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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 Nineteen—The Meaning of Courage

            “You’re certain?”

            Draco was certain he had never seen the Minister look so pale, or sound so shaken. And why not? Draco thought, because his parents had trained him to notice and think about such things. He’s just realized that many more people in his government than he thought could be corrupt.

            Most of him, however, didn’t really care how shaken the Minister was as long as they could rescue Harry before the Wizengamot condemned him. “Yes,” he said. “The Auror was certain he’d been taken for trial, at least. It was only when I mentioned that you should have been there that he faltered.”

            “No one alerted me.” Shacklebolt was standing with one hand on his desk, staring down at the Pensieve setting on the edge of it as though it could tell him all the answers. “I thought I had at least one friend among the Wizengamot members, one person who cared more about the future of the wizarding world than his own personal wealth and power. I see that I don’t.”

            Draco rolled his eyes; he felt safe enough, since Shacklebolt was hardly going to glance up and see the gesture. He didn’t really want to take the time to soothe the Minister’s insecurities, but if he appeared before the Wizengamot trembling, they would find it all the easier to ignore him. “I’d reckon that a few of them who are Diggory’s tools planned this,” he said. “The others would have been told that the tools tried to contact you but received no answer, or even that you’d approved the trial to go ahead without you as you were too busy planning your campaign. You don’t have to fool many people, or corrupt many, as long as you have a few who can speak convincingly at the right time.”

            “A trick your father must have used often enough,” Shacklebolt mused, still not looking up from the Pensieve.

            “Yes,” Draco snapped, stung into open irritation at last, “and that Diggory is using now. If you would stop brooding over what this says about your friendships and your power, and instead concentrate on what stopping the trial could say about you in the future, then you’d have the chance to repay him.”

            Shacklebolt seemed to return to himself slowly, as if he had been at sea when Draco’s words reached him. Then he looked up, nodded, and closed his hands around the edge of the desk. Draco smiled. Kingsley Shacklebolt had been a warrior, and it showed in the hard gleam of his eyes just then. He might still fear his ability to hang onto his government, but he would put that worry aside for right now to do the actual hanging on. This was the Minister they should have had for the past few years, Draco thought, and had been denied.

            “When we invade the courtroom,” Shacklebolt said quietly, “I want to have everything ready.” He glanced once at the Pensieve that held the recording of Diggory ordering his guards to attack Draco. “Floo Granger, and tell her to summon Littlesmith. I’ll leave orders with one of the Aurors I’m certain I can trust that she’s to be escorted to the courtroom the moment she arrives in the Ministry.”

            “I will not waste enough time that the Wizengamot condemns Harry before we can get there,” said Draco sharply. He waved his wand and the Pensieve rose from the desk, floating beside him. Shacklebolt tensed once, as if he hadn’t been certain Draco would use magic for him instead of on him, but he relaxed before the tension could become an insult. “I’ll Floo Granger, and I’ll allow you to leave the orders, but then we’re going to the courtroom.”

            Shacklebolt stared at him, then looked away with a faint chuckle. “Both you and Hermione seem to have taken lessons in ordering a Minister around,” he said. “I wish I knew your teacher.”

            “Your own weakness,” Draco said with contempt. “If you’d been less fatalistic, we wouldn’t have had to do this.”

            Shacklebolt simply nodded, as if to say that he could accept the truth of Draco’s words but didn’t have to like them, and gestured towards his fireplace. Draco snatched a handful of Floo powder from the mantle and knelt, whilst behind him Shacklebolt opened the door of his office and bellowed a name.

*

            Harry watched the Wizengamot members dipping their heads into the Pensieve Diggory had provided and emerging with pale faces. Some of them stared at him and then looked away, drawing their robes closer about them. Harry understood then exactly why Diggory had chosen to have them view the memories individually, despite the time it would take. If he showed them on the panels of light that the Malfoys had chosen, there would only be a few minutes of impact. This way, the other Wizengamot members had to watch their fellows shaking with fear, and by the time the Pensieve reached them, they would have been prepared to accept something even more horrific than what they actually saw.

            Meanwhile, his brain raced, but he couldn’t think of anything that would decisively slow Diggory. He could demand Veritaserum again, but the memories in the Pensieve would be “good enough” for at least some of the Wizengamot, and he couldn’t be sure they would agree to give him the potion. He could try wandless magic, but the memories would also work against him there. He could accuse the Wizengamot of illegal proceedings by holding the trial without the Minister present, but he was sure Diggory would have some mealy excuse. The excuse wouldn’t hold up under logical questioning, but it would hold up for a few minutes, and enough time to ask extensive questions was exactly what Harry didn’t have.

            He felt a soft tap on the side of his neck, and looked sideways as much as he could without being obvious; Diggory never took his eyes off Harry for very long if at all. He could see the glitter of Skeeter’s carapace without trouble, however, and the flutter of her wings as she lifted one slender leg and pointed straight at the Wizengamot.

            She was asking if she should reveal herself, Harry knew. Doing so might change the minds of at least some of the Wizengamot. If they couldn’t be brought back to their senses by the knowledge of their own wrongdoing, then maybe the knowledge that they’d be embarrassed for this could help.

            But Harry feared for Skeeter’s safety if she revealed herself now. And the story she might produce out of this was still valuable, still the trap that might crush Diggory where everything else failed. So he shook his head minutely, and Skeeter retreated into his hair.

            She had given him an idea, though. Harry had never understood why Diggory had so fixated on him. Most politicians would have shrugged when they realized Harry Potter wouldn’t support them and gone on to someone else. Instead, Diggory had sunk enormous money and time into attempting to destroy him and Draco, financially and socially if not physically. Harry wanted to add the words to Skeeter’s story if he could.

            And there was the chance—faint, he had to admit—that he would fluster and trick Diggory into exposing something that would go a step too far even for those in the Wizengamot who were afraid of Harry. Harry really didn’t think all of them were Diggory’s puppets. Instead, they were like most wizards, sheep led along by the loudest call. Eleanor Williams and Prunella were the only ones he was certain had been against him before the trial began; Winifred Firstfruits was the only one he was sure had stood to support him. He might as well try to gather the others the way Diggory was trying to gather them.

            So he took a moment to compose himself and called out calmly, boldly, as though the sight of ten people now staring at him with loathing and fear in their eyes hadn’t bothered him at all. “Diggory! A question.”

            He received the empty politician’s smile in reply. But that wasn’t good enough anymore. Harry raised a challenging eyebrow and asked, “Why did you buy up all Draco Malfoy’s debts in an attempt to force him out of business? Why did you go out of your way to invent facts about me, such as my being part incubus? That’s a lazy lie, and your explanation doesn’t make much sense. How are we to know that incubi feed on magic, except from your claiming that they do? In other words, why couldn’t you simply find support elsewhere when I refused you? Why did you have to have me running in your train or silenced?”

            Diggory’s face began to take on a flush of deep color a few sentences into the speech. But he had his back to the Wizengamot, and Harry doubted any of them saw it. He answered easily, too, a faint smile playing around his lips, as though to say he gave Harry credit for his tactics but already knew they wouldn’t work. “I consulted with an expert on incubi before I came to the courtroom. As to the rest of your questions, I am afraid my explanations would touch on political principles that you have never brought your brain to embrace.”

            Harry laughed freely, making several wizards and witches in the gallery above him start and lean forwards. “Another lazy lie! What was the name of this incubus expert? Who is he? Or she, though you do seem to have bad luck when you call on women to support you.”

            “The expert is well-known,” Diggory said quietly, “and your childish attempts to make me angry enough to hurt you will not work. I told you before, I have some care for your life, though you have none for the lives of others. I would see you live to go to Azkaban.”

            “The name, the name!” Harry pounded his fist on the arm of the chair, rattling his chains and making the Aurors move to a better position, where their spells wouldn’t strike Diggory if they threw them. Skeeter moved and danced on his neck, excited and frightened at the same time, if Harry could read the pattern of her footsteps clearly enough. “If you’re not frightened, you ought to be able to tell us the name easily.”

            Diggory shrugged. “His name is Frederic Lacewing.”

            “I’ve never heard of him,” Firstfruits immediately called from the gallery. Harry felt his heart beat like a bird’s wings. If he got out of this situation without going to Azkaban, he would make sure to send a gift of some kind to her.

            “Would you have?” Diggory turned and smiled up at her. “He’s an expert in his own rather specialized field, but I can’t pretend that many people spend much time studying esoteric magical creatures, or paying attention to those who do.”

            “Convenient,” said Harry. “Always an excuse. The obscurity of the field, the complexity of your arguments…” He clucked his tongue and tried to remember the way he had felt when climbing on his broom to face the Hungarian Horntail during the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament. He had been frightened until he swung his leg over his Firebolt, and then he had dipped and swerved and soared like a bird, and none of the real dangers had been as bad as those moments of trembling anticipation beforehand.

            “If you aren’t a liar, Charlemagne, make those arguments,” he said. “Explain to me why this trial was supposedly closed to all but the Wizengamot and other appropriate Ministry officials, but you are here. Explain how you even knew about it, when it was also a secret trial. Explain why you happened to have the memories of me devouring Daphne Greengrass’s magic, when you weren’t the one they were originally sent to. Not much about your story makes sense. It sounds like what it is, a secondary plan put together on the fly when you realized the implications of some of the evidence we’d gathered against you. You aren’t good at acting quickly, are you? Whenever you’ve fooled the world into thinking you are, it was always some long-term plan that had a sudden result. You even gave Draco time to pay back his debts, when it would have been better policy just to demand the money from him at once. Too concerned with what people will say about you, too busy trying to derive multiple advantages from a situation instead of only one—silencing your enemy. This is the kind of ground you hate dancing on. You haven’t planned well enough, and the flaws in your plot are breaking open.”

            Harry felt the words pouring out of him with the same high, clear exhilaration he’d felt when he rode on the Firebolt, or when he recited the truth behind Voldemort’s actions and his possession of the Elder Wand in front of the entire Great Hall. They probably weren’t all true, but they didn’t have to be true. What they needed to do was sound good enough to stir doubt in the Wizengamot’s minds and put Diggory on the defensive.

            A Slytherin weapon, he thought absently. Draco would be so proud of me.

            And then, on the heels of that thought, I hope he’ll get a chance to be proud of me, and not simply from the outside of Azkaban’s walls, either.

            But he lost himself in watching Diggory intently, rather than in considering whether Draco would have that chance. If he allowed himself to brood, he would lose that high he commanded, and with it the confidence to fling random weapons into the air and hope one of them hit Diggory where it counted.

            The other man had already gone pale, though it wasn’t likely the Wizengamot could see that, either, and he still spoke in a gentle voice. “All the discrepancies can be explained, Potter. But I don’t see why I need to explain myself to the likes of you. You’re only—“

            “A prisoner who has the right to know why he’s being tried,” said Firstfruits helpfully. “For that matter, I’d like to know why he was being tried. Mister Potter has said that no one had any evidence of creature blood in his veins when he was arrested, that they actually had to do research to find out if they had the right to press charges. And now you appear with Pensieve memories of the attack,” she said, nodding at the basin now in the hands of a witch not far from her, “but no actual proof this means Potter as an incubus. You claim blue flame and shadows are proof that he is, and when we ask for more proof—you point to blue flame and shadows. I find your argument unconvincing, Mr. Diggory, and less than conducive to the justice of a secret trial, which I wasn’t happy about in any case. I move that we adjourn now, and reconvene when we have the Minister among us, as well as the Aurors who actually did research to try and confirm the accusations brought against Mr. Potter.”

            Disbelieving, Harry heard other voices murmur assent. Of course, maybe there had been people all along who felt opposed to Diggory but were too shy or scared to mention it. That would also fit the patterns of wizarding politics as he knew them. Firstfruits had done him an invaluable job by proposing the motion and giving the others to courage to get behind it.

            “We’ve explained that we tried to contact the Minister and couldn’t find him in time,” said Williams loudly. “I find it very convenient that you doubt my explanations, Winifred. Are you sure that this is the first time you’ve been so close to Potter?”

            “It is,” said Firstfruits. “But I know that this isn’t the first time you’ve been so close to Diggory.” She glanced around the courtroom. Harry couldn’t see her face, but he liked to imagine an expression of inquiring pity on it. “Were none of you going to question this? Were the rest of you just going to sit there like puppets with hands up your arses whilst Diggory put the greatest hero of our time in prison, without even the Minister’s consent to a trial?” She made a snorting noise that Harry thought was laughter only by courtesy. “I kept sitting still because I thought it was all an elaborate joke and the Minister would leap out and yell, ‘Surprise!’ at any moment. Or I thought I was dreaming. That’s easier to believe, that I’ve dreamed this all up than that the most powerful politicians in Britain should be content to do what one man with the last name of Diggory tells them. But now I realize it isn’t a joke, and I’m going to refuse to let you carry this on anymore.”

            Williams and Prunella were yelling, trying to interrupt, but Firstfruits lifted her wand; Harry saw it climb into the air on the end of a long, thin air. The air around it shimmered silver, and a moment later a brilliant peacock Patronus materialized in front of Firstfruits.

            “Carry my greetings to the Minister,” Firstfruits said, “and ask if he would just mind hurrying along to the Wizengamot courtroom.”

            The Patronus flapped its wings and flew through the far wall. Both Prunella and Williams shot curses after it, but the lines of light simply scorched the wall; Harry could have told them they wouldn’t be able to stop a Patronus, if he wasn’t laughing too hard to speak.

            Diggory stood gazing patiently, sorrowfully, at him, as if he had tried to do Harry a great favor and Harry had misunderstood him. Then he shook his head and said, “After all, we can hold the trial again, if we need to.”

            Counting his losses, Harry thought. He thinks he’ll manage to convince them if he does have to try me a second time—and I’m sure he’ll arrange for Firstfruits not to be here when that trial happens.

            “I see no reason why Madam Firstfruits shouldn’t alert the Minister and let me be tried now,” he said, spreading his hands so that the chains clanked. “I certainly would welcome answers about why, exactly, I’m being tried under this law.”

            Diggory shook his head. “You do have incubus blood, you know,” he said, with absolute belief in his voice. “You can summon people who will testify otherwise, but at the last, they’ll convince no one. I’ll summon Mr. Lacewing, and he’ll be happy to explain the common signs of an incubus and why you fit the pattern.”

            “I was right,” Harry said, lowering his voice so only Diggory could hear. “I was striking blind, but I hit the target. You really are bad with plans that require you to react quickly.”

            Diggory gave him a look of open hatred, but smoothed his face over again almost at once. “If one tactic doesn’t work, I’ll simply try another one,” he said, and shrugged. “You haven’t acquired enough friends in the Ministry to make a real stand against me.” He winked at Harry. “And if you are right and I require time to react, only think of how much time a second trial will give me. Especially if your friend the Minister makes the good-faith effort of pushing the trial back a week or so, to give you the days you need to recover.”

            Harry sighed. “Diggory, you’ve lost. Can’t you admit that? Or does the ridiculous grudge that pushed you into this in the first place blind you even now?” He thought he did understand the way the man was behaving now, just as he understood Lucius and Narcissa better after viewing their beliefs through the lens of Draco’s mind. Diggory had thought he could safely pursue his hatred of Harry, and by the time he realized he couldn’t, he had invested so much effort that admitting he was wrong would have cost him too much of his pride.

            “I could ask you the same thing,” said Diggory, and then he turned to the far side of the courtroom as the door suddenly opened.

            Draco strode in, carrying a Pensieve under one arm. The Minister and Hermione weren’t far behind him, but Draco was the one Harry had eyes for first. His face shone clear with perfect relief for one instant as he met Harry’s gaze, and then he looked at Diggory and his expression slammed shut. Harry had never seen another human being so intent on someone’s destruction before.

            Harry grinned and sat back in his chair. I won’t have to do this alone anymore, no matter what happens.

            Skeeter was racing in dizzy, giddy circles on the back of his neck. Harry only hoped that she didn’t show herself to Diggory. With the stillness that had invaded his body as he stared at the Pensieve under Draco’s arm and the man who had entered just behind Hermione, he looked as if he might crush any beetle he saw just to relieve his feelings.

*

            Granger had caught them up, with Littlesmith, when they were still some distance from the courtroom, and nodded shortly to Draco before she tried to push in front of him. Draco wouldn’t let that happen, however. He was the one most driven by fear and concern for Harry at the moment, and he wouldn’t allow anyone to say otherwise.

            Then the peacock Patronus fluttered to a stop in front of them and opened its beak to speak in the voice a woman Draco didn’t know, imploring Shacklebolt to hurry on to the courtroom. Draco heard the other man draw in a harsh breath, as if he hadn’t believed until that moment that the Wizengamot really had betrayed him.

            Too bad for him, Draco thought, as he lengthened his strides even more. He should have expected treachery from every direction the moment his rivals got too powerful, not coddled it because he thought it might work out better for the wizarding world.

            And then they were actually at the courtroom door, and the two Aurors guarding it moved out of the way when they saw Shacklebolt, who had got in front of Draco after all. The Minister paused briefly to cast his own Patronus, for some reason, and Draco shouldered past him once more and made sure he was the first sight Harry would see.

            Harry was sitting in the chair in the center of the room, chained. Draco saw that before he saw Diggory or the two Aurors standing with wands trained on him, before he made out the mass of frightened faces in the gallery above them. He imagined he could see the red skin those chains had rubbed raw, too.

            A surge of murderous feeling swept him as his eyes sought out Diggory. Diggory, of course, wouldn’t do him the favor of looking frightened. He simply nodded at Draco, as if he were an entirely expected and welcome visitor, and then turned to Shacklebolt.

            “Minister,” he said. “You wanted to speak to me?”

            Draco suffered a momentary spasm of worry. Shacklebolt had tried to propitiate Diggory so far. If he did it again—

            But it seemed he had finally learned his lesson. Perhaps Granger’s words were ringing in his head even now. He took a single step forwards and straightened, drawing every eye in the room—or at least Draco’s, and if he could convince Draco to look away from Diggory right now, then he could convince others—by the power of his bearing.

            “I’ve come to take charge of this trial,” he announced. “Charlemagne Diggory, consider yourself under censure of the Ministry for illegal activities.

            And finally, finally, the bastard flinched.

            But Draco didn’t care as much about that as he did about the grin that sprang into being across Harry’s face.

*

            Arealdeal: Sorry for the cliffhangers!

            nomdeplume: Thank you! Diggory’s reputation is going to take a cataclysmic fall after this no matter what happens, thanks to Skeeter; the main factor is trying to figure out other ways to condemn him and take away his political power.

            Thrnbrooke: Oh, yes. But if Diggory had had more time to plan, he probably would have come up with a more convincing lie.

            Dragons Breath: Yes, Draco to the rescue. ;)

            Mangacat: Sorry! I do think this story will be tense until the end.

            SP777: Harry does not have any creature blood. That’s just something Diggory dreamed up to further the trial.



            Yume111: Harry is concerned about what will happen at the trial, but he’s dealt with worse disasters before. It’s no good trying to curl up into a ball, and he knows that.

            The theme of long-term planners versus bolder short-term ones is one that applies to Diggory as well as Lucius. Here, it’s a way of showing that Draco and Harry are winning because they specifically didn’t try to play politics—the game that Lucius and Diggory expected them to play. If they’d tried, Lucius would have won more than one kind of victory.

            The Wizengamot were mostly frightened, which is how I see a lot of the wizarding world (think of the way everyone in Book 4 believes Skeeter’s stories). Once someone began to give them courage, they could see where the winning side was and ask questions on their own.
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A More Worldly Man