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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 Fifteen—Enemies and Friends Close In

            “Madam,” said Willowberry, his hands tightening on Harry’s arms. He was trying and failing to sound impressive. Harry was glad that he faced Skeeter, so he couldn’t see Willowberry’s face, or he probably would have burst out laughing. “You are interfering with a planned Ministry interrogation—“

            “Interrogation?” Skeeter pressed further into the room, her eyes so wide they appeared about to break through the lenses of her glasses. “Surely not, not when Mr. Potter has not done anything wrong? Is it a crime to defend the man he loves, to wield the magic he possesses to stop a wielder of Dark magic? If it was, then surely the Ministry should have arrested him after he killed Voldemort!” Harry blinked, surprised she’d spoken the name. Skeeter abruptly whirled around and thrust her parchment and quill almost beneath Harry’s nose. “And what do you say, Mr. Potter, as the wrongfully accused?” she asked. “Has the Ministry treated you well? Why were you arrested so shamefully? Is it true that you’ve been kept in a cell without food or water until you gave them the answers they wanted, rather than the truth?” She tossed Willowberry a haughty glance, as if she were the champion of truth fighting the champion of lies.

            Again Harry had to swallow his laughter before he could answer. Hermione and Millicent had contacted Skeeter, as Draco had told him they would, and arranged for her to show up at the Ministry in exchange for an exclusive interview Harry would grant her after he was free. Knowing Skeeter, the bargain probably hadn’t been a hardship for her; she enjoyed the opportunity to embarrass people even if they weren’t Harry. But he didn’t want her to go too far and make the Ministry look cruel or incompetent. That would only render Kingsley’s position all the more delicate.

            “The Ministry has treated me well,” he said, and when Skeeter gave him a patiently disbelieving glance, he gestured back at the glass of water on the table. “I did have something to drink whilst I was answering questions, and I received a sip of it whenever I asked.”

            “A sip, you said.” Skeeter jerked her body forwards with a single abrupt motion that made Harry see why her Animagus form was a beetle. “Does that mean you received only as much water as they deemed you should receive, not as much as you wanted?”

            “Madam—“ Willowberry tried to intervene again, but he was no match for Rita Skeeter in full flood. Now she had thrown her hand over her glasses and stretched out her other arm, as if to appeal to an invisible audience.

            “To think I should have lived to see these days,” she whispered, “when the Ministry tortures innocents.”

            “It hasn’t been torture,” Harry said firmly. The Quick-Quotes Quill would probably record that as different words, but at least Willowberry and the other Aurors would know the truth of what he had said, and Willowberry was scrupulously fair enough to report it so to Kingsley. “I do think I was wrongfully accused, yes. To my knowledge, I have no magical creature blood, and the ability that devours magic only manifests at certain times and places.”

            “What are those certain times and places, Mr. Potter?” Skeeter dropped her arm from her eyes and was abruptly professional once again. “Should we all beware the house that Daphne Greengrass recently owned, where she took Mr. Malfoy prisoner against his will?”

            Either she’s been doing her own investigating, or Hermione was more open with her information than I thought she would be. For the moment, Harry wasn’t much disposed to worry which it was. He would curb Skeeter’s tendencies later, if he had to, by threatening to withhold the interview. “The times and places have more to do with someone threatening the people I love,” he said. “I was very angry when Ms. Greengrass kidnapped Draco and tortured him.” Part of his and Draco’s discussion yesterday had concerned how much of Draco’s memories they would reveal. Draco had reluctantly granted Harry permission to say he’d been tortured, but told him to leave out the details for now. Harry thought the whole truth would have to come out before the end to defeat the Malfoys’ accusations; still, it was a simple enough requirement to fulfill. “That was the reason I went into her house and ate her magic. She wouldn’t stop hurting Draco, even when I gave her a chance to before I struck. I’m afraid I don’t behave rationally when someone is torturing the people I love.”

            Skeeter had a camera hanging around her neck; with a reporter’s fine instinct, she lifted it and snapped the picture just as Harry smiled. Harry hoped that smile would give Diggory nightmares.

            “Then the entire crime could be read as defense of an innocent human being,” Skeeter noted as she dropped the camera back into place and gestured the parchment and the Quick-Quotes Quill forwards again. “Why would the Ministry arrest you for something that simple and easy to understand?”

            “The Ministry doesn’t understand the circumstances fully as yet,” Harry said. Or pretends not to, he thought, but that wouldn’t win him any credit with Willowberry and his friends. “My hope is that when they do, they will dismiss these charges as the nonsense they are.”

            “If they don’t, then there is something wrong with the process of justice in Britain,” Skeeter said firmly. She paused, then added, as if it had only just occurred to her, “Or perhaps an enemy higher in the Ministry’s hierarchy.” She leaned towards Harry and lowered her voice to a breathless whisper. “What do you think of this theory, Mr. Potter?”

            “I wouldn’t say it was an enemy higher up the Ministry’s hierarchy,” Harry said in a judicious tone, as if he had considered the answer for a long time. “But it could be someone associated with the Ministry. Someone who wants power in it, and doesn’t yet have enough to satisfy him. Someone went to a great deal of trouble to ensure that Mrs. Malfoy could reach and attack me in my holding cell, including getting the Aurors on guard out of the way.”

            “That is quite enough,” said Willowberry. He didn’t seem to have known before what he should do about a conversation that might be damaging to the Ministry but was hardly illegal, but Harry had crossed a barrier by referring to the Ministry directly. He rattled the bonds on Harry’s wrists. “Information about others’ crimes is not his to give out.”

            “Oh, but everyone already knows that Mrs. Malfoy attacked him,” said Skeeter happily. Harry ducked his head to hide another smile. That probably wasn’t true yet, but it would be true by the time the Daily Prophet next went to press. “And why should that arrest and attack be kept secret, when Mr. Potter’s attack on Daphne Greengrass has not been?”

            “Matters of public interest—“ said Willowberry, and then stopped. Harry felt a moment’s pity for the man. Give him a matter of law and rules, and there was probably no one better for running the straight route ahead. Give him a complicated situation like this one, where even he might not approve of the measures that had been taken against Harry and knew that Mrs. Malfoy had been guilty of Dark magic, and he was unsure of his next move.

            “They are all matters of public interest, yes, and I have just as much stake as you do in showing the Ministry in a good light,” Skeeter said soothingly. Harry hid a chuckle. She was good at her job. He wondered if she had got better since he was a student, or if she simply found it easier to hunt down and acquire information in the wider wizarding world, outside the protected atmosphere of Hogwarts. “I know you’re doing your job, Auror Willowberry. I know you’re arresting those you feel deserve it and warning the public about dangerous criminals. But shouldn’t that include all the dangerous criminals, not only the ones who once saved the wizarding world?”

            Willowberry rattled Harry’s bonds again. “When you have someone who devours magic, madam, as opposed to someone who merely uses Dark magic—“

            “In the middle of the Ministry?” Skeeter demanded. “After getting past multiple guards?” She shook her head chidingly at Willowberry, and her quill scribbled furiously. “And I daresay that you haven’t yet found any evidence of magical creature blood in Mr. Potter’s family, which means that he can’t be tried as a magical creature would.”

            “Where are you getting your information?” Willowberry said, sounding now as he had when he questioned Harry.

            “I protect my sources.” Skeeter snapped her chin at him and then looked back at Harry, her eyes so sympathetic Harry might have been fooled if he were foreign to Britain and had never read a word she’d written. “I am sorry for the inconvenience of this interview, Mr. Potter,” she said. “I hope that you will soon convince the Wizengamot they’ve made a mistake in arresting you at all, let alone trying you under this ridiculous law.”

            “My thanks, Madam Skeeter,” Harry said, pompously formal. The Quick-Quotes Quill moved more slowly, and he thought it was probably recording his exact words; Skeeter’s audience would eat something like this up. “But I would not call the charges ridiculous. Obviously, someone takes them very seriously. I would say he’s right to.”

            “Or she,” said Skeeter, her eyes gleaming.

            “Of course, she.” Harry grinned at her. “I would never mean to imply that women are less dangerous.”

            Skeeter nodded and then minced out of the room. Willowberry stood staring after her, until one of the other Aurors coughed. Then he shook Harry’s bonds again, as if that could somehow prevent the interview from ever having taken place.

            “You should be more careful of your tongue, Potter,” he muttered as he led Harry along the corridor back to a holding cell.

            “What?” Harry looked back over his shoulder. “And give less than honest and complete answers?”

            Willowberry’s face folded into a confused scowl again.

*

            Draco had expected this the moment he saw several wizards entering the shop and staring straight at him without buying anything—and without examining the impressive height of the ceiling, either. He hadn’t let it get to him. He’d sold Desire potion to most of his customers and ingredients or completed common potions to the few who wanted something else. He’d made polite chatter with those who demanded to know more about the regulations that the Potions Committee at the Ministry had laid on him. He’d deflected questions about Harry with a smile and riddle-like answers that had puzzled those who expected him to stammer in embarrassment.

            Now evening was coming on, and Draco was preparing to make the journey back from the shop to Harry’s flat, the same way he’d done for the last few days. He was certain the wizards observing him had also observed his routine. They wouldn’t intrude unless it became obvious that he was taking longer than usual. They’d certainly prefer to confront him in the open air than in the middle of such formidable defenses.

            Draco didn’t intend to let the choice of ground matter.

            He pocketed a few vials that would look ordinary to anyone peering in through the windows or using an Eye-Spy Spell. It would take a very good eye indeed to notice that the vials curved slightly, with the shape of bulbs at the bottom, and no one but a professional apothecary would have known what that meant. Draco doubted there was one such among his enemies. Cordelia Nott and Diggory had paid a few of them off, nearer the beginning of the struggle, so they would refuse to carry Desire potion, but the business had not yet advanced to the point where Draco required others to distribute it for him, so those precautions had not troubled him.

            He glanced back once at the stock of Desire potion, safe in a locked cabinet that would open only to the willing touch of his hand, and then at the gleam of the spell Granger had come by yesterday to lay.

            He smiled slightly, and stepped out of the shop, locking the door behind him, which made a complex of wards spring up around the windows. Draco listened intently, and heard the first shuffling footstep. He pretended to be surprised, turning around and blinking at the silent, unfamiliar wizards who had surrounded him.

            “Was there something you wanted?” he asked, and kept his voice exquisitely polite, the way his father had taught him when he faced Muggleborns who insisted on brushing up against him in Diagon Alley. “I’m afraid the shop is closed for today, and orders for Desire potion are cresting fast enough that it will take me a few days to fill them in any case. My time is largely occupied in brewing the Desire potion now, so if you wish for potions other than that one, you would be best served by another apothecary.”

            “I believe that you expected us,” said one of the wizards, and then rose and strode through his companions to stand facing Draco. Draco was genuinely impressed, though he did his best not to show it, as a matter of pride. He hadn’t recognized Charlemagne Diggory when he hunched and put the hood of his cloak over his face.

            “Maybe I did.” Draco leaned back against the door of the shop and smiled at Diggory. “Nonetheless, what I said remains true. It would be best if you went to another apothecary.”

            Diggory smiled back. He had the gift of looking truly amused even when he wasn’t. That would serve him well in politics, if he ever managed to advance further in them. Draco meant to see that he didn’t. “You know what we’ve come for, Draco.”

            “I’d prefer to be called Malfoy.” Draco paused thoughtfully. “No, wait, never mind. That would lead to the chance you’d confuse me with my father, and then you might think your boots want polishing.”

            Diggory took a single step forwards. Maybe he was angry; Draco didn’t think he could tell the difference between a gesture of genuine emotion on Diggory’s part and one that was meant to get him into a better position for attack. “There has been a great deal of hysteria and accusations flying where I never meant there to be anything but clear air,” Diggory said, his voice deep and incantatory. Draco bit back the impulse to tell him he wasn’t addressing a crowd of thousands now. He would not let himself seem unnerved enough to interrupt his enemy. “It’s true that I was rather worried about the Desire potion at first, and it did seem too bad that Harry Potter should oppose my run for Minister. But circumstances have changed. You would be wise to change with them.”

            He’s not using either name this time, Draco thought in some amusement. Probably that was wisdom on Diggory’s part, but it was still funny. “Until I receive more details,” he said, “I can’t decide what I want to do.”

            “I should think that your business partner in a holding cell is enough of a change,” said Diggory, sounding gently dismayed, as if he hadn’t thought even Draco callous enough to ignore something like that.

            “Well, it’s true he’s in a holding cell,” said Draco, “but that’s been true for several days now. Unless something truly extraordinary has happened, that hasn’t lessened his opposition to you. Why would you think it lessens mine?”

            Diggory smiled again. He lowered his head slightly, as though to protect his throat. Draco moved his hands along his side in an absent brushing gesture. The wizards behind Diggory tensed, but then fell still and watchful again when they saw no wand appear in Draco’s fingers.

            Idiot. There are other kinds of weapons. They should have remembered that, given what Draco’s business was. The gesture had brought his hands closer to the robe pockets that held the vials of potion.

            “It might be—a warning of things to come,” said Diggory. “Neither of you is an expert in politics. You had the chance to pursue it, growing up in the family you came from and which you are so anxious I should not confuse you with, and refused it. Potter has always had good luck and a good name, but that is different from having good instincts. You’re out of your depth in this fight, and truly, I have no wish to harm you. The worst things that have happened to you in the last few months were not my doing.”

            Daphne Greengrass. The collapse of your shop. Draco knew that to be true, though Theodore Nott, who had cast the spells that worked together with Daphne’s weakening of his wards to bring down his first shop, had been Cordelia Nott’s brother; he had acted on his own, impulsively.

            He also understood the threat Diggory’s gentle words concealed. I can do worse to you than they managed, and using weapons that neither you nor Potter know how to wield.

            And of course it would be stupid of him and Harry to fight if that were the case, but on the other hand, it was not exactly the case. They didn’t have to fight using the weapons of politics. They could shift the ground. Diggory didn’t seem to have taken account of that, but he wasn’t stupid; he would have had to. He must have decided the chance that they could do such a thing was not big enough to require guarding against it.

            You should have, Draco thought, holding his face calm and peaceful as he stared at Diggory. You should have, you arrogant prick.

            “Laws don’t frighten me,” Draco said. “Since the war, I’ve always labored to stay on the right side of them. I’ve seen what happens to those who don’t.”

            “The law can be a terrible enemy,” said Diggory, and his voice altered, became full of deep and expressive pain. “But I don’t desire to have it be one. Draco, why won’t you work for me? The majority of the Potions advisers in the Ministry are old, and haven’t achieved their positions by competence but by a relationship with one of the pure-blood families. I’d like to replace them. I’ve heard astonishing things about you. No one else could duplicate the Desire potion. What has you set against accepting a position like this? I’m sure you could easily do as much research and brew as interesting a variety of potions on a Ministry salary as you could running your own business.”

            “I don’t want to be yours.”

            Diggory frowned and peered at him as if he had trouble seeing Draco in the late summer twilight descending around them. “I beg your pardon?”

            “If I accepted a position from your hands, I would owe something to you,” said Draco, “the way my parents do. I refused to obey them or become theirs despite the tie of blood. What makes you think I’ll be yours?”

            “You have an archaic notion of debts and ownership.” Diggory raised an eyebrow as if he were trying and failing to comprehend Draco’s argument. “Simply because you agreed to help me in the reformation of the Ministry does not mean you would be my ‘creature,’ as I believe you’d call it.”

            “The point isn’t the reformation of the Ministry.” Draco modulated his voice carefully, so it could carry overtones of scorn without quite breaking into open contempt. This was yet another place where Slytherin discipline was coming in handy. “I don’t think it ever was. I think that right now you’re concerned about neutralizing your enemies, for the sake of protecting an office you don’t have yet and may never have.”

            “The latest articles argue otherwise.”

            “The Daily Prophet lies if it wants to,” said Draco. “It’s certainly lied in the past about Harry.”

            “Nevertheless,” said Diggory, showing a trace of impatience for the first time, “it does reflect what the average wizard thinks. And the average wizard knows and recognizes my name and face. I think it quite likely that I’ll win the election against Minister Shacklebolt. He’s made himself too distant from the people. He won’t remedy that in time.”

            Draco almost smiled. So far Diggory had nearly offered him a bribe, and now uttered words that could be seen as threatening the Minister. That was very good, but Draco still hoped to provoke him to more open action. He might have brought the dark-cloaked wizards around him simply for protection; if not, then Draco wanted them to attack.

            Granger does good work.

            “Maybe you’re right,” Draco said. “But I’d still rather remain my own person, and do my own work, and live under the Ministry we have right now.” He tucked his chin into his shoulder, smiled, and started to walk away from Diggory, towards the Apparition point. The wizards standing in a ring around him tightened that ring before Diggory could wave to them to stand back. Draco paused, his tongue tickling the top of his mouth, delight making his shoulders tense the way they had when Harry had first kissed him.

            “What have they given you that’s so wonderful?” Diggory’s voice was stripped; he spoke openly for perhaps the first time since Draco had met him, and the emotions in his tone were not attractive. Desperation was there, and worse things, pounded flat and dark. Draco thought he was now talking to the man who had managed to escape being fascinated by Cordelia Nott, and then had enlisted her as an ally.

            “It’s more a matter of what they haven’t given me.” Draco tipped his shoulder slightly, his chin still on it, so he could look back at Diggory with a minimum of effort.

            “I told you, a Ministry position—“

            “Cause to hate them,” Draco said. “You tried to hurt Harry.” For just a moment, he dropped the guard over his eyes and let Diggory see the same passionate hatred that Narcissa had had to confront. He had pushed it cold for her; for Diggory it could burn. “I won’t forgive you for that. Never.” He hissed the last word, and made the smallest step back towards Diggory.

            And that pushed Diggory into his first open mistake.

            He made a wide, sweeping gesture with one hand, and the wizards in the ring aimed their wands at Draco and chanted a curse in perfect unison. They must have trained together, and if Draco had been someone ordinary—almost any of the people who might think they had a chance at taking Diggory’s life—they could have killed him.

            Draco wasn’t someone ordinary.

            He crushed the vials in his robe pockets, the ones with the curved bottoms. They were made of more fragile glass and broke more easily than the ordinary ones. They were designed to; apothecaries who needed protection but couldn’t know they would have time to drink potions had first dreamed up these vials, to shatter at a moment’s notice.

            The potions in them dripped out, splotches of white and russet liquid clinging to Draco’s robes. Draco closed his eyes and forced himself to stand still as the rays of the curse came at him. The potions’ defense wouldn’t have a chance to work if he moved immediately.

            A slick, glimmering white skin grew up around him, covering him impossibly fast from waist to feet. The second, russet skin sprang up and encased him from waist to head. There were small holes in the shield to admit air, but spells would have a hard time finding them.

            The magic the wizards were casting bounced from the shields, and they had to scramble out of the way as it came back at them. Draco stared calmly at Diggory, and then said, “And now you’ve tried to hurt me.”

            Diggory turned and walked away without hurrying. He knew he couldn’t Apparate this close to the shop, so he wouldn’t try. His wizards managed to pick themselves up and scramble after him; more than one cast a hateful glance back at Draco as he went. Draco smiled at them, protected in an invulnerable skin that needed a few more minutes to harden. Then he could wear it home if he so desired.

            He cast one more fond look back at the shop. If Granger had been there, he would have smiled at her the same way.

            Her long period of study in Daphne’s house had not gone unrewarded. She had managed to duplicate the spell that would record certain specific incidents like a Pensieve and then send the images to someone else. The signal for this particular spell’s activation was Draco’s closing of the shop door.

            At the moment, the recording of the entire fight, and the conversation before it, would be sitting neatly in a Pensieve on the desk in Granger’s own flat.

*

            Mangacat: Lots of plans are moving forwards very quickly in this chapter. You’ll see more of them in the future.

            Lilith: In this case, Skeeter’s presence is actually a good thing for Harry.

            Christabell: Well, be fair, this revelation has been coming for a while, since Harry offered her an interview several chapters ago.
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A More Worldly Man