What Shakes The Elephant

What Shakes The Elephant

Chapter 4 – Getting to Know Your Enemies

Draco sat back in his chair and relaxed into the effect of the drink. He ran his fingers distractedly through his hair, adjusting the blonde locks away from his eyes. He had taken to wearing his hair casually everywhere but work. He found it made him more alluring.

Then again, Draco couldn’t imagine why he might ever not seem alluring.

He let the familiar feeling of a smirk ghost over his face and stared directly into Potter’s eyes. Years ago, he would never have been able to do it. He had tried and struggled to manage to feel this comfortable and powerful around Harry Potter, but it was next to impossible when they were at school.

But something in Draco had changed and he was no longer afraid of the Chosen One, the one who saved them all from the Dark Lord. Or rather, he was no longer afraid of what it might mean for him to take on said saviour.

He was ready now. Potter wanted to play, to learn, to know Draco. And so he would. And Draco would suck him in.

“Very well, Potter,” he told him casually. “Where should I begin?”

Potter shifted and took another swig of his drink, clicking his teeth and mulling over the thought.

“I suppose, right after the war,” he said simply. “What happened to you and your family once we left the Great Hall? I know the Ministry was after you for a while, but what actually happened?”

Draco pursed his lips for a moment, wishing that Potter had asked a different question. But this was for the sake of their sons.

Well for Potter it was.

Draco loved Scorpius, but he highly doubted that his son would be bothered at all by any tensions surrounding the Potter family. As long as Albus Severus didn’t give in to it, and Draco had a feeling that Potter’s kid was just as stubborn as his father.

For Draco it was about something entirely different. It was about the years of hell (both causing it and taking it) he had experienced for the instant rejection that Potter had handed him on the train all those years ago. It was about showing Potter just what he had been missing; showing him what a mistake he had made in choosing the Weasel (forgive him, old habits die hard).

“We went home,” Draco replied. It was really the simplest way to respond. “My parents took me home to Malfoy Manor. It was a mess and it was tainted from the horrors that the Dark Lord demanded. We couldn’t live there anymore, not in that state.” Draco paused to drink. “Not that it mattered. As soon as we arrived there were Ministry officials at the door, ready to take us in for questioning and a trial.”

“They put you on trial?” Potter asked with mild concern in his voice. He was no good at hiding his emotions. Draco knew that he still did not care for him at all, but Potter also had a stubborn sense of justice. The Malfoys hadn’t killed anyone or tried to bring about the reign of the Dark Lord. In fact, they had attempted to switch sides near to the end, when they had the chance. But the Ministry didn’t care about that. “I didn’t know they actually had a trial…”

“Yes, they did,” he went on. “Several trials actually. Individual ones to deal with each of our own crimes and then a joint trial to deliver the sentence.” Draco took a deep breath. The memories of those days were painful ones. He remembered the constant feeling of anxiety and fear that stayed with him for months after the war. Only in those brief moments after Potter had saved him from the Room of Hidden Things, and then again from the Death Eater (because he did, indeed, know that it had been Potter) had Draco felt at all relieved. “We spent months inside the Ministry cells, each in our own misery, slowly crumbling underneath the weight of it all. None of us were the same after that.”

“I expect you wouldn’t be,” Potter muttered, looking away. His eyes were dark and his face looked guilty though it was impossible to know why. Why should he have cared? He moved on and got his perfect life. Sometimes, no matter how obvious and oblivious he is, Draco could not understand the slightest thing about Potter.

“No,” he continued. “Although my mother was the most determined to believe we would get off. She had the House-Elves cleaning and redecorating the Manor while we were in the cells. My father was the quietest I’ve ever seen him. He was a different man after he returned from Azkaban and I was not willing to go the same way.” Draco shuddered. “The Malfoys have never seen a lower low.”

“Then how did you get off?” Potter asked, not without surprise.

“To be truthful,” he admitted, immediately wishing he hadn’t. “I don’t know for sure. The Ministry was after blood once Voldemort was defeated.” Potter’s eyes grew wide and disbelieving. Draco knew precisely why but ignored the move. It wasn’t important just yet. “But apparently they were given a private testimony on our behalf from several sources. They had no choice but to let us go. We paid heavily for the whole ordeal, mind.”

“Everyone did,” Potter added thoughtfully. His cheeks were a soft pink for some reason. Draco couldn’t tell why.

“Yes, well,” he went on, shifting slightly. “After that Shacklebolt became Minister and thank whatever god he did, because he is an unnaturally kind man.” Potter seemed surprised. “He liked to give second chances to those who don’t often deserve them. My family was reduced to nothing after the trials and Shacklebolt allowed me to take a job at the Ministry.”

“What did you do?” he asked quickly. Apparently Potter had never learned patience. Or perhaps it was only Draco’s influence.

“I took a job in the Department of Magical Health and Wellness,” he explained quietly. “Under the Magical Creature Injuries sector. It was not great work, at first, but it gave me a chance to grow.”

“I didn’t picture you working for the Ministry, Malfoy,” Potter said offhandedly. “Perhaps in Gringotts or even living off of your own wealth, but not in a blue-collar job.”

“I wasn’t given much choice,” he said under his breath. “And I didn’t stay there long. I met people; important people. I proved my knowledge and advanced research in my field. I donated large sums of money to St Mungo’s to improve their facilities and aid the families suffering from the war. I worked hard and rubbed elbows with Heads of Departments. I made friends. I got to know the Healer staff at St Mungo’s. Hell, I got to know the caretakers there.” Draco gave a short and soft laugh.

“You spent time with caretakers?” Potter inquired in disbelief. “YOU?”

“Relax, Potter,” Draco told him. “Of course I did. I had to. I renovated the way St Mungo’s works and dealt with everyone there.” He smiled at Potter, a smile that was not unkind and hardly boasting. It was a real smile as though he did enjoy his job and was proud of his accomplishments. “I got closer to the Minister too. I don’t know why he came to like me, but he did. He offered me a seat on the Wizengamot, though only in a full court, and has sought my input on new laws and decrees. And finally he offered me the job I have now.”

“What’s that?” Potter asked, his green eyes glittering with mixed feelings of both wonder and perhaps, if Draco wasn’t mistaken, jealousy.

“Head of the Department of Magical Health and Wellness,” Draco told him. He was smiling again, still with pride and something almost akin to affection. But that wasn’t directed at Potter. No no.

“What??” Potter exclaimed in shock. He seemed to fight the urge to dramatically hit his palm to his forehead. “But you’re only thirty-six!”

“Well done, Potter,” Draco couldn’t resist the call of snarky remarks. “I always wondered if you could count.”

“The Heads of Department are usually OLD, Malfoy,” he proclaimed rather testily. “Or at least older than that. How did you manage that?”

Draco feigned an affronted look. He knew Potter would have little faith in his honest ability, but it helped to pretend. He enjoyed it.

“Many people tended to think the same way you are,” Draco explained to him. He could read the suspicion in Potter’s eyes. It told of his displeasure, his belief that Draco had only managed to get the job on his father’s reference, or on my mother’s work, on his family name. “But contrary to what you might think, my name, my parents, nothing of what once made the Malfoys powerful helped me get there. They don’t think I deserve the job but I do. In truth I do. I worked hard to get it,” he stopped Potter from speaking before he had even opened his mouth. “Yes I actually worked. And as soon as I was given the position I made some much needed changes to the hospital and system. I hired more Healers and had the entrance exams perfected. I appealed to the Minister to have the budget for the Department increased to deal with the influx of sufferers and patients. I organized the most disorganized Department of the Ministry in just under three years.”

Potter was staring now. His face showed the same disbelief but also a new found sense of recognition. He actually SAW Draco for the first time in his life and Draco took every bit of it in, relishing in the feel.

“I would never have pegged you for a philanthropist and honest politician,” Potter said, but then stopped and his face changed as though reading something that he hadn’t seen upon first glance. “Wait… that’s it isn’t it?” He said suddenly, the suspicion returning to his eyes. “That’s exactly why you are doing this, isn’t it?”

“You never cease to astound me in your lack of eloquence,” Draco mused. “What exactly are you talking about?”

“You’re after the Minister’s position!” Potter shot in a rushed whisper as though afraid of alerting Ministry spies. “That’s why you are doing all this: to gain power!”

Draco let his eyes widen adequately before bursting out into a fit of laughter. Potter sat back and frowned, clearly miffed at the idea of being mocked.

“Potter,” Draco managed, once he’d calmed down. “I don’t know anyone in the Ministry who ISN’T after the Minister’s position.” He wiped a tiny tear from his eye. “And believe you me, if the position was offered to me, I would take it in a heartbeat. But that’s not why I took the job to begin with. I have… other motivations.” And Draco’s mind immediately shifted back to St Mungo’s and back again, the motion imperceptible to Potter.

“I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it, then,” Potter shot, still incredulous. “Though I don’t think Malfoys have ever done anything that wasn’t personally motivated.”

“I never said it wasn’t,” he agreed. “But you, surely, haven’t taken a job just to serve the people. Your motivations likely lie in supporting your family and keeping yourself busy. Harry Potter cannot be unemployed. Life just isn’t that sweet.”

“Then what was your motivation?” he asked keenly and demanding to be proven wrong. Draco licked his lips and shook his head.

“Oh no, Potter,” he replied silkily. “Not today. Some questions must be left unanswered. I have to guarantee that we’ll have another one of these little meetings, don’t I?”

“Why?” Draco snickered.

“To torture you further, of course,” he whispered.

Potter pulled a strange face that looked misplaced on him and would have rather suited a child. Or Weasley. But he shrugged and settled back in his chair.

“Well if you’ve been so busy with advancing your career,” Potter began and nodded to me. “And you must have been to become Head of such a massive and important Department at your age, when did you meet your wife? Or find the time to sire a child?”

Draco nearly laughed again at the choice of words, but he refrained.

“What makes you think that required any greatly detracting measure of time?” Draco asked him. He sneered. “I’m not you, Potter. I can manage to have a social life and a family without neglecting one or the other.”

“Fine then,” the former-saviour conceded. “But that doesn’t tell me where you met your wife, who apparently has no name, because I don’t remember her from Hogwarts and I’m sure she must be a pureblood. Malfoys don’t marry those of mixed descent.”

“You are quicker than I though,” Draco commended him. “I met her in Bulgaria. She is from Durmstrang.” He left it at that, wondering how long it would take Potter to get it out of him.

“Ah, Daddy introduced you?” Potter snickered, speaking to him like a child. Draco did not appreciate the tone and wondered if perhaps Potter WAS unemployed, given that he had clearly forgotten how to speak to actual adults. “Friend of Karkaroff’s?”

Draco gave him a look of utter revulsion.

“Certainly not,” he spat, crossing his arms over his chest. “I met her myself when I was there.”

“When were you in Bulgaria?” Potter asked, still, amazingly, surprised.

“What about all this really shocks you? It’s not as though you have been stalking my every move, Potter,” Draco told him, immediately wondering if he actually had been. “I went to Bulgaria a few years after the war. Well, I went to Eastern Europe to spend some time. Hydra is actually Viktor Krum’s sister.”

“Krum??” Potter went on. This recurring tone of shock began to aggravate Draco.

“Yes, Krum,” he responded, clicking his teeth. “We got to know each other in fourth year and he asked me to visit him when I went. So I did. And then I met Hydra and needless to say she was… a good match.”

Potter then bit back a laugh before he seemed to be unable to contain it and burst out laughing. Draco frowned deeply. What was so funny?

“Potter, what the,” he began, displeased and confused. “What’s so funny? Why are you laughing?!”

Potter fought to control himself. Draco could see that his eyes were tearing from the effort and, clearly, the hilarity of the situation. The blond huffed.

“Nothing, nothing,” he waved the comment aside. “It’s just… did you have her change her name or are you just lucky?”

Then Potter lost his control and burst out laughing again. Draco’s eyes widened in seething anger. WHAT was he talking about?

“What the hell are you on about, Potter??” he snapped. “Her surname is now Malfoy, if that’s what you are asking, but I don’t see how that’s –”

“So she was named Hydra to begin with??” Potter asked through his chortles. Draco frowned.

“Yes,” he replied, beginning to think he knew what Potter was getting at.

“You actually managed to find a potential wife who was named after a constellation??” he chuckled, apparently losing steam. He seemed unable to catch his breath and Draco rolled his eyes.

“Clearly,” he shot. “Why is that so funny to you?”

“You’ve just followed nicely in your ancestors footsteps, is all,” Potter explained, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Now, tell me, did you pick your son’s name, or was it Hyrda? I must say, it was a stroke of brilliance. The Dragon, the Water Serpent and the Scorpion. Beautiful family you’ve got.”

Draco clenched his jaw and let his lip curl into a snarl.

“Oh yes, terribly funny,” he spat. “Yours is definitely better of course, naming your children after a crowd of the dead. Oh and, Albus Severus? Poor child. You’ve doomed him to suffer a life of bullying, depression and madness if he’s to live up to his name. No wonder he was sorted into Slytherin.”

“Hey!” Potter snapped, suddenly finding the whole matter less and less amusing. “I named my children after people who were important to me. Their names are meaningful. I didn’t just look at the sky and decide to name my son after a mass of stars.”

“Perhaps you should have, judging on how absurd your middle child’s name is,” Draco shot coolly. “Tell me, were you drunk at the time, or just suffering the after-effects of being possessed by Voldemort?” Then Draco clapped his hands sarcastically.

Potter looked as though he was about to say something but refrained. He ruffled his hair distractedly and tried to calm his breathing. Draco made an effort to do the same though to little avail. Potter was just too much of a temptation. It was too easy to slip into an argument and begin throwing hurtful and crass comments back and forth. It’s what they were best at.

“We’ve strayed a bit from the topic,” Potter proclaimed, attempting to salvage the night. Draco relaxed a bit. “You can continue.”

Draco snorted.

“Thank you for the permission, Potter,” he sneered. “But I think I’ve divulged enough for one night. Now it’s your turn.”

Potter seemed rather taken aback but welcomed the change in topic. He adjusted himself in his seat and, despite himself, Draco let his eyes rove down the line of Potter’s chest, studying the form of his body while the other man was distracted.

“What do you want to know?” he asked simply, finishing his drink and calling for another.

“Well, let’s shake things up, shall we?” Draco suggested sarcastically. Potter let a smirk creep up onto his lips. “You know what I do for a living. So what do you do?”

The smirk on Potter’s face grew and his eyes became mischievous and he turned his attention back to Draco with a coy kind of air.

“If I told you that, Malfoy,” he said dramatically. “I’d have to kill you.”

Draco refrained from rolling his eyes but adjusted his expression to be one of pleasant awareness.

“Ah, so you’re an Unspeakable.”

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A/N: DUNDUNDUN. No that’s not a cliffhanger. That’s just me enjoying Draco too much. That sounded bad. Ah well.

I want to remark on something: the conversation between these two is hard. It follows a very strange pattern in my head and there are several reasons for that. I want it to be both natural and easy but rough and harsh at the same time. I don’t want them to just come together with no drama (because where’s the fun in that?) but I don’t want it to seem impossible either. I want to show the odd connections between them and how nineteen years apart really took a toll on both of them.

One of my reasons for making them act so… immature in certain instances is because I truly believe that some things never change between certain people, no matter how much time has passed. I feel like it would be so natural for Harry and Draco to fight like they used to but at the same time I think it would be comforting to both of them.

And Draco’s personality here is meant to be erratic. The reasons for it will show up soon and hopefully be clear. I hope you enjoyed it!

*love*