Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Building With Worn-Out Tools	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 54266 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
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.

Chapter List
- 27
- 28
- 29
Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Twenty-Eight—A Ferocious and Ringing Argument

            “And you’re ready to face her again?” Draco’s hands were gentle as he shuffled Harry’s robes across his shoulders, his eyes in the mirror over Harry’s shoulder anything but.

            Harry snorted and glanced sideways at him. “After what I said to her the last time we met? Of course. Perhaps I should be asking you that question about Zabini.” He did have to wonder if Draco would respond with more than sarcasm to the man who had abducted his mother and contacted his mad father to make it happen.

            There was a long pause. Draco said nothing, and Harry, suspicious, watched the mirror. Draco’s lips were slowly curling into a smile that would not have been out of place on a crocodile’s face, Harry thought. “That’s right,” Draco said, or rather breathed, since Harry felt the shape of the words on the nape of his neck more than heard them. “You were unconscious when I did it. I forgot that you didn’t know.”

            “Didn’t know what?” Harry tensed to twist out of Draco’s hold, but Draco’s hands sank down too fast, holding him, gentling him, and Harry subsided in spite of himself.

            “I already took my revenge on Blaise,” Draco said simply. “I returned to the manor house after I brought you and Narcissa to St. Mungo’s. I cast several curses on him. One will cause him to die if I do—“

            “But not the other way around, right?” Harry interrupted. The mere notion of danger to Draco, just when he thought they might have most things settled and be ready to move onto a happier life, immediately accelerated his breathing.

            “Harry, love,” Draco asked his ear, “do you think I’m stupid? Of course not. The second will cause him to become poorer as I become richer—but also gives him the chance to improve his fortunes if I lose a case. And the third will maim him if he causes any harm to you.”

            “That third one—“

            “Do not say that I should have left it out of his punishment, Harry,” Draco said, and kissed the back of his neck, tugging at his hair until Harry had to remind himself that they were supposed to be at the courtroom in an hour. “In my thinking, it was the most necessary one of all. I admire you, but you are too noble. There is at least the possibility you would not defend yourself against him if he threatened you again. I couldn’t let that happen.”

            “You’ve made his life miserable,” Harry said, in growing understanding.

            “He made mine miserable.” Draco met his eyes in the mirror again, self-satisfied as a cat, and not seeming inclined to alter.

            “But—Draco.” Harry twisted urgently to face him. “Don’t you think three spells like that is too much? He’ll live the rest of his life in fear and frustration.”

            “Good.” Draco cocked an eyebrow and stepped back, smoothing one more piece of lint or dust out of his robes that was entirely imaginary. “I want him to.”

            “And you think that’s payment for a few hours of your feeling the same things?” Harry ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

            “Do keep talking, Harry,” Draco said, draping his arms over the back of a chair that stood not far from the mirror. Harry tried to keep from imagining Draco sitting on that chair and fussily trying new robes on, and failed. “If you do, then you might convince me that the rest of his life is indeed too short a time, and I will look up the spells that pursue someone into the afterlife.”

            Harry hissed. “I simply wondered how sadistic you were.”

            “Not at all,” Draco said cheerfully, “until someone tries to hurt someone I care for. And then they will hurt. It is simple revenge, a rule that any Slytherin ought to have understood by the time he was twelve years old. Is it my fault that Blaise did not learn it, and then thought that he could get around me on it? I do not see that it should be. I did not force him to kidnap my mother. I did not force him to continue this case when he realized I would be on the opposing side.”

            “No, but—“ Harry stopped. He shouldn’t let himself be convinced by Draco’s arguments, and yet they continued to sound reasonable to him. Doggedly, he decided that he had to pursue this. “You’ve done so much to hurt him now,” he said, softly. “You’ve won. Do you have to humiliate him in the courtroom?”

            “Yes,” Draco said, “so that he understands how much he lost. At the moment, he only knows he did not win.”

            He laughed at the expression on Harry’s face, whatever it was, but it was not the mocking laughter Harry had feared since he told him how his feelings had changed. He leaned forwards and kissed the side of Harry’s mouth. “I assure you,” he said, “this is not my normal behavior. In most cases, I am as courteous and professional as even a Gryffindor could wish. But then, most of my opponents did not kidnap my mother.

            “But, Harry.” He tilted his head and rested one hand on Harry’s shoulder. “This is what I am—or the other side of what I am, if you will. I am fierce when I feel myself disregarded, and I am willing to cause pain when someone else tries to cause pain to me. No compunctions. Or at least, fewer compunctions than a Gryffindor. I will not try again to control your behavior, but neither should you try to control mine.”

            Harry let out a gusty sigh, but, when he thought it over, there seemed to be nothing he could do. The curses were already cast. He didn’t have the power over words that would persuade Draco to withdraw from his already staked position.

            And part of him did want to know that Zabini wouldn’t just hunt him down when the trial was over. Draco had prevented this.

            It was the kind of protection Harry knew he could never have claimed from Ginny, since he was the one who was supposed to protect her. And yet he’d repaid it, since he’d also saved Narcissa’s life and Draco’s.

            Just because we’re equals doesn’t mean we’re the same.

            “All right,” he told Draco, less graciously than he knew he could have, and then plucked at the unfamiliar dress robes, trying to adjust them once more.

            “Don’t,” Draco said mildly, and straightened the cloth where his hands had been. “You’ll ruin them.”

*

            Draco was not sure what he expected when he strode into the courtroom. The morning he’d delivered Blaise to his mother, Mrs. Zabini had accepted him with a nod and a grim smile. She was a beautiful woman, and Blaise had inherited her looks, but none of the steel which shone in her eyes as she looked at Draco.

            “You realize that he may choose, after all, to oppose you in court?” she asked. “Despite the danger that your spells on him represents?”

            It hadn’t surprised Draco that Mrs. Zabini had recognized the presence of Dark spells he’d used with just a glance. Had he not known that his father had destroyed every other copy of the books that contained those specific curses, he might even have been worried. He gave a small bow. “Yes, I know that,” he said. “If he returns to the courtroom, then I am ready to oppose him. But since he kidnapped my mother and invited my mad father in to help him do it, I am less than inclined to give up now.”

            Mrs. Zabini had stood silent for a moment when she heard that. Though she had never been a Death Eater, she had kept up with news of the war, as any sensible wizard interested in politics would have done. She knew what had happened to Narcissa, and the reason that Draco kept her so protected in the Manor and away from the press.

            The only words she spoke, when she next looked at Blaise, were, “I see.” But Draco would have given much to hear the scolding that followed them. Mrs. Zabini would surely raze her son’s self-confidence for choosing such a stupid method of vengeance. Never do something that would expose you to too much danger, never do something so likely to get you caught—rules that every Slytherin knew.

            Except Blaise.

            So Draco was curious to see who would await them in the courtroom this morning, beyond Judge Witherbone: both Weasley and Blaise, or just Weasley, because Blaise might not risk stepping into an environment where he would have the temptation to vengeance against Harry and Draco’s third spell would take offense.

            In the event, it was only Weasley who stood on the opposite side of the courtroom, looking through a sheaf of papers. She glanced up with a sneer when she saw them, and gave a sidelong glance at the high seat in front of the room, where the judge did not yet sit. Then she laid the papers down near the chairs, and marched towards them.

            “Steady on,” Draco murmured, reaching out to place a hand on Harry’s elbow, when he realized the impossible woman was aiming for him.

            “I know,” Harry said irritably, and shook his hand away. “ I can do this part by myself.” And he stepped away from Draco and towards his wife.

            Draco thought about objecting for a moment. And then he thought how profound a change it represented, that Harry was going forwards with a frown on his face to confront Weasley, as if she were barely worth his time and attention, when before he hadn’t managed to look at her without squirming in guilt or losing his temper.

            I did that. That’s my stamp he’s carrying on his soul.

            Draco folded his arms and made his face stern. It wouldn’t do for someone else to see the dignified Arguer wriggling in delight like a schoolboy when his crush talked to him.

*

            “What do you want, Ginny?” Harry asked directly as soon as they met. He knew Draco could probably still hear, and Judge Witherbone would be along at any moment, so he didn’t see the point in keeping his voice down.

            Ginny, of course, hushed him with a hiss and gave the Judge’s seat a terrified glance before she stared him down. Or, rather, tried to stare him down. Harry stared dourly back, inwardly marveling that he’d ever been afraid of her. He could see the weakness running through her like lines in a pane now, just waiting for someone to hit the right note and shatter them.

            “I want to offer you one more chance to escape this foolishness,” she said. “I’ve already told my family my version of events. Even Ron is doubting you now, Harry. If you emerge from this trial triumphant, you’re still going to be alone. And I know how much you hate that. I know how much you depend on us.”

            Harry resisted the temptation to glance towards Draco—Ginny was not to know about that yet—and instead settled for curling his lip in disgust. “You would use threats to convince me away from the course of what’s right?” he asked. “No, Ginny. I’ve already made my decision, and I think that Ron, at least, will give me a fair hearing. And so will Hermione.” He could not doubt the friendship of his oldest friends, though only last week he would have. “No family with you, no baby, no dropping the divorce case.” He held her eyes and lowered his voice. “No giving you money for the sake of a heart condition that I don’t believe in.”

            Ginny’s face paled. “That part was true,” she said.

            “And the part about naming the baby Lily?”

            Ginny dropped her eyes. “I was angry,” she said softly. “I only said that because I was angry.”

            “And that’s exactly why I can’t trust you,” Harry said, shaking his head. “Your words mingle truth and lies so much that there’s no telling which is which. I’ve chosen my course, and I don’t care how much you fight to exile me from your family, Ginny. I won’t let you influence me anymore.” He turned his back on her and strode towards Draco again.

            Draco had a look on his face that made Harry want to kiss him. He settled for giving him one heated glance, since he knew that Draco, who faced Ginny, would be able to control his response to it, as Harry himself could not have. Draco’s eyebrow crept up his face, which from him, in his controlled moods, was as good as a shout of joy.

            Harry settled back in his chair again, and waited. Draco had promised this as the day he would obliterate Ginny, if she came alone. Harry was curious to see him keep that promise.

*

            Draco had known there were two major courses of action he could take: one if Blaise was there, one if he was not. He had not truly expected that Blaise would risk the betrayal of his own actions and impulses that might happen if he saw Harry, so he had prepared his attack on Weasley alone in more depth.

            And now he would get to use it.

            He rose from his chair and moved towards Weasley’s side of the courtroom, keeping his gaze directly on her, the way a predator might watch its prey. Weasley tried to lift her head, but she was trembling, and she clutched the sheaf of papers in front of her like a shield.

            Judge Witherbone had already given them permission to begin the negotiations again. She had accepted Weasley’s weak explanation for Blaise’s absence—that he no longer wished to “participate in such a negative experience”—with a lifted eyebrow, but she had not questioned it. After all, Draco had told no one else about Blaise’s kidnapping his mother. He was saving that for the newspapers after the trial, and for the confrontation with the Weasley family he thought it sure that Harry would have to have.

            For now, though, he wanted to batter Weasley so thoroughly that she would not think of continuing the negotiations past today. She had already rendered herself weak by having to rely on Blaise’s notes instead of his presence. Of course, she had probably made some effort to understand them, but it would not be enough, particularly when she faced an experienced Arguer, instead of another innocent like Harry.

            “We dispute each and every claim that Mrs. Potter and Mr. Zabini have made,” Draco began, his eyes on Weasley’s face. “We have heard from her own mouth how she feared her husband, and how he could never live up to the image that she had of him. And I have said, and not been denied by Mrs. Weasley with sufficient force, that the reason the image she had of him did not match the reality was that she exaggerated that image beyond what anyone could fulfill. She has similarly exaggerated the demands.”

            Weasley opened her mouth, no doubt prepared to butt in, but Draco smoothly overrode her objections. There were technically no rules against doing that; Arguers were supposed to speak together in this stage of the negotiations, and since Blaise was not here, Weasley was minus her Arguer.

            “Mr. Zabini has even less right to Mr. Potter’s money, considering that he is neither married to Mrs. Potter nor has shown any signs of intending to provide for his mistress and child by occupying himself after the trial. Whatever was given them would be quickly drained away and not replaced.” Draco sneered a bit. “And I find myself doubtful about how much they intended to use for the upkeep of the child. Why would they ask for the Invisibility Cloak and the Firebolt broom? Those are tools for an adult. And asking for multiple houses? A child can be quite happy with one home. No, this was always less about the baby in Mrs. Potter’s womb and more about the fears and feelings of Mrs. Potter.”

            “How dare you—“ Weasley began, in a voice that would quickly rise to a shriek if it had not attained it already.

            “Be quiet,” Judge Witherbone said, in a cold, implacable voice that made Weasley subside at once. Draco did not glance at the judge, but he knew she would be watching him with a fixed gaze. He felt as if he were radiating light, carried along on a rising wave of argument. It was hard for anyone to look away from him when he approached that stage.

            He imagined, smugly, what Harry would be thinking and feeling just at this moment, and then dismissed the images. He had to throw himself back into the words.

            “And I do not think we ought to indulge those feelings and fears any longer,” he went on softly, staring into Weasley’s eyes. “She waited months to leave her husband—years, even—after he had supposedly begun to frighten her. She seems to have waited until the point where she could not hide her pregnancy any longer, even in loose robes.” He gave the bulge of Weasley’s belly, which had grown noticeably since the case began, a pointed glance. “And, of course, she would have no chance of fooling Mr. Potter into thinking the baby was his, since they had not slept together in eight months by that time.”

            Weasley’s face went paler still. Judge Witherbone gave a little cough. “Is such information appropriate to introduce into the courtroom, Arguer Malfoy?”

            Harry’s voice spoke up an instant later. “I gave Arguer Malfoy permission to do so, Madam Witherbone. My apologies if it was inappropriate.”

            Draco gave a narrow grin. They had had no such conversation, except back near the beginning of their acquaintance, when Harry had given him the information about his marriage. But it figured that Harry would know the perfect place to come in and lend his support to Draco. He had been doing it without effort during the whole of the rescue operation to secure Narcissa, after all.

            That was what had convinced Draco, beyond all the other evidence, that he would be happy with Harry in his life. They traded back and forth, picking up the burden of the moment at different times. Draco had never encountered an equal partner before, but now he had one, and nothing would persuade him to give him up.

            “Not inappropriate, if it was with your permission, Mr. Potter,” Witherbone murmured, and then said, “Go on, Arguer.”

            “Thank you, Madam,” Draco said, and returned to the attack. Weasley hadn’t had much time to recover, but that wasn’t the point. He didn’t want her to have any. “The Potter marriage began to die long before the moment when Ginny Potter declared her intention to enter wizarding divorce law. There were her fears of him—if they were ever real—and Mr. Potter’s reclusiveness, which she did not like. She continually urged him to do something else, and was unable to accept his answer that he was resting from his travails in the war with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Ginny Potter sought comfort in another man’s arms, and did not see fit to tell her husband that she had fallen out of love with him. And now she asks for more than he can reasonably give, and even comes to the courtroom without an Arguer, so sure is she that she can depend on his essential good nature to give her what she wants.” Draco paused and snorted. “She has never thought that he might have tired of trying to resurrect this corpse of a marriage, and does not wish to breathe air into its lungs so that it can serve someone else, either. He has exhibited more effort in this divorce case than he did in the five years he was married to her.”

            He held Weasley’s eyes, and aimed the words at the swirling emotions in them as he would aim a chisel at the weak point in a stone. And he saw her face waver, then crumple, and he knew she had finally believed him. Harry could tell her all he liked, and she would probably continue to believe that she had another chance, because Harry had given in to her so often before. But hearing the words uttered through his throat, and Harry not objecting…

            He had broken her.

            A rush of vicious pleasure overcame Draco, and he stepped away, with a slight bow of his head, and murmured, “That is why I believe that none of Mrs. Potter’s demands should be granted, Madam Witherbone. She has no claim on him, not after what she has done.”

            “I see,” said Judge Witherbone after a moment. “And your defense, Mrs. Potter? Prepared by your Arguer, Mr. Zabini, of course.”

            Weasley tried to stand up and read from the sheaf of papers she clutched, but her hands were shaking too badly. “We want—“ she whispered, and then more loudly, she said, “We want—“ But the words broke apart, and she began to cry, bringing her hands up to her face as if she could cover her tears.

            Judge Witherbone let her go on for a sadistic amount of time, and then prompted, with only the slightest infusion of impatience in her tone, “Mrs. Potter?”

            Weasley dealt the finishing blow herself. She stepped away from the chair in which she’d sat and said, loudly, “Harry! Is it really true that you don’t want to give me what I need from you? That you’ll see the child starve in the streets before you contribute a single Knut to her care? Harry?”

            Draco followed her gaze. Harry had turned to face the judge’s seat, his face set into a perfect expression of boredom.

            “Madam Witherbone,” he said, “I don’t think this interruption is appropriate. If you would please ask Mrs. Potter to remain with the formalities?”

            Weasley uttered another sob, dry this time. She turned to face the judge and said, “I must ask for a recess—“

            “You were the one who asked for a full court session today,” the judge reminded her. “You are the one who needs to deliver a prepared statement, Mrs. Potter. If we begin again tomorrow, Arguer Malfoy has the opportunity to speak first again, since it will be a repetition, intended to fulfill the purpose this session did not achieve.”

            Weasley turned to face him with a horrified expression. Draco permitted, for just a moment, his enjoyment to shine in his eyes.

            Weasley turned away. Her shoulders were shaking. She clutched at the air, and then she turned and ran out of the room, probably too proud to break down in front of other people.

            That pride had cost her, of course, as had every move she had made since the trial began. Draco turned and looked up at the judge’s podium.

            There was a faint, a very faint, smile on Witherbone’s face as she picked up her wand and cast a sparkling shield of white light over the papers in front of her.

            “Mrs. Potter entered the courtroom without an Arguer,” she said, “and then refused to read the statement Mr. Zabini had prepared. She fled the courtroom before dismissal, without the excuse of acute physical sickness or a magical attack from her opposition, and did not set another date for a second meeting. She has violated the courtroom procedures unacceptably. Our indulgence might stretch to cover one such violation, but not four.” She cocked her head and flicked her wand once more. “You have won the case as it stands, Arguer Malfoy. If Mrs. Weasley wishes to take it up again, she must begin the process of negotiations over again. Mr. Potter is required to surrender none of his belongings.” She gave a nod, and then a real smile bloomed over her face, and Draco saw how the wizarding world beyond the courtroom must feel. Of course, Harry’s stay in hospital would have helped that enormously, since rumors had already circulated that he’d been heroically wounded saving someone’ else’s life. “Congratulations,” she said.

            Draco nearly drowned in the sweetness of what he was feeling then, and in the richness of the look Harry cast him.

*

            Mangacat: Sorry, but Blaise telling Ginny about the curses happened offstage.

            Beautifullove348: Well, you realize the story continuing means the story has to end pretty soon…;)

            Away file: The fight was going so fast and furious that Draco couldn’t intervene between Harry and Lucius. Besides, he was distracted by concern for his mother at first, and by using the nightmare curse on Blaise.
- 27
- 28
- 29
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Building With Worn-Out Tools