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ACT3CH29 - Sucker Punch
🕑 Added 2023-11-30 18:08:45 +0000 UTC“Bob-what?” asked a flustered Cornelius Fudge. “Is that supposed to be a joke, Mr. Potter?”
He did look like Harry had kicked him in the stones. Fudge didn’t debate well and his buttons were almost as easy to push as Draco Malfoy’s. His red-faced, open-mouthed expression told Harry that he was feeling insulted and wanted to lash back. It didn’t help that he was standing right next to the Spanish Minister of Magic, who looked just plain amused.
“Apologies, Minister Fudge,” he said without the slightest inflection. “I thought you were someone else. Guess the firewhiskey was too much for me.”
“Uh, erm, yes,” said the man, attempting to save face. “Harry Potter, allow me to present Antoni Pizarro, the Minister of Magic for Spain.”
“Ola, Senor Potter,” said Pizarro. “I’ve heard many things about you.”
“Only good things, I hope,” said Harry, reverting back to Sirius’s list of top fifty standard responses to survive boring pureblood parties without coming off as an absolute buffoon. Pizarro had read about his altercation with Salazar’s basilisk, and was actually interested in buying a portion of it, and wanted to bypass the usual international trading laws by dealing directly. Fudge saw a potential for profit and decided to play matchmaker.
“Actually, you should contact Joshua Greengrass, that’s my betrothed’s father and Regent of House Greengrass over it. The entire thing was his brainchild honestly. The Ministry was actually hell-bent on denying —”
“What young Harry means,” interrupted Fudge, looking utterly uncomfortable. “ —is that Slytherin’s basilisk is a part of our heritage. So, all sales must go through legal processes involving the Ministry of Magic.”
“Oh not really,” said Harry. “The basilisk carcass is mine by Right of Conquest. I even had my secretary pore through pages of the Magical Beasts Slaying Act. Percy’s rather diligent at that sort of thing, you know.”
Shock flitted over the man’s face. “Percy — Percy Weasley?”
“Yes,” said Harry absently. “He was too apologetic about his past behaviour, and the Weasleys are like family, so I bailed him out.”
Fudge’s emotions were hanging by a thread. To his right, Draco Malfoy and Cho Chang glared at him, boring a hole through where he stood.
“Your performance at the Triwizard impressed us,“ said the Spanish Minister, ignoring the razor thin tension mounting around him. “Campus Magico wanted to be part of the Triwizard, but Durmstrang Academy got ahead of us.” The man grumbled. “Outflying a dragon on a broom? Victor Krum had good things to say about you. And you’re seeker, no? Perhaps we’re looking at a future Quidditch superstar?”
A couple more ‘flockers’, joined in for potential introductions with high-profile figures.A few more and they could conjure a Quaffle for a quick game of indoor quidditch, provided, of course, whichever team picked him didn't expect to score that much.
Daphne was giving him strange looks from afar. She has realised a bored Harry Potter was a recipe for disaster.
“Perhaps,” Harry agreed genially.
“And you’re also a Warlock,” said a pot-bellied man whose name he couldn’t possibly remember. “Most Warlocks end up working for the Department of Mysteries, do they not?”
“And ‘e’s serving as ze professeur de défense, oui?” said a French witch, again, whose name he couldn’t remember.
At this moment, a couple of house elves popped in and served some light dishes and the conversations continued to the sound of cutlery scraping over porcelain. The Spanish Minister spoke up once more.
“Un profesor? But you’re a student, no?”
“It’s a temporary gig,” said Harry, feeling distinctly uncomfortable by all the attention. He had severely underestimated the amount of attention he’d garner at the party. “Only for as long as it takes for the curse-breakers to identify and erase the curse on our Defence Against the Dark Arts positions.”
“Zo, there iz a curse,” said the French witch. “And ze Ministry ‘as been doing nozzing about it so far?”
Fudge bristled. He was probably cursing his decision to come introduce the Spanish Minister to him in the first place. “The Ministry of Magic has always given Hogwarts and the education of our future generations extreme importance. We’ve simply —”
“But my daughter has complained about it so many times,” said a woman, who then turned to Harry. “Millicent Bulstrode, she is in your year, in Slytherin. Are you acquainted?”
Harry gave her a disarming smile. “I’ve seen her skills at Quidditch. She’s got all the makings for going professional.”
A little over the top, but it’d suffice.
“Zo, Quidditch, Unspeakable, o professeur?” asked the French witch from before. “Which iz it, Monsieur Potter?”
Harry barked out a laugh. Not enough to display nervousness, but enough to appear embarrassed without being seen as cocky. “No idea, really. Perhaps, I’ll do all three?”
“Very impressive for someone your age,” said the Minister. “You are fifteen, no?”
Harry smiled. “Just.”
“Say, ‘Arry Potter,” said the French witch. “Are you planning to participate in ze International Duelling tournament come March?”
He smiled. “I haven’t quite given that any fair amount of thought, but I’m certain my betrothed Daphne Greengrass will consider it. One of our fifth years, Sue Li, will surely be there. She’s one of Hogwarts’s best.”
Provided she healed from the effects of casting that diabolical curse first.
“But you are ze Defence professeur. Surely you would want to… demonstrar your skills on ze international stage?”
He smiled again, and he swore his cheeks were in agony. “You make a compelling argument, Madame…”
“Devereaux. Camille Devereaux. My sister is ze Lady Santos.”
“Ah,” said Harry. “I apologise, Lady Devereaux. It’s just that I've found very little reason to seek more fame. I’ve had enough of it just being the Boy-Who-Lived.”
There was a time when even the moniker made him clench his teeth. It was a reminder that he was alive because his parents weren’t. But Dumbledore had shown him what the title meant to the masses. And Harry had long since determined that if he wasn’t allowed to shield himself with privacy, he’d seek his refuge in audacity.
“Oui,” said the woman. “What does it feel like to never ‘ave to introduce yourself?”
That was a trick question, and Harry knew it. These people weren’t just there to get cosy with him and bask in his spotlight. They were also there to analyse him, judge him, see what made him tick. As much as he wanted otherwise, his own past, his recent notoriety over the deaths at the end of the Third Task, and everything else that had followed had hurled him up on an international level, and everyone wanted to know about the new guy in town, and see what he was like. The meeting with the students was just a trailer, but this… this was opening night.
And how he presented himself would pave the way for the future.
“Monotonous,” he said after a few moments of consideration. “I find it monotonous. I’m a private person, Madame, and honestly, I’d love to just grow up as a normal student, attending Hogwarts, playing pranks, dating girls and the like. But I guess when you have responsibilities, you need to buckle up and just do the job. Maybe once things are better, I’ll get some time to do what I want.”
“And what does Harry Potter want?” asked the Spanish Minister.
Harry smiled. This time it was genuine. “Something that makes me feel accomplished. It’s one thing to be famous when your parents helped you survive the Dark Lord, and another to be famous for something you’ve done. I’m hoping I can take my thaumaturgy to add something vital to the Wizarding world.” He decided to amp the entire thing up a bit. “I’m also corresponding with the Immortal Alchemist over my research, and working with Newton Scamander over the effects of Parseltongue on magical reptiles.”
“Parseltongue?” Fudge looked horrified.
“Oh, yes,” said Harry, pretending to be oblivious of the man’s reaction. “Lord Patil has been very helpful in getting me correspond with the Naga sages in India, and Professor Scamander talks a lot about Professor Chavez at Campus Magico, the ICW’s official magilinguist.”
Pizarro beamed. “You are welcome to attend our summer school course if you want, Senor Potter. Si, we have a very good programme on symbology and ancient sorcery.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You did not answer, Monsieur Potter,” said Devereaux. “Unspeakable, professeur o quidditch?”
He shrugged. “Maybe I’ll do all three. Teaching has been fun, and I also like Quidditch, so if I’m good enough for any scout, we’ll see where that goes.”
“Zat is not what ze the rumours say,” said Devereaux.
Harry decided to take a leaf out of Tom Riddle’s book. “Forgive me, Madame, but I’d not put much stock in rumours. Greatness inspires envy, envy engineers spite, and spite spawns lies.” He knew he was crossing the line, but couldn’t help himself. “Otherwise you might as well believe that I have my sights on being the next Minister of Magic before finishing school.”
Fudge’s face went white.
“Already looking for options in the continent, Potter,” came the amused drawl of Draco Malfoy from the right. Chang walked with him, looking poisonously pretty in her silvery gown.
“Good evening, Minister,” said the ferret with all the pompousness he could manage on the spot. “It’s surprising to see you in such… company.”
He had finished it with the drawl too. Someone was taking lessons from his father during the summers.
Well, never let it be said that Harry didn’t believe in reciprocation.
“Oh hello, Miss Chang,” he said, reverting to his professor-persona, completely ignoring Draco’s presence. “I almost didn’t recognize you. I thought the Diggory’s were wearing black until Christmas as despondence over Cedric’s death. Good to see you’ve moved on so quickly.”
The Asian witch looked furious at the slight. Harry didn’t care. He had a good idea of what sort of harpy the Ravenclaw seeker was. She’d attempt to skewer him and Daphne regardless, so anything that pissed her off further was a good thing in Harry’s book.
Cho gave him a thin, strained smile, and pulled Draco’s arm tighter. Harry wondered if Pansy was in the crowd and was watching this. “Draco here invited me to attend this party. It would be the height of rudeness to refuse. But I see that yours has already ditched you for your betters.”
Harry laughed. “Oh, I heard that same rumour sometime ago. Pesky things, these rumours, but I guess people need something to talk about. In fact, we were just talking about rumours. No, Madame Devereaux, I’d rather just try a hand at that internship.”
“Internship? Already looking for work options, Potter?” sneered Cho. Draco must have been giving her lessons.
“And here I thought the Potters were rich,” sneered Draco, proving immediately just how much Cho needed practice on his patented expression.
Harry smiled. A wolf would’ve been jealous. “Oh, yes, they are. As is House Black. And House Greengrass. You’d know all about that, I’m sure.”
The snarl threatening to tear through the ferret’s face made it worth it.
“But you see, it’s not about money. Talented people usually want to accomplish something in their life. Perhaps you’ve yet to find that hidden talent of yours, Mr. Malfoy?”
Draco looked like he wanted to fight. And honestly, part of Harry wanted to oblige. But if Draco did that, he’d make himself and Fudge look bad in front of the Spanish Minister and the others. So he did the smartest thing and stormed out using a paltry excuse for having a drink, leaving Cho behind.
“Potter,” said Cho with a venomous smile. “I almost forgot. I had something for you.”
She stepped up and approached closer. Just a year ago, the thought of her this close gave him goosebumps. The pleasurable kind. Now? It made him want to reach for his wand.
He did nothing however as she pressed a small parchment in his left hand, and made a wicked little laugh in his ear, before stepping back.
“Something to check out at leisure,” she whispered, and left.
Harry clenched the parchment tightly within his palm, and slid it into his pocket. He could see Daphne giving him strange looks. Seeing Cho get all close to him must do that. But every time he looked at her, she instantly looked away.
Harry sighed. Sometimes her compulsive need for misdirection was just tiring.
“Excuse me, gentlemen and ladies,” he said. “My betrothed over there looks like she doesn’t want to talk to me. I think I need to go ask what she doesn’t want to talk to me about.”
....
....
....
“Think he read it?” asked Draco for the umpteenth time.
Cho cursed under her breath.
Patience was one of the many skills that Professor Flitwick always demanded his Ravenclaws to inculcate, and it was a skill Cho had internalised a long time ago. She had always known that it wouldn’t be that easy to address the Potter issue so easily, but she had never imagined she’d have to hasten her plan like this at the last moment. Draco, that sonofabitch, had gotten too anxious and enraged about things, and coerced her into preponing their plan’s venue from right before Potter’s engagement with Greengrass to the Rosier’s wedding, there in Spain.
“We’ll soon find out,” she muttered, looking around. “Even if he’s read it, we don’t know how he’ll react.”
The note asked Potter to show up, alone, next to Meiga Sorginak’s statue that decorated Santos's outer courtyard. The place was surrounded by hedges, a perfect location for shady deals such as this. Far away from the general crowd, but close enough for them to hear a shout.
“What’s there to not know?” snapped Draco. “Potter’s a Gryffindor, and we’ve hurt him where it hurts most. His loved ones. Potter will die to save them. He’s done that before.”
Cho tuned him out. Malfoy was correct. The old Harry Potter would have crumbled from reading what was inside. Maybe even try to verify it, and create a minor ruckus. Part of her hoped things would take that turn, and get him a negative reputation. It would only make things easier in the long run.
At the same time, this plan — this piece of insanity that Draco had forced her to go with — would end any and all chances of her bedding Potter and ending up as his wife. Then again, it was better this way. Potter was destined to die at the hands of the Dark Lord, and she didn’t want to become a target for Potter’s enemies.
But that was the old Harry Potter. The new one was far more vindictive, and dare she call it, observant. Potter had dehumanised Malfoy and made a public mockery of him just because he had thrown a bludger at Greengrass in a Quidditch match. This… this would probably get Draco killed on spot. And her.
Her tightened fists clenched enough to make her knuckles pop, ironically alleviating some of her stress physically and metaphorically, if only slightly. Cho tried some breathing exercises, the ones her mother always made her practice while growing up, as a counter to her temper problem, but she had never been a diligent student at that. She… she wanted, no, she needed some restitution from Potter somehow. To be responsible for the misfortune in her life, or the stress would literally devour her from within.
And then Fate dropped something priceless in her lap.
A memory. Of a Beauxbatons student. Seen through the window of a Beauxbatons classroom. Watching Fleur Delacour make love to a certain Dion Fournier.
“I have to ask,” said Draco. “How did you get your hand on that evidence?”
“Not your business.”
“Fine,” said Draco. “Just make sure to get Potter to sign it right away. And then the fun begins.”
A shiver ran down her spine. “What… what are you planning to do?”
A malevolent grin flashed on his features. “You get the gold. I get my vengeance. That was always the plan.”
“Wha— No!” Cho growled, grabbing Draco by the collar. Malfoy choked and pushed her away, snarling some meaningless things at her. Cho didn’t care. She wanted the money, wanted the happy life she deserved so much.
“Are you an idiot, Malfoy? You do this, and you don’t win. You die.”
“Bah! It’s Saint Potter. He doesn’t have it within him to kill.”
“Say that to those thirteen bodies they found in the Third task.”
“Fluke,” scoffed Draco. “Potter’s a walking-talking magical fluke. He worships the old fool. Killing is beyond him.”
Cho didn’t buy that. “Yes, but once you use it, it’s gone. We’ve got nothing on him after that.”
“Then make sure he signs everything away before the fun begins. There he comes,” he nodded, looking towards the fountain, where Potter and Greengrass were striding towards them. Potter was absolutely infuriated, and Greengrass… unreadable.
That bitch was always difficult to pin down.
“The note said to come alone,” Malfoy growled. “Bastard can’t even read properly.”
“No,” Cho snapped. “That’s because you rushed me so much that I forgot to give him a proper incentive to do so.”
And now the damage was done. Angry Gryffindor she could handle. But coupled with crafty Greengrass? That could be problematic. Potter didn’t have his wand out. Greengrass had warned him of the ‘no-wands rule’ and about the Hit-wizards posted for security around the mansion. One flash of anyone waving a wand and they’d be all over him. It was why the wedding was a safe place for —
Thunk.
It wasn’t the speed at which Potter had materialised and hurled the icicle that was so surprising. Rather, it was that he had done so wandlessly and with a precision that bordered on inhuman. The icicle shot past Cho’s ear and pinned Draco’s robe collar against the statue. Cho had the sneaky suspicion that Potter had missed on purpose.
All three of them had gone deadly silent for several horrified seconds before Draco inhaled a breath to yell —
And Cho grabbed him by the mouth.
“Are you daft?” She sneered. “Yelling will only attract attention, you dimwit.”
“I thought,” came the cold, dark tone of Harry Potter. “ — that I warned you from any funny business with me and mine, Malfoy.” He didn’t raise his voice, but it somehow seemed to echo around him to be heard as clear as could be. Looking at Draco like he was something to be scraped off a shoe, Potter said. “Every time I think you’ve learned your lesson, you prove me wrong. At this point, I’m considering just ending your pathetic line for good, Malfoy.”
A brief, shocked silence reigned.
Draco paled. “You… you can’t…”
“You directly threatened the one I love,” said Harry. “Give me one reason why the next icicle shouldn’t pass right through your neck. I wouldn’t even need a spell for that.”
Cho swallowed. This wasn’t shaping up to be like she thought. She looked at Draco, and then realised that he was actually saying something, but not a single sound was escaping his throat.
She glanced at Potter in growing horror. “You — you can’t cast magic. The Hit-wizards will arrest you, Potter.”
Potter tilted his head, a jackal watching a rabbit. “Can’t I?”
Something was wrong. This… this wasn’t Harry Potter. Not the one she knew over the years. Not even the one she had met in the corridors this term, or the one teaching the classes. Cho’s instincts screamed at her that she was in the presence of one of the most dangerous individuals in the world.
And he was only fifteen years old.
She swallowed again. “I — we’re just interested in a deal, Potter. A bargain. A vow of silence and the evidence, in return for a few… conditions.”
Potter stared at her.
“Yes,” said Cho, feeling oddly brave. “I’ve evidence of Dion Fourier’s death. Evidence of Fleur Delacour, veela, killing him in his very bed. Apolline Delacour pushed it under the rag, but she missed something, and now I have it.”
More staring.
“I want five hundred thousand galleons, payable directly to my personal account in Gringotts,” said Cho, offering a piece of parchment to Harry, who still didn’t move. It was like he had transformed into a mannequin, except for his eyes.
Those burned cold.
“Let me get this straight,” said Daphne Greengrass. “You think that Fleur Delacour, heiress to the House of Delacour, one of the wealthiest, most powerful names in France, who’s dating Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, also one of the most wealthiest, and most influential celebrities in the wizarding world, is secretly a murdereress that escaped justice? And your plan… is to blackmail Harry with this?”
Her lips twisted in amusement. “Good luck.”
She grabbed Potter’s arm to turn him away —
“Potter!” said Cho. “It’s the truth. I have evidence.”
“What evidence?” asked Greengrass casually. “It can’t be material, or the Aurors would’ve gotten it. No, my best bet is you have some kind of memory of the event, seen through some hapless witness that escaped Apolline Delacour’s eyes.”
Cho visibly flinched at that.
It made Greengrass smile. “And now the only thing between Fleur and total disgrace is a single witness. Oh, and yourself, I believe. I wonder how Apolline Delacour will react to that.”
Cho’s stomach did a nasty flip. Every single fibre of her being wanted to turn back Time and undo this mess. But she was too deep in to walk out now.
“Maybe. But Fleur Delacour’s life will be in shambles. She’ll be sent to —”
“Azkaban?” asked Greengrass. Her look was collected, but clearly disdainful. “Over what evidence? Might I remind you, Chang, pensive memories aren’t acceptable evidence in criminal cases.” She flipped her hair. “Just registering the case will require the witness to come and testify.”
Her teeth showed. “Under veritaserum.”
Cho and Draco looked at each other. The witness in this case, had to be bribed with a lot of galleons to actually give up the evidence. More importantly, Cho had to consent to an Oath of Silence to keep the donor’s name out of the picture. It was the only way to get the memory. Cho knew that this memory would hold nothing in the court of law, but just the promise of finding such dirt on the veela bitch had been enough to get her going.
“And then there is this thing,” said Greengrass. “If this witness really wanted to blackmail House Delacour, he or she would’ve already done it. Not handed things over to you two to fuck around.”
“I’m not blackmailing House Delacour,” said Cho. “I’m blackmailing —”
“House Potter? Whose Lord just happens to date the heiress of House Delacour?”
Cho winced.
“I dislike mincing words, Chang. So I’m going to put it straight. You are going to give us the evidence.”
Cho’s eyes narrowed. “Am I now?”
Greengrass nodded. “Yes. One way or another. There is no need for any silly dramatics. That way Harry doesn’t get any more agitated, and you two don’t have to risk your miserable lives over this… nonsense.”
Her control was slipping. She had to do something. NOW! “Suppose I disagree.”
Greengrass tilted her head slightly to the right. “Then I make Harry walk away right now. I believe Apolline Delacour is among the list of those invited. My fiance would be helping her save face. Brilliant way to get a first impression, I’d say.”
Cho’s teeth ground together as her jaw set in anger. “Unacceptable.”
“Why would you do this, Cho?” asked Potter. The emotion in his voice… it was guttural, deep, he sounded like a wounded animal. “You — you weren’t like this. I — I admired you, last year. I even wanted to take you to the Yule Ball, if not for Cedric —”
Something within Cho erupted. “Yes! Cedric! And then you destroyed my plans with Cedric. He was supposed to be the Triwizard Champion and I — I was supposed to be his Queen! We’d have been happily married, but then you came along, and Cedric — Cedric died! Used as a tool! Framed for your kidnapping! My glorious sunset with him… you turned it into a nightmare, Potter and now…”
She drew herself to her fullest. “Now you’re going to pay for it. Five hundred thousand galleons, all mine for the taking. Enough money for me to leave this wretched country and settle somewhere else. Give it to me, and you won’t see me again!”
“Cedric was killed because he was used as a pawn,” admitted Harry. “Against me.”
“Yes,” said Cho. He understood her. “Then… then you understand. I deserve the gold. You understand why I should —”
“But that doesn’t make it my fault,” he finished, and met her eyes. “You decided to risk everything on Cedric. I had nothing to do with that. I did not bewitch Cedric either. If you want compensation, look no further than your partner’s father. He was in on it.”
Draco was still yelling, or well, attempting to.
“I don’t have any options, Potter,” said Cho, her anger rising again. “Look, just give me the gold and that’ll be the last of it. Do whatever you want to with Malfoy if he persists on being a thorn on your side. I’ll even leave Hogwarts and swear whatever oaths you want. You won’t ever see me again. Come on, Potter. It’s a good deal.”
Her monologue was interrupted by Greengrass’s single brief chuckle of amusement.
Cho gritted her teeth. “You… you’re entertained by this, Greengrass?”
Her amusement grew even more pronounced. “Yes,” said Greengrass. “I’m not sure that in this sort of deal, the blackmailer isn’t the one pleading to this degree. It’s ironic. You’re lambasting Harry and blaming him for Cedric’s death and playing yourself as the victim, when you yourself are trying to prey upon his weakness and desperately trying to make him agree to such a subpar deal of yours. Really, I mean I understand Draco couldn’t have me, but to see him downgrading to a beggar is just… pathetic.”
Cho’s teeth clenched. “What did you call me?”
“A beggar. A gold-digging one.”
She almost went for her wand.
“Ah-ah,” warned Greengrass. “No-wands rule, remember? Hit-wizards everywhere.”
There was silence for a second or two, and then Greengrass spoke again. “It’s hilarious, you know. Harry was crazy for you. If not for you turning into a complete harpy this year, maybe you could’ve even ended up dating him. You might even have ended up as Lady Potter. When me and Harry discussed our arrangement for the first time, I considered that you might be the one ending up as Lady Potter.”
She made a disappointed noise. “Cursed yourself in the foot, you did, Chang. But that brings me to my original point. Give us the evidence. Swear secrecy oaths. And in return, my Harry will not attempt to do anything to you, ever again.”
“Draco is Heir Malfoy. He’ll protect me.”
“He’s also a son of Black,” shot Greengrass. “He’s answerable to Lord Black, at least so long as he doesn’t end up getting cast out of the family. I wonder what will happen when Lord Black forces Narcissa Malfoy to discipline her son, or be cast off from the Black name. You might not know this, but she considers herself a Black first, a Rosier second, and Malfoy after that. I’d say Draco will have a hard time saving himself to care about you, presuming he even does.”
For a few seconds, Cho went terribly silent, biding her time, feeling quite uncomfortable. Greengrass was younger than her. She hadn’t spent weeks planning this up. She shouldn’t have been able to turn the tables so quickly. This — this was all so unfair.
“How — how can I trust you?” she said at last. “Even if I swear the oaths, I doubt it will be the end of it. Malfoy — he’ll definitely open his stupid mouth and fuck things up, and then Apolline Delacour will come for me.”
“Should’ve considered that before going ahead with your harebrained plan.”
“So what? You just expect me to hand over the golden goose, and hope it all goes well?”
“In essence, yes,” said Greengrass. “Though, if it makes you feel better, you don’t have to trust me. Trust Harry Potter, to protect you from Apolline Delacour, so long as you keep your word. Not because you’d get all appreciative and jump into bed with him, but because he thinks it’s the right thing to do. Helping damsels in distress hits some kind of good-versus-evil hot button in his head.”
“Daphne,” Harry growled.
“Come now, love,” she cooed. “You know it’s the truth.”
She turned to Cho. “So, do we have a deal?”
Cho put on a good act of trying to stay undaunted, but she knew she was falling apart by the seams, and Greengrass knew it. From the increased wetness she could feel on her eyelashes, to her trembling hands, to her stiffening posture…
“Now,” said Greengrass. “You’re going to swear that oath and hand over the evidence to us right away. That is, assuming you even have such a thing.”
“I — I don’t have it with me right now. It’s in my bag. I — I’ll swear the oath right now, and give you the evidence as quickly as I get access to my bag.”
“That is fine,” said Greengrass callously. “Now the oath.”
Cho looked at Potter for one last time. “Potter… Harry… is there really no other way?”
“Could’ve been,” said a despondent Harry Potter. “But you left me with no other option. Swear the oath, hand over the evidence, and it’s done. You’re a skilled witch, and an excellent seeker. Work on what you’ve got, try for the Spring leagues. You don’t need someone else’s fortune to make your own. There is no other way.”
“No other way,” Cho repeated to herself, feeling the words oddly hypnotising. “Fine. I — I’ll do it.”
Ten minutes later, a downcast Cho Chang was walking across the grassy courtyard next to a silent Harry Potter, and a strangely upbeat Daphne Greengrass as they walked towards the main atrium. The party was now in full-swing, and one by one, the invitees were making speeches and cheering the newly married couple.
“You… you really shouldn’t have let Malfoy leave,” said Cho.
“Why?” asked Greengrass casually. “It’s not like he has the evidence. And if he is stupid enough to just slander House Delacour without proof, well…” she snorted. “I suppose it’ll be hilarious.”
Cho disagreed. Draco was a servant to his emotions. He thought he was right, even when he was wrong. And that made him dangerous.
“And we cannot force Draco to any vow like that,” said Greengrass softly. “Draco thinks he’s some kind of arch-nemesis of my fiance and would-be husband. It’s a silly notion, but entertaining if nothing else. Sometimes I wonder if Uncle Lucius intentionally destroyed his son’s future. But no matter, you are safe from us. I promise, we won’t hold you responsible for whatever Draco does in the future.”
Cho narrowed her eyes. Something about the way she said it felt like…
“Oh, look, something’s happening,” said Greengrass. Cho looked, and there he was — Draco fucking Malfoy,standing at the center of the stage, with a bouquet in hand, offering it to the new bride. People were all around them, cameras were flashing, a beautiful sight, but somehow, a foreboding feeling began to grow in Cho’s stomach.
Then it happened.
“Ladies and gentle-wizards,” said Draco Malfoy. “As a gift to Vivian Rosier, I have with me, a memory of all her friends from Britain, those that missed this wedding, wishing her a prosperous and happy married life.”
He held out a memory vial.
“Is that —” Harry began.
Cho’s heart dropped. She watched with growing anxiety and horror as Draco poured the contents of the vial into the projector — a variation of the pensieve that was commonly used in courtrooms. Instead of having the inspectors enter the device to view the memory for themselves, it projected the memory on a large screen to display it to a larger audience.
“Harry,” Cho shrieked, her eyes wide with alarm. “That — I had nothing to do with this! I swear I don’t know how he got his hands on it! He — it was supposed to be inside my bag, and I double locked it for good measure. He — I swear he —”
Greengrass gripped her shoulder. “I understand. You swore an oath. We won’t blame you.”
“But Daphne —” Harry began angrily. “If that memory —”
“Harry,” said Daphne, frowning. “There is nothing that can be done about it. We’ll just deal with the fallout later.”
As if her words were portents, the memory began to play. The room appeared, just as she remembered from watching it at first. Large windows on all sides, and a large, empty room with nothing save a conjured bed, and two pairs of discarded Hogwarts robes strewn over the chair and heavy sounds of a boy and a girl breathing, groaning, grunting —
Wait WHAT?
Her mind rebooted.
No, she was right. There it was — robes. Hogwarts robes. Slytherin green laced with silver. And —
“That’s—” Cho began, but the rest of her words died in her throat.
— Ravenclaw blue robes laced with brown.
The sounds of grunting became louder.
Sounds of heavy breathing.
Sounds of extreme passion.
Sounds of… aggressive rutting.
Sounds of…
And the faces were revealed. It was…
“That’s not Fleur Delacour….” said Greengrass with a blandness that fooled no one. “That’s you rutting with Draco Malfoy.”
Comments
Michael Ashryver
In my mind the plot twist could be that Daphne knew of what Cho and Draco intended to do. Remember when she revealed that she had been spying on the two of them? Well what if Daphne overheard them plotting and before this confrontation she switched the memories. Notice that it doesn’t say who’s pov the scene of Cho and Draco’s rutting is in. Maybe it’s just the way that it’s written but it reads like the point of view of some walking in on them, hearing them first, seeing their clothes and then turning and seeing Cho and Draco. Although it could be that Draco decided to ruin Cho because she bailed on him and gave in to Harry and Daphne. So he used his own memory of him pounding Cho, thinking that he has nothing to be ashamed of as the narcissist that he is . Though it doesn’t make sense that he’d tank himself trying to ruin Cho. But then again at this point in the story, Draco lowkey sounds mad, he has a single minded focus on Daphne and Harry and his actions may seem logical in his mind, but to us he’s damn crazy .
Nathaniel Scurry
OOF
