The remainder of the week passed rapidly, and then it was gone — and the threatened Order of Merlin presentation was suddenly upon them. Harry wasn't even remotely thrilled about this. He truly did not want to be seen in the same light as Pettigrew, Lockhart, and Dumbledore.
But Fleur had convinced him of the utility, and so here he was.
He was surprised that Dumbledore hadn't tried to put a stop to it, but Fleur suggested that it was simply political capital that he didn't want to expend. Harry thought she was probably right. The man's notable absence from the proceedings, however, was a petty statement that he did not approve.
Not that Harry cared; he preferred it that way, in fact.
The presentation was taking place in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. While Harry thought that was odd — didn't they have ballrooms or something for this sort of thing? — a makeshift stage was set up along one wall, with that particularly obnoxious fountain off to the side where it would not have pride of place.
Thank Merlin for small mercies.
The stage itself was draped in white, and a lectern stood atop it, awaiting the Minister's pleasure. Harry almost expected there to be chairs behind and to either side of it so that he and Fleur could be put on display, but they were mercifully absent. Instead they would sit in the front row of the audience and be called forward.
The room was packed with people, mostly from the upper echelons of society, clustered around various tables full of finger foods. Harry knew few of them, but easily recognized Neville's Gran talking to Madam Bones. Others were far less familiar, though he did vaguely recognize many as members of the Wizengamot.
It mattered little; he had no interest in hobnobbing.
The scrutiny they were under was distinctly uncomfortable, and it was only Fleur's presence at his side that enabled him to endure it with any level of equanimity. He hated his fame, and he hated attention, and he really didn't feel the need to be on display to receive a pretty bauble, just for defending that unfortunate young woman from Snape's malicious idiocy.
And that unfortunate young woman had just found them.
She was a thin, average-height, next door sort of girl with brown hair, brown eyes, and a friendly face. Her hair was pulled up in a bun that gave her a severe look a la Professor McGonagall, and that was the only thing that at all obscured the fact that she was probably just out of Hogwarts.
"Mr. Potter?" she called quietly.
Harry smiled slightly at her, but otherwise remained silent as she approached. She seemed nice enough at first glance, but the crowd was pressing in on him as always. It tended to make him not want to speak.
"I'm Janice O'Connor," she continued. "I just wanted to thank you. If not for you, I… I would probably be dead."
"You're welcome," he replied softly. "Though to be fair, if I hadn't been there Snape might not have cast at all."
O'Connor blinked bemusedly, and Fleur chuckled. "Do not mind my 'usband," she smirked. "'E is far too modest for 'is own good."
O'Connor smiled genuinely back at Fleur. "I never would have guessed", she said with a shake of her head. "For all that he's famous, nobody really knows much about him."
The conversation might have continued, but O'Connor's eyes suddenly widened as she spotted something over Harry's shoulder. "Sorry, I need to go," she said abruptly. "And Mrs. Potter, you'll just have to forgive me for this."
The young woman suddenly reached in and grabbed Harry in a tight hug, finishing the gesture with a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," she whispered.
And then she was gone before he could even respond.
A glance at Fleur showed that she was grinning down at him, to his relief, but he had little time to contemplate that. O'Connor had clearly been scared away by something, and that something — or rather, someone, was now upon them.
"One not enough for you, Potter?" came the silky drawl of none other than Lucius Malfoy.
The man came around from behind them, cane in hand, acting like he owned the place, as always. Harry internally berated himself; he should have guessed that the elder Malfoy would be here, and should have had a strategy ready for dealing with him. He didn't, though.
The only responses that came to mind were childish — "Jealous, Malfoy?" — and he did not want to be considered so. And so he just raised an eyebrow at the supposedly adult father of his self-appointed schoolyard nemesis.
"Is there something we can do for you, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked simply.
In the background, a reporter from the Daily Prophet started heading their direction, obviously having overheard the start of the conversation.
"Oh, I was just wondering how you convinced your creature to put up with you having real women on the side," was Malfoy's airy response. "They do tend to be rather territorial."
Unfortunately for Malfoy, he'd miscalculated.
Gasps erupted around them at the boldness of the insult, and Harry noted the widening eyes of the Prophet reporter, who Malfoy had apparently missed in his haste to insult The Boy Who Lived. Yes, this was going to cost the elder Malfoy if Harry had any say in the matter. He could easily feel Fleur's tension through their joined hands, and wasn't about to let this go unanswered.
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze to let her know that he would handle it.
Many people presumed that Harry was a pushover, but they were very, very wrong. Even Hermione, who was a force of nature most days, would not oppose him when he felt strongly about something. It was, simply put, a losing proposition.
And he felt very strongly about insults to his wife.
Harry never put on airs and graces, but he had to think quickly. The best way to deal with this, he figured – the way that would be most painful to Malfoy – would be to play at the cultured, respectable front that Malfoy only wished he represented. If Malfoy wanted to be an arse, then maybe everybody should know exactly how much of an arse he really was.
With that in mind, Harry shook his head slowly in apparent disappointment. "Really, Mr. Malfoy?" he sniffed. "You can't find anything to insult me about, so you attempt to insult my wife?" Here he took a moment to look away and brush a bit of imaginary lint off his shoulder. "How utterly… plebeian," he continued, shaking his head despairingly. "Now I know where Draco gets it from."
"You dare?!" snarled Malfoy.
While Harry was fairly certain that Malfoy wouldn't be foolish enough to attack here, he still did a mental check on the location of his wand. Then he turned to his wife, who was staring at Malfoy through narrowed eyes.
There were no feathers yet, but it was only a matter of time at the rate the man was going.
"This is where his son would say, 'When my father hears about this'," he confided in an obvious stage whisper. "I'm half expecting to hear 'When my wife hears about this'. She was a Black after all, so a bit more impressive than a mere Malfoy."
Unexpected laughter erupted from the growing crowd around them — the sort that says that the joke was even funnier because it was true, and everybody knew it. It took all of Harry's considerable willpower to keep the smirk off his face and maintain a politely disinterested look. Fleur was nearly vibrating with mirth, but was likewise mastering it admirably.
Malfoy could only stand there in shock at first, and then he transitioned into a simmering, impotent rage. His knuckles turned white where his hands were wrapped around the head of his cane, and his eyes narrowed into angry slits. Harry mentally chalked up a point for himself, though he was certain he'd just borrowed a fair bit of trouble for the future.
And then Sebastian showed up.
He had perfect timing.
"Well, isn't this interesting," he opined, easily pushing through the crowd that had begun to develop around them. "A Death Eater attempting to 'arass the child credited with the defeat of 'is Dark Lord. I do 'ope the aurors are paying attention."
"You dare?!" hissed Malfoy again, even more incensed now. "I was under the Imperius Curse! Everyone knows that!"
"Everyone knows you're a weak-minded fool?" countered Sebastian, causing the crowd this time to suck in a collective breath. "That went without saying," he continued blithely. "But really, Monsieur Malfoy, if you want me to believe that you are not a willing Death Eater, then you will 'ave to state it under Veritaserum or magical Oath."
After a brief pause, Sebastian continued, "Something you never did, I might add. Would you like to?" Gesturing at a tall, dark-skinned, red-robed Auror who was approaching from the same direction as the reporter he finished, "I am certain one of the fine aurors present 'ere would be 'appy to 'elp out."
And Harry immediately recognized that the game had just radically changed.
Where he was merely trying to make Malfoy look like the buffoon he was (preferably in front of the press), Sebastian was going for the jugular. Harry approved wholeheartedly given the man's history, and certainly wasn't going to sit it out. He certainly hadn't forgotten his second year.
"I'll even cover the cost if you choose the Veritaserum," he offered with utmost seriousness, all pretense suddenly falling away. "If you truly are innocent, then society should know that beyond doubt, Mr. Malfoy. We wouldn't want people to think that you would happily torture or murder them if they opposed you, would we? That is what Death Eaters did, you know?"
Malfoy's complexion got progressively paler — something Harry didn't think was possible for the albino prick — as he and Sebastian double-teamed him. It would seem that nobody had ever dared to call him out on his "imperius defense" in public before. Nobody had ever challenged him to prove it.
"You're going to meet a sticky end, boy," Lucius growled suddenly, glaring down at Harry, "just like your parents before you."
The crowd gasped again, and Harry felt Fleur's tension ratchet up a few notches next to him.
But Sebastian was on the ball. "Auror," he called calmly, turning to the man who had come up behind Malfoy, "this man just threatened the life of my son-in-law. I wish to press charges, and as my son-in-law is not of age and is in my care, I do have that authority."
"I heard," rumbled the Auror. "Lucius Malfoy, you are under arrest for deadly threats against the Head of an Ancient House. Surrender your wand."
Harry decided that Sebastian's charge wasn't good enough, though; it was too easy to wriggle out of it with word games. Not that he thought Malfoy wouldn't escape what he had in mind, but it was worth a shot. And to that end–
"Add a charge of attempted murder two years ago," he added helpfully. "He tried to cast the Killing Curse on me, but got dumped on his arse by a House Elf before he could finish it. I'd have pressed charges at the time, but you know how it is at Hogwarts."
Harry – and most of the impromptu audience gathered around them – expected little more than a nasty retort from Malfoy. If they were lucky, that would be followed by Malfoy being dragged off to a holding cell for the night. Harry was certain the man would be free again by the morning.
What they got, however, was not what they expected.
At all.
"So noted, Mr. Potter," agreed the Auror. "We'll need you to come in and give an official statement on the incident, however."
"Of course," nodded Harry.
The conversation might have continued, except that Malfoy — who had yet to be restrained — suddenly snatched his wand out of the handle of his cane and whipped it up to point at Harry.
"AVADA—"
"Stupefy!"
Far from being an idiot, Harry had been on edge and ready for a fight from the moment he saw the man. They had also been backing him into a corner — which, while richly deserved, was also dangerous. Malfoy was a killer, of this he was certain. And so, quite fortunately, he was prepared.
It just so happened that a stunner was far faster to cast than the Killing Curse — and Fleur had apparently had the same thoughts; she had cast right along with him. He smiled up at her in thanks, and she just gave him a one-armed hug, her wand still held steady in her other hand.
Meanwhile, silence spread through the room, followed by quiet, shocked murmurs as more and more people realized — or were informed of — what had just transpired. Lucius Malfoy had just tried — and failed — to kill the Boy Who Lived! In public!
"I guess that makes it two counts of attempted murder," mused Sebastian idly.
Harry just nodded in agreement with his father-in-law. For once he could actually be calm in the middle of yet another storm.
It was so nice having a family to help him!
===[~]===
It took a short while to get Malfoy corralled and off to a holding cell, and Harry spent that time considering the events of the evening so far — and couldn't help but feel that he was missing something. Malfoy wasn't a total idiot, and what he'd just done was clearly an idiot's move. He had just attempted to cast the Killing Curse in public for no real reason.
"Why would he do this?" he asked nobody in particular. "I'm sure he could've gotten out of anything we threw at him."
"Actually, no," said the Auror, glancing up from the pad he was scribbling on, having just finished interviewing Sebastian. "Underage or not, you are the Head of an Ancient House, Mr. Potter. While Purebloods are exempt from the use of Veritaserum under most circumstances, that does not apply to those accused of crimes against the Heirs or Heads of Ancient or Noble Houses. It's one of the few exceptions to that law."
"Auror Shacklebolt is correct," agreed Sebastian. "I was going to use that exception to try to get 'im to confess under Veritaserum to being a Death Eater. That law, by the way, is why Voldemort 'imself was almost always the one to target 'eirs or 'eads of 'ouse during the war."
Shacklebolt nodded his agreement with Sebastian's point. "It's also why Bellatrix Lestrange and her ilk ended up in Azkaban where so many others didn't." Switching tracks he then explained, "Unless you were falsely accusing him, Malfoy was headed for Azkaban. Since he decided to go out with a bang, I can easily deduce that your accusation was true."
Harry just shook his head. "I really wish people would explain these things to me. I really would have dealt with him two years ago if I'd known."
"You will learn, 'Arry," his father-in-law reassured him. "It will just take some time is all."
"Eet worked out in ze end," grinned an eminently satisfied Fleur. "'E certainly got more zan 'e bargained for from 'is insults."
Harry couldn't suppress his smirk at that thought.
===[~]===
The commotion from the arrest was surprisingly short-lived. They simply dragged Malfoy off to a holding cell (one that he was now unlikely to get out of via bribes given the oh-so-public nature of the offense), briefly interviewed a few people, and that was that. Harry, Fleur, and her father were so nonchalant about the whole thing, both during and after, that it turned into something of a non-event.
Fleur could only think of that as a good thing: it made Malfoy look utterly incompetent, and the rest of the Death Eaters would lose a lot of their mystique as a result. Malfoy was known to be one of their most dangerous, even if people were pretending that he was innocent.
It would likely be a long time before the true effects would be known, however.
Narcissa Malfoy, on the other hand, was no fool. She had stayed away from the confrontation, and after it was over she cautiously approached Harry and Fleur and offered an unreserved apology for the behavior of her husband on behalf of House Malfoy. Harry, of course, accepted, albeit with a polite, veiled warning to let her son know that things had changed.
He clearly wasn't going to tolerate Draco Malfoy's bull any longer, and Draco was his father's son. Even Fleur knew that, merely as a guest in the castle.
Harry's "when my father hears" comment was spot on, as the British liked to say, and every student from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang already knew it.
Minister Fudge arrived — fashionably late, of course — only ten minutes after Malfoy had been removed from play. It didn't take long for him to learn of it, and he was positively stunned. Worse for him, he couldn't blame Harry, since Harry had been polite the entire time, and Malfoy had led with insults to Harry's wife.
That was considered grounds for a duel in Wizarding high society, so it was considered to be purely Malfoy's fault.
Fudge proved to be slightly less incompetent than Fleur would have imagined from Harry's stories, however. He quickly recovered ("I say! I never would have expected this of Lucius! Of course he'll see justice!"), and eventually moved on with the ceremony. It didn't take long — they were the only two recipients — and then it was on to the reception.
Perhaps wisely, Fudge did not ask them to make speeches.
For her part, Fleur stuck to her husband like glue. She well remembered how hard the wedding reception was on him, and this was very similar. She simply stayed as close as she was able, and offered whatever support she could.
Everyone wanted to shake their hands, and a sizable percentage of the crowd – including many Wizengamot members – also wanted to congratulate them on the successful takedown of Lucius Malfoy. The man was notorious, and had made very few friends.
Madam Bones also stopped to chat (and, to congratulate them on the Malfoy incident, over which she was genuinely thrilled), and introduced Augusta Longbottom briefly at the same time, though Harry already knew of her, by sight at the least. Fleur gathered very quickly that the woman was Neville's grandmother.
She rather pitied the boy; Augusta Longbottom absolutely epitomized the term, "dragon lady," the ugly stuffed vulture she wore on her hat notwithstanding.
It wasn't until almost the end of the evening, however, that Minister Fudge finally found the opportunity to corner them privately.
"Mr. Potter," he said, his bearing giving every appearance of genuine remorse, "I'm truly sorry about what happened earlier. I don't know what's gotten into Lucius, but rest assured that justice will be done. If there is anything I can do for you…"
Fleur certainly didn't miss the calculating look that flitted over Harry's features, and she doubted that Fudge did either. She had a suspicion of where he would go with it, and sure enough–
"Actually, there is one thing," he said thoughtfully.
"Oh?" inquired Fudge, a sudden bout of nerves showing in the way he started twirling his bowler hat with his fingers.
"You remember, of course, what happened last year," he said quietly. And then he held a hand up to stall Fudge before the man could arc up. "I know that you were blatantly lied to by Snape and probably Dumbledore," he continued, "but we know better about those two now, don't we?"
Fudge's expression went from surprise to deep thought at that statement. The bowler stilled in his hands.
"Snape hated the man in school, and for whatever reason hates me," he explained, "so there's no surprise that he would lie about what he saw. As for Dumbledore, he needed Sirius out of the way to keep control of me, because Sirius Black is my godfather and would have taken custody."
Fudge's eyes widened at this bit of information. It was clear that he hadn't known that before.
"We told you the truth," said Harry quietly. "Pettigrew is alive. Sirius is innocent. If you truly want to help me, then help me by arranging a trial for Sirius. He never had one."
"A trial?" inquired Fudge in genuine surprise.
"Of course!" confirmed Harry. "That way he can prove his innocence beyond the shadow of a doubt."
"Unlike Lucius Malfoy" was left unsaid, but Fleur — and probably the Minister — heard it just fine. It was also a good point; a pardon wouldn't be enough to satisfy the public. And with Magical France pushing for a trial anyway…
Fleur could see the Minister dithering, and decided to give another small push, though she ensured her allure was locked down as tight as she could manage. It wouldn't do to get caught using it for something like this. Nor would she ever dream of it.
"It would be magnifique, would it not?" she mused absently. "Correcting ze miscarriage of justice from ze – 'ow do you say? – ze previous administration, non? It would be so 'eroic!"
"She's right," smiled Harry. But then he turned serious again. "And while I don't know for sure, I'd be willing to bet that Dumbledore's name is all over him being sent to Azkaban without a trial in the first place."
Fudge slowly started to nod; it was easy to see the wheels turning in his head. "You might be right about that, Harry," he said. "Let me see what I can do. I believe Mr. Black is in France, so perhaps we can get him here for a trial."
"I would be very grateful, Minister," smiled Harry.
And that made Fudge's day.
A/N: Ok, so this one kinda got away from me. Just a little bit.
Originally, this was going to be just a lot of fluff and the last scene with the Minister; they get the Order of Merlin, flowery speeches, talk to Fudge to plant the seed for Sirius, and on the way home. When I sat down to write this, I did NOT expect that the presentation itself would be reduced to nothing more than a vague reference. But then I was just writing along, and that bastard Malfoy snuck his way into the scene.
Malfoy was never supposed to factor in at all! Oh well, sometimes we take the gifts that the fiction gods bestow. Either that or my new muse has a screw loose. =)