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Intoxicate the Sun	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 18051 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I am making no money from this story.

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Chapter Nine—Reap the Whirlwind

            “Are you sure that this’ll work, mate?”

            Harry clapped Ron on the back, and tried not to notice the way his eyes drifted away as if he assumed that looking into Harry’s face would be too hard to bear. “I’m counting on you, Ron,” Harry said. “That’s all.”

            “I know you are,” Ron muttered, and then they opened the large doors and stepped into the room where their followers (a strange word to use, Harry thought, because it implied that they hadn’t chosen to follow, but he really didn’t know a better one) awaited them.

            The quatrains stood slightly apart from each other in the front rows, Catchers and Wheelwright telling the story of how they had gone along to Hogwarts. Harry smiled as he listened to them, although their words were lost behind the swelling chaos of noise that arose as soon as most people caught sight of him and Ron.

            “Good to see you, sir!” someone called out.

            Harry looked sideways at Ron and raised his eyebrows. “Sir?” he mouthed.

            Ron shrugged defensively, shifting the burden of the large scroll of parchment he carried from one shoulder to another. “They needed something to call me if they were going to respect me,” he muttered. “‘Sir’ is less objectionable than some other titles I could think of.”

            “You’ve got that right,” Harry muttered, making Ron chuckle, and they walked down the aisle that had already formed between the ranks of the watching men and women, towards the cleared space in the middle.

            Harry found it hard to imagine what the former owners of the manor had used this room for, unless it was as a sort of private theater. There was a polished ivory stage in the middle, where he and Ron would stand, and the floor very subtly slanted between what looked like planks of wood buried into it at intervals of a few feet but which could unfold to become seats. Maybe the family had been large enough that the current head could stand here and harangue them, Harry thought. Hard to know.

            But then, a lot of pure-blood customs were still hard for him to understand. He was grateful that he had become friends with Ron instead of Malfoy, because Ron only occasionally made references to something odd or talked about something Harry had never heard of before and expected him to know what it was. Malfoy would have done that all the time, Harry thought.

            Malfoy…

            Harry scanned the crowd for a moment and found him, standing towards the front, his arms folded as though he was anticipating either a boring session or an attack. Harry nodded to him. Malfoy promptly squinted at him as if he was looking into the sun.

            “What does the little fucker want?” Ron muttered. He’d followed Harry’s line of vision and leaned forwards now as though he thought Malfoy would do something dastardly in the next minute and a half.

            “I don’t know,” Harry said. “I doubt that it’s only to free his parents.”

            Ron blinked at him with one eye. “You know that? We—thought you didn’t. Why would you let him stay if you knew he was planning something else?”

            “Because he did pass the Veritaserum interrogation,” Harry said, smiling at Ron, “and I want to see what he has planned.”

            Ron rolled his eyes and started to say something else, but they had arrived at the stage now, and the wave of cheering drowned out any words they could have said. Ron tapped the scroll with his wand and made it float in mid-air in front of him, while he climbed up on the stage and bowed to the crowd. Harry climbed up beside him, watching the people who oriented on them, noting the directions of their gazes.

            More of them looked to Ron than to him. Harry relaxed. His name and reputation had been necessary to power the revolution in the beginning, perhaps, and most of those who fled to them now still came looking for “Harry Potter’s revolution.” But Ron was the one who led them in battle. That meant, if something happened to cause them to lose faith in Harry, they would still have a leader the rebellion could move forwards under.

            And Harry did think the success of the rebellion was more important than his maintaining control of it.

            He glanced at the scroll, which a lot of people were watching curiously now, and nodded. The representation of Fortuna’s Wheel on the parchment was as good as he could make it, transferred directly from the book with a Copying Charm and then enlarged. Some of the colors had gone a bit blurry in the process, but none of them had mixed, to Harry’s relief. He thought the colors of each spoke important.

            Not that just memorizing the colors of the wheel and having the determination to turn it would be enough, as Harry knew. He could use that when he was trying to take away his own ability to do a spell, but it would be something more, something else, when they were trying to take away magic from other people.

            How many of them are going to agree to this?

            Harry shrugged. If no one did, then he would go out and use the weapon on his own. He was a lot more concerned with taking away certain of the Ministry’s powers and forcing them to a compromise than anything else. He had said as much in his latest letter to Hermione, when she worried that his revolution had no definite goals and thus was doomed to failure before it ever managed to fly.

            But you killed the Minister, came a line from the letter she had sent him in return, the one he hadn’t answered yet. That makes it murder. That makes it war. Do you think that you can come back from this, Harry?

            The crowd had gone mostly silent and was staring at him now. Harry shoved his doubts aside. He would have to hope that he could explain this concept to everyone first and get them to accept it, before he started worrying about the dead Minister and what he meant.

            “How many of you know of Fortuna’s Wheel?” he asked.

            There were murmurs and rising hands. Others cocked their heads as if they wanted to understand the design on the scroll before they committed themselves to anything. Harry smiled sympathetically at them, and a few people smiled back.

            “It is hard to understand,” he said. “A wheel that is also the world, and can be spun or turned with your mind, if you work hard enough at it. Most of the time, fate or chance—whichever name you believe is right—is the only thing that can spin it. But I have worked the spell on myself, and now I’ve changed.”

            “How, sir?” asked Catchers, who stood near the stage and looked as though he expected Harry to extend an extra arm from beneath his cloak.

            So they call me “sir,” too. Harry didn’t know what to do with that discovery yet, and it went into the back of his mind to await its turn to be relevant, like Hermione’s information. “I took away the ability to cast the Blasting Curse from myself,” he said. “I want to use this to take away from the Aurors the ability to cast the Memory Charm and the Imperius Curse.”

            An instant babble of voices arose, all of them shouting to be heard. Harry lifted his wand and cast an enormous flare of red smoke with black sparks upwards. That shut most of them up, though here and there someone talked earnestly to him about things that Harry wasn’t ready to discuss yet.

            “As you can imagine,” he said, “this is going to take a lot of work before we can be sure that we can use it safely on our enemies. I would prefer not to damage them, in fact. I only want to make sure that the Ministry can’t protect the guilty anymore or come up with persuasive cover stories to hide their guilt. Who is with me?”

            “Permission to speak, sir!” Catchers was practically standing on his toes, his arm vibrating as he shoved his wand into the air.

            Harry nodded to him, braced for a violent disagreement. He had known that Catchers would come to him, even after Harry had cursed him on his way out of the Ministry, because that was the kind of Auror Catchers was. He didn’t hold someone being stronger in magic against them, because that was the way the world was made, with some people stronger and some people weaker. But he would consider, seriously, the accusations made by someone who was stronger than him. It was as though you opened a way into his mind with a spell cast into his body.

            But Harry knew that he’d probably weakened himself in Catchers’s eyes by talking about losing a spell, and that meant that Catchers would consider himself more entitled to disagree with Harry than he had been so far.

            “That would make our enemies into Squibs, sir,” Catchers said.

            Harry inclined his head. “Not across the whole range of magic, but with those two particular spells, yes.”

            “That is wrong,” Catchers said, and his voice vibrated like his wand had done. “We’ll be wrong if we do that, sir.”

            Harry decided that he might as well answer this objection right now. A lot of heads were moving up and down, and there were others whom Catchers could persuade to his side if Harry couldn’t answer this question.

            “It’s like this, Catchers,” he began, and leaned forwards, and everyone else in the room seemed to follow him, even as his vision narrowed down to the one young man in front of him, who had to be convinced somehow.

*

            Potter is mad.

            That was the thought which flashed through Draco’s mind as he stood there, staring at the brightly-colored scroll and the young former Auror whom Potter was trying to persuade. It was as though, if he didn’t look at Potter, he could repress the possibility of such a mad change in the world itself.

            But he did look, of course, and saw the confident smile curving Potter’s mouth as he listened to whatever answer the Auror was making. He believed he was right. He wouldn’t be dissuaded by anything anyone else could say to him. In fact, from Weasley’s expression, he had already tried that, and Potter had rebuffed him.

            Draco’s emotions twisted and writhed back on themselves, so that he had to close his fists in his robes and keep his breathing slow and steady to avoid attracting attention. This was not the future he had envisioned when he became a spy for the Ministry. He had thought that he would have forever to make his choices, because Potter had done so little so far that he would do little in the foreseeable future.

            And now he found himself rushing up on the rocks of a decision right away. Did he tell the Ministry what Potter had planned, or not?

            If I do so, then they would find some way to counter it. Potter found this method with only a little determined theoretical searching. They would be able to spare more people and time for it, and they would discover the real answer in instants.

            If he didn’t tell the Ministry, his allegiance to Potter, or rather his lack of faith in the Ministry, would be exposed at once the moment Potter started training some of his people to take away those spells from the Aurors.

            Draco clenched his hands in front of him and fought the urge to close his eyes and go away into a private dream-world where his parents were free and this had never happened. He had spent enough time there immediately after his mother’s sentencing. This was reality, and reality hadn’t conformed to Malfoy wishes in seven years.

            Choose.

            He looked back again at Potter, standing there with his head confidently cocked, his hands resting on his hips as though he didn’t think any argument could persuade him to change his stance.

            This is what I choose.

            Draco shoved his way forwards through the crowd. People gave place to him with offended looks, but most of them didn’t protest; that was the sort of behavior they expected from someone rude and Malfoy, evidently. They probably thought those words synonymous, Draco thought. Perhaps they should be, if that would help him achieve what he wanted.

            He arrived at the base of the stage and sprang upwards, landing beside Potter. Potter moved back a step and watched him with a steady, bright gaze.

            Draco nodded once to him, then turned and faced the crowd. “I support him,” he said. “And I’m pure-blooded.”

            That made a few people hesitate, not many. The former Auror who had been challenging Potter until now snorted and said, “And why should anyone listen to what you say? You joined the revolution late, and we all know why you came.”

            “If you think that getting prisoners out of Azkaban isn’t a worthy goal,” Draco said to him, with a yawn, “then perhaps you should join a different group. We all know that Potter is interested in justice. And this is justice, too.”

            Weasley narrowed his eyes. “How can you be sure, Malfoy?” he asked. “Memory Charms are our best tool to protect ourselves against Muggles. I know that Harry has some justifications for taking them away, but—”

            Draco sneered at him and kept right on talking. Weasley wouldn’t trust him if he said that Potter was the most brilliant general the world had ever seen. Draco wouldn’t waste breath trying to convince him. There were other minds out there he could touch, more important ones.

            The most important one stood next to him, and hadn’t interrupted him yet.

            “You’re reacting as though we want to take away the ability from everyone in the wizarding world,” he said. “Potter only talked about taking it away from the Aurors and Hit Wizards loyal to the Ministry. Did you somehow miss that?”

            Weasley shook his head. “It would extend to us in the end. We couldn’t use spells that our enemies couldn’t use, when the war is over. We couldn’t pretend that we were somehow above them.”

            Draco stared at Weasley. “Why not?” he asked, forgetting his choice not to engage him in argument. Yes, it would likely end up becoming ridiculous, but Weasley had to understand that his point-of-view was not the only one possible. “The Ministry uses spells that they don’t permit anyone outside the Auror Corps to learn. They give people permission to use Legilimency, when it’s banned otherwise. Wartime permissions have included the Unforgivable Curses.”

            “But we’re trying to be better than they are.” Weasley’s voice altered towards the brittle. “You wouldn’t understand that, of course, being Malfoy.”

            Draco gave him a smile like a sword. “Taking away two spells isn’t the end of the world,” he said.

            “He’s right.”

            For a moment, Draco thought the words had come from Weasley, since he was so focused on the bastard, and reeled. But then he realized that Potter had shifted forwards to stand beside him and slipped the words into a hole in their argument.

            Weasley’s jaw clamped shut. A moment later, he said, “Mate, you can’t mean that. You wanted to—you were saying that we couldn’t pretend that we were better than them, not when so many people have changed their minds and joined us, and we didn’t do anything about the evil around us as quickly as we should have.”

            Draco came very close to rolling his eyes. Evil. Having seen the Dark Lord at work, Weasley was now prepared to assign too much importance to violations of his own moral code.

            “I know I said that,” Potter said. He shifted closer. Draco shifted away, and then forced himself to stand still. If he wanted to work with Potter—and he had chosen that the moment that he decided to go with Potter instead of reporting Potter’s plan to the Ministry—then he should get used to the odd heat the man seemed to put out, like a grounded sun. “But I don’t see us using the Imperius Curse often, and the Memory Charms only at great need. It’s specific people who misused the Memory Charms. Malfoy is right. This is about the Aurors and the others working for the Ministry who would misuse the spells, not saying that some magic is evil and has to be destroyed completely.”

            “But you said,” Weasley began. Then he fell silent. Draco wondered if some signal had passed between Potter and Weasley that he didn’t know about, or if Weasley was questioning his own memory of the conversation. Draco hoped it was the latter. In his view of the world, Weasley should question everything, up to and including his own decision not to use a glamour on his freckles in the morning.

            “We have to stop the Ministry from condemning the innocent and letting the guilty go with not even an imputation attached to their names.” Potter’s voice had deepened. The heat had increased again, and this time, Draco didn’t care who saw him inch away—not when he looked to the side and saw actual flames billowing away from Potter’s sides and arms and head. Potter spoke in a hard voice, but not an angry one, and swung in a slow circle that ought to let him make eye contact with everyone in the crowd. “That is our primary goal. That is why we started this revolution. To bring justice into the world, not to satisfy our own urge to kill or become vigilantes. Why did we steal the loyalist Aurors’ wands? Because we wanted to prevent them from casting more of the kinds of spells that they have in the past, and we wanted the Ministry to stop using them as an arrest and concealment force in the case of real Dark magic. This, the stealing of certain spells from them, is only another rendition of the same idea.”

            A great quiet seemed to flow over the crowd as everyone considered that. Draco frowned over his shoulder at Potter. He had no idea how the man could take ideas and shape them into words that would still people, especially when he hadn’t been the one to make clear the distinction between only taking those spells from Aurors and taking them from everyone else in the first place.

            Potter met his eyes. That green gaze was steady and calm, and looked as though Potter knew what was going to happen—although how he could, when currents kept shifting these people around, Draco didn’t know—and how to deal with it. Draco didn’t see how he had tamed the crowd, but he reckoned he could see why people would follow Potter. Being that close to so great a certainty might be enough.

            I’ll turn you, he told Potter silently. I’ll harness you and drive you so that you tow these people in the direction I want to go.

            Potter cocked his head for a moment as though he’d heard him, and then the Auror who had been opposing him before said, “When you put it like that…”

            Potter’s gaze left Draco in a moment and darted to the young man. He was grinning, one hand cupped as though he would scoop the words Draco and Potter had spoken out of the air and shape them into something else, some even stronger binding. Draco half-shook his head. He had never envisioned sharing authority with so many people when he had jumped up on the stage to choose his side.

            “When I put it like that?” Potter asked, gently, and then waited.

            “Then I can see what you mean.” The young Auror took in a deep breath and let his hand drop. “Why you made the decision you did.”

            Potter smiled and turned to flash that grin at the others again. Draco found himself cold as Potter’s body heat shifted away from him. “Yes!” Potter called, lifting his voice. “I find this a hard revolution to fight. We aren’t arguing that the Ministry has to die or that we want to completely change the way that things are done in wizarding society. We understand that traditions bind us and some of those traditions are best preserved. But we won’t let a small segment of people—because not even all pure-bloods want pure-blood criminals to go free and Muggleborn criminals to be punished far more violently for minor crimes—take away our freedom and our safety and implicate us in their actions. That’s the part of the goal that needs dedicated thinking. How are we going to accomplish that when we know that the Ministry and the people in charge of it won’t change their minds on their own, and too many other people are too scared to stand up to them? We attack them directly! With techniques like this.”

            That got nods and shouts, and then other people began asking questions. Draco didn’t pay as much attention to them, instead studying Potter, whose flames had died out. Not as many people had reacted to those as Draco had expected, which must mean that lots of people knew that Potter was hovering on the edge of wild magic where his temper was concerned.

            And yet, he had stayed calm and spoken to the people irritating him as though he wouldn’t lash out and burn them to death, the way he had the Minister. Draco hadn’t felt he was in danger after the first few moments, the way he would have if the magic was building to an attack point.

            Draco had never heard of that happening before with any other case of wild magic, and it bothered him. Enough that he decided this would make for a good way to start his investigation into Potter, and that he would offer his conclusions to Potter when he found them. That might be a way to create an intellectual kinship with him, since Potter was much more into studying now.

            A pigeon fluttered overheard abruptly, making Draco duck and look around for open windows before he saw the way Potter reached out an expectant arm towards it. When it settled on that arm, Draco could make out the envelope it carried. The sides of the envelope bulged with slim, square objects that, when Potter spilled them into his hand, turned out to be photographs.

            Potter looked at them for longer than he would have needed to make out their subjects. Then his face went grey, and he said, “Do these look like what I think they are?” He handed them over to Weasley.

            It didn’t take Weasley as long to react. He flinched back from the pictures as if they could hurt him, and said, “Necromancy. The Ministry’s using it, mate. That can’t—this can’t be anything else.”

            Draco stared, his heartbeat quickening in tempo. It seemed he had underestimated Summers and the other Aurors who had hired him. They were more dangerous and more committed to Dark magic than he thought.

            “No,” Potter agreed, staring, and the flames began to surge around him. He turned back to the people who watched him with wide eyes, and this time Draco saw that his calm veneer was fragile, threatening to break.

            “It seems,” Potter said, “that we need to change our plans. We can use these spells on the Aurors, but we will have a bigger job coming.”

            One that will include a raid on Azkaban, because I’ll make sure that it does, Draco completed silently. Yes. The Ministry is going to fall, one way or another. After this, it should be easier to push Potter further than he meant to go originally.

            I made the right choice.

*



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Intoxicate the Sun