Chapter Forty of 'Made of Common Clay'- Without Lute or Chorus
Chapter Thirty-Nine.
Title: Made of Common Clay (39/48)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Minor mentions of Ron/Hermione, Molly/Arthur, Neville/Hannah, Luna/Rolf, and past Harry/Ginny; otherwise, this fic is gen and will remain so.
Content Notes: Angst, violence, torture, politics, present tense, cynical Harry
Rating: R (for violence)
Summary: Harry has reached a very bitter and jaded thirty. His efforts to reform the Ministry haven’t lessened the corruption or pure-blood bigotry one bit. That’s when he finds out that he’s apparently a part of a pure-blood nobility he’s never heard of before; he’s Lord Potter and Lord Black. Unfortunately, that revelation’s come too late for him to be a reformer. All Harry wants to do is tear the system down and salt the earth. And with a double Lordship, he just might have the power to do that.
Author’s Notes: This fic is partially a parody of some of the tropes common in Lord Potter/Lord Black fics. The title and most of the chapter titles come from one of Oscar Wilde’s poems: “Sweet I blame you not for mine the fault was, had I not been made of common clay/I had climbed the higher heights unclimbed yet, seen the fuller air, the larger day.” I don’t yet know how long this fic will be, but it will get pretty dark.
Chapter One.
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Forty-Without Lute or Chorus
Harry grins up at Ron as he steps through the Floo again, Hermione right behind him. “Aren’t the headlines something?”
“Yes, they’re something,” Hermione snaps, her eyes lingering on the papers that Harry’s spread around himself in a circle on the floor. No matter where he turns, there’s a treasure: some old photograph of himself, or a picture of himself engaging in “Dark Lord activities,” like the duel with Weston in Diagon Alley, or a screaming headline.
POTTER GOES DARK!
WHAT IS POTTER’S NEXT PLAN?
MUST WE EMBRACE THE NEXT DARK LORD?
Harry thinks the last one might be his favorite. He’s no longer perceived by most people as being a hero, or Lord Potter, or Lord Black. Those are facts, remaining in most people’s minds as memories, but they no longer have any emotional attachment to them. When they aren’t wondering fearfully what his next move will be, the reporters are lamenting the fact that they let Harry’s Lordship status keep them from criticizing him for so long.
“Ron told me about your mad plan to enter the Muggle world instead of staying in the wizarding one, Harry.” Hermione sits down on the other side of the newspapers like they’re a charmed circle she doesn’t want to enter and stares at him evenly.
“Hermione. I’m hurt.” Harry puts a hand on his chest and makes sure that his eyes are wide and fixed on hers. “You didn’t listen when I told you about my mad plan months ago? You only believed it when it came from Ron.”
Hermione’s scowl, which has started to falter, comes roaring back full-force. “Don’t you try to charm me with that smile, Harry James Potter!”
“Do I look like I’m smiling? I’m just hurt that one of my best friends would only believe the truth when it comes from her husband.” Harry sighs and shakes his head. “I’m hurt that after all these years, the duo of you is what’s important, not the trio of us.”
Hermione punches him in the shoulder. “Of course I believed you when you said it, because you believed it. But I never thought you would hang onto that conviction. I-oh, Harry, I just can’t imagine what you’ll do in the Muggle world.”
Harry grins. “All the things that I wouldn’t be able to do in the wizarding world without being recognized. Travel. Go to school. Use my skills. Make friendships with people that aren’t based on who I am and any special status that my blood or powers have.”
“You have friends here,” Ron mutters, looking as if he’s going to start sulking any second.
“I know. And you’ll always be my dearest friends. I’ll Apparate and Floo back when I can to visit you.” Harry shakes his head. “But I know the limits of the wizarding world’s tolerance. Really, I always did. I knew that if I did this, I would be blowing up my own reputation. And, well.” He grins. “I succeeded.”
“There were no options for you in the wizarding world?” Hermione asks, her eyes sharp and watchful. “No ways that you could imagine yourself living a normal life?”
Harry snorts. “Are you kidding? Now? They would drag me away to Azkaban, Hermione. Of course there’s no option for a normal life. And, well, I can’t pretend that I’m truly upset about that. I’ll miss you and Ron and a few other people. Not the wizarding world itself.”
Ron swallows. “Does that mean that you’re going to snap your wand and give up practicing magic, mate? I hear that’s-an option some people take when they go to live in the Muggle world.”
Harry shakes his head. “How would I Apparate or Floo back to visit you if I did that? No, I’ll just stay in the Muggle world most of the time and find things to do, like I told Hermione, and come back here to visit you when I want to.”
“I don’t know, Harry. That sounds almost-too simple. Don’t you think you’ll get involved in some Muggle cause or other?”
Harry leans back and laughs aloud. The sound feels free and light, and it even seems to stir the papers he’s put on the floor like wind. “Do you think that I got involved in the causes here because I really hate injustice?”
“Yes.” Hermione’s voice is flat, and she already sounds as though she isn’t going to like when he tells her next.
Harry cheerfully tells her anyway. “I became involved in that because people wouldn’t leave me alone about being a hero, and certain things, like Muggleborns being discriminated against or unicorns being hunted, distressed my friends. And I felt that I should try to lessen prejudice against werewolves, too, for Teddy’s sake and Remus’s memory. But now I’ve done that. Now I can leave. Why would I start caring about some random Muggle cause?”
It’s very hard for him to read Hermione’s face right now. “You sound as if you don’t-really care about anyone but yourself, Harry.”
“That’s the condition of most of humanity most of the time. I’m looking forward to finding out what it’s like.”
“Leave him alone, Hermione,” Ron tells her firmly when she starts to open her mouth again. “You have to understand how different it is for him. I mean, he’s already done all these things that no one else could have, and it was because he was the Boy-Who-Lived and the Master of Death. What more do you want him to do? Devote himself to caring about things that you would care about, just to please you?”
“Of course not! But his life’s going to be so empty if he doesn’t do something. I just don’t want him to be bored.”
“Of course that’s it,” Harry teases her softly. She glares at him.
Harry shrugs and tells the truth. “It might be that someday I’ll get involved in something. I mean, if I saw someone being robbed or attacked right in front of me and I could stop it, of course I would. But I’m not going to go looking for it. I’ve had enough of fame and gratitude and a fickle public. I want to find out who I am without all that.”
Hermione still looks distressed. Harry doesn’t know what he can say to reassure her. Then again, maybe he doesn’t have to reassure her of anything. Things will happen the way they will happen, and eventually Hermione will realize that Harry is much happier in the Muggle world.
Ron is the one who changes the subject. “How are you going to get safely into the Muggle world?”
“A highly secret method. It’s called Apparition.”
Ron rolls his eyes. Harry is a little sorry that Ron has grown immune to his sense of humor. “I meant that there are Muggleborns and others who live outside the wizarding portion of London. If someone sees you, they’ll report you to the Ministry, and then you’ll have to run from them the exact same way you would if you’d stayed here.”
Harry shrugs. “I’m not going to stay in London. I’m going to the Black safehouse in France first, to rest and retrieve some of the artifacts I want from there. Then I’ll go to Knockturn Alley and sell some of them. That will give me extra money to put in a cache in case I need it.”
“And then?” Hermione is watching him with a sharp eye.
Harry grins back unrepentantly. She can tell that he’s up to something, but she doesn’t know exactly what. “Then I’m going to give the wizarding world one last rousing farewell, just in case it does occur to some of them to start thinking I’m some kind of ruddy hero.”
“Be careful, mate,” Ron says, his face somber. “They could catch up with you and arrest you or start chasing you then.”
“Right.” Harry tilts his head and shrugs to convey how likely he thinks that is to actually happen. “What matters the most at the moment is that I’ve still got a prisoner under the Draught of Living Death in the cellars. I can’t just leave him there, can I? Especially since the public is still mourning the supposed, messy death of a dearly beloved Ministry official.”
Ron’s mouth falls open a little. “You’re going to release Kingsley just like that, mate? But isn’t that going to convince them that you are a hero? Because it will turn out that the most notorious murder you committed isn’t a murder at all?”
Harry grins and shakes his head. “I’m going to implant memories in his head of how horrific his captivity is. Then he can stagger bravely into Knockturn Alley, or Diagon Alley, or wherever I actually decide to release him, and shout at them about how terrible I am.”
“You want your reputation burned to ashes behind you,” Hermione whispers.
“Yes? I said that.” Harry supposes that it makes sense Hermione would have trouble, but he’s still a bit puzzled at the kind of trouble. He’s said over and over again that he doesn’t want to be a hero. Is it so strange that he would take actions which would put that kind of reputation to sleep?
Hermione sniffles a little. Then she says, “I think you’re a hero no matter what they say. Whether or not the wizarding world thinks you are. That’s just who you are, Harry.” She hugs him, and her arms are strong enough to squeeze some of the breath out of him.
Harry meets Ron’s eyes over her shoulder, and Ron shrugs with a slight sympathetic expression. It seems he understands better, even though he’d probably want to keep that kind of reputation if he had it. Ron grew up in the wizarding world and without the trust in books Hermione had when she was a child.
He still hugs Harry when Hermione lets go, of course, and sighs into his ear. “Just remember that you’re not going to Floo Mum or Ginny until there’s a continent between you,” he mutters.
“Yeah, I remember.” Harry pats his back and lets go. He has a Kingsley Shacklebolt to check on and make sure that he’s actually doing what he should, and he has people to fool, and potions to brew or maybe use if his stores aren’t damaged-
“Make sure that you can use the Floo wherever you end up,” Hermione says. “And connect your fireplace to the network when you have a permanent home.”
Harry salutes her solemnly. “I promise.”
*
Harry strolls down the middle of Knockturn Alley, a trunk floating behind him and his hood pulled over his head. The chaos that still infects Diagon Alley, with people thinking they see Harry Potter in every shadow, doesn’t affect this place. It’s all shadows, all the time, and mostly filled with people and creatures more terrifying than he ever managed to be.
That still bothers Harry, sometimes. He’s quite terrifying, thank you. It’s not his fault that the wizarding world is made of idiots who never listen.
He enters the dark corner he’s been envisioning for a while, and notes the dirt on the stones with approval. However, he does cast some illusions of blood on the walls just in case. He can’t have Kingsley returning to public life in a place that only has dirt. He has standards to maintain.
He opens the trunk and lifts out Kingsley’s body. This kind of thing attracts no attention whatsoever in Knockturn Alley. Harry bends down and thoughtfully heals a few of the bruises that Kingsley got as Harry hauled him here, then breaks down the sleep spell that has been holding Kingsley ever since Harry fed him the antidote to the Draught of Living Death.
Kingsley’s eyes snap open, and he gasps, and Harry says calmly, “Obliviate.”
Kingsley’s eyes then go blank. Harry thinks, and begins to spin the bloody, amazing tale of Kingsley’s capture and escape.
There was a dungeon, and there were torture racks all over the place, and Dark Lord Potter came in at least once a day to cackle evilly at me and promise gruesome tortures when he got the chance. I bravely struggled, and one day, he left the door unlocked…
By the time Harry finishes, there will be few people not already in the know who will doubt Kingsley’s story. It all fits so perfectly with what they think of him, their hero who once was so brave and determined and now has the same qualities, but twisted.
Harry sighs. They always want a narrative, a story. They can’t let him be a complicated, ordinary person like them, with his weaknesses and bad sides, because that wouldn’t fit into the neat little story.
But he might as well have some fun with it before he disappears from the wizarding world forever.
He bends down and whispers in Kingsley’s ear, “When anyone asks you why I was careless enough to leave the door open that day, you tell them that you think your begging made an impression on me.” It will please them to think he has some shred of compassion left somewhere deep in his wicked heart.
And that thought is so sickening that Harry takes even more pleasure in spinning the next lie. “As for why I pretended to kill you in the first place, you’ll tell them I was heartless and wanted to make everyone despair. If I could kill someone who fought beside me in the war against Voldemort and was practically my friend, what might I do to them?”
It’s not perfect, but it’ll do. Harry wraps himself in a Disillusionment Charm and watches as Kingsley wrestles his way back to consciousness. His eyes are wide and he clutches at his head more than once, especially when he glances around and finds himself in this seemingly deserted corner of Knockturn Alley.
But he gets his feet under him and manages to stagger out in good time. And Harry follows behind him for a little while to make sure that he does actually get to a point where someone from Diagon Alley can see him and make a dramatic rescue. If that involves pressing an invisible wand into the back of a hag who starts casually towards Kingsley, well, Harry can think of that as one last service to their dead friendship.
Then.
Then Harry can stroll under his charm to the end of Diagon Alley where there are shops that have fireplaces connected to the Floo network and basically open to everyone for a fee. There’s no one to charge him that fee, or even notice when the fireplace apparently flares green by itself and opens to disgorge him into his destination. Everyone is too busy waving their arms and screaming and shouting over the resurrected Kingsley Shacklebolt, victim of that monstrous Lord Potter.
Harry smiles a little, and lets the green flames take him away.
*
“Harry?”
Harry grins at Ginny, who is staring at him through the fire with her hands clenched at her sides. He wonders if he’s going to regret not taking Ron’s advice about speaking to her with half a continent in between them, instead of just Flooing her from France. “Hi, Ginny. How are you?”
Ginny shakes her head, then draws in a sharp breath and says, “Betrayed.”
Harry nods. “I’m sorry about that. But I couldn’t take the chance. I knew that-”
“You knew nothing, Harry Potter!” Ginny still has traces of the girl Harry used to think he was in love with, from her wide eyes to the way that her hands settle on her hips. But she’s not that person anymore, and it’s not that hard for Harry to put regret aside. “You didn’t know that I was disloyal, you didn’t know that I had prejudices against Muggleborns or my parents did, either! You just did these things because you wanted to!”
Harry nods, vaguely amused that she makes that sound like such a bad thing. She wouldn’t if he was someone else, someone she was used to having an independent identity and this own desires, he thinks. But he doesn’t really want to say that right now. “I knew how you would react because of the way you reacted when you did find out, Ginny.”
She freezes. For a second, her wide eyes stare at him through the flames. Then she says, in a low, dangerous voice, “I beg your pardon?”
“You found out, and we had to use a Memory Charm on you. You said you were going to report us to the Ministry.”
Ginny’s mouth is slightly open. Harry waits. He thinks she’ll probably shut the Floo down first, but maybe she’ll curse him out.
“You damaged my mind. Or you could have damaged my mind. You took away my memories. You didn’t trust me to stand at your side.”
Harry arches his eyebrows. This might prove that he doesn’t really know Ginny anymore. “I didn’t trust you because you proved that you wouldn’t.”
“But you could have talked me around. You could have given me time to think about it, instead of Obliviating me right away!” Ginny’s voice is rising.
“No, because I explained it to you, and you told me I was wrong and you would tell the Ministry anyway. Of course we stopped you, Ginny. I would have done the same thing for any of my other old friends who decided that they had the right to end my effort.”
Ginny shrieks at him. There’s no words. It’s just sharp, frustrated noise. Harry covers his ears for a second, and sees the fury in her eyes, edging towards hatred.
And weariness. And shock. And fear.
Harry shrugs. “You were dating someone who thought that pure-bloods were great, and Lords and Ladies were great, Ginny. You didn’t think you were prejudiced, which actually made you more dangerous. You were so sure you were right.”
“Fuck you, Harry Potter.”
Harry nods, and then does watch as the Floo shuts down. He’s not sure that he’ll ever speak to her again, or at least probably not for years. Maybe the Burrow’s Floo will open to him again when Molly wants to talk to him.
But until then…
Harry smiles. This is the beginning of his peace.
Chapter Forty-One.
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