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A More Worldly Man	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 10961 -:- 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 Sixteen—Slippery Slope

            “What shall we do?” The way that Millicent gazed at the Pensieve holding the recorded memories of his confrontation with Diggory made Draco shudder and glance away. He was more than happy to think about Millicent as a business partner, an ally, and even a friend. Thinking about her with lust in his eyes was more than he was prepared to deal with.

            “Send the memories directly to the Minister, of course,” said Draco. He’d been sprawled on the couch in Granger’s flat, daydreaming about the point at which they would have collected enough evidence to demand a reevaluation of Harry’s case, but he sat up now. “What else would we do with them?”

            Granger and Millicent exchanged glances. Draco narrowed his eyes. He was beginning to think it wasn’t a good idea to have left them alone so much of the time, even if he did have to work whilst they planned revenge on Lucius.

            “Well—“ said Granger.

            “There are advantages to having someone politically powerful under your sway,” Millicent said, and her eyes had softened. Her voice dripped down like honey. Draco shuddered and wrapped his arms around his chest in unconscious protection.

            “That’s true,” he said, “but remember that Harry is still under arrest, and we’ve only won as many concessions as we have through unremitting honesty. If I had tried to hold back information about my mother’s activities so that I might blackmail her, it would have turned out badly. I think it’s advisable to send the memories to Shacklebolt now.”

            “Do we know he would do anything, even then?” Granger rose moodily to her feet and paced back and forth, though that brought her into contact with the walls almost immediately. They were in the middle of the main room of her flat, and with the desk, the couch, and three chairs in the way, there wasn’t much floor space left. She whirled around at the far wall and stared at Draco. “He seems rather intent on maintaining his political dominance at the cost of everything else. Do we know he would use the memories to help Harry instead of trying to blackmail Diggory himself?”

            Draco spent a brief moment staring at the wall, unable to comprehend how he had come to be arguing the Gryffindor side of fair play and honesty against Granger, who was advocating deliberately Slytherin tactics. It was undoubtedly Millicent’s bad influence, he reflected. After today he would endeavor to see that she didn’t have as much time alone with Granger.

            “He doesn’t have these memories yet,” Draco reminded her. “And he’s caught up in making sure he doesn’t look weak in rather stupid ways, yes. There are wizarding voters who attach more value to pragmatism and anticipation of attack than the stoicism Shacklebolt thinks will win them over, and it would be nice if it didn’t appear that he was ignoring the threat. But the memories could change that.”

            “Do we know they will?” Millicent asked, leaning forwards on her chair as if she were joining a debate in the Slytherin common room.

            “Do we know the sun will rise tomorrow?” Draco rolled his eyes. “The best course is to turn over the memories to the Minister, and now. If we keep and use them ourselves, we’ll seem to be engaging in the same games that Diggory and Shacklebolt are playing. The last thing we need is Shacklebolt coming to see us as rivals.”

            Millicent cast the Pensieve a reluctant glance and heaved a tiny sigh. Draco suspected her resistance would have been much stronger if the memories had contained any direct proof that Diggory was working with his father. “And especially when we don’t have a political candidate of our own to back, only one to destroy,” she murmured. “Yes, I agree. Turning them over is best.”

            Granger made a strangled sound in the back of her throat. Millicent glanced at her and shook her head. Granger opened her mouth; Millicent raised an eyebrow. Granger’s shoulders slumped, and she covered her face with her hands before giving a sigh identical to Millicent’s.

            Draco shivered in distaste. He didn’t like the feeling that there was a whole silent conversation he’d missed.

            “Then let’s do it before someone else can intrude,” Granger muttered, and stepped forwards to seize the Pensieve.

            Draco turned as a shadow swept across his shoulder; his wand was already drawn. He relaxed only slightly as he saw an owl hovering outside the window of Granger’s flat. An unknown owl could still be trouble until scanning revealed where the letter had come from.

            Granger was the one to let the bird in, but it ignored her and soared across the room to land on Draco’s shoulder. Draco removed the letter without haste. He had recognized the writing on the outside of the envelope, though it spelled only a single word, his own name. He had once seen it every day.

            The letter was unsigned. Of course he would count on Draco recognizing his hand, and he would want to make sure no truly incriminating evidence existed in the event that someone else intercepted the owl.

            Certain threats have been issued. Here is another. Unless you contact me at once and make efforts to free a certain prisoner, that person whom you love most will learn he is as mortal as anyone else.

            Draco felt his face freezing as he read. He looked up when Granger shook him by the shoulder, only mildly surprised that she should have dared to interrupt his contemplation. He supposed he had looked bad enough to deserve it.

            “Who is it from?” she asked.

            “My father,” Draco said softly. “He wants me to work to free my mother, or he’ll hurt Harry.” He turned the letter over in his hand, idly, and almost smiled when he saw the watermark on the lower right-hand corner in the back. Lucius had always favored the same sort of parchment.

            “What are you going to do?” Millicent asked, her voice like the sound of a wolf quarreling over a winter kill.

            “Do?” Draco raised his eyebrow at her. “You and Granger will handle him.” He started to drop the letter to the floor, then changed his mind and tucked it into a pocket. “I am more interested in Harry’s case and finding out how my mother communicates with him.” He nodded to the Pensieve. “And now, I think, we have a gift for the Minister.”

*

            “Potter. Wake up. I want to talk to you.”

            Harry made a great show of coming slowly awake, yawning and rubbing at his eyes; they had left his hands unbound when they deposited him back in the holding cell. Harry was now glad for another reason that he hadn’t used his wandless magic to attack Narcissa. Frequent visitors like Kingsley and Willowberry seemed to consider him less dangerous because of that, or at least better able to control his power than they had reckoned.

            Of course, there was inevitably a disadvantage to that, as Draco would say, and the present one was Willowberry deciding to visit him in what Harry thought must be the middle of the night—though since the light in the holding cell never varied, he couldn’t say for certain. He sat up on the bed and put on his best expression of polite interest. Willowberry had taken the seat across from him and held up his wand, lit as though they were underground and he expected to have to guide Harry out through a maze of twisting tunnels. His face was locked in a frown Harry hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t the confused one, or the one that said he was certain someone was breaking the rules; he looked as though he knew there was a wrongdoer under his nose but he hadn’t caught him yet.

            Harry waited, and waited, and still the Auror said nothing. Harry refrained from snorting with a massive effort of self-control. Did Willowberry really intend the silence to make him nervous? Well, Harry didn’t intend that. He leaned back against the wall and let his eyes fall shut again.

            “Potter,” said Willowberry insistently, and a flash traveled over Harry’s shut eyelids that must be him waving his wand. “I want to talk to you, I said.”

            “You haven’t done much talking so far,” said Harry mildly, and opened his eyes. “I thought you might prefer to stare instead.” He turned his head helpfully to the side so Willowberry would have a better view of his profile.

            The Auror hummed under his breath and then spent a few moments huffing to himself. Harry watched in amusement, certain that it was meant to be a calming or meditation pattern, and also that Willowberry wasn’t performing it particularly well. Poor Willowberry; it probably didn’t have enough rules for him.



            “I want you to look me in the eye,” said Willowberry at last, staring at him again, “and tell me that you don’t have magical creature blood in your mother’s side of the family.”

            Harry laughed. Willowberry’s brow furrowed and he sat up, as though he suspected Harry was about to admit he had lied all along.

            “I’ve already spent most of the day answering questions about this,” Harry said. “You made every inquiry you could think of, rephrased them, and tried to trip me up without my noticing when you repeated something I had already said back in a doubting tone. Either you believe what I said, which makes this interrogation unnecessary, or you don’t believe anything, which makes a solemn vow to tell the truth now useless.”

            “Look me in the eye,” said Willowberry, his voice rising and turning triumphant. “If you can’t do it, then I shall have to think you lied to me indeed.”

            “First tell me whether or not you believed me.”

            “Swear!”

            “Such a child,” Harry said in gentle contempt. “I’m sure Skeeter would be quite interested to note that unjustifiably accused prisoners are woken in the middle of the night and told their word is doubted. Muggles used such techniques as a method of torture, did you know?” he added, remembering something Hermione had read to him.

            “This isn’t torture,” said Willowberry, sitting up as straight as though someone had rammed a poker up his arse.

            “Then stop making me think it is.” Harry lay back on his bed again. “Yes, I’m telling the truth about magical creature blood in my mother’s family. I don’t know much about the history of any great-grandparents and so on, but everyone I knew from that family during my lifetime was completely Muggle. As I said, if you can prove something else, then find the evidence.” His eyes sagged shut almost involuntarily. He was tired, and his head hurt. He wasn’t sure if that was some consequence of the potions he’d taken or of Narcissa’s spell.

            “But you must have magical creature blood to do what you did,” Willowberry persisted. “No ordinary wizard can simply make someone else into a Squib by willing it.”

            Harry opened one eye. “Can an ordinary wizard defeat a Dark Lord?”

            Willowberry scowled at him. “That’s different.”

            “And you’re an expert on defeating Dark Lords as well as making people into Squibs?” Harry let the other eye open. “What an interesting life you must have led. I could have used your help when I was fighting Voldemort.”

            Willowberry stood up, and his frown had transformed back into a scowl that said someone was breaking rules and he knew exactly who. “You’re mocking a very serious investigation, Potter,” he said. “People have gone to Azkaban for lesser crimes than stealing someone’s magic.”

            Harry sighed and put an arm over his face. “You would have arrested Daphne Greengrass for unauthorized use of Legilimency and torturing another wizard if I hadn’t intervened,” he said. “Or maybe you wouldn’t have. Does the Ministry not care about crimes unless they take place in a Pensieve?”

            “You couldn’t look me in the eye and tell me that you were telling the truth,” Willowberry whispered. “That will count heavily against you.”

            Harry refused to lift his head when he heard Willowberry walk out of the cell. He did listen to make sure he heard the slight click of the door ward engaging. After the fiasco with Narcissa gaining entrance to his cell, he didn’t want anyone else walking in as easily.

            The pillow was hardly comfortable. Harry punched it and lay down, trying to recapture the dream of Draco he’d been in the middle of when Willowberry woke him. It was a good thing the Auror didn’t appear to be inclined to glance down.

*

            “I can hardly believe that Diggory would be so stupid.”

            Draco tried not to sneer at Shacklebolt, but it was hard. The Minister had just been confronted with recorded proof that his rival was a potential murderer. If the memories of Harry taking Daphne’s magic had been admissible as evidence to arrest him, then this should guarantee a questioning of Diggory at the very least. And yet Shacklebolt watched the Pensieve with a pale face, as if it contained evidence of his own crimes instead.

            “He was desperate, I believe,” Draco said simply. He reminded himself that his father had taught him to handle harder situations than this, even more exasperating ones. That he was using Lucius’s lessons as they had never been meant to be used only made him wish he someday had the chance to tell his father about it. “Harry’s arrest hadn’t stopped me, or even distracted me from the business of selling Desire. Nor was I intimidated when he showed up with his—call them an honor guard. He offered me what he assumed was the dearest desire of my heart and was confounded. He suddenly had to confront the possibility that he didn’t understand me as well as he had believed he did, and that meant I might be able to harm him further. His actions are understandable in that context.”

            Shacklebolt was staring at him by the time he finished. Draco flattered himself that he saw a little more respect in the man’s eyes than before, and even in the slow, considering tilt of his head. “And you do not think this is a simple ploy, undertaken in the hopes of your doing just what you’re doing now?” Shacklebolt tapped his fingers lightly against the side of the Pensieve. “He could have anticipated a recording spell so near your shop and spoken his words accordingly.”

            “If we succumb to paranoia,” Draco snapped, “Diggory will win the election and he’ll deserve to. What’s the real reason for your reluctance to help us? I expected more enthusiasm from Harry’s friend than this. Now we’ve handed you the proof you need to damage Diggory’s campaign and you won’t even try?”

            Granger was giving him a scandalized look, Millicent an approving one. Draco ignored them both and fastened his gaze on Shacklebolt, waiting for an answer.

            The Minister sighed wearily and rubbed a hand over his bald scalp. “You don’t understand how popular Diggory is,” he said, “or how badly unnerved the wizarding public in general was when they found out about Harry’s ability to eat magic.”

            “Considering that the Daily Prophet hasn’t reported even one riot or one general article on the change of views amongst that wizarding public, you cannot blame me for being uninformed,” Draco said. “I think it’s something else. What has Diggory done to you that you’re afraid to stand up to him?”

            “I am not afraid,” Shacklebolt said, a shadow of Gryffindor temper darkening his expression for the first time.

            “Really.” Draco leaned forwards. “Then tell me why you’re trying so hard to hand this election to him. Words ought to be easy for you if actions aren’t.”

            Shacklebolt leaned towards him in turn. “I have to think of the good of the wizarding world at all times,” he said quietly. “And I must consider whether the time has come to give up my office for the better man.”

            Draco put his head in his hands. “I understand now,” he said, and didn’t even bother to hide his disgust. “You aren’t frightened of Diggory, in the way I assumed, or unwilling to aid a friend who’s done so much for you. You’re mad.”

            Shacklebolt continued speaking in an even, quiet voice, though a muscle was jumping in his jaw when Draco looked up at him. “Diggory has run an excellent campaign. He’s borne up through several disappointments—“

            “Some of which Harry and I inflicted on him because he wouldn’t leave us alone of his own free will,” Draco said.

            “And still continued to make popular speeches. He has support in the Ministry. He’s promised changes that, frankly, we need and he might be able to make, better than I can. I depend too much on the backing of men and women who still cling to objectionable beliefs and old-fashioned ways of doing things.” Shacklebolt gripped the edge of the desk as if he were also hanging onto his patience. “His irrational fear of the Desire potion and Harry, and the time and effort he has devoted to blocking and hindering you, is the only blemish on an otherwise excellent reputation.”

            “I’d think it a rather large blemish,” Millicent said, as if idly. Nevertheless, Shacklebolt flushed under her tone as he hadn’t under Draco’s.

            “He’s tried to intimidate us,” Draco said, “publicly humiliate us, and have Harry put in Azkaban. He’s tried to make the Desire potion illegal even though it contains no harmful ingredients and has benefited many people—and was declared legal by your own Potions Committee. Tell me, Minister, does that sound like a man who could take opposition gracefully? What will happen if someone irritates him when he sits in the Minister’s office? Would he take the same measures, and behave like the same idiot when someone managed to successfully elude his vengeance long enough?”

            Shacklebolt closed his eyes. “As much as it pains me to say it,” he murmured, “the Minister’s office has taught me some of the same lessons Dumbledore must have learned. Sometimes you have to risk the safety and happiness of one person for the safety and happiness of all of them. I don’t want—“ He shook his head for a moment. “It’s unfair that Harry should have to bear the burden twice. But it’s what’s happened.”

            “I can’t believe I trusted you at one point.”

            Granger in a fury was nearly as impressive a sight as Harry, Draco thought. She strode forwards with her hands clenched in front of her, her elbows sticking crookedly out from her sides. She had no color in her face, but that only made the fixed stare of her eyes more frightening. She made a movement so quick that Draco was still blinking and trying to trace it when he realized she was now holding her wand.

            Shacklebolt fell back a step and lifted his hand. “Hermione—“ he began soothingly.

            “You’re selling a friend out because you’re a coward,” Granger said. Draco winced. He had thought the same thing, but he wouldn’t have said it quite so bluntly. It seemed he still had something to learn about Gryffindor tactics. “You don’t want to put in the effort that fighting Diggory would take. Or you don’t want to win your victory by what you think are ‘underhanded’ means, even though the only weapons we’d use against Diggory are his own words and actions. Or maybe it’s simpler than that.” She laughed, but the sound was as sharp and humorless as the crack of a breaking branch. “Maybe you can’t stand the thought of seeing an uncomplimentary article about you in the Daily Prophet.”

            “Ridiculous. If I could have spared Harry Diggory’s harassment, I would have—“

            “Then do it!” Granger screamed the last two words, and Draco took a step back before his body consulted his mind. “You have the chance now! We’ve given you everything, Pensieve memories and a legal means of crippling Diggory’s campaign, and still you pretend that his principles are too high and fine to merit opposing him! Where are your principles, Kingsley? When did you start thinking it was better to compromise with someone trying to destroy your friends than fight them? Do you think, do you really believe, that Dumbledore would have made the same kind of bargain with Voldemort?”

            “Comparing Diggory to Voldemort is—“

            “Justified when we’re talking about their hatred and determination to destroy Harry.” Granger advanced, and backed Shacklebolt into a corner. He appeared to realize that, as he straightened, folded his arms, and frowned at her. Granger only came closer, so he had to drop his arms as she crowded him. “You’ve spent too long in the halls of power. You can’t even remember what it was like to act as a friend, or a private individual. And you’re concerned that because Diggory happens to be popular, he should win. Because, of course, popular opinion in the wizarding world has always been right. How many people refused to believe Voldemort had returned? How many of them thought Harry was a Dark wizard when he was twelve years old, just because he could speak to snakes? You’ll let the same thing happen, let in a man you know isn’t fit for the Ministry—“ she stabbed a finger at the Pensieve “—because those people support him?”

            “The wizarding population isn’t made up of idiots who need to be governed for their own good, as you seem to be implying,” Shacklebolt said stiffly.

            “No,” Granger snapped, “but it’s not thanks to you.” She calmed abruptly and gave Shacklebolt a bitter smile. “I wondered why you had stopped achieving so many great things in the past few years. The fear got to you, didn’t it? You started worrying so much about what people would say that you ignored the lesson that actions mean more than words.”

            Shacklebolt made a motion as if he would draw his wand, but with Granger that close to him, he simply hit her shoulder with his elbow. Draco leaned back against the wall and watched with a grin. So far he’d only had the chance to see Granger intimidating Theodore Nott. It was about time she had a target worthy of her ire, since Theodore had writhed and whimpered and given up disappointingly quickly.

            “All I’m asking you,” Granger whispered, “is whether you can live up to your own principles, and give Harry the fair trial you know he deserves. If this evidence isn’t admitted, the trial won’t be fair.”

            “Diggory is not the one who brought the charges against Harry—“

            “But he is the one who helped Mrs. Malfoy get past the Aurors guarding him,” Granger said, with a sharp tap of her wand to Shacklebolt’s forearm, “and you’re close to discovering hard evidence of that, aren’t you?”

            Shacklebolt couldn’t conceal his hesitation in time. Granger nodded. “Then we need this evidence to show that Diggory has a vendetta not only against Harry, but against Harry’s lover.” Draco raised an eyebrow, impressed in spite of himself with how Granger’s voice didn’t even falter on that last word. “Without it, it’s possible the Wizengamot would dismiss the connection as too tenuous, or accept the argument that Diggory didn’t know what Mrs. Malfoy intended when he ordered those Aurors out of the way.”

            Shacklebolt drew in a deep breath. “I must admit that I’m ashamed of how I’ve acted lately,” he said quietly. “And ashamed of how Charlemagne has acted. I wouldn’t have believed him capable of stooping to this, no matter how frightened he was of Harry. I still think there’s a chance that he might win the election, and there are ways in which that would be a good thing. He’s frightened of fewer things than I am.” A faint smile touched his face as he said it. “But you’ve reminded me that we can fight, and the election hasn’t been held yet. Thank you, Hermione.”

            “You’re worried about Diggory’s popular support,” Millicent said suddenly.

            The Minister turned a glance that was obviously meant to be quelling on her. Draco hid a smile. It was also obvious that he didn’t know Millicent. “I believe I said so.”

            “There’s another kind of popular support,” Millicent said. “Skeeter’s articles will be stirring it up, and Granger and I have sent a few letters to interested persons. Surely you remember that Potter has a reputation, Minister? We discussed that last time we met. I think it the equal of or surpassing Diggory’s reputation.” She polished her fingernails on the edge of her robe, looking supremely disinterested. “And soon, Diggory will know that as well. I should say that he’d know tomorrow, in fact.”

            And as much as Shacklebolt tried to question her, that was all she would say on the subject. In the end, the Minister accepted the memories and ushered them out the private Floo in his office. Draco decided he might as well return to Granger’s flat for the evening; Harry’s flat would be lonely without him there, and perhaps subject to opportunistic enemies.

            He took a moment to watch Millicent and Granger as they stepped out of the hearth. They were already arguing about what the most effective tactic to use after they had begun to stir up the initial outrage over Harry’s imprisonment. Millicent talked with narrowed eyes; Granger’s cheeks were flushed and she was gesturing.

            Draco startled himself by feeling a flash of pity for Diggory.

*

            Mangacat: Thank you! Poor Willowberry, he also proves in this chapter that he doesn’t really understand Harry.

            Lilith: Now that they’ve confounded Diggory once, the next time will hopefully be easier.

            SP777: The problem at the moment with letting Draco ‘flex his muscles’ is that they have to be careful not to do anything illegal or anything that will prejudice the Wizengamot against Harry. That might change with Shacklebolt now firmly on Harry’s side.
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A More Worldly Man