Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Anarchy as Art	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 12618 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

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Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Six—Slicing Down

            “You don’t know that he intended to destroy the records. It may have been merely an unfortunate side-effect of his spell.”

            Harry stared at Thorin across his desk. Thorin looked back at him with a faint frown, as though he didn’t understand why his comment had made Harry pause in his verbal report.

            The verbal report is probably not something he wants to be doing, anyway, Harry thought, his mind still working through the implications of the comment. If something’s not written down, then he doesn’t think it’s real.

            Which was precisely why it was so clever of Malfoy to strike at the records. He knew that Thorin would be reluctant to believe the most obvious case of wrongdoing without the reports and files and memorandums that made it all seem a solid world to him.

            “I do think he intended to destroy it, sir,” Harry said, when he had recovered his tongue and his mental balance. “Nothing else in the room was harmed, even Auror Flowing, who was closer to the blast than I was. Only the cabinets. A random curse, especially one triggered to start out of Malfoy’s sight, would have blasted the desks and the people in the room as well. There was no reason for it not to.”

            Thorin spent a moment arranging the papers in front of him. Harry looked down at them, but he had never developed the skill that Ron and some of the other Aurors had, to read the reports upside-down. He did see what looked like a list of names, but Thorin saw him looking and whisked that under another sheet of parchment at once, before Harry could see whether his name was on there.

            “We don’t have the evidence,” Thorin said. “Only the rather biased accounts of the two people in the office, and I have to say, Auror Potter, that Auror Flowing comes across as rather hysterical to me.”

            “She thinks she nearly died, sir, and this is the first time she’s faced that,” Harry said flatly. “She didn’t believe in the targeted effect of the spell. And I don’t know why you wouldn’t believe me, since I am the one you assigned to this case.”

            Thorin nodded and rubbed the scar on his ring finger with the one right next to it. “Yes, yes, but your bias against Malfoy is well-known. Go to the papers and repeat what you just told me, and no one is going to believe you. We need still more convincing evidence, Potter, evidence that no one on the Wizengamot is going to sneer at.”

            Harry leaned forwards, bracing his palms on the desk. He was controlling himself, carefully, because he thought he would only ever get one chance to stun Thorin with his anger and override his stupid decisions that way, and now wasn’t the time.

            “If you think that they’ll distrust me because of my bias, sir, then why put me on the case?”

            “I’ve already told you why.” Thorin looked at him with hooded eyes. “If you’re right, and that was Malfoy’s intention, to destroy the records, then we need new ones. Go and make them, Auror Potter. Get it in writing.”

            Harry, in his imagination, slammed his palms down on Thorin’s desk, made the whole stack of paperwork leap in the air and cover him like an avalanche, and stormed out. And the Department of Magical Law Enforcement applauded him, and the Wizengamot agreed that he’d been provoked beyond endurance, and he had an Order of Merlin the next week for dealing with a Head Auror that everyone hated.

            But…

            But he couldn’t do that.

            Harry couldn’t arrest Malfoy unless he played by the rules, especially with Thorin so rules-bound, and he wanted to arrest Malfoy. He ground his teeth until they hurt and then bowed his head. “As you say, sir.”

            “No need to look so hangdog, Potter,” said Thorin, in what he probably thought was a jolly tone. “You can move as soon as you have some evidence to go on, some real evidence. Not simply false confessions and letters that could be jokes and spells that could have been harmless pranks.”

            Harry held back the urge to respond that Thorin would be cowering under his desk if that attack had happened in his office, and that Auror Flowing was doing well to be able to talk rationally about it after a cup of tea. Thorin just wouldn’t believe without proof. Harry had to have the proof. He was only glad that he had already locked Linton’s letters in that safe in his office, so that there was no way Malfoy could get at them with the same kind of spell.

            Unless there’s someone in here spying for him and they can tell him exactly where that little alcove is…

            Harry shook his head sharply, and dismissed the paranoid fantasies. He nodded to Thorin instead and said, “I’ll get that, sir.” And he left the office with his back straight and the yells locked firmly in the bottom of his throat.

            He wondered for a moment what he should do next. Fine, Malfoy had his attention again, and arresting him now simply wasn’t an option. Going back to Malfoy Manor probably wouldn’t do much good, either, and Harry had already read through Flowing and Wing’s notes and the Linton letters so often that he probably knew them by heart.

            Make him find me.

*

            “I knew I would find you here.”

            Harry took another slow sip of his Firewhisky and glanced up to find Malfoy standing there, next to his table in the Leaky Cauldron, staring at him. He shrugged. “You found me here once before. It was a logical deduction.”

            He didn’t think there was anything really different in his manner, but Malfoy’s smile sharpened, and he slid into the seat where he’d sat last week without taking his eyes from Harry. “You’re angry with me,” he whispered. “Why?”

            Harry exhaled slowly and looked into his mug. He had intended to play it cool when Malfoy had shown up; he had thought that would be easy. Why not? He knew the truth if no one else did, and he thought he was getting used to Malfoy’s mixture of teasing, seriousness, and outright idiocy.

            “You nearly killed someone yesterday,” Harry said. “That’s why.”

            Malfoy leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs. This morning he wore a simple white shirt and dark blue trousers, without the dress robes that Harry was used to seeing him in. Then again, he might not have gone to the Ministry today, and that was where he wore the dress robes, to impress the people who thought him a paragon of respectability.

            “Someone?” Malfoy asked. “And this mysterious person doesn’t have a name and an identity you can give me?” He leaned in and lowered his voice, probably meaning the words to go home like an arrow to the heart. “Should I be jealous, Harry?”

            And if I get desperate enough, that would be another way to draw him close. Harry told himself to remember that, and shook his head. “You should know the name, considering which office you sent the owl to.”

            Malfoy laughed. He was still leaning in, and Harry distrusted that, the tense, coiled stillness, as though he was waiting for something to happen. Usually, he moved around more than that.

            And I hate that I know that. On the other hand, it should be useful if I ever manage to fight him in close quarters.

            “I think I might know it, then,” Malfoy said, and cocked his head to the side in what was probably meant as a whimsical gesture. “But, Harry, you mean to say that you resent me for that? Such a natural action to take, destroying the records that might be there! I notice that your Head Auror hasn’t given you the chance to take advantage of that natural action, though.”

            Harry turned back to his Firewhisky and once again sipped, letting the rich taste run down his throat, the slight burn gather at the back of it, and the thickness settle on his tongue. It was the only way that he might get away with not strangling Malfoy.

            “Tell me one thing,” Malfoy said. “One thing, and I’ll leave you alone for today.”

            Harry wasn’t sure that was what he wanted, in lieu of a clue to the great theft that Malfoy was planning. But not acting eager to get rid of him could tell Malfoy Harry was hunting him through trying to reel him in. He eyed him. “Oh? I can’t tell you if it concerns someone else’s secrets.”

            “What would I want with someone else’s secrets?” Malfoy waved a lazy hand, his eyes locked on Harry’s face. “No, I’m far more interested in something else. Something that I know you can give me.”

            In the end, Harry thought, there was nothing for it but to follow Malfoy’s lead and see what happened. So he nodded, while tightening his hand on the wand beneath the table.

            “Do you enjoy your life?”

            Harry blinked. That had been the opposite of what he had expected Malfoy to ask, which would have something to do with Ron, or Hermione, or Hogwarts, or—something they had shared. Something that Harry could see Malfoy having interest in, if only to taunt him about it.

            But when he looked into Malfoy’s eyes, there were none of the signs he would have decided immediately were simply covers for a lie. Instead, Malfoy stared at him, and his eyes burned. The shine seemed reflected in the expression on his face, which was far too bright to be incidental.

            Or so you think. Remember how good an actor is, and what kind of ways he can come up with to fool people. Remember all the ones who think that he’s just a harmless idiot who wants to donate a lot of money to make up for his family’s actions in the war.

            And Harry was trying to remember that, but just like when he had been looking at Linton’s letters, it was hard to distrust Malfoy completely and trust him enough to evaluate his behavior at the same time. At the moment, Harry decided, he would accept that Malfoy was interested in him, if only to expose him as a fraud instead of the best Auror ever, and he would try to use that interest as a lever.

            “Yes,” he said. “Of course. It’s the only life I have, and more than I thought I would have, after the war. Of course it’s enjoyable.”

            “I’m not talking about it in comparison to the life that you might have had,” Malfoy said, his voice quiet, his eyes as intense as they had been all along. “Or the non-life, if the Dark Lord had killed you during the war. I want to know if you enjoy it. If you like following the rules, and spending all your time serving people who aren’t as smart as you are, and chasing criminals that half the time get off again on some technicality because they have enough money to hire the best advocates. I’m asking you if you like that.”

            “I enjoy being an Auror,” Harry said. “And all those are necessary parts of being an Auror.” His hand hurt with the grip he had on his wand. He flattened out his palm on his knee, and tried to convince himself that wasn’t dangerous.

            Malfoy leaned nearer still. Harry felt himself flush and the hair on the back of his neck prickle. He had always hated being stared at like this, by reporters or Hermione or anyone else. It made him want to hide.

            “It’s not a necessary part of being an Auror,” Malfoy whispered. “Sometimes they have superiors who trust them, and they can make sure their arrests stick. Sometimes they have superiors who are more like partners, and can work with them.”

            “Sometimes,” Harry said. “But I don’t.”

            “And you don’t want to rebel?” Malfoy whispered, his voice falling until Harry had to lean in himself to hear it. “You don’t want to scream at the rules for once and do what you want, what you know is right?” He baited the last word with honey and lies.

            Harry took a deep breath, and shook his head. Malfoy couldn’t know about the dreams that sometimes filled his head, because they were just that, dreams, and Harry hadn’t shared them with anyone, so Malfoy couldn’t know about them, and couldn’t taunt Harry with them. “No, I really don’t,” he said, and gave Malfoy a smile as vicious as he could. Maybe he could irritate the bastard into backing off.

            Do you want to, when you have to catch him?

            But him just chatting like this to me doesn’t matter. What matters is getting him to confess the details of that theft he’s planning.

            “What is right can’t be achieved by…doing just what I want,” Harry said, seeking words that would turn the conversation back in the direction of what he was more interested in. “And that means that I can’t break the rules and demand people follow me, or whatever you’re advocating. Enough people already think I’ll do that because I’m the Boy-Who-Lived, that I’ll depend on my prestige to get me out of trouble or persuade people to do something stupid. I have to show that I’m not like that in order for them to take me seriously.”

            Malfoy went still, his eyes fixed on Harry. Harry maintained the gaze, and said nothing. He knew that something he said had got through to Malfoy, although he had no idea what it was, and he was afraid of spoiling it if he talked.

            “I can’t believe I never saw that before,” Malfoy whispered. “I wondered why you were content to lead such a cramped life, where your passion had gone, but that’s it, isn’t it? You’re actually afraid that they’ll throw you out of the Ministry if they once get an idea that you’re reaching above your station. And you want to keep your job so desperately—Merlin only knows why—that you’ll force yourself to be something you’re not.”

            “I know what I am,” Harry said, and glanced up and down the pub. No one was paying much attention to them; most people didn’t, now that they had become used to Harry drinking in the Leaky Cauldron so many afternoons a week. “A good Auror, and someone who doesn’t need to listen to your bollocks.” He cast his Galleons roughly down, used a simple spell to send them over to Tom in a ringing line of gold, and turned to face the door of the pub.

            Malfoy’s hand was on his wrist.

            Harry turned around, snarling in anger, and stopped the moment he saw Malfoy’s face. It had a faint, inviting half-smile on it, but it wasn’t smug in the way that he hated. Malfoy reached out with his free hand and held it there, palm flat and open, as if offering Harry something. Harry stared at it, but no opal or other stolen treasure appeared.

            It was—attractive.

            Harry hated the thought, but being honest with himself might have some benefits where Malfoy was concerned, so he stood still, with his arms folded, and glared back instead of retreating the way he wanted to. Malfoy gave him a softer smile, and his hand on Harry’s arm pulled, urged, him closer. Harry went, although he half-wanted to break free. Doing what Malfoy desired couldn’t be a good idea.

            “I could give you what you wanted,” Malfoy said to him, voice deep and slow, lips a few inches from Harry’s. “The ability to break the rules and to do the things that you thought were right. The ability to live a life that you actually enjoy, instead of one that you think makes other people happy.”

            “By teaching me Dark Arts?” Harry sneered and stepped back, but Malfoy’s hold didn’t let him retreat far, and he ended up stopping because he didn’t want to look ridiculous yanking against Malfoy’s grip. “No fucking thanks. I don’t want to become the kind of criminal that you train, just another of your conquests—”

            “You’re the conquest I would treasure forever.”

            Malfoy leaned in and kissed Harry again, the way he had outside the gates of Malfoy Manor, but this time it was much slower, more languid, and gently insistent than Harry remembered the touch of his mouth being before. As Harry stood there, because he didn’t know what the fuck was going on or what the fuck he should do next, Malfoy’s hand found its way into the hair on the back of Harry’s neck and toyed, fingers sliding up and down, pausing, then pressing into the skin in a way that Harry had never felt before but apparently really liked.

            Harry gasped, and then tore his mouth free and wiped it. Malfoy, watching him, only smiled, warm and sphinx-like, and stood up.

            “Not make you a criminal,” he said. “I think you know what I want. You just won’t admit it to yourself.”

            And he turned and sauntered out of the pub, ignoring the stares that by now were coming from every corner.

            Harry shut his eyes, his face so bright red that he wanted to cast a glamour. But everyone had already seen, and there was no point in hiding after the fact. He cast a spell to remove the swollen look from his lips, though, because he worried about what Ron might say if he went back to the Ministry looking like that.

            He might be happy for you. You know that he sometimes feels that you don’t get laid enough.

            Harry snarled and stalked out of the pub. It was ridiculous, these thoughts. Part of him had always been traitorous, getting angry too easily and resenting people in the Ministry—like Thorin—for stupid little slights that he knew he shouldn’t even pay any attention to. Why in the world couldn’t he grow up all the way? Normal people wouldn’t respond to Malfoy. Normal people wouldn’t hate and resent some aspects of their jobs instead of just learning to live with them.

            Harry paused, then, and one of his thoughts from earlier that was actually useful came back to him.

            Malfoy wanted the part of him that was like that, didn’t he? Or at least he wanted Harry to believe he did. That meant he would probably think it worthwhile to get closer if Harry displayed more of that part, whatever his ultimate goal was.

            Harry showed his teeth. There was no one around to see, but that didn’t matter. What mattered most was what he thought of himself, and he would know that he had done his best whatever happened.

            He had thought of another way that he might take down Malfoy.

*

            unneeded: It’s not so much that Harry believes himself undesirable as that a) it’s Malfoy, and he thinks Malfoy really hates him too much to want him, and b) he doesn’t trust Malfoy to tell the truth about anything, including this. But he does sort of know it in this chapter. He just plans to turn it to his own advantage.

            SP777: Harry won’t as long as he abides by the rules; beat Draco up and he can kiss his chance of an arrest good-bye.

            Makoto_Sagara: Really? I think that Harry’s tactic of ignoring Malfoy was a good one, if only because it did really infuriate him. Although not the most mature thing in the world, no.

            I don’t see Ron as stupid, but as willing to take lots of chances that might be—not the smartest thing in the world.
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