Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Unstoppable	By : Thunderbird Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 14474 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any affiliated characters. I make no profit from this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
A/N: All right, I know I kind of depressed you guys with that last one. But I so appreciate all of you who reviewed anyway (even though I get the feeling some of you may be a little mad at me *grins nervously*). The good news is that this chapter is much happier. We get to see Harry spend some time with his favorite people, then kick major ass at his job. Hurray!
Many of you might be wondering why this is Harry's chapter and not Vesper's, since she should be next in the "cycle." All I can say is, well... there's not really a cycle. Each chapter will be from the pov that best serves the story at any given time. That being said, the chapters are distributed evenly among the characters so no one is left out for long. We'll be returning to Vesper soon, there are just a couple of other things to handle first.
You also might notice that I've decided to add an "Up Next" feature at the bottom of the chapter, just to give you a little glimpse into what's to come in the next chapter. Let me know if this is something you enjoy or if it ruins it for you. I just thought it might be fun to keep you anticipating, since this fic is a long one :)
Chapter 5: Don’t Get Me Started
(Harry)

“Sweet Merlin, Harry. Don’t stop.”
Harry chuckled to himself and rubbed harder, both his thumbs sliding up the arch of Draco’s right foot before fanning out to knead along the metatarsals. Draco groaned, and Harry felt his cock twitch, just a little.
“You know,” he said, glancing over at the beautiful blond lounging across him on the sofa, whose his eyes were closed and lips were slightly parted. “I hope you never let anyone rub your feet but me. I don’t like the idea of other people getting these sorts of sounds out of you.”
Draco grinned. “No one else, Harry, I promise. What would be the point? No one’s nearly as good as you.”
Harry laughed, secretly enjoying the blatant flattery. He put his focus back on the task in front of him. “Rough shift?” he asked. Even Draco’s feet seemed tense, the toes slightly clenched and the muscles a bit twitchy. And that was nothing to what Harry could spot easily in the blond’s elegant shoulders. He was carrying something, Harry could tell. Something heavy.
“Long,” Draco replied. “Even though it was among the shorter shifts, it was the kind that starts out busy and never really gives you a break.”
“Mm,” said Harry. “Well, we’ll go to bed early tonight.” Draco had another twenty-four hour shift starting the next morning. It was necessary, since he had managed to orchestrate having the entire weekend off, so they could attend the DTF gala together with plenty of time before and after. It meant that Harry’s job for the next ten or so hours was to make sure Draco was rested and refreshed, so he could finish that shift successfully and then really enjoy himself.
There was a tapping on the window, and Harry glanced up to see his owl, Orion, hovering there, waiting to be let in. He sighed, knowing from whom Orion was bringing a reply.
He lifted Draco’s feet off him and made to stand, ignoring his boyfriend’s bleats of protest as he was abandoned mid-massage. Harry opened the window, letting the large black and white owl in and accepting the small note that was tied to his leg.
“I left some scraps for you on a plate in the kitchen,” he told the owl. “Archimedes’ had his fill. They’re all yours.”
Orion gave a dignified but grateful hoot and flew off down the hall. Harry unrolled the note and read it.

1 o’clock tomorrow at your office will suit me. I shall see you then.
Grayson Fawley, Esquire

Harry made a face. Esquire. What a pretentious little prick Mr. Fawley was. Not to mention a vocal and shameless blood supremacist. Harry couldn’t stand him. And now he actually had to sit down with the solicitor and have a conversation the following day, one he was really not looking forward to. But it had to be done. There was nothing for it.
“What’s that bit of parchment done to you, to make you hate it so much?” Draco asked from the sofa, amused.
“It’s not the note itself,” said Harry. “It’s who wrote it.”
“Ah,” said Draco. He understood. Harry often complained about some of the blowhards he had to deal with in his job.
There weren’t many, thankfully. Most people seemed quite on board with the youth programs that Harry and his boss, Naomi Thickett, had created together four years ago. In modern times, the idea of encouraging young witches and wizards of different blood statuses and backgrounds to comingle and learn about each other was a popular one, and the programs were well attended and only growing. There was the year-round after school program for pre-Hogwarts youth, where children ages six to eleven could come have fun together for a couple of hours after primary school every day. Then there were the summer retreats for older students, a residential integration program that wasn’t just for Hogwarts students, but for those from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang as well, among other schools. In fact, in the past couple of years the program had gone international and had seen attendees from places as far as Singapore, New Zealand, Brazil, and the United States. It was all quite exciting, and even more successful than Harry could have ever hoped. It was also clearly having a direct impact on the new generation. Headmistress McGonagall had relayed to Harry multiple times that inter-house unity at Hogwarts was at an all-time high, and hateful rhetoric about blood statuses, be it Muggleborn or pureblood, was quite rare nowadays, at least within the castle walls.
But there were a handful of holdouts, purebloods mostly, who believed encouraging such socialization was dangerous and hoped to thwart Harry and Naomi’s endeavors. Though they were mostly talk, and not particularly respected in the current political climate, they were still a nuisance. And, being the boss, Naomi often cheerfully left Harry with the privilege of putting them in their place. How very nice of her.
“Come back,” said Draco, pulling Harry out of his reverie. “I need you.”
Harry smiled, crumpling Fawley’s note and tossing it into the fire before rejoining Draco on the sofa. Draco lifted his feet and wiggled his toes invitingly, and Harry put his hands on them again with a soft laugh, deciding to start work on the left foot now.
What Draco wants, Draco gets. Harry had learned that one early on, and he never forgot it.
“You’ve got your dress robes ready for the gala, then?” Draco asked, once Harry was settled again.
“Yep,” said Harry. “Although I wish I could wear a suit.”
“You say that every year.”
“Because it’s true every year.”
“I like those robes on you, the blue and the black. It’s very understated.”
Harry snorted. “Whenever I wear them I feel like a child playing dress-up. I can’t wear robes the way you can.”
“I don’t even know what that means,” Draco replied.
“It means that you were raised wearing them, so you’re used to them. They look natural on you.”
“You’re overthinking it,” Draco said, his tone definitive. “It’s all in your head. I think you look quite handsome.”
“Hm, maybe,” said Harry, equivocating. “But when we get married, I’m not wearing any sodding dress robes. I’m wearing a tuxedo. In fact, I want the whole wedding party to go full Muggle.”
“My mother will love that,” Draco said with a wicked grin that implied just the opposite, but as though Draco was quite looking forward to the argument. “But don’t worry, I’ll back you up. I don’t want to wear dress robes either.”
“Good.”
They were silent for a few minutes, save for the small sounds of pleasure coming from Draco whenever Harry hit a particularly tender spot. Draco had his eyes closed again, enjoying Harry’s ministrations, and the brunet took the opportunity to study him unimpeded. Having lived with the man for over four years now, he’d become quite good at reading the subtle physical hints of Draco’s moods, though the blond was adept at masking them. But Harry was familiar with the way Draco hunched just a little when he was tired, or the way his eyes tightened when he was angry, or the small ways he fidgeted when he was nervous.
He’d also learned to recognize when Draco was carrying a secret. It was subtler than the rest: just a slight tension in his shoulders, a small shift in his eyes now and then. But it was there.
It had been there since he arrived home for dinner that evening.
“Did everything go all right at the hospital?” he asked.
Draco opened his eyes and looked at him. “Why do you ask?”
“You seem… tense.”
For a moment, he thought Draco was actually fighting a smile. “You know me too well. It’s very annoying.”
Harry smiled in return, but didn’t say anything, his hands still hard at work on Draco’s feet.
“I was assigned a very serious case by Iwu yesterday,” Draco said. “It’s the first one I’ve ever really taken point on and…” He licked his lips. “It’s a tricky one. It’s a pregnancy… obviously I can’t say too much about it but… well it’s the sort of thing that could go very, very wrong if I’m not careful, if I miss anything.”
“But you’ll be great,” said Harry, and Draco gave him a look. “You will. You’ll be careful, and you won’t miss anything. And Iwu checks all of your notes anyway, right? If there was something you didn’t know to look for, she will step in, right?”
Draco sighed. “Yes, that’s true.”
“She wouldn’t have given it to you if she didn’t have faith that you could do it.” Harry had met Adisa Iwu a handful of times. She was not the kind to suffer fools or to invest in students who weren’t worthy. She knew what she was doing, giving this case to Draco.
“Also true,” Draco replied. Harry watched as the Slytherin closed his eyes again, almost looking relieved.
“There’s something else, isn’t there?’
Draco sighed. “Damn you, Harry,” he said softly. He opened his eyes again, meeting Harry’s stare. “I can’t tell you. I’m sorry. I want to I’m just… I’m not allowed.”
Harry nodded, glad, at least, that his insight into his lover’s behavior was still as sharp as ever. “I understand, Draco.” And he did. He knew that Draco had to hold onto many secrets, as a part of his job. Harry had decided a long time ago to trust Draco implicitly. If he said it was something he couldn’t share, Harry took that at face value. Draco had never given Harry any reason to believe otherwise. “I just wish there was something I could do to help you.”
“I know,” he said, and he sounded pained. “Soon, I promise.”
That brought Harry up short. Soon? Since when did Draco have the opportunity to give details of his Healing cases to Harry? Unless he was waiting for permission because it was someone…
It was someone they knew.
Harry swallowed. Now the curiosity – no, more than that: a real need to know – burned even more fiercely within him. But there was nothing that could be done about that. He would never push Draco on something like this, put him in a position in which he felt compelled to violate his oath as a Healer.
But now this secret had him nervous.
“I’m sorry,” Draco said again, no doubt reading the shift in Harry’s demeanor.
“Don’t be,” said Harry. “I know you’re doing the best you can. You always do.”
“This part never gets any easier,” Draco said. “There will always be things I have to keep from you now. I didn’t think… I never anticipated-”
“Hey, don’t do that,” Harry interrupted him. He lifted himself up, enough to turn and crawl across the sofa to Draco, settling himself between the blond’s jean-clad legs and looking down at him. “I know you share everything you can. And that’s enough. That’s enough for me. I will never ask anything more.”
“You deserve more,” Draco said. “You deserve everything.”
Harry ran a finger across Draco’s forehead, brushing along the edge of his fringe before descending down the side of his cheek. Even twisted in guilt Draco’s face had an ethereal beauty to it that made Harry ache, made him feel homesick even when he was right there, touching him.
“I have everything,” Harry replied. His mouth descended on Draco’s then, partially to keep him from arguing but also just because he needed to taste him, to feel him, to breathe him in.
Draco kissed him back, almost desperately, his hands winding into Harry’s hair and gripping hard.
He needs this, Harry realized, as he felt the way Draco was trembling beneath him, almost as if he were frightened. Whatever it was that Draco couldn’t yet share, it scared him. And that made Harry scared too.
But if there was one thing in this world that made Harry less afraid, it was being with Draco, near him, buried in him.
So he took his wand and waved it, removing all of the barriers of cloth between them. And then he stroked, and licked, and teased, and stretched his lover and then, when he couldn’t bear to wait any longer, buried himself.
***
“Knock, knock,” Harry said, pushing on the partially open office door and revealing Hermione behind her desk, her head of sleek, almond brown curls obscuring her face as she bent over a length of parchment. She looked up when she heard him though, seeming momentarily surprised before giving him a small smile. “I brought lunch,” he said, which should have been a given. It was Friday, and they always had takeaway lunch together on Fridays.
Her smile widened. “Oh, good. I’m glad it was your week. I might have forgotten otherwise.”
Harry pretended to be offended. “How dare you? Forget me? Perhaps I ought to just keep this Kung Pao chicken for myself, then.”
“No!” Hermione cried, looking genuinely nervous for a moment. “That’s my very favorite!”
“Which is why I brought it for you,” Harry said with a grin as he placed her carton in front of her.
“Did you get spring rolls?” she asked hopefully.
“Of course.”
She was smiling at him quite brightly now. “You really are the very best friend a girl could ask for, Harry Potter.”
“Mm-hm,” Harry replied drily, taking a seat across from her and removing his own food from the bag.
“No really, if Ron hadn’t claimed you from the off as his best man, I would have made you my man of honor.”
“Laying it on a little thick, don’t you think? Besides, wouldn’t Ginny be upset to be ousted from such a coveted spot?”
Hermione gave him a sly grin. “Who says a girl can’t have a man of honor and a maid of honor?”
“Greedy,” Harry accused as he removed a pair of chopsticks from their paper and set about separating them.
He was quite glad he and Hermione had established this tradition. It gave him something to look forward to at the end of every week. They had been having these lunches together since Hermione had started at the Diaphone Thickett Foundation eight months ago, and it allowed them to reconnect in a way they hadn’t really been able to for the past few years.
Before coming to the Foundation Hermione had been working for a private law firm that handled a multitude of clients. She had been able to pursue her passion for creature rights to some extent while there, but Harry knew she had also been beholden to what the partners wanted her to do, and only had the opportunity to work with non-human and part-human clients if they walked through the door seeking representation. On top of that, her work hours were long, and the job had a tendency to be stressful and fairly thankless, in many cases.
Then, last year, the Foundation found itself with a budget surplus and a desire to create a new department, and the Creature Rights Division was born. Harry, of course, wasted no time in encouraging Hermione to apply, and didn’t hold back in his recommendation of her to the man who would be leading the department. It all had worked out beautifully, and it meant he got to see her on a regular basis. Though they worked in different parts of the building, they made time for each other, most notably with these weekly lunch dates.
It had been his turn to pick up the food, and he, like Hermione, was glad. Hermione had a tendency to frequent the same couple of establishments, café type places, where she could get a salad. Though she knew better than to bring him a salad, of course, he still got sick of roast beef sandwiches and crisps all the time. He liked to switch it up, never hitting a restaurant twice within a three month period, though overall he tended to gravitate towards Asian-inspired cuisine, anything with meat, rice, and big, spicy flavors. Hence the Kung Pao chicken sitting in front of Hermione and the Szechuan shrimp that Harry was enjoying.
Hermione ate like she hadn’t seen food for a week, and Harry watched her, amused.
“Someone’s hungry.”
She gave him a sheepish look. “I didn’t eat breakfast,” she admitted. “It’s a bad habit, I know, but… well honestly I just forget sometimes. I didn’t even realize I was so hungry until I smelled the food.”
Harry nodded. Hermione did have a way of getting caught up in her work and ignoring everything else.
“Ron’s been on me about eating more regularly, too, so…”
“So you’ve decided to imitate his eating habits?”
Hermione giggled. “Yeah, something like that.” She took another bite of chicken. “For a while he was convinced I was starving myself for the wedding. I assured him that wasn’t true, and I think he’s finally started to believe me. But you know how protective he is. Like a mother hen, sometimes.”
Harry smiled. He and Ron had that in common. Harry fussed over Draco in the same way, he was well aware. Of course, Hermione was quite protective too, it just took a different form. She let Ron find his own way with the day-to-day things, but if someone crossed him, or hurt him… well, Harry pitied the fool that made that mistake.
“He just cares about you, that’s all.”
She smiled at him. “I know.” She took a bite of rice and asked, “So, how was your week?”
Harry shrugged. “Nothing too exciting to report. Now that the summer’s over we’re less busy. It’s just the after school program to run now, and you know they’re so efficient over there they can run themselves.”
“Doesn’t keep you from going round a couple of times a week to check on them,” she replied with a knowing smirk.
Harry silently conceded. Yes, he definitely still liked to keep close tabs on the program, since it was his brainchild, after all. He wanted to make sure all was well there. That, and he also just liked to spend time with the kids, see the direct impact of his effort.
“It’s good to get out of the office now and then,” he said.
“Mm,” Hermione agreed with a hum. “I need more of that, I think. I’ve felt a bit cooped up here lately. It’s not as bad as when I was back at the firm, but…” She looked quite tired all of a sudden.
“Rough week?”
She looked up at him. “Yeah, you could say that.” He could see a flash of something in her eyes, but it was gone in an instant.
“What happened?” he asked.
She shook her head, then took a bite of food before answering. “It’s just this… this vampire case my team is working on. Honestly, I don’t think we should have even taken it. I’m not sure… well… my calling is creature rights, obviously, but the truth is, some creatures are much more disenfranchised than others, and I don’t think… well frankly I don’t think just because you’re not human means you have the right to do whatever the hell you want."
Harry smiled at the indignation in Hermione’s tone. “What do you mean?”
“Have you not heard about this? No, I suppose not. It might not have gone much past our department. Anyway, there’s this group of vampires that wants to gain the legal right to feed from any human, regardless of whether they give consent. Their argument is that the way the laws are now severely limits their food supply, and since taking blood doesn’t cause permanent harm, and we can always magically heal the bites afterwards, we should just let them bite whoever they feel like.”
“But that’s absurd,” said Harry. “Why would your department even take the case?”
“Because we didn’t fully understand their agenda when we took it,” she said, giving him a look that conveyed all her annoyance at her own superiors. “We’re a young department and I think most of us are a bit too eager. Now that we see what they actually want, we’re trying to talk them down from it, trying to get them to be a bit more reasonable.”
“And how’s that working out for you?”
“Not well. They keep trying to equate vampires drinking from humans with humans eating meat. Obviously we don’t wait for consent before we kill and eat a chicken, for example, so why should they wait for consent before drinking a human’s blood?”
“But we’re… you know, sentient, or whatever.”
Hermione shrugged. “They don’t care so much about that.”
“I would have thought they’d understand the difference between us and chickens. I mean, chickens are fairly stupid.”
“Yes, perhaps,” said Hermione. “But is a creature’s apparent stupidity really a valid justification for eating it? And it’s not as if that’s even really our criteria. Pigs, for example, are considered to be quite intelligent.”
Harry scowled. “Please let this not be you trying to turn me vegetarian. You know how much I love bacon.”
She laughed. “Obviously not. I have no qualms myself about eating meat.” She took another bite of chicken, as if to prove her point. “I’m merely pointing out the challenges we’re facing in refuting such an argument. It’s difficult to do, from a logical standpoint, anyway. At the same time, though, there’s no denying these vampires are simply wrong. And they’re delusional if they think they’re going to get a room full of human solicitors to argue the point for them in court. It’s just… well it’s a bit of a mess.”
“Sounds like it,” said Harry.
“It does get me thinking, though, every time I put bacon on the range for Ron’s breakfast.”
Harry picked up a piece of shrimp with his chopsticks and looked at it. “Surely I can’t feel guilty with this though,” he said. “I don’t think anyone could make the argument that shrimp are sentient or intelligent. They don’t even really have brains.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “They have brains,” she said. “Just… no working memory, and therefore no real sense of identity.” Her eyes clouded for a moment, and Harry tilted his head, watching her.
“What is it?”
She shook herself. “Nothing,” she said. “Just a stray thought.”
“Mm,” replied Harry, not really believing her.
“Anyway, let’s talk about something else. What’s left on the agenda for you this afternoon?”
Harry made a face. “Unfortunately, nothing good. I’ve got Fawley at 1 o’clock. That’s about it.”
“Oh, Merlin help you. He’s awful, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“What’s he here for this time?”
“The Rowle situation,” said Harry. “The man can’t get what he wants from his ex-wife, so he takes it out on us. And Fawley only encourages him. I swear, he’s the worst blood supremacist of them all. I honestly think he plants these ideas in his clients’ heads, just so he can come after us.”
“You know he has no legal leg to stand on,” Hermione said. “You’ve nothing to worry about.”
“I know that. Still, all these nuisance lawsuits are becoming a bit of a… nuisance.”
That made Hermione giggle. “Aptly named, they are.”
“Yes, definitely.”
“Well, I don’t envy you that part of your job,” said Hermione. “You’re taking a stand on something much more controversial than I am.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” said Harry. “It’s taken a lot of effort to get people on board with some of the causes you’re fighting for.”
“That’s true,” Hermione agreed. “But it’s different. When it comes to non-human creatures, the issue isn’t hatred, or anger. It’s indifference. Most can’t be bothered to care, because they think the issue doesn’t affect them. The intermingling of blood statuses, though… everyone’s got an opinion on that, most likely a strong one.”
“And all the opinions contradict each other,” added Harry.
“Exactly.”
Hermione had a point. It was a more precarious situation than Harry would have ever thought. He had been so clear about what he believed, going in, that he hadn’t given much thought to how he was going to work with those who believed the exact opposite. It was tricky business, and it sometimes muddied the waters of his own beliefs, much to his chagrin.
“The worst part is it’s really the children who suffer the most from it. I mean, take Rowle’s daughter for instance. She really just wants to spend time with her friends, do what she’s always done, be a kid. But now she’s caught in the middle of this mess.”
Hermione sighed. “Yes, that’s true. But think about all the good you’re doing that counterbalances it. If it weren’t for the Foundation, and your programs, the children wouldn’t have these opportunities at all. Their lives are changing because of it. Their worlds are expanding. They’re becoming better, more thoughtful, more open-minded people. You are doing good, Harry. You know that.”
Harry gave her a soft smile and nodded. This was one of the many reasons his friendship with Hermione was so important to him. She was an idealist, and she never compromised on those ideals or stopped fighting for them. It was good for him, because the other two most important people in his life, namely Draco and Ron, were both pragmatists, and didn’t always understand why fighting the good fight was so important. Harry fell somewhere in the middle, feeling pulled in both directions. Usually he saw that as a good thing, not falling to one extreme or the other, but in his job… well he had to believe that he was doing something worthwhile, and Hermione was always good at reminding him.
He glanced up at the clock. “I should go. Fawley will be here soon.”
“Oh, make him wait,” Hermione said, and when she met his eyes he saw a mischievous glint there. “If he wants to waste so much of your time with this rubbish at least you can make him waste a few minutes of his.”
Harry chuckled. “How very petty and vindictive of you, Hermione Granger. That’s not like you at all.”
She grinned. “It’s the little victories, sometimes, that get us through the day.” She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m only human.”
“That you are.”
“So, let’s make him sweat a bit, and you hang around a few more minutes and tell me a funny story.”
Harry smiled. He knew lots of funny stories now, after his time spent with the kids a couple of times a week. Children that age were always doing and saying absurd things, and Hermione especially liked to hear about them.
“Very well,” he said, thinking. “Did I ever tell you about the time that Jamie Fletcher did some accidental magic and got his best mate’s hand stuck inside a football?”
Hermione leaned in, grinning. “No. Tell me.”
It was about ten minutes after one when Harry got back to his office and found Grayson Fawley outside it, waiting for him. He greeted the man with a nod.
“Mr. Fawley.” He considered for a moment saying something like, “It’s good to see you again,” or “Thanks for coming in,” or “Sorry you had to wait, I was in a meeting,” but then remembered whom he was talking to. None of those platitudes would have been particularly genuine or honest. So instead he merely gestured towards his office and said, “Right this way.” Fawley stood and followed him.
They took their respective places – Harry in the chair behind his desk and Fawley in the chair in front of it – in silence, neither of them bothering with the niceties. Harry was glad of that, at least.
As Fawley settled himself Harry took a moment to study him. He was in his mid-thirties, thin almost enough to be gawky and with ears that stuck out a little on the sides. But his face was symmetrical enough to be considered quite attractive, and his dark hair and eyes, as well as his perpetual tan, gave him a sort of smoldering quality. It irritated Harry to no end.
He almost felt he could live with Grayson Fawley’s existence had he been some withered old codger whose star was already on the wane. The man’s blood supremacist leanings, while still being frustrating, would at least have been more understandable if he was from a much older generation. Harry happened to hold the belief that humans evolved over time, and major social change was possible because older, more closed-minded generations died out eventually and were replaced by younger, more open-minded ones. The process was slow, but at least it was progress.
But Fawley, with all his youth and vitality, stood as a testament that there were still plenty, even within Harry’s generation, who held onto these problematic beliefs. Sure, the solicitor was older than Harry by at least a decade, but that didn’t matter much, in the long run. That left them many years before retirement to be embroiled in these types of battles. The very thought of it exhausted him.
One step at a time, he reminded himself. He would best Fawley in the end. He had justice on his side, at least.
“You know why I’m here, Mr. Potter,” Fawley said, getting to the point as usual.
“I do, Mr. Fawley. Your numerous letters were quite clear.”
The solicitor raised an eyebrow. “If they were so clear, I must wonder why this meeting is even necessary. Why has the issue not been handled?”
“Because while you are free to write me or my boss all the letters you wish, we don’t work for you, or for your client, so we really have no obligation to comply with your demands.”
“Mr. Rowle’s daughter attends your after school program.”
“Yes, she does.”
“And Mr. Rowle wishes for that to no longer be so.”
“Which is an issue he ought to be taking up with the former Mrs. Rowle, now Ms. Abbott, I should say, rather than with us.”
Fawley’s jaw clenched. “You know full well it’s not that simple. Clara Abbott subscribes quite thoroughly to the abominable mission of your program, and therefore has every desire to continue to send her daughter to you.”
“And as the parent with primary custody of Jasmine, my understanding is that she is well within her rights to do so.”
“And Mr. Rowle’s parental rights? Are they not of concern to you? You claim to champion the right of the pureblood to raise their children how they wish, to preserve their cultural traditions, yet you refuse to take action when certain purebloods try to exercise that right. It seems to me you merely want to help out your friends, and actually have no sympathy for the pureblood agenda.”
Harry clasped his hands in front of him. “You certainly like to bring up the pureblood agenda quite a bit, Mr. Fawley.”
“Yes, well, it happens to contain a set of issues that are very important to my clients.”
“Yes, I’m well aware. However I feel a need at this point to be clear with you about some things. While I absolutely champion the right of the individual to live their life and raise their children how they see fit, this does not merely apply to purebloods. It applies to everyone.” Fawley opened his mouth to interrupt, but Harry talked over him. “Second of all, that stance should not for a moment be equated with the notion that I myself have beliefs even remotely in line with your so-called ‘pureblood agenda.’ And thirdly, it has been clear in my work over the past four years that purebloods are in fact quite divided on these issues and what you claim to be the agenda of purebloods is only really the agenda of a small group of them. Clara Abbott is pureblood, after all, and she supports our programs-“
“Of course she’s pureblood,” Fawley cut in. “Edmund Rowle would have never married her otherwise. However, though the Abbotts are a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, they are… well…” Harry guessed that Fawley was hesitating because he was trying to find some way to avoid the term “blood traitor” in this conversation. Yes, the man was a blood supremacist, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew how unpopular such terms had become, and that using them in this moment would get him nothing, except most likely a kick out the door. “The more traditionally light families have always been a bit more flexible when it comes to issues of blood, and therefore we don’t count them among our ranks.”
Harry sighed. Yes, another of the things Fawley loved to talk about: the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the last remaining pureblood lines in Great Britain. He loved to rail about how they were being desecrated by those of Muggle and mixed blood and how some among the group didn’t appreciate the old ways anymore. Harry had no patience for it whatsoever.
“Regardless,” Harry said. “Ms. Abbott has the right to send Jasmine to our program, and seeing as how we are perfectly happy to have her there, we will not be interfering.”
“It’s in violation of Mr. Rowle’s rights.”
“Frankly, Mr. Fawley, that’s not really our problem.”
Fawley smirked. “Mr. Rowle is paying me handsomely to make it your problem.”
Harry chuckled sardonically. “Then he is wasting his money. There is nothing we can do.”
“Hogwash. The contract every parent signs when they enroll their child stipulates that you have the right to remove a child from the program if you deem it necessary.”
“That’s true, however we must have justification for it.”
“The fact that one of the parents wishes it isn’t enough justification?”
“Not when said parent has lost nearly all of his parental rights through no fault but his own.” He saw Mr. Fawley’s entire body tighten. “That’s what it really comes down to after all, at least according to our solicitors, which I have consulted with extensively on this, as you can imagine. You go on and on about his parental rights, but you fail to acknowledge that, according to the courts, Mr. Rowle has actually not retained many of those rights at all.”
“That is another issue altogether,” Fawley said sharply.
“No, it is the issue, as I understand it,” Harry kept his voice quite calm, knowing it would drive Fawley mad. “The man failed to provide a safe home environment for his child, putting her in close proximity to criminals and murderers during the time he was tangentially associated with the Death Eaters. Mr. Rowle himself may have avoided prison, but still, the courts had an obligation to protect his child. I thought they were quite generous in fact, by allowing him those supervised visitations.”
Fawley was visibly vibrating with anger. Harry made sure his smile was mild rather than smug. It was a trick he’d learned from Naomi, with some help practicing from Draco. It was important that he remain professional, as this conversation was on the record and therefore the pensieve memory of it admissible in court. He had to maintain every appearance of propriety. Still, on the inside, he was quite enjoying Fawley’s reaction. It never ceased to entertain him, antagonizing blood supremacists, ‘prodding the dragon,’ as it were.
“You’re out of line, Mr. Potter.”
“I hardly think so,” said Harry. “I’m merely pointing out why the law is on our side in every aspect of this case. But if you feel the need to attempt to take it to court, we’ll certainly see you there. We are happy to win and then have the precedent set for all future cases of this type.” He met Fawley’s eyes then, and held the gaze. “Of course, that’s not why you’re really here, as we both know. This will never go to court. You don’t even really want it to. You just want to keep bullying my department until we give in to one of your demands. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that it’s not going to work. I’ve never been one to allow myself to be bullied. I think my history reflects that fairly nicely.” It was not his favorite thing to play the Savior card, but Naomi did like him to play it on occasion, if only to remind their adversaries exactly who they were dealing with. Five years out from the war, some people had a tendency to forget, at least for a little while.
“You’re bluffing, Mr. Potter,” Fawley replied. “The last thing this foundation wants is a fight in the courts.”
“I’m really not bluffing, Mr. Fawley. Though you can certainly call me on it and find out the truth for yourself.”
His eyes narrowed. “Remove Jasmine Rowle from your program or be prepared for the fallout.”
Harry sighed. “No,” he said simply.
“Very well,” Fawley said, standing. “Then we’re done here. You’ll be hearing from me again soon.”
“I’m sure,” Harry said drily, standing as well. He knew Fawley was posturing, just trying to save face. But the man had been beaten, as was inevitable, and they both knew it.
Fawley walked out the door without another word, and Harry sat back down, slumping back in his chair. Well, at least it was done.
After a minute or two he sat up in his chair again, snatching up a bit of parchment to write a memo to Naomi, as he had promised to do.

To: Naomi Thickett
Re: The JR Case

Talked to Mr. F. The situation is handled.
H

That would be enough for her. She knew the rest.
He folded the parchment into a paper airplane and sent it off with a charm to Naomi’s office, which was just down the hall. Then he sat back in his chair again, glad the weekend was only a few hours away and he would have the entirety of it to spend with Draco.
Hermione was right. It had certainly been a rough week.
Up Next: Draco sits down with Andromeda, then finally gets to share the truth with Harry.
discord_the_lunatic: Thanks! Glad you’re intrigued. At this point Hermione is mainly concerned about the press, although there are some underlying emotional layers there as well.
Dedicated_Reader: I understand what you’re saying. I realize this is a slower-moving fic and is requiring a lot more setup, and sometimes you may not have all that much to say about a chapter. But I hope you know how much I appreciate you reviewing anyway. And I can promise to give you more to talk about in the chapters to come!
SickPuppy: Oh no, I’m getting threats now? Lol I guess I kind of deserve it, considering the last couple of chapters. But I hope this one lived up to your demands for something a bit more cheerful.
Book_addict_89: No, I’m not making it easy on you at all! But the whole fic isn’t going to be like that, I promise! I appreciate you sticking with it!
Featherquill: Thank you, and sorry for the depressing chapter. I hope this one satisfied a little of your Drarry craving. There is more to come as well!
As I addressed in the A/N at the top of the chapter, we aren’t cycling back to Vesper just yet. There is a bit more of the other storylines to deal with first. But she’ll be coming in due time, and it will be a good one, I promise :)
LadyShire: Thank you! Glad to have you on board! The Andromeda/Teddy situation is going to be addressed next chapter.
staar: Yes, Hermione is a stubborn one. She’s got some stuff to figure out.
Andromeda’s health issues and what is going to happen about it will be dealt with in the next chapter. Harry and Draco will figure it out together, though, don’t worry :)
smn: Thank you so much! It means a lot to hear that, especially when I know I’m dishing out the heavier chapters. I never want to depress or upset you guys. That’s not my intention at all. But I want this fic to have some emotional depth, and that means some hard stuff. It’s so good to know that you appreciate the writing, even when we’re in a harder part of the story. There is joy to come too, though, I promise!
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