Chapter Forty of 'Changing of the Guard'- Brave New World

[lomonaaeren]

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Chapter Forty—Brave New World

“Harry. We need to talk.”

Harry glanced up and smiled at Kingsley. The Minister had come in quietly, so quietly that Harry wouldn’t have seen him if he didn’t have ten years of training at noticing those things other people didn’t want him to notice. Kingsley had Apparated in beyond the field, like all the reporters invited to Harry and Draco’s afternoon press conference, and walked in without guards. He wore plain black robes, which a closer observer might recognize as Ministry cut, but that proved nothing, given how many employees the Ministry had. He’d also used a faint glamour to cast a shimmering haze over his features, enough that someone else would turn away under the impression that he’d stood too much in the sunlight to be clearly seen. Had he managed to disguise his walk, his way of standing rigidly when he came to a halt—an indication that he was very angry—or the Hit Wizards who shadowed him as guards, Harry might not have seen him.

“I’m not surprised, Minister.” Harry leaped lightly off the small hillock on which he’d stood to receive some informal questions and show interested parties that he was actually here. They occupied the same field the party had taken place in. Harry saw no reason to abandon it, not when it made a beautiful setting for photographs and still contained the defenses set up to protect his people. “I’ll walk apart with you, and we can talk.”

He caught Draco’s eye briefly. Draco was on another hillock, sitting instead of standing as Harry had done, his voice so crisp and precise that the posture simply made him resemble a king on a throne instead of making him look informal. Draco’s eyes were hooded as he nodded back. His wand moved in a swift flash from hand to hand, as if he were merely passing it across to warn the people who stood beneath him that he was ready with spells if they should attack. Harry had recognized the gesture, however, and felt the slight sting as the Locator Charm grabbed the hem of his robes.

He turned away from the hillock and walked along beside Kingsley. The Hit Wizards had melted away from them, Harry was glad to see. He’d already had to handle three people intent on disrupting the press conference, several protestors, and a few of Nusante’s group so nervous and defensive that they would have caused more trouble than the protestors. The last thing he needed was to have someone else notice dangerous-looking strangers closing in on Harry and launch an ill-considered attack.

“I saw the pictures in the paper this morning,” said Kingsley at last, long past the moments when Harry had thought he would begin speaking. Of course, he recognized that intimidation tactic, having used it himself, and had paced on in happy silence, committing the shine of the sun on the grass to memory. It was truly a fair summer’s day, with a high and brilliantly blue sky and enough of a breeze to protect against heat. The trees that had been decorated with lanterns and fairy lights last night bent before the breeze like dancers now.

It was only last night. Only one night for the world to change.

“They were good, weren’t they?” Harry said mildly. “Therris is a passable writer, I suppose, but I think he missed his calling when he decided to be a writer instead of a photographer.”

Kingsley turned on one heel to face him, moving with a grace that reminded Harry forcibly that this man had been an Auror, as well as an accomplished member of the Order of the Phoenix, and the survivor of several battlefields. Harry met his eyes and didn’t move, didn’t back down, didn’t alter a line of his face or a lash of his eye. He did quietly flick his wand hand and use a small bit of magic to remove the glamour on Kingsley’s face.

Still staring at him, the Minister of Magic said, “You are disrupting the peace of wizarding Britain irreparably. You’ve broken at least a dozen laws I know of, laws that have been on the books a good long time without being enforced, but which certain officials are urging me to enforce in the face of your disrespect for order—“

“They were urging before that,” Harry said quietly.

Kingsley’s eyebrows came together; Harry couldn’t be sure if that was because of the information he wasn’t supposed to notice or because he’d interrupted. “What?” Kingsley hissed at him.

“There’s a group calling itself Counterstrike,” Harry said. “Started and funded by Lucius Malfoy, though I’m sure he’s disassociated himself from them on paper. They attacked the first meeting at which this group met. Gay wizards and witches, doing nothing but gathering in a manor house to discuss the finer points of politics and what they would have to do to get the wizarding world to accept them. The attackers included Aurors, and they were using deadly force—Dark curses—against people who had not attacked them.”

“That raid,” Kingsley said, “was made based on information that the meeting would explode in violence.”

“Who provided that information?” Harry asked quietly.

Kingsley merely looked at him.

“Even if the meeting had exploded in violence, shouldn’t the Aurors have waited until it had?” Harry asked. “And is using Dark Arts against peaceful protestors really a measure required to maintain the peace and order of the wizarding world?”

“No Dark Arts were used.”

Harry looked closely at Kingsley. He could make out muscles twitching in his jaw, though he was doing his best to hold his face steady and present a blank mask. His eyes had a touch too much white around the edges. And Harry could hear the edge of panic that had blurred his voice on the words Dark Arts.

Gerald’s voice murmured in the back of his head, Not a threat, and not an accomplice to the threat. But someone who does not want to believe what you tell him.

“I’m willing to give you my Pensieve memories of the attack,” Harry said. “I recognized a flaying curse, the Bone-Breaker Curse, Haristo’s Dazzling Lightning, the Mind-Bender, and several others.”

Kingsley’s muscles clamped one by one: a muscle in the side of his face, one in the side of his neck, one in his right arm. Harry thought they were the remnants of a gesture that once would have brought his wand up into prime casting position. He hadn’t often seen Kingsley in battle, and couldn’t say for certain. “You were there,” he whispered.

“Yes,” Harry said.

“You were the one who disabled our Aurors.”

“Yes.” Harry and Draco had already discussed this, and agreed that Harry would take credit for the potion Draco had thrown which had erased the attackers’ memories, if need be. Kingsley was unlikely to question it, since he had been so sure Harry was present because of the use of powerful magic in the first place.

“And you tell me this and expect me to be—what? Merciful?” Kingsley’s voice had become harsh, and he took a step towards Harry unconsciously, as if he’d forgotten who he was looking at and imagined he could intimidate him. “You attacked Ministry workers who were doing their jobs—“

“Raiding a peaceful gathering,” said Harry, and placed the stinging scorn that Brian would have felt for a man who tried to defend stupid actions in his voice. “Using Dark Arts. Acting on the orders of someone who wasn’t you, if Counterstrike told them to use Dark Arts, or acting on their own prejudice, which isn’t a good sign that they can control themselves in any situation where they might have to defend my people from attack. Attacking another peaceful gathering last night, when they came through my wards—“

I was right, he thought, as he saw Kingsley’s eyes widen slightly and his nostrils flare. I was right, and the risk was worth it. Draco owes me a blowjob.

“They were not ordered here last night,” Kingsley said. His voice was calm because he was exercising immense control to keep it so.

Harry answered in the same tone. “Not by you.”

The Minister stood very still and shut his eyes for a moment only, giving himself the time and silence he needed to deal with this surprise. Then he looked at Harry again, and waited. Harry nodded slightly; keeping silent this time would be counterproductive for all of them.

“We will not stop this struggle,” Harry said. “We are willing to change how we wage it. The first demonstration, the play in the Theater-in-the-Round, was a mistake in some ways. The eruption of violence was expected, but not enough was done to guard against it—“

“There was a spell that prevented people from using very dangerous magic,” Kingsley said, frowning.

Harry bowed from the waist. “My doing, yes. From the start I’ve been as concerned about the safety of innocent bystanders and those who are stupid enough to hold outdated and irrational prejudices as I have been about those who only want the freedom to live and love as they choose.”

Unexpectedly, Kingsley chuckled, a dry, rustling sound. “You can make insults sound almost charming, Harry. That wasn’t a talent you had when I last knew you.”

Which of me did you know? Harry smiled, if you could call a twitch of the lower lip a smile. “Minister, someone within your own organization is reaching your Aurors and twisting them into weapons for his own purposes. He wants open violence. He knows exactly how to play on the biases of those who serve under you, biases you want to cater to by ordering us tame and silent. And I know there were disturbances this morning because of the photos in the Daily Prophet. Tell me, though. How many of those disturbances were begun by someone who identified as gay or lesbian?”

Kingsley shook his head. He didn’t need to say the words.

“So.” Harry put his hands together, pointing his fingers slightly at Kingsley. “On one side, you have people doing something you may personally find repugnant, led by a friend you may consider traitorous, but who are doing everything they can to keep their rebellion peaceful, and who are willing to work with the Ministry. Gatherings will be public. Magic will be used to avoid injury, even to our enemies. We aren’t breaking modern laws, only old ones that no one cared about until recently.” Harry sharpened his eyes until he was studying every shadow of expression on Kingsley’s face, every flick of his fingers, every hitch of his breathing. “On the other side is a group who doesn’t care about corrupting the Ministry or about the distrust they breed and the violence they cause, as long as they can stop us from dancing and kissing and protesting in public. They’ve shown no inclination to come to you and explain their motives or their cause. Who would you trust more?”

“It is not a matter of personal trust,” Kingsley said. “It’s a matter of who my public will stand with and which side will, in the long run, cause more violence. You spark violence simply by existing—“

Harry laughed at him. “And so did the Order of the Phoenix,” he said. “Yet I never heard you use that as an argument for laying down our wands and surrendering the war to Voldemort.”

Kingsley hissed between his teeth. “Do you have any concrete information about Counterstrike for me? Who runs it, who is contacting my Aurors and persuading them to head out on missions that could have devastated them?”

Harry shook his head. “No. But you must have wondered why their violence started so suddenly, and so quickly after Draco Malfoy came out in public.”

“Tell me.”

“Lucius Malfoy started this organization in order to strike back at his son and force him into silence and shame again,” Harry said. “That was the original reason. What Counterstrike might have become beyond that, I can’t tell you. But think about this, Kingsley. Intimidation. Fear. Hatred. And an old man’s mad stubbornness. Glorious ideals they’re fighting for, aren’t they?”

Kingsley’s nostrils were fluttering a little faster than usual. Someone else would not have noticed it, but Harry, with the twin advantages of his knowledge of Kingsley and his observation skills, did. “I told you, my main concern is that those people, mad though they might be, have more support in the wizarding world than your group does.”

“I don’t expect to change minds overnight,” Harry said. “But I don’t think most of the people who find homosexuality disgusting will find it worth their while to fight a war over it. I’m concerned Counterstrike will push them into thinking that, and give them the outrage and the propaganda necessary to keep a war running.”

He paused for just a moment. It would be appropriate for him to do so before he said something as deadly serious as his next words, so Kingsley shouldn’t suspect anything. In reality, he was gathering his own strength and courage.

As we agreed, Draco, he thought, and briefly wished he had the connection with Draco he’d had with Voldemort, so he’d have a chance of touching his mind.

“If it comes to that,” he said, “if the Ministry doesn’t care that Counterstrike is corrupting its own people, if laws are abandoned and they’re allowed to commit murder and use Dark magic on us and get away with it because the Ministry is too afraid of the widespread public disruptions that might happen, then I’m prepared. My people might not be, but I am. Even Draco might not be, and he advised me against this course.” He looked at Kingsley and let his magic rise around him.

Kingsley shivered; Harry had deliberately made his magic cold. Ice crystals formed around Kingsley’s lips and earlobes, not even struggling with the summer heat. A small cloud formed over them and snowflakes began to whirl down. Harry dropped the temperature lower and lower, until Kingsley gave in and cast a Warming Charm. Harry watched his face, and waited for the moment when he figured out that charms couldn’t fight Harry’s unnatural winter. And Harry was doing this wandlessly, and without breaking a sweat.

A moment more, for the realization of what that power must mean to settle deep into Kingsley’s gut.

Then Harry said quietly, “I will fight Counterstrike on my own if I must. If I see that no one prevents them from using violence against us and no one cares to do so, I’ll change my mind and value their lives less than the lives of people who stand with me.” A pause, and then a slow, gentle, impressive speech, the more frightening for its gentleness. “I have the magic to identify those who believe deeply and imperatively that homosexuality is wrong, and will never change their minds. I have the magic, as well, to hurt them in commonplace accidents, in such a way that their pain would never be traced back to me.”

Kingsley stared at him, his face gray.

“I don’t want to do this,” Harry said. “I don’t want to fight a war. I told you that. But what you’re essentially saying is that I should allow people like me, people who love their own sex, to be slaughtered, and put in Azkaban if they dare to lift a hand to defend themselves, because otherwise there might be riots. That is not acceptable. I will not allow it.” The cold deepened until Kingsley was shivering violently. “I wouldn’t threaten you if I had any other choice. But I don’t see that I have any other choice.”

And then he waited, watching Kingsley in what would look like glacial patience, awaiting his decision.

The Minister inclined his head. His eyes were wide, but his voice didn’t hold the fear that Harry had expected—or, at least, it was a different kind of fear. “Harry. Don’t follow Voldemort’s path, or Grindelwald’s. Don’t become a Dark Lord. It’s not worth it.”

Harry felt a great wavering warmth well up from his heart. He’s concerned for me. He’s been a friend all along, even though he might not have shown it in the best way or approved my every action.

He didn’t allow the warmth to destroy the plan, of course. He said, “I don’t want to,” and allowed his voice to ring with longing. “But, Kingsley, should I abandon all trust in the Ministry? Who are you going to arrest when the choice comes, my people or those who bring violence into the situation first? I need an answer, and so far it sounds to me as though you’re relying on my morals to prevent me from acting as though my people’s lives are worth something.”

Kingsley shook his head. His face was nearly its normal color again. “Harry—it won’t come to that.”

“You’ll act against Counterstrike?”

“If your information about what the Aurors have done under their direction is correct.”

Harry smiled. “One of the Aurors who attacked last night was Ron. Ask him questions in a firm tone. You know he can’t lie.”

“Your best friend attacked you?” Kingsley stared at him.

“He thought I was under an enchantment.” Harry snorted. “He believed it was the only reason I could love Draco.” He looked up at Kingsley entreatingly. “Do you see what these irrational prejudices do to us?” he whispered. “Turn us against each other, make wizards the destroyers of their own friendships because of a disgust that has no foundation in reality.”

Kingsley nodded. His eyes were bright and deep with thought. Then he turned and walked away from Harry without waiting for an answer. Harry eased the winter as he went, tucking his magic safely back into his body.

He had a small smile on his face, but if Kingsley glanced back, he would think that was satisfaction over having thrown the Minister.

He didn’t know he had already faced Harry’s most potent ability, his acting, and lost to it. Harry’s magic wasn’t powerful enough to identify all the wizards who hated homosexuality, much less to destroy them. He doubted he could become a Dark Lord even if he wanted to.

But he had made a good show of it, and he had made his living in the past decade by knowing when a good show was all that was needed.

*

The press conference went well.

As they had agreed, Harry and Draco answered the questions alternately until the reporters and ordinary observers adapted to the pattern, then changed it. Draco answered two questions in a row, Harry three, and the questions became less accusatory and more general. The ones that were simply irrelevant or silly, such as how many children Draco and Harry had already corrupted, they both turned away from with smiles.

Draco sat with his head leaning back against a stone he’d conjured behind him, his body utterly relaxed, and watched as Harry calmly explained what, exactly, “the rebels” wanted. Freedom to demonstrate in public without harassment as long as they were also peaceful, freedom from persecution by laws no one had paid attention to in years, ideally freedom from the blinding fear and social ostracism that surrounded homosexuality at the moment. Harry had already admitted that he didn’t expect to earn most of those things for years, but he did hope to demolish the opposition that was coming solely from those who couldn’t abide the thought that Harry Potter was gay.

The strange thing is that he might have handled the publicity well all these years, if he’d been able to lie like this. The crowd was responding to Harry’s words, listening instead of interrupting, accepting the bright, steady gaze of his eyes and his modest hand gestures as honesty instead of a calculated effect. He could have made them leave him alone if he’d tried.

Draco was not blind, however. He doubted Harry could have done this ten years ago, without the constant practice that Metamorphosis had given him. Even now, he was playing a part, and that was probably the only thing that allowed him to bear up under the scrutiny. He would play it again and again in the future, because neither of them thought this problem could be solved in a day.

But there would be a time when it didn’t dominate their lives as it did now.

Draco smiled slightly. That would be the time when he could talk to Harry about his personas, meet more of them, determine quietly which ones were likely to escape control and which were detrimental to Harry’s health, and talk about leaving them behind. He would never expect Harry to get rid of all his personas, since without them Harry as Draco loved him would not exist. On the other hand, neither should they take control away from him, and Horace Longbottom among others had the potential to do so.

And he could talk to Harry about doing some work for Malfoy’s Machineries and other concerns that Draco wanted to start. Harry would probably be resistant at first. Draco fully intended to frame it as Metamorphosis jobs if that was needed, and let Harry appear in any guise he wanted.

Draco felt his smile widen. The life ahead of him shone more brilliantly than he could have imagined when he first decided to hire Brian. There was the challenge of a partner who would never cease intriguing Draco, the way that Harry’s ability might change Draco’s own life, building up his own business until even Lucius had no choice but to yield, and…

Pure-blood society wouldn’t accept him back any time soon. Draco knew that. Circles like the one at Clothilde Castle had inevitably been part of the sacrifice when he chose to come out the way he had. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t build a social circle of his own, one not dominated by his father’s connections or his mother’s glittering reputation. And the core of that circle could easily be the pure-bloods like Pansy who were partially sympathetic to his cause, or the people like Nusante, half-bloods and pure-bloods and Muggleborn, who had lost their patience with pretending. Among them Draco could find friends, allies, investors, political partners, and artists he would sponsor.

No, Draco didn’t intend to let the rebellion dominate his life. But there was no reason the things that did couldn’t grow out of it.

“Draco. I would speak with you.”

He had seen his father’s hair coming through the crowd sometime ago. Draco looked down now, lazily, from his seat on the hill. The crowd was paying more attention to Harry than anything else at the moment, and since he was speaking well, Draco would let it stay that way. “Lucius,” he said.

His father gazed at him without expression for some moments before he said, “Once you did not address me that way.”

“You rejected my right to claim our surname.” Draco leaned forwards in interest. “Is all the paperwork on that filed as yet? I wanted to know if I should tell people to stop calling me Malfoy, and then I realized I had no idea when the process had begun or if it had ended.”

Lucius was again silent for a short time. Draco took the opportunity to study the lines on his face. Were they more pronounced than a few weeks ago? He thought so.

“I am giving you much,” Lucius said at last, in that low voice that nevertheless carried. “I am willing to accept you back into the family, and accept Potter as your visible partner—for a year.”

“A year,” Draco said thoughtfully. “Much can happen in a year.”

“Yes. You may find that you like the elder Moonstone girl better then than you do now. I have settled on her for your bride.”

Draco would have narrowed his eyes if he didn’t care about his father observing his expression. His father had mentioned Moonstone last night, when he confronted Draco at the gap in the wards. Draco doubted this second mention was a coincidence. And now he remembered the slight wand movements Lucius had made—only after Draco appeared, not when he was confronting Harry—and the way that his father had worked in the past to remove weaknesses of gesture and routine once he realized they were weaknesses. If he had realized the way his left eye twitched when he cast a nonverbal spell…

Moving in the midst of conclusions he could not yet be sure of, since they had not yet solidified or settled to the ground, Draco seized one of his instincts and said, “I would discuss this with you at a later time. In a venue not so public.” He glanced at some of the people in the crowd who had turned to look at him, and they turned hastily away again. “At the same time, I would not embarrass you by coming to the house that I no longer expect to inherit. At Pansy Parkinson’s home, perhaps?”

Lucius gave him a genuine, warm smile, of the kind Draco had not seen for years. “That would be welcome,” he said. “Today?”

“Tomorrow.” That should assure Lucius that Draco was still acting with a proper degree of caution, and thus that hs spell was still undiscovered. “At three?”

Lucius inclined his head and then walked slowly back to the entrance to the field. Draco watched him go and made sure to wear a soft, melancholy expression in case any cameras clicked just then.

He was certain now that his father had cast a spell on him, and that it had something to do with the Moonstone girl. He was not yet certain that it had taken effect; he only knew he did not feel any differently. He doubted it was a spell to compel him to meet with his father, since Draco would still cancel the meeting in a moment if there was danger.

But perhaps it had been meant to make him more suggestible, or inclined to take a wife.

Draco turned his face to look at Harry. Harry was already looking at him, and though his voice spoke steadily on to the crowd beneath him, his narrowed eyes asked a question.

Draco blinked slowly, once. Yes, I think I may need your help now. And if I am right about what my father was trying, then we can use this opportunity to cast a harness around one of the biggest opponents to our cause.

It was unlikely Harry had picked up all the particulars from a shared glance, but the sudden metallic gleam in his green eyes, the glimpse of strength to defend and kill if he had to, reassured Draco that Harry would be behind him nonetheless.

Chapter 41.

Comments

[silver-ariel.livejournal.com]

I knew that Lucius had cast a spell! I'm glad to see that Draco recognized it. And now he and Harry can do something to counter it.

Harry's conversation with Kingsley was awesome. I was cheering the whole time. Way to make a point, Harry, with logic and determination and strength, not just magical. That was amazing. And I'm glad that Kingsley wasn't so blinded by prejudice that he actually took Harry's words to heart.

And I'm glad that Draco is on top of Harry's personas. He's right about making sure that they can't take over Harry, and I know that Harry will be able to stay in control and heal with Draco's support.

Love this story, as always.

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

If they can figure out what the spell's meant to do, yes.

Thank you! In real life, of course, it probably wouldn't be this easy, but Harry has the twin advantages of his power and his connection to Kingsley as a friend. At the very least, Kingsley has to acknowledge that a good deal of what he's saying is the simple truth.

Harry will try to stay in control, but he may rebel against some of Draco's specific plans for him.