. It was costing him something to talk openly like this, Draco thought. He had sweat on his forehead that Doge might not notice but Draco did. “They would have killed me if I’d been born and the birth registered normally.” He paused. “Or do you think it’s normal for a dozen children a year under twelve months old to die of heart attacks?”

            “I had no idea…” Doge’s hand shook as he laid the book down. “Of course, I do remember hearing that Grindelwald was found to have no soul-mark after he was arrested, but…”

            Potter’s mouth crooked sideways with pity. Draco knew exactly what he was going to say. Doge had been Dumbledore’s friend, and Potter would probably conceal what Dumbledore had done because of that.

            “That was the result of a cover-up,” Draco said. Potter shot him an intense glance, but Draco only had eyes for Doge at the moment, apparently. “By the arresting officials. They thought it would be better if no one ever realized the Dark Lord they’d captured had a soul-mark, in case it shook up confidence.” He nodded to the book. “You see that Minister Bagnold had to be convinced to allow the slaughter of the markless children. They didn’t want to increase doubt.”

            Potter stared at him. Draco raised his eyebrows back. What? It’s a perfectly believable compromise, the truth while not blaming their precious Dumbledore. Potter can’t be that politically savvy if he doesn’t think to do that.

            “So they cast a spell to hide his mark?” breathed Doge. “Bastards!”

            “They did,” said Draco, and smiled a little when he noticed Doge wasn’t questioning too closely who “they” were. “The Ministry feared that the notion of children without soul-marks would panic the masses. And they may not have known how to control people who didn’t have those marks and the guarantee of at least one other person they would sacrifice everything for.”

            Potter glanced sharply at him. Draco serenely ignored him. Yes, he knew that he was adding something on that Potter had never told him, but it was as good a guess at the Ministry’s motives as any. Draco thought that not everyone could have believed the markless children would grow up to be Dark Lords, and this would provide some fuel on the fire of outrage.

            “This is good, this is good,” Doge muttered, scribbling. Then he paused and jerked his eyes up until he was looking at Potter’s face. “I mean—it’s bad, I hope you don’t think I’m rejoicing in your misfortune—”

            “Not exactly that,” Potter said, and even though he should have been as annoyed at Doge as he was at Draco, there was only amusement in his eyes now as he propped his chin on his hand and looked across the table at Doge. Draco tried to damp his own resentment by picking up his tankard and taking a large swallow of butterbeer.

            “I fled from the wizarding world because I couldn’t think of what to do,” Potter continued. “And because I thought no matter what happened, it would harm my friends. The Minister didn’t want to hunt me down, because I was famous. He didn’t want the truth to come out, because I’m one of the few people who might manage to make people feel sympathy for the markless.”

            And you wouldn’t ever have figured that out if not for me, Draco thought in irritation, trying not to pluck at his lips with his fingers.

            Potter gave him a single look from the corner of his eye and went back to smiling at Doge. “The Minister wanted it all to go away. So did I. I thought, if I was in hiding, then it would.”

            “People would always have looked for you,” said Doge, and his eyes shone. “I would have, if only to make a story out of it, once I figured out that you weren’t coming back and you left of your own free will.”

            “But not if I was kidnapped?” Potter muttered under his breath. Doge didn’t react, which probably meant Potter hadn’t wanted him to hear, and he hadn’t. Draco bit his lip in amusement and started to speak himself, but Potter interrupted.

            “Auror Malfoy, in fact, convinced me it would be better for everyone if I returned. For me and the other markless people I could help in the future and the Ministry’s innocent victims that are already dead.”

            Draco started. He was used to recasting his own motives in more altruistic ways, but not to having someone else do it for him.

            Potter turned his head, and Draco saw the ruthless little smile on his lips. This was payback for the way he had forced Potter into open battle, probably. Draco looked back and only raised his eyebrows slowly.

            That didn’t irritate Potter as much as he had hoped it would. In fact, Potter only faced Doge again and said, “I know Auror Malfoy’s reputation precedes him, but you have to look past that. You have to look at the real reasons he became an Auror as good as he is.”

            Doge leaned forwards, expression like a bird hypnotized by a snake. “What are those reasons, Mr. Potter?”

            “Compassion,” Potter whispered.

            Draco stared at the ceiling. It was the only way to keep from shouting.

            “Compassion?” Doge at least showed some of those instincts that were the reason Draco had chosen him to hear the news first, leaning back and studying Draco with a skeptical eye.

            “Yes,” said Potter, and assumed a pious expression that most people would see through in a minute. Then again, Draco hadn’t chosen Doge to spread their news because he was good at seeing through shit like that. “You don’t know it, but Auror Malfoy works behind the scenes to take cases that he can handle quickly and efficiently. There are some Aurors…not a lot, but some…who would let the criminals they chase down suffer. Or other people suffer. Because the longer they put off capturing someone, the bigger the sensation they make when they do capture them, see.”

            Doge was nodding with wide, wise, fascinated eyes, which meant Draco was free to glare at Potter. Potter maintained an innocent expression, oblivious of his glare. He was going on to explain to Doge this entirely fictitious story about how Draco had known something was wrong with Potter’s case the minute he was assigned to it and went digging to uncover the unhappy truth.

            And the thing was, it could be made true with such a little twist of reality. Draco had thought something was wrong and dug into Potter’s case with unusual tenacity. That it was because he wanted to know what was going on—

            Well, even the imaginary Draco in Potter’s story wanted to know what was going on. The deeper motives were different, but the surface ones were the same. And Draco had had long practice in pretending to the public and even fellow Ministry workers that he was concerned about injustice. You had to mouth the words if you wanted to get ahead in the Ministry.

            Hell, de Berenzan mouthed them.

            “And so you see, he convinced me that I had to come forth and speak up for others,” said Potter, and let his head droop a little as he sighed. “I have a bad habit of assuming that something only applies to me and working behind the scenes to just mitigate that, you know? But Auror Malfoy reminded me of my wider social responsibility.”

            Butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, Draco thought, as he watched Potter’s eyes cut towards him and linger there, wide and sparkling. And the Minister was right to be afraid of you. You could do a lot, if you wanted. Take his position. Send him to Azkaban. Even if you didn’t reveal the whole truth about what happened, you could probably do that.

            “What made you decide this was a cause you wanted to throw your weight behind, Auror Malfoy?”

            Draco had to take up a serious, thoughtful expression and lean forwards to answer Doge’s question. The whole time, he could feel Potter watching him smugly—with at least as much smugness as Draco had felt when he’d managed to wrangle Potter into acting publicly—and his neck prickled with it.

            We’re going to finish the interview and convince Doge that we’re the best of allies, oh, yes. And then, Potter, you’re going to tell me why you never acted with the strength de Berenzan fears. It’s not lack of intelligence, the way I thought. It’s not even lack of caring about other people the way you’re trying to portray it as.

            And I never thought you were a coward.

*

            “So tell me why.”

            Potter didn’t pretend to misunderstand him. They were back in Draco’s home, and after a few minutes of Potter pacing restlessly around the drawing room, Draco had shoved Potter at a nearby chair and sat down to stare threateningly at him. Maybe Potter was tired of putting off confrontations himself, because he sat.

            “It was because I’ve found so few causes that I could serve,” Potter said. He slid his fingers over his jaw as if he was tracking the progress of the stubble there. “I couldn’t believe in a lot of them, like the people who wanted me to campaign against Muggles. And some people only wanted me there to lend credibility to something that was a trick or a scam.”

            “But you would have found causes if you had only looked to your friends,” Draco said. He could feel a freezing sheen creep across his bones, and tried to keep his face as calm and composed as he could. He wouldn’t accomplish anything if he drove Potter off now. More to the point, he wouldn’t get the answers he wanted. “I’m sure Granger could have found you something working for magical creatures where even you couldn’t have objected.”

            “Yes,” said Potter, tilting his head back so that he was mostly looking at the ceiling instead of Draco. “And what would have happened once they got used to me as a spokesman?”

            “You’d help Granger with her crusade?” Draco could feel a soft itching begin on the back of his hands, the way it always did when he was irritated.

            “They would have decided I could help them with everything,” Potter said, and eyed Draco. “Oh, not Ron and Hermione,” he added, maybe misunderstanding the look on Draco’s face. “But lots of other people. I could put them off as long as I made it clear I didn’t want to speak up for anybody. But if I was going to take a part in public politics, then they’d start bothering me about working for them soon.”

            “It’s not as though anyone was asking you to run for the Wizengamot or become Minister, Potter.”

            “Shows how much you know,” Potter muttered, and tilted his head the other way again, nestling it against the back of the chair. I don’t suppose there’s many soft seats in the caves he’s been living in, Draco thought snidely. “I have a collection of letters at home all begging me to stand to the Wizengamot. I started keeping them because Hermione didn’t believe I was getting them, either. There were ninety at last count.”

            “But—you’re too young.” Draco said the only thing he could think of.

            Potter opened one eye. “And there are exceptions and loopholes in the law. Or don’t you think the Wizengamot would use them if it meant they could be sure I was safely under control?”

            “Under control? When you would have one of the most powerful positions in the wizarding world?”

“What do you think would happen to someone who’s a member of the Wizengamot really young, and more because of prestige than anything he did on his own?”

Draco narrowed his eyes. The immediate response to that, the usual one, would be that Potter had defeated the Dark Lord, and that was worthy of being honored with a promotion to the Wizengamot if anything was. But then he thought through the politics, and the way that Potter sat with patient eyes fixed on him.

“You would be constrained,” he said slowly. “You would have to spend a lot of time reporting to meetings and trials and committees and the like.”

            Potter nodded. “And people wouldn’t write to me as often. Or, rather, different people would. I wouldn’t hear as much gossip. I wouldn’t have as much chance of hearing things outside of Ministry channels. Hell, they might even have tried to detach me from my friends.” He shook his head. “No, Malfoy, I didn’t want that. And while I don’t think they could actually force me into it, people would have clamored for it, and not understood when I didn’t take the position. I didn’t want the public to turn bitter on me, either. It was bad enough when it was the population of Hogwarts.”

            Draco stared at him. Potter might be more ambitious, he might be more intelligent, than Draco had assumed. He had simply hidden it. A tactic Draco would never have expected from the kind of person he’d thought Potter was.

            He turned his gaze away, frowning a little, and said as casually as he could, “What convinced you to stand up now?”

            “You did.”

            Draco snapped his gaze back. There was something strange and soft in Potter’s voice, like clouds.

            Potter stood up and sauntered forwards. He stopped a step away from Draco and examined him from head to toes.

            Draco should have been upset about such a leisurely examination that implied he existed for Potter’s pleasure. He knew it. But instead, he only sat there with his mouth a little dry and his heart leaping.

            “I would have given up if not for you,” Potter said, and tipped his head calmly forwards, until the angle of his face hid his eyes again. “Thanks, Malfoy. I owe you.”

            And he was gone into the darkness at the back of the flat before Draco could say anything. Draco sank slowly back, baffled, and shook his head a little.

            So that was Potter’s gratitude.

            He thought he could get used to it.

            Yet, at the same time, there was another prickling itch gnawing him beneath the breastbone, urging him to continue speaking, to go find Potter and ask him the answers to some more questions.

            It was a pity Draco didn’t know what they were.

*

            SP777: I think Draco wanted Harry’s attention in the books, yes. But I don’t think he was brainwashed, unless any parent raising children to believe certain things can be said to be brainwashing them. I thought Draco was probably eager to believe an ideology that made him one of the special, chosen, favored few. I’ve seen it a lot with people in various belief systems and religions, and had to beware of it in my own beliefs.
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The Rising of the Stones