Whipping
Justin frowned down at the formidable mountain of post awaiting his inspection. He was routing most of his mail to Blaise’s house in Kent with how frequently he was staying. A simple fix with the help of some goblins, the authors of these missives still thought they were sending letters to Hampshire while the owls flew to Kent.
More and more, this house felt like a home to Justin; his nights shared in Blaise’s bed and mornings enjoying Turkish coffee and complaining about the government. His parent’s being well off, he wasn’t uncomfortable with some of the flamboyance of the mansion. Blaise’s internal battle on what to name the estate continued to humor him as the other man would become momentarily obsessed with one possibility only to then dismiss it as ridiculous. Justin was more than happy to enjoy the spectacle rather than join in on the brainstorming.
A lot of the letters were work related. As a muggleborn, the former Hufflepuff became engrossed with the wider magical community and after leaving Hogwarts quickly joined the Department of International Magical Cooperation. As frustrating as his job could be, he didn’t see himself leaving the center of the action. Blaise was in a similar position in the Goblin Liaison Office; whatever irritations the powers-that-be inflicted on them, quitting would mean accepting defeat.
There were more concerns with the threats from Count Zendorf and the disastrous potential that their trade deal would be scuttled. The long-time foreign minister for the Imperial Diet fiercely objected to the exclusionary list Pearson was demanding. It eliminated whole classes of imports from entering Britain on account of their classification as “dark.” After putting out a brushfire involving the tariff rate the other week, Justin was battling the government negotiators to back down.
As an officer in the IMC, Justin noticed the difference between the slipshod methods of his department and the professionalism of the imperials. The Diet operated as the overseer of a federated central Europe with its roots tracing back to the thirteenth century. Its diplomatic office was held in high regard around the world, particularly for its heroism in attempting to foil Grindelwald’s terror regime. Vienna, together with Paris and Berlin, were driving debate in Europe in the new century and Justin would be damned if London was left out.
Blaise was similarly running into issues with his counterparts at the GLO. According to him, who had grown close the goblins, the Minister was clueless as to how the creature relations initiatives like attempted integration were slowly eroding the prerogatives of the tribes. Ignorance on cultural differences had always split the two worlds, but anger was building. “Advice with a Zabini signature soon found its way into the bin,” Blaise had grown fond of saying. Blaise equally deferred to Justin on foreign affairs issues, but the two of them wished that ICM was running the GLO instead of the Department for Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures
His relationship with Blaise had slowly challenged the assumptions he made through his time at Hogwarts. On all topics they opened each other’s eyes to new perspectives. They argued on occasion, Blaise having no idea what it was like to be the recipient of slurs and opprobrium because of his birth. Justin, however, was unfamiliar with the risks of doing spells and potions considered “dark” in Britain, and how out of step this interpretation was with much of the world.
Blood and other sacrificial magic, for instance, played a massive role in multiple fields of magic and sometimes only needed very small sacrifices. In some ways, Justin was reminded of fasting and religious activities like Lent. The prevalence of blood tests and transfusions in the muggle world also inoculated him from some of the horror with which he had witnessed wizards and witches react to the idea of blood magic. Much of it had been illegal for their lifetimes.
To be fair, there of course are historical examples of abuse. Darya Saltykova was notable for the numerous sacrifices she had made to enhance her beauty and power. Some dark spells can only create horrible results, so the fear wasn’t baseless. Justin was partly tempted to draft a White Paper on the subject but writing anything remotely positive about the dark arts would be career suicide.
Suffice to say, he had been rethinking his position on some of these topics. The official government stance, however, had not changed. That said, Justin was still proud of what they had been able to agree to with the imperials. Notably, he secured certification reciprocity so that a specialist in Britain would have their license accepted when they were in one of the imperial states, and their citizens could do the same. Now his boss was signaling that progress could be impeded by the heavy-handed rejection of a host of industrial products. Justin was not happy.
He dashed off a few responses, especially the quick fixes that he could settle through post. Blaise didn’t need to know he snuck in a Bic to help him out. Justin couldn’t stand the drip marks he inevitably left on the parchment. They were another reminder he hadn’t been born writing with a quill the way Blaise had. Besides, pens were far more efficient.
Justin grasped a plain envelope next on the pile thinking it was either an additional minor annoyance or more junk mail he could toss. Interestingly though, the scrawled address didn’t have the crisp handwriting he had come to expect from civil servants.
There was a swoop in his stomach when he immediately looked at the signature at the bottom and for a reason he couldn’t explain, his hands shook as he read.
Dear Justin,
I’m sorry for the sudden letter. I know we weren’t exactly close in school, but I always found you to be an honest and kind person. I noticed you were on the front page of the Prophet with Draco Malfoy. Do you know what he’s up to? I realize the picture could have been a coincidence, but I’m concerned about his intentions. You probably appreciate my information gathering is wounded by my hesitance to leave the house. Any news you have about his intentions, motives or sincerity would be extremely appreciated.
I know this is not exactly a fair request, but I don’t know who to turn to. Thank you for all your help. I would be grateful if this correspondence could remain confidential.
Sincerely,
Harry J. Potter
Scanning the letter once, then forcing himself to slow down and actually absorb the contents, Justin was torn. Here was the question he often asked in his head. Was Malfoy for real? Justin weighed the temptation of responding right away with the possibility of consulting Blaise for his thoughts.
His boyfriend insisted that Draco was sincere and highlighted his attributes whenever Justin expressed doubt. The few times he interacted with Draco, the aristocrat had been witty and charming. It wouldn’t take much for Justin to become friends with him. But there were the lingering memories of sneers, insults, and the presence of a certain tattoo that weighed on the former Hufflepuff.
He decided to find Blaise and get his take. The final response would come from him, but he wanted to hear what his boyfriend would say before he wrote it.
Blaise was lounging on a couch reading an Italian financial journal when Justin finally found him. “In a hundred years, you will never believe who just wrote me.”
Blaise looked that the letter Justin was waving around. “Silvio Berlusconi,” he guessed.
Justin ignored the joke. “Harry Potter.”
“You’re kidding,” a suddenly very serious Blaise said. “Someone’s having a laugh.” Justin just handed him the letter to judge for himself. “It could be a reporter looking for a story,” he tried without sounding convinced after a few minutes. His formerly relaxed position was replaced by tight shoulders and a furrowed brow.
“Operating on the assumption this is Harry, what am I going to say?”
Blaise squirmed unhappily. “I’m not going to tell you what to do. You know what I think. I’ve known Draco for years; he can be crazy, irrational and mean, but he is not setting up an angle here. Moreover, I’ve been really happy he’s come back and engaged. I think he’ll be a great member of the Wizengamot.”
The sincerity that bled from Blaise assuaged some of Justin’s fears. A tinge of jealousy crept in, only to be brushed aside. He knew who ended up in Blaise’s bed at night and it wasn’t Draco. Justin was convinced that whatever relationship had been there in the past had been buried by both parties.
“I’m still worried. He was always ambitious and not above doing unscrupulous things to get his way.”
“Justin, if you’re asking if he’ll behave like a politician, he will. If you’re asking whether he would deliberately hurt someone or group of people without cause, he’s not that kind of person.”
“He once was,” Justin challenged.
“He’s a spoiled brat and always will be. He can be cruel, but it’s his words that wound. I wish I could say that he won’t be malicious but I can’t promise you that. I just know that this legislation is not a bid to take over Britain.”
Justin bit his lip. Blaise had obviously worried over his feelings about the former Slytherin. Friends and boyfriends not getting along is a recipe for disaster. Now, Justin found himself in a position where what he wrote back to Harry could have real consequences. “Can you imagine Draco trying to run the country?” he joked, trying to lighten the mood.
Blaise’s easy smile came back. “He’d be tearing his hair out at the mandarins saying ‘Yes, Minister. Right away.’” He put his hand out to pull Justin towards him. The other boy went willingly, curling up beside him and resting his head on Blaise’s shoulder.
“Why do we work at this Ministry-thing?” he asked.
A puff of laughter grazed his cheek. “Because someone has to, who better than us?”
There was a brief moment of silence, punctured only by the tick of the clock on the wall. “What are you going to write him?”
Justin sighed, burrowing further into Blaise. The last thing he wanted to do was get up from this spot and reply to Harry. “I’m going to say that I was wary of him and still have reservations.” At the shifting underneath him, Justin continued, “However, getting to know him more, I think he is clever and thoughtful. That I think his plan has merit and vision, and that someone I trust vouches for his character. Does that suffice?”
“I think that’s a wonderful response.” Blaise kissed him softly. “You could suggest setting up a meeting between the two of them if Potter is still curious.”
Justin pulled back in surprise. “You think they’d agree to that?”
“Draco’s been hinting at buttering up Potter for a while, he needs a push sometimes though.”
Justin couldn’t help but scoff at the two of them in a room together talking legislation. “Don’t you think they’ll kill each other?”
“Eh, maybe. There’s always that chance when you put them together. Two volatile potions ingredients – there’ll either be an explosion, or panacea.”
Draco finished up a rather delightful duck confit in the Members Dining Room just a stones throw from the General Gallery of the Wizengamot. It was always beneficial to be seen by other members, and available for consultation. Gentle chatter filled the air, the occasional clink of crystal or silverware creating languid atmosphere around the white tablecloths.
Draco couldn’t help noticing the few cracks that appeared in the expansive white molding of the room, a certain opulence undercut by the aging of the building. Shoddy wardwork, he tutted to himself, which was such a shame in these grand institutions. The crimson wallpaper, whitewashed reliefs and gilt edges should have conveyed a sense of power. Instead, it recalled a bygone era holding desperately to relevance.
Smoke from the odd cigar or cigarette left a faint haze in the air, Draco subtly casting air freshening charms whenever his senses were disturbed. He had just convinced himself he didn’t need a cappuccino when he spotted Theo glide in. Waving him over, Draco impulsively barked “Cappuccino!” at a passing elf. A tad rude, but Theo coming he took as a sign he should get another, so he wanted his caffeine now.
“Lord Nott,” Draco greeted. “Do sit down so I don’t strain my neck.” The towering boy glared back before slightly awkwardly folding himself beside his friend.
“You remember asking me to look around for . . . materials for the ritual?” Theo asked in a low voice. When the WIRE Act passed – it was going to happen Draco, positive thoughts! – the ritual to construct the new district was complex and involved; he needed to have everything prepared once the legislature signed off. Theo had been making inquiries on his behalf to that aim. When Draco nodded, he continued after glancing over his shoulder. “I’ve found two that seem promising, one from a Shafiq and the other from the Selwyns.”
Draco rubbed his hands together happily. They shouldn’t prove to be a problem. He wasn’t saying that purebloods were better than other wizards, but in some instances, they could be easier to work with. “Marvelous, now—”
“Lord Malfoy, Lord Nott!” A burly old wizard ambled his way up to their table, his robes straining to contain his stomach. A poor, thin chain from a pocket watch barely clung around his diameter. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”
“Not at all,” Draco replied smoothly. “Won’t you join us?”
“Very kind, very kind,” Quintus Fox said, thumping down into the chair opposite Draco with the grace of a water buffalo. “I’m very glad to have caught you.”
His comments were directed toward Draco, never mind that a longer serving hereditary member was at the table. Draco knew what was coming though, it was he who had a bill up for debate next week, not Theo. “What’s on your mind, Mr. Fox?”
“Well, I was hoping to get your feeling on an amendment I’m raising for the foreign aid bill.” Fox twiddled his thumbs nervously at Draco’s stoic façade. “I’m looking for $1 million galleons in agricultural credits for our friends in the Levant.”
Draco cocked an eyebrow. “A million? Doesn’t that seem high?”
“It’s an incredibly sensitive area,” Fox insisted. “Many rare potions ingredients come out of the region. We can’t risk our supply being cut off or their industry to fail!”
He took to studying the man as he ran through a list of benefits supporting his amendment would lead to, Theo watching amusedly. “Have you given much thought to the WIRE Act,” Draco interrupted.
A keen look came into Fox’s eye. “Why, yes. I think it seems to be a very balanced proposal . . .” Draco stared at him, giving nothing away. He drew his wand, earning a flinch from Fox. Interesting. He verbally cast the air freshening charm again, opting to inform the man that his wand work was not nefarious. Fox though was pale behind his bushy mustache. “Eh, of course I think I can get behind it,” Fox blustered nervously.
Satisfied, Draco relented. “You make the proposal $750,000 and I can support it. I, for one, want my potions cabinets fully stocked.” Thanking him profusely, Fox shuffled off after shaking hands with the both of them several times. A handkerchief appeared to wipe away his brow, flapping around like a pennant caught in the breeze. Draco was exasperated, he hadn’t even secured Theo’s support.
Theo just waved off his concerns. He didn’t have a problem with people thinking they voted in lockstep. Oftentimes that’s what would happen anyway so why make a big deal out of it. Draco thought it was awfully foolish to take for granted Theo’s support; he was canny, more experienced than Draco was and one of the best researchers he knew. “I’ll make sure he remembers that he’s an aye vote,” Theo reassured. “Constant messages to your wavering supporters in key to keeping them.”
In some ways, Draco marveled at these much older witches and wizards tripping over themselves to get his vote. Not only being much younger, but the confidence he exuded was more a product of knowing he couldn’t look weak than genuine belief in his abilities. A combination of his upbringing, demeanor and – let’s face it – his past as a Death Eater apparently created a formidable figure in the Wizengamot. It was hardly everyone making a fool of themselves around him, but there were enough to notice a trend.
As they were leaving the Dining Room, a witch blatantly stared at Draco until he conceded to meeting her down the hall. “I’ll catch up with you later Theo,” he said, bobbing his head towards the other woman. Theo waved goodbye while Draco marched straight passed the witch trusting she would follow behind.
By the exit of the Aye Lobby was a secluded recess near the door to the Taliesin Porch. The Whispering Corner, as it was known, often featured members engaged in whispering matches in the portraitless nook. With the Whip’s Office and the Minister’s Drawing Room only a few paces away, hushed dressing downs were not uncommon.
“What is it Ms. Wylie?” Draco demanded, not bothering to lower his voice.
Muscles tense in her jaw, she hushed him furtively. “Have you seen the committee assignments yet?” The thin woman was wrapped tight as a wire, her features a touch harsh. If this is how she approached retail politicking, Draco despaired for her constituency.
“The assignments were released three weeks ago, of course I have,” he snapped, peering down at her his hands on his hips. “Something you obviously know, so which committee am I on that piques your interest?”
Wylie fidgeted under his glare, clearly unwilling to divulge her purpose. Draco grasped her arm and pulled her further out of sight. Cajoling principals took many forms; some took well to flattery and charm; others needed a bit of stick to fall in line. Dealmakers traded positions like assets, the particularly annoying ones would only be persuaded by appealing to principle. Politicians could be leaders or followers, plotters and backstabbers, but it was important to remember that all were stars of their personal plays.
Wylie, whose first name escaped him momentarily, was clearly uncomfortable with Draco and with the possibility of being seen with him. Grey eyes narrowed at the flighty woman. “Did you know,” he inquired silkily. “That I was taught Occlumency by my Aunt Bella?” Wylie flinched away from him. “And I can tell you’re not occluding,” he finished nastily.
Flushed in anger, she opened her mouth to snip at him, but Draco didn’t give her the chance. “Don’t bother. It’s the boundary commission, yes?”
Pursing her lips, still upset by his attitude, she had no choice but to affirm his suspicion. Members from districts did not have the opportunity to serve on the commission when it contemplated changing the borders. As a hereditary member, Draco was insulated from such pressures.
“I would like,” she ground out through clenched teeth, “for my district to remain based in Newcastle, not wrapped into Sunderland.”
He sneered at her. Protecting herself, but then again that’s the number one job for any legislator so he couldn’t really hold it against her. “And you want my help.” Draco spoke slowly, nodding his head so that she would copy. “And when the WIRE Act comes up . . . ?”
She nodded along obediently. “I’ll vote yes,” she agreed with little grace.
Satisfied, he dismissed her. With a final glare, she scuttled away from him, secure perhaps in her position if not her morals. Draco lingered by the door to the Taliesin Porch mentally counting his confirmed ayes.
“Lord Malfoy,” a rich baritone broke into his concentration.
“Lord D’Acre,” Draco responded in surprise, then mentally kicked himself. He was practically loitering outside the man’s office, of course he shouldn’t be surprised. The Marshal of Peers Office was also through the Taliesin Porch, though since D’Acre had been elected Marshal, meetings in his office were not nearly as stress inducing as those in the neighboring Whip’s Office.
At the beginning of a new session, the gathered hereditary members would elect one of their own to act as Marshal. More ceremonial than some of the political offices, the lord or lady almost always carried a great weight of authority with the members, especially the hereditaries they would oversee. Baldwin D’Acre commanded immense respect with a widely regarded sense of fairness. The formidable lord had regarded Draco with caution since his return, but not hostility.
“I was thinking about supporting a measure involving agriculture credits in the Near East; Fox just brought it up with me,” Draco broke the silence with nothing better to say.
“Is that so?” D’Acre seemed mildly interested in the proposal. “Sounds potentially worthwhile.” He knew that the Marshal was a keen study on the region, so it didn’t hurt to signal positively on the proposal. “By the way, Lord Nott informed me you may have an heir looking to claim a seat soon.”
Damn Theo and his big mouth. Draco laughed strangely. “Eh, well it’s a possibility. I have no idea if they’re inclined to claim their inheritance.”
D’Arce’s dark eyes grew sad for a minute, not seeming to notice how uncomfortable Draco became. “I hope you can convince them. It distresses me to see empty benches and a lack of duty.” He sighed, then made to move through the door. Turning back, he said contemplatively, “I’m looking forward to the debate next week. Take care.”
The wheels in Draco’s head began turning. As much as he hated Theo’s interference, at least he knew the Marshal would have no objection to bringing on Potter should he need to approach him. Additionally, D’Acre was indicating he would approach the debate on the WIRE Act with an open mind. If Draco could get him onside, he may be able to avalanche the endorsement into passage. The debate had to go well though.