Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Plan B	By : SickPuppy Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 10288 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters and universe belong to JK Rowling. I make no money from this.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
Chapter 3
Kingsley was settled at the head of a large table, surrounded by Ministry officials. This was his weekly meeting with them and was his one chance each week to probe what had been done in the name of government in the past seven days. As acting Minister, his powers were carefully defined under various laws that had been in place for longer than any of the people around the table had been alive, and his ability to affect change was frustratingly stifled. His one achievement had been amending the House Elf bill so that the creatures, while still slaves, were no longer seen as property to be passed from person to person. It was such a small thing and he felt annoyance; as an Auror he had had practically more say in governance than he now did, but he accepted the limitations of his role, hoping that once he had proved he was determined to do the right thing, his appointment would be made permanent and he would be able to really get to the heart of the corruption he was sure existed. Although, thanks to the House Elf bill, he now had a number of Pure Blood families gunning for him. He sighed. No matter what he did, he was going to piss off a number of families who would make his job harder. It was partly why he had already resolved to not push Harry's claims. There was no way he was going to fight for homosexual rights and risk pissing off every family; especially not when he didn't think Harry was in the right. Oh, he wouldn't throw Harry to the wolves, but if it came down to Harry or Kingsley, Kingsley would protect himself first, no matter how much he liked Harry.
Gelert Huw, the Head of the Auror Office, nodded respectfully at him. Kingsley had been partnered with the Welshman on some jobs and had always been impressed by his calm good sense.
Along the table was the head of Magical Law Enforcement (Devlin Rijid), and next to him the people who reported directly to him: Huw, the Wizengamot representative, Counterfeit Items leader, and the head of the misuse of Muggle artefacts office. Further round were more officials: the over-riding head of the Magical Accidents Department and all her subordinates, including a representative from St Mungo's, the Muggle Liaison leader, and the wizard who oversaw all of the measures used to deal with magic that had been witnessed by Muggles.
The sheer number of officials was terrifying, as Shacklebolt hadn't even greeted half of the table's occupants before the clock chimed five and the meeting began. One person he had not welcomed was someone he desperately wanted to avoid talking to: Meghan Lawe, who was the resident expert on all wizarding laws. Any time a problem arose and the officials were at a loss how to handle it, they would turn to her and she would calmly recite the laws that they could use and what the agreed sanctions had always been. It made life both easy and scary as there seemed to be no leeway to show compassion.
But then, in recent times, compassion had been in short supply.
During the meeting, Shacklebolt probed each person carefully. He knew that whilst Voldemort had ruled the Ministry abuses had been allowed to flourish, and some officials had had their penchant for cruelty encouraged. Now he felt he was fighting every single department as he had to assume that each one had something to hide until he was assured that they were decent people. It was like fighting the legendary hydra – just as he finished dealing with one issue, another two popped up behind his back. It was exhausting.
After finishing with one official, he turned to the woman who held the office of Registrar and raised an eyebrow.
“This week has been very positive,” she began briskly, glancing down at her notes. “Since May 2^nd, the number of applications for a marriage licence has steadily risen, as I have previously reported, and this week is at an exceptional level. Clearly, witches and wizards feel a sense of stability with the Dark Lord gone and are keen to begin their new lives.”
Shacklebolt smiled. He was pleased that something seemed to be going well.
“The most notable applications we have received are from those younger people who fought at the Battle of Hogwarts. However,” and here she frowned, “Miss Granger and Mr Ronald Weasley are yet to announce their intention to marry, although they are together. I suggest a visit is paid to them to remind them of their importance at this time. Also, and this is very worrying, Mr Potter does not seem to be seeing anyone, let alone thinking of marrying.” she turned to Kingsley, “your secretary informs me that he had an interview with you two days ago. Perhaps, when you meet next, you could gently encourage him to … do his duty.”
Kingsley coughed. “As it happens, that did come up and I did ask Harry to consider the part he still has to play in helping us all rebuild. He is currently reluctant, but I think we could perhaps give him some leeway, given all he has done.”
At once Meghan Lawe piped up. “Is he saying he will not consider marriage? Or that he has, as yet, not found the witch he wishes to spend his life with?”
Shacklebolt looked uncomfortable. “He has not yet found a witch he wishes to settle down with,” the acting Minister said, which was true, if not entirely accurate. “But I think we need to remember how young he is, and what he has been through. Let him have some time to settle, maybe even have a love affair or two, before he accepts the responsibility of being a husband.”
There were a few nods around the table, but Lawe still looked grim. “Wizarding law will not countenance a child born outside wedlock. If he intends a physical relationship with a witch, the law would prefer it were within a marriage. However, I am aware that young people often take little notice of the law when it comes to their desires. But, in his case, he sets such an example to others that I'm afraid it must be made clear to him that he marries, or at least becomes engaged.”
Kingsley felt his heart sinking. He had said he would try and give Harry three days, but if it was common knowledge now that he'd met Harry, then people would be eager to see the report filed. And he had to lead by example, much as Harry had to. And their own wishes had to come second. And what was right and fair had to go out of the window.
“I will speak to Devlin in private,” he said heavily, “as there is something that needs his attention regarding this matter. For now, can we move on?”
***
Back in his own office, Kingsley ensured the door was closed and locked before letting his head drop onto his desk. He had always been fond of Harry, admiring the boy's determination and willingness to face unpalatable truths, but now he was afraid that here was one truth the youngster would not accept. If Shacklebolt had had his way, he would have allowed Harry (and indeed anyone) to be with whomever they wished, with no worry about marriage or children, but he had to represent and lead the Ministry, and he had to do it all whilst bound up by the laws restricting his powers. And whilst dependent on support from too many families who had claws into the Ministry.
He idly hoped that wherever Harry was, he was preparing to lose everything.
***
With paperwork and keys in hand, Harry apparated to the door step of the house and looked up at it. Grange Tower was a block of flats that looked really depressing. It was like something built in the seventies: the squareness of it, and the overuse of cladding made that obvious. But, if the estate agent had been right and it had once belonged to the Ministry, he had to assume it was really a wizard building. Which made the decision to have it look so … awful … even odder. It was pretty much where Harry had wanted: just into wizarding society, but close to the Muggles. He felt a sense of unease surround him and knew that was part of the reason why the property had been so cheap. He'd have to deal with magically cleansing the building before he could hope to rent it out. And maybe make it look better. He really hoped the inside wasn't as dated as the outside though.
It was.
Bright orange wallpaper hung in tatters on the walls, but the floors themselves were not separated into flats. It seemed more like an office space inside (dodgy decorating notwithstanding). Despite the awful decoration (every ceiling was covered in Artex), it was actually a nice place. Each floor was large and could be rented out, or even split into two flats for double the money. Harry set to work altering a few things and then re-decorating. He knew that to make it last he would have to cough up actual money; after all, transfiguration spells only lasted so long, but until he got on his feet, his temporary efforts would have to do.
After casting spells until his arms ached, he went back to Grimmauld Place. About to apparate onto the doorstep, something made him be more cautious. Instead he landed at the corner and quietly watched the activity. Clearly Kingsley hadn't waited too long to file the report as grim faced Ministry officials were carrying boxes out of the house. He felt his stomach churn: he hadn't salvaged the neatly packed items Kreacher had sorted for him. Worse, he was now a fugitive. A chill ran down his spine at the thought of how close he'd come to falling straight into the Ministry's hands.
Pop.
“Master, Kreacher took your things and hid them when he heard the Ministry people knocking on the door,” the little elf said, standing beside the human and glaring angrily as Black family items were removed from the building.
“Kreacher, you're a fucking wonder!” cried Harry, and meant it. He gazed about. Besides the elf was his trunk and the broomstick. “Okay, they haven't seemed to have claimed you, yet, so want to come to our new house?”
The elf looked with loathing at the people as they dropped a large cabinet, smashing the glass. It was quickly repaired, but the wooden base flapped loose. “Ministry people have no manners.”
“Couldn't have put it better myself,” Harry muttered as he told Kreacher their new address and the elf apparated away. Staying a few moments longer, Harry watched as his old life was dismantled before his eyes. He'd sort of understood, really, that he was in trouble, but he'd thought that some last minute macguffin would save him, like it always had before. Hell, he'd faced Death and cheated him, so of course he had thought he'd get through this problem.
As he watched the battered sofa be carried out, he realised how hopelessly naïve he had been – facing the Dark Lord was one thing, fighting the evil of bureaucracy defeated even the Chosen One. He sighed and left Grimmauld Place behind.
***
He'd given Kreacher licence to do as he wished within the house, but explained he still had something he needed to do. And it had to be now, before the news of his new fugitive status hit the Prophet or the radio.
He felt awful contemplating it, but maybe this was the one way to still remain in the world he belonged to.
He apparated to the fields near the Burrow and carefully approached, hiding in the long waving grass as much as possible. Inside he could hear the usual Weasley rowdiness and it brought a tear to his eyes; this was yet another thing he was being denied. He slumped into the foliage and covered his face. Was he doing the right thing? Surely living a lie would be easier than all this? And, would it really be so bad if it meant he still had access to all the things he knew and loved?
He glanced up and spotted a familiar redhead. Standing up, he waved and got the attention of the lone figure.
“Harry?” Ginny asked, appalled at the fear and tension in his expression.
“Ginny, thank god!” he gasped. “I – have you heard any news?”
“News?” she looked puzzled. “No. We've been, well, rather busy the last few days. Why? What's happened?”
“N – nothing. Look, Ginny, I need to talk to you and it has to be now, and we can't be disturbed. Please.”
She glanced back over her shoulder, taking in the house and the people there before she gave him her closest scrutiny. “All right. But you're scaring me.”
“I'm scaring myself. Has Ron told you about – about me?” He saw her baffled expression and knew Ron had kept his secret.
“Okay. Erm, I, erm, well, I like someone that the Ministry doesn't want me to be with. And, I can't just give up my dreams, even for them. But, if I m–marry and have children, or at least, one child, they'll leave me alone.” He stopped, and hated the way her eyes had widened before narrowing.
“You prefer men?” she asked coldly. “I wondered. Ron said something a few days ago that I didn't understand when I mentioned inviting you. Now I get why he talked me out of asking you. And you want me to marry you so you can cover up your disgusting perversion, is that right? And give you a child and then divorce you so you can go be with the person you really want?”
When it was put like that, Harry felt like a total bastard. He nodded miserably. “Gin, please. You don't know what I'm going to lose.”
She gave him a look that he couldn't decipher. “I would have given anything at one time to have you ask me,” she began softly, “but not any more. Even if you weren't too late, I'd still say no to that charming offer.”
“I would be good to you, Ginny, I promise,” Harry coaxed, then said, “Hang on, what do you mean 'even if I weren't too late'?”
She held up a hand that had a large diamond ring winking on it. “That noise you hear is the tail end of mine and Dean's engagement party.”
“Dean? Dean Thomas?”
Nodding, she twisted the ring around and around, a soft smile on her lips. “During that last year at school, I missed you, but I realised I missed Dean more. I'd always taken him so much for granted when we were dating. Now I understand what a fantastic guy he is, and I want to spend my life with him. You couldn't offer me anything that would compete with that.”
Staring into her face, Harry felt a total heel. “I'm happy for you, Ginny,” he choked out, and meant it. But it still left him with no alternative other than to disappear.
***
After hastily conjuring a bed using his new wand (and hadn't that been frustrating – forcing the wand to comply), Harry sank onto it in his new home and tried not to give in to the urge to simply curl up and scream. His life had turned into a crap storm in less than 48 hours and now he was living in a new house, which technically belonged to his Muggle cousin, with a trunk by his side that housed all his worldly possessions, and less than two thousand galleons to live on. And now it was time to vanish: Harry Potter had to go.
He fell asleep trying not to panic. Because he'd slept so badly the previous night, Harry was exhausted. His dreams were twisted nightmares where he dodged clutching hands and found himself utterly alone, rejected by everyone because he dared to care for a man. And worse, far worse, was the man himself sneering at him in disgust, unable to let himself love.
He awoke panting for breath, tears in his eyes.
Lying there, staring at the white swirls on the ceiling, Harry thought about what he had given to the magical world, and what it had now taken from him.
With no Polyjuice potion, he was reliant on Kreacher to fetch things for him, which the elf did, returning two hours later with a copy of the Daily Prophet (guess what? he'd made headlines again), some food, and a form Harry had requested he fetch from the newspaper's office.
Digging through his trunk, he found his quill and ink and began writing. With that done, he sent Kreacher off again and finally dragged himself out of bed to begin brewing Polyjuice potion.
Not liking the notion of making it downstairs, in case someone came visiting, he went to the top floor and set up his cauldron. Back on the ground floor he grabbed the ingredients and his battered copy of Advanced Potion Making. After all the craziness of his sixth year, he was glad he'd snuck back into the Room of Requirement before everything had been destroyed and removed the textbook without telling any of his friends. Having Snape's guidance, even in written form, helped, and he settled down to brew the complicated potion. His fingers idly traced the cramped handwriting and he wondered at his own self-absorption that he hadn't recognised that this was the same handwriting that had regularly covered his homework essays – usually with vitriol. He traced a sharp 'H', then picked out the other letters to spell his name. Feeling tears threaten, he turned away from the book and began chopping ingredients.
Until it was done, and he knew it would take a month, he was stuck in the house. He couldn't risk seeing anyone or even dashing outside for a few moments of fresh air. Still, there was plenty to do in the building and he wasn't totally cut off even if everything had to be done through Kreacher. He felt despair grip him again. What did other magical folk do in this situation if they didn't have house elves to run around after them?
***
The month passed slowly for Harry. Inside he had made massive changes to the décor, and had worked hard to get rid of the bad feeling that clung about the house. After all, he could hardly afford to spend thousands paying some specialist to deal with it. He had not done much else. He'd decided to turn the top floor into a sort of laboratory cum living space so that he could brew Polyjuice and stay hidden. Kreacher had also managed to do wonders with next to no equipment, turning one corner of the floor into a functional kitchen. The ground floor the man had tidied and left empty apart from his bed (which he still hadn't got round to levitating up the stairs to the top floor) so that if someone wanted to rent it from him, they could.
When the Polyjuice potion was ready, he asked Kreacher to find his cousin and bring back some of his hairs, but not to let Dudley know. The elf had nodded and had been gone for over two hours. All that time Harry twitched, horribly afraid the Ministry had suddenly claimed Kreacher. But he returned, holding up a handful of short blond hairs. Harry, sitting on the edge of his bed and trying not to panic, felt relief wash over him.
“Kreacher followed the Muggle and he went home. Kreacher was able to go into the house and take some hairs from the Muggle's comb.”
Harry closed his eyes, hating how such a little thing like Kreacher helping him could affect him. He took a hair and added it to a small crystal vial he'd been rolling nervously between his hands for two hours. The fluid became creamy coloured and he drank it down, not overly thrilled at the idea of going through a Polyjuice transformation. Especially not into his cousin!
Writhing in pain as his bones lengthened and his face filled out, Harry arched his back and cried out, his voice deeper. At last, panting, he lay on the bed, head throbbing, and tugged off his glasses. His clothes clung tightly to him now, but at least they hadn't split.
“Do I look okay?” Harry asked, his changed voice ringing oddly.
“Master looks like the Muggle,” Kreacher commented dryly.
“Good. Right, some people from the Ministry are due later today. They replied to my advert about the extra rooms. They should be here in ...”
He stopped as they both heard a knock coming from downstairs. Privately thinking he had run things much too fine, Harry got up and lumbered towards the door, feeling rather unsteady on his new legs. Handing his glasses to Kreacher, the elf disapparated as Harry began undoing the bolts.
“Dursley?” A cold tone hit his ears even before he finished opening the door.
“Come in,” he said, trying not to let his fear show.
The man who crossed the threshold was stick thin and had a long sharp nose and matching chin that stuck out aggressively as he surveyed the empty ground floor. “This used to be Ministry property. If it were my choice it would be again, but out wonderful acting Minister seems determined to do the right thing. So, how many floors do you have available?”
“Five,” Harry answered.
The Ministry worker sniffed and headed up the stairs, nose twitching as he reached each new storey.
“The top floor's mine,” Harry said, trying to stop the other man from looking inside and seeing the Polyjuice potion sitting in its cauldron as he had yet to decant it all into the vials.
“Very well. Well, the Muggle Liaison Office needs extra space for the Muggle Outreach Programme. And it would make sense for it to return here, where it used to be based. Shacklebolt is insistent that more is done to ease relations between our world and the Muggle one. This property is ideally suited for our purposes as we worked hard to make it look Muggle. After all, I want my workers to understand what living like a Muggle means. We'll move in immediately.”
Blinking, Harry asked, “What about rent?”
“Ah, yes,” the man smiled nastily and slid a hand into his robes, pulling out a long piece of parchment. “The old emergency laws came into effect last week. Luckily, with all this bloody grinding of teeth over the 'Chosen One's' disappearance, it didn't get much publicity. Until we get things back to how they should be, Ministry usage of buildings is charged at a nominal rent only.”
“Nominal?”
Another nasty smile. “Yes, and what Shacklebolt doesn't know can't hurt him. So, what's fair? A Knut a year?”
“WHAT?! NO!”
But the thin official was already filling in the parchment with the details. “And, now your signature, Dursley.”
“No,” Harry moaned, “No. That's … You can't!”
“That's a knut per floor, Dursley. Very reasonable. So, as we want four floors, that'll be four knuts. And think yourself lucky! Besides, think about what great service you're offering our world.”
Tears slid down Harry's fat cheeks. The last chance he had of surviving this situation without turning to prostitution – gone. “F – four floors?”
“Yes. I don't like this level: too open to attack. So we'll use two to five. Now hurry up and sign!”
“No.” Harry choked out. There had to be some other way. He couldn't capitulate like this.
“Oh? So, what are you so afraid of us finding out that you don't want the Ministry near you?” the awful man asked.
“Nothing,” Harry lied, “but I need more money than that to live on.”
“Well, tough. The law is quite clear. Ministry needs come first. And to stop cretins taking advantage of that fact, we get to decide on the rent. Besides, what's to stop you going out and getting a job? Now, I haven't got all day. Sign.”
Shaking, Harry signed, hating the Ministry with every fibre of his being. With that done, the older man spun on his heel and apparated away. Left alone, Harry stared blankly out of the open door. Surely, when Kingsley had allowed that law to be invoked, he hadn't intended this? To rob people of what was rightfully theirs? And for how long? The worker had said until things were sorted. But things would never be sorted, Harry knew that. How could they be with so much corruption at the heart of the government?
He thought, too, of whether he could get a job with this new face. But it was the same problem as he would have had in the Muggle world – no qualifications and no way of admitting where he'd been educated. Plus, he would have had all the attendant problems of always having to remember to take polyjuice potion. No, he was stuck.
Harry bit his lip – maybe he could get a job somewhere where no qualifications were needed? Something like in a bar perhaps? But then, could he guarantee to always be able to drink polyjuice when he needed to? All it would take would be one slip and his secret would be out. His stomach churned. Maybe he'd try it.
He dropped his head into his hands. No. He'd seen adverts in the Daily Prophet – after all, with no way of going outside, he'd had little else to do but read the rag from cover to cover – and the wages for unskilled jobs were ridiculously low. The assumption was always that you would have received an education and would 'contribute' towards society. Only the few who had inherited already popular pubs – like Madam Rosmerta and Tom – had been able to afford only having one job. He, Harry, would have to work at least two. Both poorly paid, if he could even find jobs he could do. No, it was hopeless.
Turning slowly and facing the bed he'd conjured on this floor, Harry sobbed. Just once. Just let that one sound encapsulate all that he had lost and what he was now forced to do.
***
Thunderbird - I'm glad you liked Dudley being used. I agre, he is underused, but any post DH stories I write now tend to feature him in some way shape or form. And yes, he is by no means a decent human being, but he's getting there!
Book_addict_89 - Your review made me laugh. It was loads about houses and one sentence about liking Dudley being in this! Funny.
Jan - Nice to see your name reviewing again. Hope chapter three hasn't disappointed.
LadyRaven - sorry to give you nightmares. And feel free to glare in a Snape-like way anytime! What's the favourite band? Eric Stuart (whom I adore) is playing in London this month and I can't go! *cries*
The conversation about houses - I agree Pottermore isn't being very helpful. I think part of the the problem is JK Rowling didn't realise what a monster HP would become, so she's adding things that haven't been properly thought through. (A friend who speaks Japanese is VERY unimpressed with the name for the Japanese magic school). Or she's allowing people to add things who shouldn't be let anywhere near the HP world (I'm looking at you supposed 'writers' of Cursed Child).
My patronus? Well, really... it's a fucking basset hound! WTF?! I would have accepted almost any patronus, but a sodding basset hound? There's even the chance to have a tortoiseshell cat as one (which my beloved Orion is), and there are bloody hundreds of horses. Those would have been fine. Hell, a sodding peacock or something random would have been fine, even a terrier would have been fine, but I freaking basset hound! (Breathe, SP, breathe). No, I'm not pleased with it.
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Plan B