HP Fanfic: "I'm Evil (So Don't You Mess Around With Me)" (Harry/Draco), (PG-13)
Title: I'm Evil (So Don't You Mess Around With Me)
Author: khasael
Beta: groolover
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Harry/Draco pre-slash
Word Count: Approx 7000
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: adult language
Summary Harry is sick of having to be nice to everyone all the time. Clearly the only solution is to become evil. Right?
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters are the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. No infringement is intended, this is all for fun.
Author's Notes: This was a prompt concocted by deathjunkie for the first round of hpchallengefest . She challenged me to write "crack!fic/humour" with the premise "Harry, tired of being everyone's marionette/fallout guy, decides he's had enough of being a hero and tries (and fails) at being evil." Also, this is for maja_li , who not-so-subtly pushed me toward this prompt. *hugs*, darling. Title is from the Elvis Presley song "Trouble".
It was a lovely spring day, which only made Harry all the angrier.
The sun was shining brightly, but instead of warming him and cheering him, it made him want to shout at something. He wished he had thought to learn some of the weather-altering spells Hermione had gone on about when she and Ginny had been discussing having a winter wedding, once Ron was out of earshot. Sometimes, Harry wondered if Ron had any idea what the girls were planning behind his back. But then he'd walk in on his best friends joined at the face, making all sorts of disgusting noises, and he decided it was Ron's own fault if he was that oblivious. It wasn't like Hermione was hiding the magazines with pictures of engagement rings she had strewn about their flat.
I bet I could do those weather-altering charms better than she could, he thought petulantly, even though the rational part of his brain laughed at his gall. Well, okay, maybe I wouldn't do them with more skill, but I could do them with more power. Turn all of this bloody sun into thunder and lightning, anyway. The thought cheered him somewhat. If everyone else was going to ruin his day as a matter of course, then he could give it right back.
He walked along Diagon Alley, wondering if he could at least get a free chocolate frog out of Honeydukes, since everyone seemed to be so damned fond of him lately. Too fond, if anyone asked him (not that they ever did). So far this morning, he had had three old women clutch at him, two very old men wheeze their thanks (one gripping his elbow so hard Harry's wand hand had gone tingly), and two women ask if he had company for the night. The final straw had been when some black-haired bloke asked if he'd like to play Auror to his dirty Death Eater. Harry hadn't been sure whether to be flattered that any bloke would look at him that way or hex the man. He had settled for fleeing, trying to pretend he had not thrown a curious look back over his shoulder.
Now that he was alone, he had thought that he might feel better. But the birds were still singing in an annoyingly cheerful manner, and the sun still shone and warmed his hair and his shoulders, and the light breeze insisted on wafting him the delicate scent of freshly-bloomed flowers.
It was so lovely it was nauseating.
Up ahead, he saw a young woman spot him and clutch her infant. Harry panicked. He knew that look. He was going to have to kiss another baby. That would be the fifteenth of the week. And it was only Thursday.
Quickly, before she could reach him or get within hailing distance, Harry Apparated back to Grimmauld Place. He did not hear Kreacher stirring, and for that he was profoundly grateful. He wanted to be alone, for Merlin's sake. Yes, yes, he knew he was an icon, a war hero, and people were just glad to live their lives feeling truly safe for the first time in a long while. But they wouldn't bloody well let him live his own life, now would they?
It came to him in the shower later that evening. He knew how he could get them all to let him be. There would be no more little old ladies accosting him on the street, no more women (and men, who really weren't that bad, especially that one sandy-haired bloke from last week, with the broad smile and nice cheekbones) throwing himself at him, no more babies for him to kiss, all sticky and wanting nothing to do with the stranger their mothers shoved them at. And perhaps best of all, no more public appearances and speeches and dedications which forced him to relive things he'd really rather forget, thank you very much.
He smiled to himself as he soaped up. Why hadn't he thought of this before? It was so simple. There was a way to get others to respect him. No, to leave him alone. No! To fear him and leave him the hell alone! That was it.
He would become evil.
~*~
Three days later, Harry still hadn't found a way to show everyone just how unwise it was to bother him. But he was working on it. Unfortunately, a lot of the things he knew of that might make him evil just weren't all that attractive. Yet. He was sure he could warm up to it.
He was sitting in a park, as far away from the families and lovers and groups of small children as he could manage. He had taken a long lunch to mull things over, and though Auror Hapshatt had given him a look, Harry knew he wouldn't say anything. Who was going to reprimand the saviour to the whole wizarding world for taking an extra thirty minutes on his lunch?
It was warm and sunny out again today, but this time, the weather did not bother him so much. He no longer wanted to curse at the wind simply for being wind. He spotted a large, smooth rock at the edge of the park and headed that way. The area here was less tended and the grass was longer. As far as Harry could tell, he'd be less likely to be bothered while he thought.
He was mostly correct. He didn't have any real company for a while, though that Finch-Fletchley prat from school was closer than Harry would like. He wasn't as bad as some of the Slytherins, no, nor even some of the other students, like that Romilda girl who had tried to drug him and got Ron instead back in sixth year, but Harry still didn't particularly care for him. He had been responsible for making life a bit difficult after the whole duelling club thing in second year.
He was musing on that, throwing unseen glares the Hufflepuff's way and wondering if it would be evil enough to go and knock that ice cream cone from his hand, when he realised he had company on his rock.
A greenish-brown head rose up and looked at him disdainfully. It wasn't as if snakes had a hell of a lot in the way of eyelids, at least that Harry could see, but this one seemed to glare at him all the same. Harry nodded at it, then cleared his throat. "Hello," he tried, hoping that was actually Parseltongue coming from his mouth.
The snake raised its head a bit higher and bobbed. "Oh, you speak it," it hissed back, sounding surprised. "I didn't realise any humans still could."
"Yeah, I can," Harry said, feeling a bit better. Apparently, he had not lost the ability when he got rid of the last part of Voldemort's soul. Or maybe he was just destined to be evil after all. "Are you enjoying the weather?"
"It's nice," the snake allowed. "But this is my rock. I like to sun myself here, and you're in the way."
"Oh." Harry shifted over a bit, and the snake wound itself into a more comfortable position. "You see that boy over there, by that tree? I want you to go over there and bite him for me. Even if you're not poisonous."
The snake didn't move. "You're joking."
"No, I'm not. I want you to bite him. I don't like him much." There. That ought to serve Justin right. Let him see what it was like when someone actually did egg on a snake attack.
"Why would I do that?" The snake's tail flicked lazily. "I see no reason to get up from my rock, now that I'm comfortable."
"Because I command you to."
The snake uncoiled itself and regarded Harry coldly. "You may speak the language," it hissed, obviously irritated. "But you understand nothing of the culture. I shall have to find another place to warm myself, rather than share this rock - my rock, mind you, with someone so rude. Good day to you." And with that it slithered away, its tail swishing a very clear signal that was not all that dissimilar from a two-fingered salute.
Harry blinked, staring after it. Well. Okay, then. No snake to do his bidding. Scratch that option off the list. He would simply have to try something else.
~*~
The answer came to him less than a week later. If he wanted someone to do what he commanded, there was a very direct way to make that happen. It was so simple, he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it before. The Imperius Curse was exactly what he needed! True, it was an Unforgivable, but he had technically used them before, and had received no actual punishment.
Surprisingly, it took a lot of building himself up before he could actually pull the trigger, so to speak. He was beginning to think he'd never be able to work himself up to casting the spell until late one night when Hermione just would not let something go.
"Honestly, Harry, I don't even know what you were thinking, breaking things off with Ginny like that," she said, and Harry fervently wished he had a glass of Firewhisky in front of him. She had that tone, the one that said she was going to badger logic into him if it killed her. What was taking Ron so long to arrive?
"Look, I had my reasons," he said crossly, hoping that would help her to see he didn't want to answer any more of her questions on the matter. No such luck.
"I suppose you think that, yes, but really, anyone can see you two were meant to be together. I mean, she puts on a brave face and doesn't seem as broken up as we all know she is, but what about how the rest of the Weasleys are taking it? Poor Molly is just devastated. You know she always considered you as good as part of the family. And Ron, well I'm sure that when he gets here, he'll tell you -"
Harry snapped. This was his life, and he'd made the best decision for him. Besides, Ginny's attitude wasn't an act. He'd muttered something in his sleep one night - he was having a damned good dream at the time, even if he could never tell anyone else about it - and she'd taken that as her cue that things would probably never work out between them. Harry reacted without really thinking, his hand clenching his wand as it rested upon his thigh. "Imperio," he ground out, anger swelling.
Hermione stopped, mid-sentence, and blinked, looking a bit bewildered. Ron chose that moment to step up to their booth and slide in next to her. "Harry," he said, with a nod. "Hermione. What are you two talking about?"
Harry held his breath and concentrated. "Nothing," Hermione said dazedly. "I was just talking to Harry about how…" She paused, and Harry focused harder. "I was just telling Harry that the three of us should order drinks. Because I'm thirsty," she added.
This was harder than it looked, but challenges had never really bothered Harry before. He readjusted the grip on his wand. "Maybe some butterbeer?" he suggested to Ron, still focused on Hermione. This didn't appear to be hurting her at all, and hadn't someone once told him - Ron or someone - that the Imperius actually felt good?
Ron shrugged and got up to place their order. When he came back, Harry still had his wand trained on Hermione, who was picking at a napkin with a dreamy smile on her face. "Ron," Hermione said after he'd hander her a bottle of butterbeer, "I was thinking…" Harry held his breath. Just say something that gets you both out of here he thought at her as hard as he could. "You remember that subject we were discussing last night?"
Ron shook his head. "Gonna have to be more specific than that, Hermione."
"Oh, you remember," she said, raising her eyebrows. Harry got the distinct feeling she wasn't talking about his relationship with Ginny any more. As long as whatever she said got them both to leave - that was all he cared about. "When we were in bed, and we were discussing that one thing…and I said my answer wasn't no, but to let me think about it for a bit?"
Ron choked on his drink. "I thought you said you had to have a lot of wine first. And then I'd have to do, you know, that other thing," he whispered. He didn't whisper it quietly enough. Harry had a moment of horror where he realised where this might be going.
"I know," she said, sidling up closer and leaning her head against Ron's shoulder. "But I've been thinking about it more, and I don't think that's really all that necessary."
Ron turned scarlet. "Maybe this is something we should discuss when Harry's not around," he said. Sweat had popped out on his brow. Harry wanted to hug his best friend. How right he was.
"No, don't be silly," Hermione said with a little laugh, and Harry dropped his wand on the floor. "He doesn't mind at all."
I mind rather a lot! his mind screamed. Oh, how did one remove the Imperius again? He fumbled for his wand with his foot.
"Um. This really is more of a private discussion, Hermione," Ron said, still very pink.
"Fine, then," she said, straightening up. "Let's go home. I want to try this out. I did some reading while you were at work this morning, and I found a really interesting technique I think we could -"
Harry ducked under the table and found his wand. He banged his head on the way up, but he couldn't be bothered to care about that right now. "Finite Incantatem," he whispered fiercely.
Hermione blinked and looked at Harry with questions in her eyes. He saw the moment where everything clicked for her, and she smiled wickedly. His stomach gave a lurch. What would she say? "Ready, Ron?"
Ron looked torn between embarrassment and hope. "If you're sure…"
"Oh, I'm sure," she said, running her hand up Ron's chest. Harry tried to restrain his urge to run away screaming. "Maybe later, you can give Harry some tips -"
Ron stood up quickly. "Sorry, mate, but I think it's time for us to head home for the night." He pulled Hermione by the arm, nearly dragging her from the table.
"Good night, Harry," she said sweetly. "Tonight's been fun. But don't be surprised if Ron doesn't feel up to making it in tomorrow morning, after… well, you know." She giggled and followed Ron to the front door.
That was it. No more Imperio. There was obviously more to the spell's theory than he knew about. His stomach lurched a little bit as he thought of the tone of Hermione's voice and the look on Ron's face. Merlin, he was going to have nightmares tonight. Detailed nightmares. And he might never be able to look Hermione in the eye again.
~*~
As Harry thought about the disaster that was his attempt at Imperio (and he did think about it, no matter how badly he wanted to forget it), he realised he had simply aimed too high. This evil thing was new to him. He had plenty of experience on the other end, but that didn't mean he could switch sides and expect to be good at everything. He didn't have to give up on Unforgivables; he just needed to try one that required less logic.
Obviously, there were only two ways to go on this path, and one of them was rather a large step that Harry still wasn't keen on. That left Cruciatus. He'd done it once, and though it hadn't been exceptionally effective, he'd done significantly better than he had when Hermione had… Ugh. He really needed to stop thinking about that.
Finding a victim seemed to be his biggest hurdle, once he had figured out his new plan. There weren't that many of his co-workers who annoyed him, and as Aurors, most of them could throw it off anyway. So. Ron was out. Even Draco Malfoy was out, as the universe had decided it needed another laugh by pairing them together as partners. He knew better than to try anything else out with Hermione, who really was fairly clever. Who did that leave?
Well, no one really. No one he wouldn't have to go out of his way to find. No one had heard from Goyle since the end of the war, and Harry really didn't feel like trying anything at the Burrow, where he might be so easily outnumbered by the Weasleys, who really didn't do much to warrant that kind of reaction. He was certain someone around him would deserve it at some point. He just had to wait.
It didn't take long for his waiting to pay off. He had exited Diagon Alley one early evening, pocketing his free Chocolate Frog until after dinner, when someone rather large ploughed into him, nearly knocking him into the gutter.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't… Harry?"
Harry looked up, checking on the status of his Frog. Still intact. Who would have the…? "Dudley?"
They stared at each other for a moment, before Dudley's not-as-round-as-it-used-to-be face cracked an awkward smile. "You're alive."
"Um. Yeah. You're… not in jail."
There was more awkward staring. "So. You were involved in… a war? Of some sort?" Dudley asked finally. "I'm guessing you won."
Harry blinked. "Yeah."
"Good. Congratulations, I guess. I'd always wondered what happened to you, you know."
Something about that struck Harry the wrong way. His cousin wondered what happened to him? After all those years of torture? They'd had one remotely civil interaction their whole lives, the moment Harry walked out of his family's life forever; did Dudley think that one moment made up for a lifetime of misery?
"Oh, you did, did you? Why, wonder if someday a kid of mine would wind up on your doorstep?"
"What? No." Dudley looked politely puzzled. "I'd just…I mean…"
The fact that he couldn't articulate it made Harry even angrier. As his cousin floundered, Harry gripped his wand, pointed it, and muttered a forceful "Crucio!"
Dudley collapsed against the brick wall at his side. He squirmed violently and tried to get away, but there was nowhere to go where Harry's spell couldn't get to him. Finally, he managed to suck in a great breath. "What are you doing?" he asked, tears welling up in his eyes. "Stop it!"
Harry felt a mix of satisfaction and guilt that lasted for all of a moment. His cousin shook and twitched, and after another large gasp, managed to squeak out more words. "Harry, that tickles, stop it!"
Harry lifted the spell, looking at the tip of his wand with irritation. It didn't look broken. In front of him, Dudley regained control of his legs. Shaking his wand as if to dislodge a blockage, Harry tried again. The effect was immediate, but unchanged. Dudley clutched at his sides, making pitiful little noises as he tried to breathe. "You've got to be kidding me," Harry muttered, removing the Cruciatus and stuffing his wand back where it belonged.
"Why… Why…?" Dudley wheezed at him, his face an alarming shade of pink. He stood carefully, looking at Harry with a combination utter bafflement and wariness. "Is that payback? For all those times I held you down and tickled you until you wet yourself when we were little?" He cleared his throat. "Because, I have to say, Harry, I was pretty close to ruining these trousers. Great trick, though." He cleared his throat again. "Look, if that's behind us now, what -"
But whatever he might have proposed, Harry didn't hear it. With an irritated grunt, he looked around, saw that they were alone, and Apparated home. He needed a bloody drink.
~*~
Two months after beginning his campaign of evil, Harry had still yet to do anything more than vaguely annoy anyone (Hermione didn't count, as the few brief times he had seen her, she had just smiled at him, then smirked when his face went a little green). He was sitting at home, seriously contemplating Polyjuicing himself as some random Muggle for the rest of his days, when it hit him.
Followers.
That's what was missing! Followers to do his dirty work! Voldemort had had them, and it certainly seemed to help when you had the numbers behind you. Granted, he might not make his followers wear ridiculous little masks, but they could decide on that later. For now, he just had to amass a group of people. And really, how hard could that be? He'd done well enough with the DA, hadn't he?
Three evenings later, Harry felt ready. He'd rehearsed a small speech of sorts, something to impassion the crowd towards his cause - or at least, what he was going to tell them was his cause. Harry didn't figure a 'hey guys, I've figured I'll turn evil now, so who's with me?' kind of approach was best. Best to start out vague. Whip them up into a frenzy. There were still plenty of people who would stand behind him just because of what he had already done, irrespective of any solid future plans (or lack thereof).
He had chosen an old warehouse in a dodgy section of London for his gathering. A few select, anonymous adverts in the Prophet later, and there was a respectable crowd gathered. Most of them were milling about, talking amongst themselves. A few were scanning the room as if they were looking for something they couldn't seem to find. Harry waited until the buzzing of conversation hit a particular pitch, and then made his move.
"Attention!" he shouted, stepping onto the hastily constructed stage. He watched as everyone fell silent, turning their faces towards him. Good. "Thank you all for meeting me here. It's good to know there are so many people out there who still care about having a cause to stand behind. Now, to begin -"
He stopped. At the edge of the crowd stood a young man Harry didn't recognise. The bloke was raising his hand in a manner that strongly resembled Hermione in any given classroom. "Yes, what is it?"
"Excuse me, Mr Potter, but… could you tell us where the refreshments are?"
Harry blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"One of the adverts said something about refreshments."
Well, that couldn't be right. Harry thought about it for a moment. He didn't recall stating anything about refreshments. The closest there had been was a line about 'refreshing new ideas'… Damn it. He knew the girl at the Prophet hadn't been paying attention. "There aren't any refreshments."
"…Not even punch? Or pie?"
"No. No punch or pie. No crisps. This isn't a catered event."
"Well, maybe it should be," the bloke huffed. "If there're no refreshments, I'm out of here." He tossed Harry a dirty look and strode out the back door. The volume of the crowd's muttering swelled, and Harry could see looks of confusion and disappointment everywhere, with a few instances of disgust thrown in for good measure.
Harry watched dumbstruck as, one by one, people made for the door. He wanted to shout, to call them back and share his impassioned (albeit fake) plans, but he'd forgotten all the words he had practised in his mirror at home.
One lone young man paused with his hand on the door. Harry felt something like hope for the briefest of seconds, and then the boy shook his head. "What kind of dedication can you have, if you don't even provide refreshments?" he said sadly, stepping out into the cold night air and leaving Harry alone in the empty warehouse.
~*~
With everything that had gone wrong, Harry was starting to worry that he wasn't actually good at anything any more.
After the problems with trying to recruit an army, it had occurred to him that perhaps he needed an army that wasn't quite so fickle. This line of thought had led him to what seemed like a logical conclusion: he could simply create an army of the undead. That was enough to strike fear into the hearts of men, right?
Only that too had gone wrong. Instead of fearsome Inferi, Harry had wound up with sparkly vampires. It had been absolutely ridiculous, not to mention completely unsuccessful. They hadn't scared anyone. Too many of them had spent their time apparently mooning over uninteresting girls. And all of that sparkling had really only made Harry squint and given him a headache.
Harry was still nursing said headache when someone pounded on his door. He buried his head in the pillows on his bed and hoped whoever was making all the noise decided to go away. Of course, his luck didn't allow for that.
After a moment, the pounding stopped. The quiet lasted for all of five seconds before his front door burst open, there were thudding steps up his staircase, and a truly angry-looking Draco Malfoy barged his way into Harry's bedroom.
"There you are!" he shouted.
Harry's head throbbed. "Not so loud," he muttered, shoving his face back into the pillow. "And why are you here, anyway?"
"You're missing work. And much as I hate to say it, I'm not clever enough to keep people from noticing your absence. You have a presence, Potter, and it's hard to replicate without you actually being present." He paused for a moment. "What's wrong with you?"
"I don't even know where to begin," Harry said, not even bothering to raise his head. Maybe if he lay here long enough, he'd suffocate himself.
"I've never seen you so pathetic," Draco sighed. "You look terrible. And that's coming from someone who's seen you go three days without sleep and get hit with a swelling jinx on top of that. Listen to me. You're going to go and shower and clean up. I'll make you some tea, and when you're done, we can talk over your obvious mental issues." He poked Harry in the shoulder blade. "Now, up! Go. Seriously, Potter, move your arse."
Knowing Draco wouldn't shut up and leave him alone until he complied, Harry heaved himself off the bed and trudged to the shower. A good forty minutes later, he emerged, clean and slightly damp, but still feeling discouraged. Draco was sitting on the sofa, tea things set out in front of him like this was his home, a few sheets of paper next to the tray.
"Ah, you're finally done," he said, pouring them each a cup of tea. "Sit, so we can talk." Harry sat, took the offered cup of tea, and reached for the plate of biscuits. He'd forgot he even bought those, but if ever there was a time for them, now was it.
Draco watched him a moment, fingers curled around his own cup. "So, Harry," he said after a moment. "Care to explain this Evil Overlord List of yours?"
Harry promptly choked on his biscuit and did not recover until his partner gave him a good thumping on his back. "What?"
"I found your list," Draco said, gesturing to the pages sitting on the coffee table. "You have it all marked up, with notes in the margins. Now, why on earth do you have such a thing? It can't be research for a case, can it?"
Harry sighed. He didn't have the energy to lie to his partner. So instead he found himself detailing his failed exploits, not even caring that he was literally confessing to a member of the Auror squad, and might find himself in very real trouble. He laid it all out: the failed attempt at getting a snake to do his bidding, his problems with the two Unforgivables he'd tried, the inability to get an army behind him. Draco just sat and listened, his eyebrows raised, and moved close to Harry on the sofa as he ranted.
"It was stupid," he sighed, as Draco patted him on the back. The small measure of comfort - unexpected though it was - was appreciated. "And weird. And it might just have been me, but I could swear that one of them looked like Cedric."
"Harry," Draco said firmly, now rubbing small circles into Harry's back. "Look. You're going about this the wrong way. First things first. You need to be impressive. No one's going to fear a slightly scruffy Dark Lord. You don't even look imposing. Now, no need to cut off your nose to spite your face, so to speak, but you could at least dress the part."
"Oh yeah? And what makes you such an expert?"
"Harry. You are talking to the person who spent most of sixth year looking fashionably tragic. Remember the tank top? The ruffled fringe?"
"Oh," said Harry. "Right."
Draco smiled at him. "Let me take you shopping. I'm certain we can find something suitable and have it tailored to highlight your power."
Harry just looked at Draco for several moments. He was doing a poor job on his own. Maybe having an assistant of sorts - no, a minion. Impressive Dark Lords always had minions - would do him some good. "You're… okay with this?"
With a quick squeeze of Harry's knee, Draco nodded. "If you're going to do this, Potter, you might as well do it the right way. And really, I think I'm the perfect person to help. Now, let's start fresh tomorrow. Eat a good breakfast, clean yourself up, and meet me at Enzo's Boutique at nine tomorrow morning."
"Enzo's? Why not Madam Malkin's? Or even Twilfitt and Tatting's?"
Draco scoffed at him. "There you go, demonstrating exactly why you need help with this sort of thing. Neither of those places carries the kind of quality you need, and no one can tailor to effect like Enzo can. Trust me, Harry. Nine a.m. Be on time." He got up, taking a biscuit with him, and made for the front door. At the doorway, he paused and regarded Harry with a critical eye. "Yes, I think we can pull this off… with a bit of work," he murmured, nodding to himself. And then he was gone, and Harry could do nothing other than look after him, confused but slightly heartened.
~*~
Though there was something to be said for the robes Draco had picked out (because, all things aside, Harry did feel better about himself in them. They really were flattering), things weren't exactly going well.
What he needed, as Draco had told him and Harry actually agreed with, was something that would really make people take notice. Unfortunately, neither of them had figured out exactly what that was. Draco had suggested kidnapping, but Harry still had hang-ups. Though if more people didn't stop being such utter berks, Harry thought he might just go that route anyway.
Therefore, when Ron showed up on his doorstep, demanding to know what was going on, Harry reasoned it should be no surprise that he felt pushed into it.
"What are you even doing these days?" Ron shouted, pushing his way into Harry's front hall. "What's with the new robes? Why're you spending so much time with Malfoy outside work? Why've you been ignoring me and avoiding Hermione?"
Harry felt his anger rise as Ron backed him against the wall. Who was Ron to come in here, shouting and yelling and making a scene? If he wasn't careful, he was going to be sorry.
"I want answers, damn it!" Ron looked more frustrated than Harry had ever seen him, and Harry finally snapped. Frustrated, he shoved Ron backwards into the open cupboard. He locked the door, a feeling of immense satisfaction flooding through him. There. Let him cool off, locked in a cupboard for a while.
Harry was just realising that he'd taken his first prisoner and thinking that maybe it wasn't so hard after all, when there was a loud crack beside him, and Ron Apparated nearly atop him. "What the fuck, Harry?"
Right. Wizards could Apparate out of cupboards. Harry would do well to remember that.
"Look, mate, I don't know what the hell's wrong with you, but you need to get a grip on yourself. When you're ready to apologise and talk about this, you know where to find me and Hermione." Wish a disgusted look, Ron ran a hand through his hair and Disapparated.
Harry clenched his jaw. He didn't have to explain himself. And really, he was starting to think it was time to step his game up.
~*~
After considerably more forethought than he'd been showing, Harry decided it was time to take more drastic measures. After the failure in the cupboard, he'd sat down and done some planning. He could give the prisoner thing another go, only this time, he'd be certain to use restraints that couldn't be so easily escaped. And perhaps he should try his tactics out on someone he wasn't on friendly terms with, for once.
So when Pansy Parkinson made some snide comment about his glasses not being fashionable enough to go with his robes, Harry decided she'd fit the bill well enough.
He'd already secured a small warehouse - the same one he'd tried to use as a base of operations with potential followers; no sense wasting the month's rent he was spending on it - and spruced it up to his liking. Well, perhaps 'spruced' wasn't quite the word. He'd dimmed the windows, got rid of the stage, and bolted a large bed to the centre of the room. A chest of enchanted ropes and chains lay off to the side of the bed. There should be no way his hostage could escape this time.
Having found it easiest to just Stun Pansy and Apparate her here, Harry levitated her onto the table and began the process of strapping her down before he muttered "Rennervate". He watched her start to struggle against the ropes and felt something like satisfaction.
"Potter? What do you think you're doing?" she asked, sounding shocked. She whipped her head to the side to look at him.
Tightening the rope bond around her wrist, Harry raised his eyebrows. "Tying you up. What's it look like?"
Pansy didn't say anything for a moment, for which Harry was rather grateful. She could be mouthy - that much he remembered about her. "Are you making certain those knots are tight?" she asked after a moment.
"Of course I am!" He'd learnt his lesson on restraints already.
"Good." Her voice was low and throaty. And definitely not terrified.
Harry paused. He took a good look at her. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was looking at him with half-lidded eyes. When she caught him looking, she licked her lips slowly, teasingly, and wriggled a little, showing off her assets underneath the low-cut neckline she was wearing.
"Ugh!" he muttered, putting it all together. He backed up and nearly tripped over the chest behind him.
"Oh, come on, Potter," she murmured, squirming within her restraints in a manner Harry found quite disturbing. "We were just getting started. Tie me tighter, and you can do whatever naughty things to me you please."
Harry cast another Stunning spell on her, scrambling to get away. After a few moments of sitting on the ground, arms wrapped around his knees and trying to pretend all of that hadn't just happened, Harry took a few deep breaths and got to his feet. All right. That did it.
He cast a quick, light Obliviate, just enough so she'd forget the last half hour, and set time-delayed spells to release the Stunner and undo the bonds. She'd be stuck here for another half hour. Harry didn't plan on being here nearly that long.
After Vanishing the chest of ropes and chains and anything else he had brought with him, Harry Disapparated. Fuck this, he was done.
~*~
"Fuck this, I'm done."
Draco just blinked at him. Harry hadn't so much as said hello when he'd Apparated into Malfoy's flat. "What do you mean, you're done? And what are you even doing here?"
"I'm done, Draco. Over this. I suck at being evil."
"Calm down and explain. You're babbling." Draco gestured to the sofa. "Sit, Potter, and breathe. Now. What?"
Harry took a deep breath and stared his partner in the face. "I am a complete and utter failure."
"Okay," Draco said slowly, "please continue."
"I can't do this. You already know about everything else I've failed at. Well, today, I had my opportunity to take an actual prisoner. I figured I'd failed with Ron, and it might be better to capture someone I'm not actually friends with. So I picked Pansy."
"Pansy Parkinson?"
"Yeah."
"So my friends are fair game?"
Harry paused. He'd forgotten that bit. "In the end, isn't everyone? Well, nearly everyone? Present company excluded? Besides, it doesn't matter any more. I told you, I'm done."
Draco raised a single eyebrow. "Fair enough. Go on."
"I had a place all set up, where no one would wander in or come to the rescue.
So I set about tying her up. But…" he shuddered. "She was into it."
"Come again?" Draco's eyes narrowed and he looked as if he was contemplating giving his friend a good solid piece of his mind.
"She liked it. Told me to tie the ropes tighter, and that I could do whatever I wanted to her." He wrinkled his nose. "Damn Slytherins. Too kinky for their own good."
"Oh, yes, because it's a requirement the Sorting Hat considers before placing you into the appropriate house," Draco said scathingly.
Harry didn't have a response for that, so he chose to ignore it. "Anyway, I've had it. I'm tired of feeling like a failure. I'm just going to resign myself to being harassed the rest of my life, and being hit on by people who've heard I'm single, and having to kiss babies and make speeches and cut the ribbon on grand openings of memorials and what have you. Nothing I really feel up to doing is going to change anyone's opinion of me."
Draco sighed. "Well, I don't know about that," he said slowly. "I'm certain we could find something that might make people think twice about approaching you all the damn time. So maybe you're not cut out for this Dark Lord thing." He pulled Harry to his feet and held him at arm's length. "But look at you. You're still much more imposing than you used to be, now you've got a decent set of robes and the right shoes and me at your side."
Harry looked down at himself. Draco had put in a lot of work with him, almost like he'd been grooming him for… for… Memories of Draco complimenting him and rubbing his back and adjusting Harry's robes when Harry couldn't remember them being out of place flashed through his head. "You at my side?"
Draco blushed faintly. "Never mind. I've been thinking, Harry. Why don't we head out and have dinner? Get your mind off this whole mess. I'm certain we can find something you're good at by the end of the night." There was a faint note of invitation to his voice.
Harry swallowed hard and thought about Draco's hand squeezing his knee again. "I have a few ideas I'd like to suggest." His face felt on fire.
Smiling wickedly, Draco chuckled. "I'm quite open to hearing them. I'm positive they'll be better received than your other recent ideas." He leaned in close. "Besides," he murmured, sending shivers down Harry's spine, "if there's one thing we've found lately, someone needs to keep you out of trouble."
"Or help me get into it?" Harry whispered, feeling his pulse speed up as he leaned a little closer to Draco.
"Yes," Draco said with a teasing little touch on the back of Harry's neck. "Or help you get into it."
Author: khasael
Beta: groolover
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Harry/Draco pre-slash
Word Count: Approx 7000
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: adult language
Summary Harry is sick of having to be nice to everyone all the time. Clearly the only solution is to become evil. Right?
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters are the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. No infringement is intended, this is all for fun.
Author's Notes: This was a prompt concocted by deathjunkie for the first round of hpchallengefest . She challenged me to write "crack!fic/humour" with the premise "Harry, tired of being everyone's marionette/fallout guy, decides he's had enough of being a hero and tries (and fails) at being evil." Also, this is for maja_li , who not-so-subtly pushed me toward this prompt. *hugs*, darling. Title is from the Elvis Presley song "Trouble".
It was a lovely spring day, which only made Harry all the angrier.
The sun was shining brightly, but instead of warming him and cheering him, it made him want to shout at something. He wished he had thought to learn some of the weather-altering spells Hermione had gone on about when she and Ginny had been discussing having a winter wedding, once Ron was out of earshot. Sometimes, Harry wondered if Ron had any idea what the girls were planning behind his back. But then he'd walk in on his best friends joined at the face, making all sorts of disgusting noises, and he decided it was Ron's own fault if he was that oblivious. It wasn't like Hermione was hiding the magazines with pictures of engagement rings she had strewn about their flat.
I bet I could do those weather-altering charms better than she could, he thought petulantly, even though the rational part of his brain laughed at his gall. Well, okay, maybe I wouldn't do them with more skill, but I could do them with more power. Turn all of this bloody sun into thunder and lightning, anyway. The thought cheered him somewhat. If everyone else was going to ruin his day as a matter of course, then he could give it right back.
He walked along Diagon Alley, wondering if he could at least get a free chocolate frog out of Honeydukes, since everyone seemed to be so damned fond of him lately. Too fond, if anyone asked him (not that they ever did). So far this morning, he had had three old women clutch at him, two very old men wheeze their thanks (one gripping his elbow so hard Harry's wand hand had gone tingly), and two women ask if he had company for the night. The final straw had been when some black-haired bloke asked if he'd like to play Auror to his dirty Death Eater. Harry hadn't been sure whether to be flattered that any bloke would look at him that way or hex the man. He had settled for fleeing, trying to pretend he had not thrown a curious look back over his shoulder.
Now that he was alone, he had thought that he might feel better. But the birds were still singing in an annoyingly cheerful manner, and the sun still shone and warmed his hair and his shoulders, and the light breeze insisted on wafting him the delicate scent of freshly-bloomed flowers.
It was so lovely it was nauseating.
Up ahead, he saw a young woman spot him and clutch her infant. Harry panicked. He knew that look. He was going to have to kiss another baby. That would be the fifteenth of the week. And it was only Thursday.
Quickly, before she could reach him or get within hailing distance, Harry Apparated back to Grimmauld Place. He did not hear Kreacher stirring, and for that he was profoundly grateful. He wanted to be alone, for Merlin's sake. Yes, yes, he knew he was an icon, a war hero, and people were just glad to live their lives feeling truly safe for the first time in a long while. But they wouldn't bloody well let him live his own life, now would they?
It came to him in the shower later that evening. He knew how he could get them all to let him be. There would be no more little old ladies accosting him on the street, no more women (and men, who really weren't that bad, especially that one sandy-haired bloke from last week, with the broad smile and nice cheekbones) throwing himself at him, no more babies for him to kiss, all sticky and wanting nothing to do with the stranger their mothers shoved them at. And perhaps best of all, no more public appearances and speeches and dedications which forced him to relive things he'd really rather forget, thank you very much.
He smiled to himself as he soaped up. Why hadn't he thought of this before? It was so simple. There was a way to get others to respect him. No, to leave him alone. No! To fear him and leave him the hell alone! That was it.
He would become evil.
~*~
Three days later, Harry still hadn't found a way to show everyone just how unwise it was to bother him. But he was working on it. Unfortunately, a lot of the things he knew of that might make him evil just weren't all that attractive. Yet. He was sure he could warm up to it.
He was sitting in a park, as far away from the families and lovers and groups of small children as he could manage. He had taken a long lunch to mull things over, and though Auror Hapshatt had given him a look, Harry knew he wouldn't say anything. Who was going to reprimand the saviour to the whole wizarding world for taking an extra thirty minutes on his lunch?
It was warm and sunny out again today, but this time, the weather did not bother him so much. He no longer wanted to curse at the wind simply for being wind. He spotted a large, smooth rock at the edge of the park and headed that way. The area here was less tended and the grass was longer. As far as Harry could tell, he'd be less likely to be bothered while he thought.
He was mostly correct. He didn't have any real company for a while, though that Finch-Fletchley prat from school was closer than Harry would like. He wasn't as bad as some of the Slytherins, no, nor even some of the other students, like that Romilda girl who had tried to drug him and got Ron instead back in sixth year, but Harry still didn't particularly care for him. He had been responsible for making life a bit difficult after the whole duelling club thing in second year.
He was musing on that, throwing unseen glares the Hufflepuff's way and wondering if it would be evil enough to go and knock that ice cream cone from his hand, when he realised he had company on his rock.
A greenish-brown head rose up and looked at him disdainfully. It wasn't as if snakes had a hell of a lot in the way of eyelids, at least that Harry could see, but this one seemed to glare at him all the same. Harry nodded at it, then cleared his throat. "Hello," he tried, hoping that was actually Parseltongue coming from his mouth.
The snake raised its head a bit higher and bobbed. "Oh, you speak it," it hissed back, sounding surprised. "I didn't realise any humans still could."
"Yeah, I can," Harry said, feeling a bit better. Apparently, he had not lost the ability when he got rid of the last part of Voldemort's soul. Or maybe he was just destined to be evil after all. "Are you enjoying the weather?"
"It's nice," the snake allowed. "But this is my rock. I like to sun myself here, and you're in the way."
"Oh." Harry shifted over a bit, and the snake wound itself into a more comfortable position. "You see that boy over there, by that tree? I want you to go over there and bite him for me. Even if you're not poisonous."
The snake didn't move. "You're joking."
"No, I'm not. I want you to bite him. I don't like him much." There. That ought to serve Justin right. Let him see what it was like when someone actually did egg on a snake attack.
"Why would I do that?" The snake's tail flicked lazily. "I see no reason to get up from my rock, now that I'm comfortable."
"Because I command you to."
The snake uncoiled itself and regarded Harry coldly. "You may speak the language," it hissed, obviously irritated. "But you understand nothing of the culture. I shall have to find another place to warm myself, rather than share this rock - my rock, mind you, with someone so rude. Good day to you." And with that it slithered away, its tail swishing a very clear signal that was not all that dissimilar from a two-fingered salute.
Harry blinked, staring after it. Well. Okay, then. No snake to do his bidding. Scratch that option off the list. He would simply have to try something else.
~*~
The answer came to him less than a week later. If he wanted someone to do what he commanded, there was a very direct way to make that happen. It was so simple, he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it before. The Imperius Curse was exactly what he needed! True, it was an Unforgivable, but he had technically used them before, and had received no actual punishment.
Surprisingly, it took a lot of building himself up before he could actually pull the trigger, so to speak. He was beginning to think he'd never be able to work himself up to casting the spell until late one night when Hermione just would not let something go.
"Honestly, Harry, I don't even know what you were thinking, breaking things off with Ginny like that," she said, and Harry fervently wished he had a glass of Firewhisky in front of him. She had that tone, the one that said she was going to badger logic into him if it killed her. What was taking Ron so long to arrive?
"Look, I had my reasons," he said crossly, hoping that would help her to see he didn't want to answer any more of her questions on the matter. No such luck.
"I suppose you think that, yes, but really, anyone can see you two were meant to be together. I mean, she puts on a brave face and doesn't seem as broken up as we all know she is, but what about how the rest of the Weasleys are taking it? Poor Molly is just devastated. You know she always considered you as good as part of the family. And Ron, well I'm sure that when he gets here, he'll tell you -"
Harry snapped. This was his life, and he'd made the best decision for him. Besides, Ginny's attitude wasn't an act. He'd muttered something in his sleep one night - he was having a damned good dream at the time, even if he could never tell anyone else about it - and she'd taken that as her cue that things would probably never work out between them. Harry reacted without really thinking, his hand clenching his wand as it rested upon his thigh. "Imperio," he ground out, anger swelling.
Hermione stopped, mid-sentence, and blinked, looking a bit bewildered. Ron chose that moment to step up to their booth and slide in next to her. "Harry," he said, with a nod. "Hermione. What are you two talking about?"
Harry held his breath and concentrated. "Nothing," Hermione said dazedly. "I was just talking to Harry about how…" She paused, and Harry focused harder. "I was just telling Harry that the three of us should order drinks. Because I'm thirsty," she added.
This was harder than it looked, but challenges had never really bothered Harry before. He readjusted the grip on his wand. "Maybe some butterbeer?" he suggested to Ron, still focused on Hermione. This didn't appear to be hurting her at all, and hadn't someone once told him - Ron or someone - that the Imperius actually felt good?
Ron shrugged and got up to place their order. When he came back, Harry still had his wand trained on Hermione, who was picking at a napkin with a dreamy smile on her face. "Ron," Hermione said after he'd hander her a bottle of butterbeer, "I was thinking…" Harry held his breath. Just say something that gets you both out of here he thought at her as hard as he could. "You remember that subject we were discussing last night?"
Ron shook his head. "Gonna have to be more specific than that, Hermione."
"Oh, you remember," she said, raising her eyebrows. Harry got the distinct feeling she wasn't talking about his relationship with Ginny any more. As long as whatever she said got them both to leave - that was all he cared about. "When we were in bed, and we were discussing that one thing…and I said my answer wasn't no, but to let me think about it for a bit?"
Ron choked on his drink. "I thought you said you had to have a lot of wine first. And then I'd have to do, you know, that other thing," he whispered. He didn't whisper it quietly enough. Harry had a moment of horror where he realised where this might be going.
"I know," she said, sidling up closer and leaning her head against Ron's shoulder. "But I've been thinking about it more, and I don't think that's really all that necessary."
Ron turned scarlet. "Maybe this is something we should discuss when Harry's not around," he said. Sweat had popped out on his brow. Harry wanted to hug his best friend. How right he was.
"No, don't be silly," Hermione said with a little laugh, and Harry dropped his wand on the floor. "He doesn't mind at all."
I mind rather a lot! his mind screamed. Oh, how did one remove the Imperius again? He fumbled for his wand with his foot.
"Um. This really is more of a private discussion, Hermione," Ron said, still very pink.
"Fine, then," she said, straightening up. "Let's go home. I want to try this out. I did some reading while you were at work this morning, and I found a really interesting technique I think we could -"
Harry ducked under the table and found his wand. He banged his head on the way up, but he couldn't be bothered to care about that right now. "Finite Incantatem," he whispered fiercely.
Hermione blinked and looked at Harry with questions in her eyes. He saw the moment where everything clicked for her, and she smiled wickedly. His stomach gave a lurch. What would she say? "Ready, Ron?"
Ron looked torn between embarrassment and hope. "If you're sure…"
"Oh, I'm sure," she said, running her hand up Ron's chest. Harry tried to restrain his urge to run away screaming. "Maybe later, you can give Harry some tips -"
Ron stood up quickly. "Sorry, mate, but I think it's time for us to head home for the night." He pulled Hermione by the arm, nearly dragging her from the table.
"Good night, Harry," she said sweetly. "Tonight's been fun. But don't be surprised if Ron doesn't feel up to making it in tomorrow morning, after… well, you know." She giggled and followed Ron to the front door.
That was it. No more Imperio. There was obviously more to the spell's theory than he knew about. His stomach lurched a little bit as he thought of the tone of Hermione's voice and the look on Ron's face. Merlin, he was going to have nightmares tonight. Detailed nightmares. And he might never be able to look Hermione in the eye again.
~*~
As Harry thought about the disaster that was his attempt at Imperio (and he did think about it, no matter how badly he wanted to forget it), he realised he had simply aimed too high. This evil thing was new to him. He had plenty of experience on the other end, but that didn't mean he could switch sides and expect to be good at everything. He didn't have to give up on Unforgivables; he just needed to try one that required less logic.
Obviously, there were only two ways to go on this path, and one of them was rather a large step that Harry still wasn't keen on. That left Cruciatus. He'd done it once, and though it hadn't been exceptionally effective, he'd done significantly better than he had when Hermione had… Ugh. He really needed to stop thinking about that.
Finding a victim seemed to be his biggest hurdle, once he had figured out his new plan. There weren't that many of his co-workers who annoyed him, and as Aurors, most of them could throw it off anyway. So. Ron was out. Even Draco Malfoy was out, as the universe had decided it needed another laugh by pairing them together as partners. He knew better than to try anything else out with Hermione, who really was fairly clever. Who did that leave?
Well, no one really. No one he wouldn't have to go out of his way to find. No one had heard from Goyle since the end of the war, and Harry really didn't feel like trying anything at the Burrow, where he might be so easily outnumbered by the Weasleys, who really didn't do much to warrant that kind of reaction. He was certain someone around him would deserve it at some point. He just had to wait.
It didn't take long for his waiting to pay off. He had exited Diagon Alley one early evening, pocketing his free Chocolate Frog until after dinner, when someone rather large ploughed into him, nearly knocking him into the gutter.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't… Harry?"
Harry looked up, checking on the status of his Frog. Still intact. Who would have the…? "Dudley?"
They stared at each other for a moment, before Dudley's not-as-round-as-it-used-to-be face cracked an awkward smile. "You're alive."
"Um. Yeah. You're… not in jail."
There was more awkward staring. "So. You were involved in… a war? Of some sort?" Dudley asked finally. "I'm guessing you won."
Harry blinked. "Yeah."
"Good. Congratulations, I guess. I'd always wondered what happened to you, you know."
Something about that struck Harry the wrong way. His cousin wondered what happened to him? After all those years of torture? They'd had one remotely civil interaction their whole lives, the moment Harry walked out of his family's life forever; did Dudley think that one moment made up for a lifetime of misery?
"Oh, you did, did you? Why, wonder if someday a kid of mine would wind up on your doorstep?"
"What? No." Dudley looked politely puzzled. "I'd just…I mean…"
The fact that he couldn't articulate it made Harry even angrier. As his cousin floundered, Harry gripped his wand, pointed it, and muttered a forceful "Crucio!"
Dudley collapsed against the brick wall at his side. He squirmed violently and tried to get away, but there was nowhere to go where Harry's spell couldn't get to him. Finally, he managed to suck in a great breath. "What are you doing?" he asked, tears welling up in his eyes. "Stop it!"
Harry felt a mix of satisfaction and guilt that lasted for all of a moment. His cousin shook and twitched, and after another large gasp, managed to squeak out more words. "Harry, that tickles, stop it!"
Harry lifted the spell, looking at the tip of his wand with irritation. It didn't look broken. In front of him, Dudley regained control of his legs. Shaking his wand as if to dislodge a blockage, Harry tried again. The effect was immediate, but unchanged. Dudley clutched at his sides, making pitiful little noises as he tried to breathe. "You've got to be kidding me," Harry muttered, removing the Cruciatus and stuffing his wand back where it belonged.
"Why… Why…?" Dudley wheezed at him, his face an alarming shade of pink. He stood carefully, looking at Harry with a combination utter bafflement and wariness. "Is that payback? For all those times I held you down and tickled you until you wet yourself when we were little?" He cleared his throat. "Because, I have to say, Harry, I was pretty close to ruining these trousers. Great trick, though." He cleared his throat again. "Look, if that's behind us now, what -"
But whatever he might have proposed, Harry didn't hear it. With an irritated grunt, he looked around, saw that they were alone, and Apparated home. He needed a bloody drink.
~*~
Two months after beginning his campaign of evil, Harry had still yet to do anything more than vaguely annoy anyone (Hermione didn't count, as the few brief times he had seen her, she had just smiled at him, then smirked when his face went a little green). He was sitting at home, seriously contemplating Polyjuicing himself as some random Muggle for the rest of his days, when it hit him.
Followers.
That's what was missing! Followers to do his dirty work! Voldemort had had them, and it certainly seemed to help when you had the numbers behind you. Granted, he might not make his followers wear ridiculous little masks, but they could decide on that later. For now, he just had to amass a group of people. And really, how hard could that be? He'd done well enough with the DA, hadn't he?
Three evenings later, Harry felt ready. He'd rehearsed a small speech of sorts, something to impassion the crowd towards his cause - or at least, what he was going to tell them was his cause. Harry didn't figure a 'hey guys, I've figured I'll turn evil now, so who's with me?' kind of approach was best. Best to start out vague. Whip them up into a frenzy. There were still plenty of people who would stand behind him just because of what he had already done, irrespective of any solid future plans (or lack thereof).
He had chosen an old warehouse in a dodgy section of London for his gathering. A few select, anonymous adverts in the Prophet later, and there was a respectable crowd gathered. Most of them were milling about, talking amongst themselves. A few were scanning the room as if they were looking for something they couldn't seem to find. Harry waited until the buzzing of conversation hit a particular pitch, and then made his move.
"Attention!" he shouted, stepping onto the hastily constructed stage. He watched as everyone fell silent, turning their faces towards him. Good. "Thank you all for meeting me here. It's good to know there are so many people out there who still care about having a cause to stand behind. Now, to begin -"
He stopped. At the edge of the crowd stood a young man Harry didn't recognise. The bloke was raising his hand in a manner that strongly resembled Hermione in any given classroom. "Yes, what is it?"
"Excuse me, Mr Potter, but… could you tell us where the refreshments are?"
Harry blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"One of the adverts said something about refreshments."
Well, that couldn't be right. Harry thought about it for a moment. He didn't recall stating anything about refreshments. The closest there had been was a line about 'refreshing new ideas'… Damn it. He knew the girl at the Prophet hadn't been paying attention. "There aren't any refreshments."
"…Not even punch? Or pie?"
"No. No punch or pie. No crisps. This isn't a catered event."
"Well, maybe it should be," the bloke huffed. "If there're no refreshments, I'm out of here." He tossed Harry a dirty look and strode out the back door. The volume of the crowd's muttering swelled, and Harry could see looks of confusion and disappointment everywhere, with a few instances of disgust thrown in for good measure.
Harry watched dumbstruck as, one by one, people made for the door. He wanted to shout, to call them back and share his impassioned (albeit fake) plans, but he'd forgotten all the words he had practised in his mirror at home.
One lone young man paused with his hand on the door. Harry felt something like hope for the briefest of seconds, and then the boy shook his head. "What kind of dedication can you have, if you don't even provide refreshments?" he said sadly, stepping out into the cold night air and leaving Harry alone in the empty warehouse.
~*~
With everything that had gone wrong, Harry was starting to worry that he wasn't actually good at anything any more.
After the problems with trying to recruit an army, it had occurred to him that perhaps he needed an army that wasn't quite so fickle. This line of thought had led him to what seemed like a logical conclusion: he could simply create an army of the undead. That was enough to strike fear into the hearts of men, right?
Only that too had gone wrong. Instead of fearsome Inferi, Harry had wound up with sparkly vampires. It had been absolutely ridiculous, not to mention completely unsuccessful. They hadn't scared anyone. Too many of them had spent their time apparently mooning over uninteresting girls. And all of that sparkling had really only made Harry squint and given him a headache.
Harry was still nursing said headache when someone pounded on his door. He buried his head in the pillows on his bed and hoped whoever was making all the noise decided to go away. Of course, his luck didn't allow for that.
After a moment, the pounding stopped. The quiet lasted for all of five seconds before his front door burst open, there were thudding steps up his staircase, and a truly angry-looking Draco Malfoy barged his way into Harry's bedroom.
"There you are!" he shouted.
Harry's head throbbed. "Not so loud," he muttered, shoving his face back into the pillow. "And why are you here, anyway?"
"You're missing work. And much as I hate to say it, I'm not clever enough to keep people from noticing your absence. You have a presence, Potter, and it's hard to replicate without you actually being present." He paused for a moment. "What's wrong with you?"
"I don't even know where to begin," Harry said, not even bothering to raise his head. Maybe if he lay here long enough, he'd suffocate himself.
"I've never seen you so pathetic," Draco sighed. "You look terrible. And that's coming from someone who's seen you go three days without sleep and get hit with a swelling jinx on top of that. Listen to me. You're going to go and shower and clean up. I'll make you some tea, and when you're done, we can talk over your obvious mental issues." He poked Harry in the shoulder blade. "Now, up! Go. Seriously, Potter, move your arse."
Knowing Draco wouldn't shut up and leave him alone until he complied, Harry heaved himself off the bed and trudged to the shower. A good forty minutes later, he emerged, clean and slightly damp, but still feeling discouraged. Draco was sitting on the sofa, tea things set out in front of him like this was his home, a few sheets of paper next to the tray.
"Ah, you're finally done," he said, pouring them each a cup of tea. "Sit, so we can talk." Harry sat, took the offered cup of tea, and reached for the plate of biscuits. He'd forgot he even bought those, but if ever there was a time for them, now was it.
Draco watched him a moment, fingers curled around his own cup. "So, Harry," he said after a moment. "Care to explain this Evil Overlord List of yours?"
Harry promptly choked on his biscuit and did not recover until his partner gave him a good thumping on his back. "What?"
"I found your list," Draco said, gesturing to the pages sitting on the coffee table. "You have it all marked up, with notes in the margins. Now, why on earth do you have such a thing? It can't be research for a case, can it?"
Harry sighed. He didn't have the energy to lie to his partner. So instead he found himself detailing his failed exploits, not even caring that he was literally confessing to a member of the Auror squad, and might find himself in very real trouble. He laid it all out: the failed attempt at getting a snake to do his bidding, his problems with the two Unforgivables he'd tried, the inability to get an army behind him. Draco just sat and listened, his eyebrows raised, and moved close to Harry on the sofa as he ranted.
"It was stupid," he sighed, as Draco patted him on the back. The small measure of comfort - unexpected though it was - was appreciated. "And weird. And it might just have been me, but I could swear that one of them looked like Cedric."
"Harry," Draco said firmly, now rubbing small circles into Harry's back. "Look. You're going about this the wrong way. First things first. You need to be impressive. No one's going to fear a slightly scruffy Dark Lord. You don't even look imposing. Now, no need to cut off your nose to spite your face, so to speak, but you could at least dress the part."
"Oh yeah? And what makes you such an expert?"
"Harry. You are talking to the person who spent most of sixth year looking fashionably tragic. Remember the tank top? The ruffled fringe?"
"Oh," said Harry. "Right."
Draco smiled at him. "Let me take you shopping. I'm certain we can find something suitable and have it tailored to highlight your power."
Harry just looked at Draco for several moments. He was doing a poor job on his own. Maybe having an assistant of sorts - no, a minion. Impressive Dark Lords always had minions - would do him some good. "You're… okay with this?"
With a quick squeeze of Harry's knee, Draco nodded. "If you're going to do this, Potter, you might as well do it the right way. And really, I think I'm the perfect person to help. Now, let's start fresh tomorrow. Eat a good breakfast, clean yourself up, and meet me at Enzo's Boutique at nine tomorrow morning."
"Enzo's? Why not Madam Malkin's? Or even Twilfitt and Tatting's?"
Draco scoffed at him. "There you go, demonstrating exactly why you need help with this sort of thing. Neither of those places carries the kind of quality you need, and no one can tailor to effect like Enzo can. Trust me, Harry. Nine a.m. Be on time." He got up, taking a biscuit with him, and made for the front door. At the doorway, he paused and regarded Harry with a critical eye. "Yes, I think we can pull this off… with a bit of work," he murmured, nodding to himself. And then he was gone, and Harry could do nothing other than look after him, confused but slightly heartened.
~*~
Though there was something to be said for the robes Draco had picked out (because, all things aside, Harry did feel better about himself in them. They really were flattering), things weren't exactly going well.
What he needed, as Draco had told him and Harry actually agreed with, was something that would really make people take notice. Unfortunately, neither of them had figured out exactly what that was. Draco had suggested kidnapping, but Harry still had hang-ups. Though if more people didn't stop being such utter berks, Harry thought he might just go that route anyway.
Therefore, when Ron showed up on his doorstep, demanding to know what was going on, Harry reasoned it should be no surprise that he felt pushed into it.
"What are you even doing these days?" Ron shouted, pushing his way into Harry's front hall. "What's with the new robes? Why're you spending so much time with Malfoy outside work? Why've you been ignoring me and avoiding Hermione?"
Harry felt his anger rise as Ron backed him against the wall. Who was Ron to come in here, shouting and yelling and making a scene? If he wasn't careful, he was going to be sorry.
"I want answers, damn it!" Ron looked more frustrated than Harry had ever seen him, and Harry finally snapped. Frustrated, he shoved Ron backwards into the open cupboard. He locked the door, a feeling of immense satisfaction flooding through him. There. Let him cool off, locked in a cupboard for a while.
Harry was just realising that he'd taken his first prisoner and thinking that maybe it wasn't so hard after all, when there was a loud crack beside him, and Ron Apparated nearly atop him. "What the fuck, Harry?"
Right. Wizards could Apparate out of cupboards. Harry would do well to remember that.
"Look, mate, I don't know what the hell's wrong with you, but you need to get a grip on yourself. When you're ready to apologise and talk about this, you know where to find me and Hermione." Wish a disgusted look, Ron ran a hand through his hair and Disapparated.
Harry clenched his jaw. He didn't have to explain himself. And really, he was starting to think it was time to step his game up.
~*~
After considerably more forethought than he'd been showing, Harry decided it was time to take more drastic measures. After the failure in the cupboard, he'd sat down and done some planning. He could give the prisoner thing another go, only this time, he'd be certain to use restraints that couldn't be so easily escaped. And perhaps he should try his tactics out on someone he wasn't on friendly terms with, for once.
So when Pansy Parkinson made some snide comment about his glasses not being fashionable enough to go with his robes, Harry decided she'd fit the bill well enough.
He'd already secured a small warehouse - the same one he'd tried to use as a base of operations with potential followers; no sense wasting the month's rent he was spending on it - and spruced it up to his liking. Well, perhaps 'spruced' wasn't quite the word. He'd dimmed the windows, got rid of the stage, and bolted a large bed to the centre of the room. A chest of enchanted ropes and chains lay off to the side of the bed. There should be no way his hostage could escape this time.
Having found it easiest to just Stun Pansy and Apparate her here, Harry levitated her onto the table and began the process of strapping her down before he muttered "Rennervate". He watched her start to struggle against the ropes and felt something like satisfaction.
"Potter? What do you think you're doing?" she asked, sounding shocked. She whipped her head to the side to look at him.
Tightening the rope bond around her wrist, Harry raised his eyebrows. "Tying you up. What's it look like?"
Pansy didn't say anything for a moment, for which Harry was rather grateful. She could be mouthy - that much he remembered about her. "Are you making certain those knots are tight?" she asked after a moment.
"Of course I am!" He'd learnt his lesson on restraints already.
"Good." Her voice was low and throaty. And definitely not terrified.
Harry paused. He took a good look at her. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was looking at him with half-lidded eyes. When she caught him looking, she licked her lips slowly, teasingly, and wriggled a little, showing off her assets underneath the low-cut neckline she was wearing.
"Ugh!" he muttered, putting it all together. He backed up and nearly tripped over the chest behind him.
"Oh, come on, Potter," she murmured, squirming within her restraints in a manner Harry found quite disturbing. "We were just getting started. Tie me tighter, and you can do whatever naughty things to me you please."
Harry cast another Stunning spell on her, scrambling to get away. After a few moments of sitting on the ground, arms wrapped around his knees and trying to pretend all of that hadn't just happened, Harry took a few deep breaths and got to his feet. All right. That did it.
He cast a quick, light Obliviate, just enough so she'd forget the last half hour, and set time-delayed spells to release the Stunner and undo the bonds. She'd be stuck here for another half hour. Harry didn't plan on being here nearly that long.
After Vanishing the chest of ropes and chains and anything else he had brought with him, Harry Disapparated. Fuck this, he was done.
~*~
"Fuck this, I'm done."
Draco just blinked at him. Harry hadn't so much as said hello when he'd Apparated into Malfoy's flat. "What do you mean, you're done? And what are you even doing here?"
"I'm done, Draco. Over this. I suck at being evil."
"Calm down and explain. You're babbling." Draco gestured to the sofa. "Sit, Potter, and breathe. Now. What?"
Harry took a deep breath and stared his partner in the face. "I am a complete and utter failure."
"Okay," Draco said slowly, "please continue."
"I can't do this. You already know about everything else I've failed at. Well, today, I had my opportunity to take an actual prisoner. I figured I'd failed with Ron, and it might be better to capture someone I'm not actually friends with. So I picked Pansy."
"Pansy Parkinson?"
"Yeah."
"So my friends are fair game?"
Harry paused. He'd forgotten that bit. "In the end, isn't everyone? Well, nearly everyone? Present company excluded? Besides, it doesn't matter any more. I told you, I'm done."
Draco raised a single eyebrow. "Fair enough. Go on."
"I had a place all set up, where no one would wander in or come to the rescue.
So I set about tying her up. But…" he shuddered. "She was into it."
"Come again?" Draco's eyes narrowed and he looked as if he was contemplating giving his friend a good solid piece of his mind.
"She liked it. Told me to tie the ropes tighter, and that I could do whatever I wanted to her." He wrinkled his nose. "Damn Slytherins. Too kinky for their own good."
"Oh, yes, because it's a requirement the Sorting Hat considers before placing you into the appropriate house," Draco said scathingly.
Harry didn't have a response for that, so he chose to ignore it. "Anyway, I've had it. I'm tired of feeling like a failure. I'm just going to resign myself to being harassed the rest of my life, and being hit on by people who've heard I'm single, and having to kiss babies and make speeches and cut the ribbon on grand openings of memorials and what have you. Nothing I really feel up to doing is going to change anyone's opinion of me."
Draco sighed. "Well, I don't know about that," he said slowly. "I'm certain we could find something that might make people think twice about approaching you all the damn time. So maybe you're not cut out for this Dark Lord thing." He pulled Harry to his feet and held him at arm's length. "But look at you. You're still much more imposing than you used to be, now you've got a decent set of robes and the right shoes and me at your side."
Harry looked down at himself. Draco had put in a lot of work with him, almost like he'd been grooming him for… for… Memories of Draco complimenting him and rubbing his back and adjusting Harry's robes when Harry couldn't remember them being out of place flashed through his head. "You at my side?"
Draco blushed faintly. "Never mind. I've been thinking, Harry. Why don't we head out and have dinner? Get your mind off this whole mess. I'm certain we can find something you're good at by the end of the night." There was a faint note of invitation to his voice.
Harry swallowed hard and thought about Draco's hand squeezing his knee again. "I have a few ideas I'd like to suggest." His face felt on fire.
Smiling wickedly, Draco chuckled. "I'm quite open to hearing them. I'm positive they'll be better received than your other recent ideas." He leaned in close. "Besides," he murmured, sending shivers down Harry's spine, "if there's one thing we've found lately, someone needs to keep you out of trouble."
"Or help me get into it?" Harry whispered, feeling his pulse speed up as he leaned a little closer to Draco.
"Yes," Draco said with a teasing little touch on the back of Harry's neck. "Or help you get into it."