Chapter Four of 'Made of Common Clay'- The Larger Day
Chapter Three.
Title: Made of Common Clay (4/?)
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 largely a 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.
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Four-The Larger Day
“Did you have something to do with this?”
Hermione sounds as if she doesn’t know whether to be happy or frustrated as she slaps the Daily Prophet down in the middle of the table where Harry is having breakfast. Harry only smiles at her. She’s welcome to come through the Floo anytime, which is why he didn’t even look up when she did.
He leans over and reads the headline. It talks about Lord Selwyn’s death in a duel yesterday morning at the hands of Lady Shafiq. Of course, they don’t use the titles, just “Mr.” and “Madam” and their last names. Harry can’t help smiling.
“Did you?”
“I may have brought up an entirely imaginary pure-blood ancestry for one of Selis’s victims,” Harry says, and takes a long drink of his tea. If he swirls it around first, like he’s giving a toast, that’s no one’s business but his and Hermione’s. “They were getting ready to excuse him on the grounds of relation to the Selwyn family. I said one of the victims was related to the Shafiq family.”
“Harry. What happens if they investigate and learn it’s not true?”
“They can’t, not unless I make an assertion about another Lord or Lady.” Harry makes a face. He hates saying those words. There’s no real nobility in the Sun Chamber, no greatness of character. “If it’s about someone else, even if that person is related to a pure-blood family or says they are, they have to take it at face value.”
“They really are mad.”
“Yes, proposing duels to the death on the grounds of someone else’s assertion usually is,” Harry says, and takes one more look at the defiant face of Lady Shafiq on the cover of the paper before he stands. “I have to go. Some special meeting the Aurors are having about progress on a case I used to be assigned to.”
“Why aren’t you assigned to it anymore?”
Harry looks at her and cocks his head slightly, letting his fringe swish aside from his scar. “Assign a suspected neo-Death Eater to be under the supervision of the Boy-Who-Lived? My oh my, Hermione.”
Hermione sighs, but her lips twitch in spite of herself. “I suspect that you’re not really sorry.”
“Only because if I was tracking him, the evidence that proved the bastard’s complicity in that Muggleborn murder of five years ago wouldn’t have gone missing.” Harry sighs and floats his teacup and bacon-greased plate to the sink, then casts the charm that starts them washing up. “I’ll see you this afternoon?”
“Yes, Molly wants us all over at the Burrow to celebrate Ginny’s-” Hermione breaks off and bites her lip, deciding that the kitchen counter is fascinating.
Harry rolls his eyes. “It really doesn’t matter to me, Hermione. Ginny was right to break up with me. I’m not a fit partner for someone who’s content to live in the world as it is.”
“And, of course, not bitter at all,” says Hermione. Harry only gives her a wicked grin before he disappears into the flames.
*
Harry was already on high alert from the minute he stepped into Kingsley’s office, and now it’s only becoming worse. No one else is here. That could be explained by Harry being early, but not for this long. And Kingsley’s eyes keep alternating between Harry and the door as though he expects Harry to leap up and storm out.
Or someone else to come in. Harry takes his wand out of his sleeve and leans it on his knee. Kingsley flinches a little.
“What is this meeting really about? Not the case that I got pulled off, or there would be more people here to yell at me.”
Harry speaks pleasantly, but it makes Kingsley flinch again. Then he sighs and says, “I’m not in the Sun Chamber, but I know about it, because one of my relatives is Lord Shacklebolt.” That makes Harry want to snort. He knew the knowledge wasn’t confined to just Lords or Ladies and their heirs. “And I have some idea of what you’re intending to pull. Let it alone.”
“Really? When they were trying to get Selis off on a technic-no, I can’t even call it a technicality, it was simply idiocy. One’s blood doesn’t prove guilt or innocence, or value to our society. And you want me to let it go?”
“Auror cases get ruined all the time. For lack of evidence. For an Auror making a mistake or being too eager to arrest the first guilty-looking person. We have to concentrate on who we can and put some people in prison, not all of them.”
“But when we disproportionately put Muggleborns in prison? Shouldn’t we investigate why that is?”
Kingsley doesn’t answer.
Harry gets up and turns his back to look out through the enchanted window. Kingsley always keeps it tuned to an image of a grey cityscape, which Harry doesn’t understand, but it’s his office. At the moment, Harry’s magic is flexing and working through his muscles in a way that makes him have to clamp down so he doesn’t break anything.
“The Sun Chamber has been the way it is for a long time,” Kingsley finally says, and his voice is so weary that Harry would feel sorry for him if it didn’t seem like Kingsley is on the side of pure-blood bigots. “They’ll do almost anything to defend their privileges. You-you can’t change them, Harry.”
“I don’t want to.”
Kingsley pauses. Then he says, “The way that you handled Lord Selwyn and Lady Shafiq argues otherwise.”
Harry smiles at the window and says nothing. He’s not going to tell the truth to Kingsley like he did to Susan. Susan is limited in acting against him because of the way the Sun Chamber functions. Kingsley could go and tell someone anything he wants because he doesn’t hold the title.
Some of those rules are bloody useful, Harry will admit. But that doesn’t mean they’re useful enough to keep around permanently.
“Harry, are you listening to me?”
“Do you intend to demote me from my position?” Harry asks, cocking his head. He doesn’t think Kingsley actually has the authority to do that anymore. Kingsley has a position of respect in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement that involves working with Aurors and anyone else who brings in evidence on crimes, but he’s no longer Minister or Head Auror.
“I’m telling you to be careful. This crusade of yours-”
“To see that everyone who gets arrested is treated fairly? To not have criminals sent to prison based on their blood?”
Kingsley sucks in a sharp breath and is silent. Then he says, “Most of the time, you know, the-the system doesn’t cause as much trouble as that. It’s not the same as if the Sun Chamber was advocating sentencing innocent Muggleborns. That would be something to interfere with. But instead, they’re just asking for leniency with pure-blood criminals.”
“Who often killed or swindled or robbed Muggleborns. But that doesn’t matter, either, does it?”
Kingsley stays so still that Harry turns around to watch him. Kingsley has his head bent so that he’s staring at the desk.
“I’ve tried for so many years to guide the Ministry in the direction I think best,” Kingsley says. His voice is weary. “While I was Minister, I could use my power openly. Then I had to start doing more subtle things when I lost that position.” He raises his head and gives Harry a glimpse of eyes as weary as the desert. “Do you think you’re the only one working for change, Harry? I’m trying. But it doesn’t help when even my allies insist on turning against me.”
Harry shakes his head. “The problem is, Kingsley, we can’t take years of subtle prodding and speeches and all the rest. We’ve already taken those years, and they haven’t changed anything. Besides, you want to reform the Ministry, right?”
“Yes.” Kingsley gives Harry a weird sideways look.
“And you want to reform the Sun Chamber.”
“I don’t think there’s a force on earth that can actually change the Sun Chamber.” Kingsley rubs his face.
“I’m not interested in reform,” Harry says. “I’m interested in stopping them. I told you once why I didn’t think it was a good idea to keep on any of the current Wizengamot members who are also idiots about blood purity. You disagreed with me then. It sounds to me like we disagree now, too. There’s absolutely no reason for me to go along with you when it accomplishes nothing.”
“We’ve won some victories! That law we got passed through the Wizengamot saying that Muggleborn Aurors had to be a certain proportion of the corps-”
“It was overturned the next month,” Harry says, and his lip curls. Honestly, he’s done with this conversation. “Was there really anything that you wanted to say to me about a case, Kingsley? Or was this whole thing a ruse to tell me how good I have it as a member of the Sun Chamber?”
“Don’t squander the position. The Wizengamot listens closely to the Sun Chamber, even those members of the Wizengamot who aren’t Lords and Ladies. Try to bring back the legislation we need. Speak softly. Be as subtle as you can. That isn’t something they’ll expect from someone with your record.”
“Indeed,” Harry says softly. “I’ll be subtle.” But on what goals, he isn’t about to say, because he and Kingsley don’t have the same perceptions of anything anymore. Harry can’t even feel sorry about that the way he can with Susan. Kingsley has been fighting in the trenches of the Ministry reformation effort with Harry, and he still acts as though he’s ignorant. It’s time to leave him behind and move on.
“Thank you, Harry.” Kingsley bows his head and waves his hand to the door. “I’ll let you go now. I’m not foolish enough to try and keep a Lord of the Sun Chamber here.”
Words, Harry thinks as he stalks out of the room. It’s all words. Honeywell admitted that the Lords and Ladies mostly don’t have lands they’re responsible for, or even money to invest or houses to take care of. Most of them aren’t known for charitable donations or activism on the behalf of anyone except fellow pure-bloods. They do literally nothing except swank around wearing rings and adding the words “Lord” and “Lady” to their surnames. Harry could call himself King-God-Emperor of Surrey and it would mean as much.
Well, Harry will use their words against them. He’ll shove them down their throats and make them choke on them.
*
Harry puts down the book, yet another one of the informational ones Honeywell sent him, on his desk and cocks his head. There was a shuffle and a clink in the corridor outside his office door. Small, but those are the kinds of sounds that Harry trained to listen for. At least half the Dark wizards he faces like to employ blades, often because they’re conducting a sacrificial ritual when Harry comes to arrest them.
And it’s after eight in the evening, when few people are going to be in the Ministry for any legitimate purpose.
Harry smiles a little and draws his wand. He’s been expecting something like this, to tell the truth. Lords and Ladies can’t doubt each other in public, but the books are full of chatter about how they tend to settle grudges in private. The books seem to think it’s heroic and terribly romantic.
The various Head Aurors and Heads of the Department have never let Harry set any traps or curses around his door that would protect his office adequately. That’s all right. Harry doesn’t need them.
He sinks back into the corner where he’ll be behind the swinging door, and watches calmly as it bursts open. The dark-cloaked figure hesitates a moment when it realizes that Harry is no longer behind his desk, getting tangled in the chair as he starts to his feet.
A moment is all Harry needs.
Harry spins out from behind the door and casts a spell that angles down and curls around the dark figure’s feet. It’s a Golden Net, which binds a wizard’s wand and prevents him or her from casting spells that are Dark. Harry feels the magic in his stomach squirm with excitement when his attacker manages to jump and escape the Net.
A professional assassin? It’s almost a year since one of those got sent after him. And it means that he cost the Lord or Lady who decided to do this a good many Galleons.
Good. Harry loves depriving his enemies of things.
The assassin is light on his feet-Harry is almost sure it’s a he, despite the thick weave of the hood draping over the face-as he moves opposite to Harry. Harry steps delicately to the side, his head bowed. He protects his throat and his groin with his hunch, and for a moment the assassin hesitates.
Then he strikes with a spell that will cut through Harry’s tongue as if acid dripped on it and render him unable to speak incantations, or probably concentrate through the pain. Harry laughs aloud and drops beneath it.
He reaches for magic that isn’t illegal or Dark Arts, but only on those technicalities beloved of the Wizengamot and the Sun Chamber. “Seco angulum!”
The wizard’s foot topples off to the side, neatly severed. Harry grins as he bounces to his feet, the battle-blood flooding his veins. He spins out of the way of the next disorganized spell, and stalks forwards.
The assassin fumbles desperately for his wand. He’s in shock, probably from blood loss, and still trying to understand what’s going on, Harry thinks. The reason the Ankle-Removing Curse is so nearly Dark is that it doesn’t use a line of light or anything else that would warn its victim what’s about to happen. It simply focuses the casting wizard’s will on the foot and severs it that way.
But this is a trained assassin, and he aims his wand at Harry. His spell is silent, but Harry knows that wand movement.
He even has a use for it.
Harry spins to the side, exposing his shoulder to the curse, but keeping his head and his ribs and other vulnerable parts of his body near his inner organs or brain away from it. This is a particular curse that can’t be handled by any shield charm in existence. Harry still could have dodged, but he wants to come out of this scathed.
He wants to see the expressions when he walks into the Sun Chamber tomorrow with his wound.
The spell hits his shoulder and cracks the bone a bit, making Harry hiss between his teeth. But it’s his left arm, and he needs his right one only. The pain hasn’t faded before he’s casting a curse that causes a hovering streak of red light to extend from his wand. Harry lowers it until it hovers just over the assassin’s genitals.
The assassin freezes. Harry’s certain he can feel the heat from the spell.
Harry smiles. “Now,” he says. “I can cook your cock and cause you really excruciating pain, or you can tell me who sent you here. Did they want me dead or only wounded? And who paid you?”
He waits. In his experience, most assassins are cowards, but this one does take longer than Harry expected to think about it. Harry is actually lowering his wand when the man’s nerve breaks and he blurts out, “Lucius Malfoy. Wanted you dead.”
Harry blinks. The news of his death isn’t much of a surprise, since he thinks most of the Sun Chamber would probably be happier without a Lord Potter or a Lord Black, but it’s odd that it’s Malfoy. He didn’t strike Harry as having the nerve. “Oh? What was his motive?”
“He said-he said he was acting together with several other members of the Wizengamot.” The assassin licks his lips and watches Harry’s wand hand. “They pooled their money. It was a lot of Galleons.”
“Hmmm.” Harry has to smile. He must have made more enemies than he thought. Perhaps more of them noticed what he was doing with Selwyn and Shafiq than he guessed at the time. Or perhaps they simply see him as the instigator of the duel even though they haven’t divined his ultimate purpose.
“What are you-going to do with me?”
“Oh. I could cook you,” Harry says, and watches as the man’s eyes widen. “But I do think the stench of burning human flesh gets a little overwhelming unless you like that sort of thing more than I do. So. I’m going to let you go if you swear an oath to return Malfoy’s Galleons to him. Don’t tell him why. Just dump the Galleons on his doorstep, in fact.”
The assassin bobs his head so hard that his hood falls back. Harry carefully memorizes his face, but it’s not one he recognizes. In fact, he looks so much like Pettigrew with his weak chin and trembling nose that Harry thinks he’ll just consider him Pettigrew Mark Two. “Yes, yes! I swear!”
“Now, now. I want an oath on your wand.”
“I promise on my wand that I’ll dump all the Galleons on Lucius Malfoy’s doorstep and leave Britain and never come near you again!”
Harry laughs a little. “That will do.” An oath made on a wand isn’t as binding as an Unbreakable Vow, but it will snap the wand if the wizard breaks his word. That makes it secure enough for Harry. “Now, get out of my sight.”
The assassin uses his wand to scoop up his severed ankle and levitates out of the room, looking back at Harry as if he thinks that he might change his mind, and only pulls his hood back over his head after he nearly stumbles into the wall. Harry dismisses him with a snort and stands there, tilting his head as he closes his eyes.
He’s going to savor walking into the Sun Chamber. Even the gold stole that hurts his eyes and is really too heavy for his neck is going to feel good
And now, he supposes, he should see to tending the wound in his shoulder. Only a little. He wants to leave enough that it’s visible.
And see who stares tomorrow, and who flinches.
Chapter Five.
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