What Shakes The Elephant

What Shakes The Elephant

Chapter 49 – And You’re Not A Saint

-- Bloody manipulative little pisshead.--

Draco fought the urge to snarl, lash out and leave the room. He wasn’t sure if he had twitched or not in reaction but it made little difference. Harry was sitting so close to him that he would have noticed the smallest shift in movement anyway. Therefore, Draco took advantage and nudged himself skillfully closer while maintaining his apprehension.

The bloody little prat had abused of his own position, after all, and asked Draco a very personal, very guarded question. This was a secret, some hidden memory, that Draco had buried deep within himself and only survived in his own mind. He doubted very much that his father remembered the whole ordeal. Surely none at the Ministry did. Those involved were disposed of long ago. Seventeen years, actually.

He had not thought deeply on the matter in at least that long. These were not the kinds of memories upon which he wished to linger.

True. Our pasts are what make us who we are. They shape our futures and they mold our souls. Our thoughts and beliefs shift and break under the weight of our pasts and our relationships change because of them. But that did not mean that Draco had to dwell on those events that have turned him into the man he had become. He did not need to remind himself time and again of those nightmares he faced when most the world believed the bad dream to be over.

And now, after all this time had passed and Draco had managed to rebuild himself, his family, his life, despite the past, Harry Potter was asking him to relive it.

Yet, Harry Potter was now his lover –insomuch as he could suppose. They were not the rivals they once were. They were together. He had offered himself to support Harry and reassure him. He had offered his service to calm him and relax him, had he not?

Mind, he had hoped that Harry would ask for some kind of sexual favour as a means by which to relax, but things don’t always turn out the way we please, do they?

Draco leaned back slightly on the bed and propped himself up on his hands. His shoulder brushed up against Harry’s and he tilted his head just so in order to let his warm breath ghost across Harry’s nape. The other man shivered involuntarily and Draco permitted himself a small smirk.

He was passed the point of lies and deception. At least… lies and deception of that nature.

He had nothing to fear of Harry and, thus, nothing to hide from him. Why shouldn’t he tell the tale of his own personal hell?

…

Perhaps because he wasn’t quite ready yet.

“Now why should you want to know that?” Draco asked, a silkiness to his voice that caused Harry to shiver further. He leaned into the dark haired man and brushed his lips against his neck. Harry angled his head obediently, if only for a moment, to allow Draco more room to work.

But just as quickly as it was happening, it stopped. Harry seemed to realize what was happening and he snapped his head back up and turned to Draco.

“Because I don’t yet know it,” he answered. Harry looked determinately into Draco’s eyes. His face was set and he would not yield.

“How should that make you feel better?” Draco pressed on, unwilling to give up his return attack. He brought a hand around and placed it on Harry’s thigh. Sliding his fingers softly up the inside of his leg, Draco leaned in to draw Harry’s attention.

But there are few so stubborn as Harry James Potter.

“With everything that has been going on, Draco,” he replied not unkindly. “With the possibility of my son knowing about us… with the advent of ‘us’… with the evolution of our relationship and the speed of it… with the possibility of everyone finding out, of what might happen and of mass chaos, I need to know, Draco. I need to know these things about you that have puzzled me from the beginning because I need to know you. I need to know so that the whole ordeal doesn’t seem so much like a…”

He paused and that minute silence halted Draco’s ministrations. The blond looked up into those green eyes and felt himself tense. Harry looked at him as though to say ‘mistake’, ‘betrayal’, ‘nightmare’ and so many other horrible possibilities that tore at Draco’s heart with every quiet moment. He held the gaze for only one more moment before casting his eyes down and pulling back. He sat still and stiff, gazing at the ground on the other side of the room.

“Like a what?” he asked in a whisper. He would not look at Harry. It was not for fear or shame, but rather for his own form of pride.

Harry touched his leg and tried to regain Draco’s affections but it might have been too late then. Draco would not turn.

“Like a rebellion,” he replied after having tried the word on for size. Draco did not understand, yet he still did not turn. “Draco I don’t want it to seem like I’m with you as a means of rebellious release after all the fighting I’ve done. My friends and family don’t know you and they wouldn’t understand why I love you.” The words cut. “I’ve spent a lot of the past few months doing nothing but fighting with them over you and I don’t want them to think, for one moment, that you aren’t worth it.”

Finally, despite himself, Draco turned around. His eyes were cold and piercing but Harry did not flinch as so many others would have. He maintained the steady gaze and smiled.

“Why should what they think matter?” Draco asked calmly. To most people, his calm words cut more than those that echoed through the room when he yelled.

“Because they are my family,” Harry answered. “They are important to me and so are you.” He gave Draco a hard look. “I’ve fought for you to them and I will fight for them to you if need be. They haven’t been all that supportive lately but they are still my family.”

Draco gave a noncommittal nod and shifted in his seat again. He looked at the wall before him as though it held some kind of hidden advice. He wished it did. He had no idea of what to do, no concept of what offering everything of his past to Harry might mean.

“You want to know me,” Draco began softly. “Inside out? Everything?”

“You have asked me this before,” Harry replied cheekily. “And my answer is still the same. No omissions this time.”

Draco looked steadily ahead and became hard as stone. In order to do what was asked of him, he needed to check his emotions at the door and proceed as a heartless shell. The only way to relive his own personal horrors was to dissociate in a manner that made them not his own.

“Then everything is what you’ll get,” he said harshly. “I spare nothing.” He looked back at Harry. “Are you ready?”

“Are you?”

He didn’t have an answer for that. Nothing came and nothing would because the truth was that he would never know when (and if) he would be ready.

--No time like the present.--

He let his eyes find their way back to that spot on the wall.

“Nineteen years ago,” he started coldly, sounding much like a different person. “The Ministry went mad.

“The war had just ended. Surviving Death Eaters were still running rampant around all of England. Some escaped to Eastern Europe. Others went as far as Russia and there were even some that attempted the trip to the Americas to evade capture. All failed, of course.

“My father, however, stayed. My mother and I had never been Death Eaters but we had been so closely tied to so much of what happened that we knew the Ministry would not care for semantics. We would face a trial and a sentence and we would go to prison. There was no way around it except to stay, offer up my mother’s actions in saving your life as a plea and hope that they would be lenient.

“After the celebration inside the Great Hall, Ministry wizards appeared from all sides. Aurors and Magical Law Enforcement. Shacklebolt was put in charge while Thicknesse regained his strength and mind after the battle, as he was still alive. During the brief period of relief after the war while Shacklebolt ruled, my family returned to the Manor and we tried to remove all evidence the Dark Lord ever lived there.” Harry gave him a shocked look that Draco could not see but could feel against his temple. “This was not done to try and spare ourselves the punishment that was waiting for us. It was only a survival tactic.

“Voldemort had dragged us through the most horrifying time of our lives. If you think it was terrifying to be positioned against him in battle, you should have seen what it was like to be considered on his side. My father was at his mercy after his failure at the Department of Mysteries and so we suffered for weeks in the dark. No other Death Eater would defend us and we were made into scapegoats. We were the cause of every failure, we were the source of every misfortune and we paid dearly for it every time.

“When we returned home, the only thing each of us could do to maintain any remaining shred of sanity was gut the whole Manor and try to cleanse it of that nightmare.” He paused to let the brief feeling of relief wash over him. Harry placed his hand at Draco’s side as though to soothe him. “We lived for a whole week in the relative calm of the victory celebrations. No one would come close to us. No one would speak to us and we sought no one out. We relished the quiet isolation.

“But then Thicknesse regained his consciousness and returned to his duties. But the Imperius Curse that had been placed upon him had warped his mind more than anyone could then tell. He had always been a very hard man with very specific ideas of what was right and what was wrong. He had very specific ideas, indeed, of what punishment meant and who deserved the long end of the stick. Though, as he was only an officer of the law while he was in his own mind, he had been bound by that law to do justice as the Ministry saw fit. But with the death of Scrimgeour and the placement of the Imperius Curse on him had given him not only power, but a new kind of freedom.

“The Curse had somehow distorted his mind and removed those previous inhibitions that stopped him from putting his strict beliefs into effect. Within moments of his return to office he changed everything and the carefully established government became a violent and cruel machine hiding behind the face of victory.

“He sent for us first, as we had made no effort to run. He dragged my family in surrounded by an army of Magical Law Enforcement Officers. He gave us no trial and locked us in the Ministry Holding cells that are located beneath every other floor, protected by wards and enchantments. Few Ministry workers even know that these cells exist. Those who do would never dare tell of what they’ve seen.

“Thicknesse threw us into the cells and gave us no food, no water, nothing. He let us rot in there for days and days. I can’t remember how many. I lost count after a month. We were told that we were being held there pending the trial that was supposed to have been scheduled. In the meantime, Thicknesse and his men helped themselves to the Manor. They searched the whole of it, destroyed the wards and protections, removing any trace of Dark Magic or Dark Object that they could find.

“And they found many.” Draco turned to Harry briefly, his eyes flat and emotionless. He was not inside himself now, as he told this story, he was somewhere else where the pain of the memory could not hurt him. “I will not lie to you and pretend that we have not had man Dark Objects stored away. My father had a collection of all sorts of antiques that had been cursed or adorned with Dark Magic from centuries ago. Many of those objects were irreplaceable and infinitely valuable. We did not necessarily keep them as a personal arsenal, but rather as collectibles. Stranger collections exist, I’m sure.

“But Thicknesse would not hear of it. The arsenal of objects was arranged in a room quite as large as the Archives of the Department of Magical Health and Wellness. The room went on forever, it seemed, and it was choc full of Dark Materials.

“Without the benefit of the Wizengamot or even witnesses, Thicknesse brought the three of us in to attest to our innocence despite the objects. My father explained what he could, offering as much of the truth as was possible. He knew as well as I did that lying would get us nowhere. But Thicknesse was not interested in the truth at all. He wanted a confession to crimes that even we had not committed.”

Draco paused and his breath hitched in his throat. He did not want to continue because this was the hardest part of his story. This was what destroyed him then and would continue to do so. This was the nightmare that plagues his sleep every night.

“Draco,” Harry whispered, drawing calming circles on his back. Draco shook his head and soldiered on.

“He had this very warped concept stuck in his head. He believed that given the right leverage, first of all, he could coerce a confession out of my father. He also believed that old idea of “do unto others as you wish to have done unto you”.

“But he was mad, at this point, and he twisted the old saying into something very different. He began to use the old Dark items against my father. Literally.” Draco forced his voice through the blockage that was building up in his throat. His every instinct demanded that he stop talking right that very moment but his better nature refused.

“These objects,” Harry interrupted quickly while Draco fought with his voice. “they were Dark items like those swords you had us use to fight the Basilisk?”

“Those swords were only the tip of the iceberg,” Draco admitted. “There were poisons and Cursed bracelets and even magical tattoos that were maintained in a physical stasis spell. There were Medieval torture devices that were laced with Dark Magic and there were even objects that were designed to imitate the behaviour of Dark Magical Creatures. Lethifolds and Quintapeds and the like. Horrible creatures meant only to devour the body and ravish the soul.

“Thicknesse used those objects on my father. For hours he faced his own collection of nightmares and was put under very specific spells in order to keep him alive while he endured it. My mother and I were restrained and forced to watch. Thicknesse knew that one of us would break eventually.

“Be we were, and always will be, Malfoys. Rather than betray one another, we sat in silence, taking every blow and waiting it out until our trial date arrived. Our intention was to survive the torture until we could face the Wizengamot and present Thicknesse’s insanity to his peers and hope they would see it too.

“But there was no trial waiting for us.” Draco glared now, his entire being tense from the rage that still remained. “If the Minister’s tactics were unsuccessful then they were going to throw us in Azkaban for obstruction of Justice or something of the like.”\

“How do you know that?” Harry asked, now rubbing Draco’s back, his eyes wide.

“The guards threw us back into the cell one night,” Draco explained, empty and hollow. “My father was convulsing from the extent of his injuries. My mother did what she could without benefit of magic to help him but it was for naught. The guards laughed and jeered from their safe perch behind the bars. I broke.” His mouth twitched from the thought. “I lashed out and began to scream at them. I warned them of how their cruelty would soon be known to the world and they would face their own punishment.

“They laughed at me and revealed the truth of the matter. They told me that if we might as well admit to everything Thicknesse wanted because it was the only way to stop the torture. They told me that I was, in fact, selfish for letting my father go through that alone anyway and should learn my place amidst vermin. That’s what I was, then. I was vermin.”

Draco stopped for a moment and some aura pulse around him. His anger and rage grew and seeped out of him from every pore. Harry’s hand on his back relaxed him slightly.

“They took us back to the room the next day and continued to torture my father. This time, as he did, my anger returned full-force. Thicknesse kept jeering at me and insulting my father. I snapped. I’ve never snapped like this before in my life.” He looked as far away from Harry as he could at this point. “I have never been unable to control my magic. I knew I was a wizard from birth but never had those outbursts that other young wizards have.” Draco’s breathing was ragged. “But it happened then. My magic lost control and burst out from me. The device that Thicknesse had in his hands was thrown back against him and constricted around his neck. It was a Hangman’s Noose, ironically.

“I glared at him and his face when purple and blue as the air was cut off from his lungs and an invisible hand tugged at the rope to strangle him. The guards tried to get it off him but it wouldn’t work. By the time they realized that I was they cause and knocked me out, Thicknesse was dead.”

Silence permeated the room and Draco’s soul. Harry was motionless, the circles he had been rubbing on Draco’s back had stopped. It was shock.

“Draco,” Harry whispered. “You…”

“I killed Pius Thicknesse,” he finished quickly. “I ended up back in the cell with my parents and a real trial was set for the next day. Shacklebolt had been reappointed Minister and before anything was released to the press, they put me before the Wizengamot for the murder of the Minister of Magic.

“My mother and father would not face a trial. I stood alone.” The image of the courtroom flooded Draco’s memory and he shivered involuntarily. “I stood alone to argue my case and try to defend my actions, however uncontrollable as they might have been.

“I told them the full story,” he admitted with a sigh. “I offered a Veritaserum testimony and gave them the memories of what had happened. My father’s physical state was a testament to my story. They took the memories from my parents as well and deliberated over it.

“For a week I sat in a solitary cell awaiting the response. No trial had ever taken this long. No trial had ever been this horrifying, I suppose. In the meantime I don’t know what was fed to the press but when I was brought back into the courtroom there were masses outside of the door waiting for me.

“I had testified to every form of involvement my family had in the war as well. There were faces in that room that I could not recognize even today. They were all glaring at me, all judging me, all eating me alive.

“Finally, Shacklebolt presented me with the verdict.” Draco took a deep breath. “Somehow, by some miracle, they called the attack justifiable and cleared me and my family of the charges against me from the war. We were free… of the Ministry anyway.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked as though he was afraid to.

“We were released from the building,” Draco explained, still hollow in his words. “But the people, the press, the hatred followed us. It never stopped. I murdered the Minister and no one would forget that. At least no one who knew about it.

“Shacklebolt somehow managed to keep it from the media. They rearranged the ‘facts’ of Thicknesse’s death so that I wasn’t to blame but the important people –those in charge –still knew.” Draco’s face grew dark and solemn. “He was the one who allowed me to take a position at St Mungo’s when I asked, but the knowledge of what I had done followed me anyway. No matter how I try to escape it, it follows me somehow.” He took a moment.

Everything was silent and Harry was now in the same position as he was. He was staring determinately forward at the spot on the wall before him. They sat like that for a short while that felt like an eternity, no words passing between them, only cold shock.

Draco felt his heart shattering and pain riddled his body again, growing outward from his chest. He almost let his head hang. He did not want to admit this all to Harry. It was horrible. It had made him into a whole new person because he needed to rid himself of that boy that had actually spilled blood.

But Harry would not see it that way, would he? He hadn’t killed anyone, had he? What did Draco know?

He was locked inside his own world.

“You are not a murderer, Draco,” Harry murmured finally. Draco turned and looked at him. Harry was staring back at him with something wholly unexpected in his eyes. He was gazing at him with warmth and understanding. “You defended yourself and your family from a madman drunk with power and no restraints.” He pulled Draco to him and kissed his lips softly. “You were never a killer.” His arms were like lifelines around Draco as he felt himself somehow forgiven. “Shacklebolt saw that. The Wizengamot saw that, despite those who think otherwise. I see that.”

Draco looked up at him, his silver eyes glassy and wide. He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t know how to believe it. He didn’t know how to begin to understand it.

They sat there for a while in silence. Each of them bore their crosses and each of them knew the weight of their misdeeds. Responsibilities and pain are synonymous with adulthood and yet, all things considered, neither of them really wished to return to their pasts in that moment.

Suddenly, through the uneasy moments and breaking the calm silence, a flutter of wings was heard outside the window before an owl made its way straight through the glass, treating it as though it was mist, in order to drop a sealed envelope on Draco’s lap.

Harry let go of the blond so that he could open the letter. It was addressed only to him and bore a Ministry seal. They glanced at one another as Draco opened the letter and quickly scanned its contents.

“Who is it from?” Harry asked, careful not to read over Draco’s shoulder.

It wasn’t possible. This wasn’t possible at all. It was insane and impossible. Something was wrong in the world and some higher power was having a great old laugh at Draco’s expense.

This. Wasn’t. Possible.

“It’s from Kingsley,” Draco whispered, his eyes still glued to the page where the fateful words taunted and murdered him. He couldn’t breathe.

“What does it say?” Harry asked, more and more concerned as the blond sat there frozen.

“It’s to inform me,” Draco explained slowly, chewing out the words. “That he is retiring and has chosen his nominee for replacement.”

Harry cocked his head to the side and gave Draco a strange look. Draco would have done the same had he been in that position. This was unnatural and uncommon and wholly disconcerting. Sure Shacklebolt had been Minister for a very long time and he was getting on in years, but he was still very healthy and capable –not to mention the best Minister the wizarding world had seen in ages.

“Who has he named to replace him?” Harry asked, still confused.

Draco was still frozen and he didn’t expect that to change any time soon.

“Me.”

-------

A/N: Details about Thicknesse are my own made up bits. If JKR has said otherwise, then forget what she said. I’m quite sure he’s never mentioned in the book (after the war I mean) so all is up to me.

Furthermore, Draco is not a murderer. But extreme situations call for extreme measures. He did not have control. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back, in my opinion.

I can’t say a lot. I’m sorry this chapter kind of sucks… my boyfriend nearly broke up with me… and I don’t know where to go from here…

I’m sorry for that. I love you all and appreciate your reviews and support very much. I hope you enjoyed this anyway.