Wire Act

The second reading of a bill is, quite frankly, a misnomer.  There is very little reading that’s accomplished; a lot more shouting and waiving of briefing papers.  If the bill is controversial.  Some lucky pieces of proposed legislation are so lackluster they fly through the stages of Wizengamot procedure with barely a ripple on the public conscious.  The WIRE Act is not so lucky.

Draco scratches his forefinger absentmindedly, the nail of his thumb digging into the pad drawing enough pain to lessen the constant loop in his head.  He’s been going over his remarks time and time again, practicing first with Fitzie, then with Blaise, then again with Potter.  As the principal architect of the bill, he will open debate.  Then the floor will be open and MWs can raise questions and give opinions on the merits of the bill.  After a no doubt grueling session of bloviating from self-important politicians, the Chief Warlock will call for a division on the second reading.  If it passes, the legislation goes to committee.  If it fails, the WIRE Act is dead for the foreseeable future.

Staring off into the distance, Draco tries to ignore the prickle of awareness that a certain pair of green eyes were studying him.  It’s a feeling he’s well acquainted with by now, except its power seems particularly stronger when the offending orbs are a couple feet from him rather than across the Great Hall.  Gavin Hailsen kindly allowed Draco and the Boy Wonder (man his subconscious insisted) to sequester themselves in his office until the moment of the big reveal.  The Chief Warlock’s office is suitably grand in a nondescript way (if such a thing was possible).  A faux window was enchanted to show a sweeping image of the Matterhorn, a stunning showpiece if you went in for that sort of thing.  Draco personally preferred the library next door to this office.  Still, it was thoughtful of Hailsen to offer up the space to prepare.

Sneaking Potter in had not been easy, even with the help of his very own invisibility cloak which had Draco grumbling about unfairness and floating heads.  Still, they were able to hunker down without arousing suspicion.  Honestly, the lax security would be shocking if it weren’t so convenient.

Sucking in a breath, Draco hopped to his feet and clapped his hands together.  “Right.  Well, we need to do something to pass the time, otherwise I’ll go crazy.”

“More than you already are?” Potter muttered.

“I wouldn’t cast aspersions on sanity right now, Potter, it’s not a winning argument for you.”

The dark-haired boy (man) half-raised himself out of his seat with an intense look.  “What do you suggest we do to pass the time?  Duel?”

Draco scoffed.  “As if I would embarrass you in front of the Chief Warlock.  And right before your debut to the Wizengamot!  No, let’s save that for later.”  Honestly, violence seemed like Potter’s go-to response for everything, the nutter.

After a pause that left Draco drumming his fingers distractedly, that low voice interrupted his train of thought.  “You know, it’s okay to be nervous.”

Draco almost gave in to his usual response, blowing off the implication, but he couldn’t ignore the warmth blooming in his chest at the surprisingly caring statement.  So, he settled for making a distressed sound and walking even further away from Potter.  Real smooth.  Consummate political skill, actually. 

“Why don’t we run through the plan again, one more time,” Potter said in what he probably thought was a helpful tone.  Instead, it made Draco want to storm over and wring his neck, or run his hands through his dark hair, or . . . no.  Definitely the wring neck option. 

“Alright,” Draco sighed, put upon.  In reality, he felt his nerves steady and the fog in his brain clear up going through the checklist.  “First, the Chief Warlock and his clerks, along with the Marshal of Peers, will verify your claim for the Black seat in the roll—their very own Domesday Book.”  Potter gave him an unimpressed look, but it’s not Draco’s fault if he didn’t know his history. 

“There should be no trouble with that provided my late cousin performed his duty.  Then, the Marshal will swear you in—”

“I won’t have to swear to uphold the Black traditions, will I?” Potter asked apprehensively.

“Not necessarily.  But you will have to promise to honor and defend the House of Black, and act in a manner befitting the lord of a noble and ancient house.”  Potter nodded, relieved.  “And follow the rules and customs of the Wizengamot.”

“Sure, sure,” Potter said.  “And then the robing?”

“Yes, all rather simple.  Then the two of us will enter the chamber and the Chief Warlock will announce you.  I’m sure there’s going to be a bit of an uproar; we’re expecting a pretty packed house today anyway.  Just keep your chin up and follow me.”

Potter squared up behind Draco with a determined rigidity that frankly baffled the blonde.  Draco was barely keeping it together at the thought of his speech for the WIRE Act and Potter seemed distressingly calm about exposing himself to the wider wizarding world after years in self-imposed exile.  If all it took to settle Potter down was to act worried, then Draco would have him in a meditative state soon.  Right, if he can do it so could Draco.  He took several deep breaths to calm his heart rate.  Half the battle was looking unaffected.

“Then there will be speeches . . .” Potter prompted. 

“Yes,” Draco agreed, getting back on track.  “I will start and take questions from other MWs, then the floor will open for remarks from other members.  Theo and Blaise will be around to help so you shouldn’t have to speak.  Eventually, when debate has ended, the Chief Warlock will call for division.”  It all sounded so simple, civilized even, but the prospect of the vote on the second reading had Draco’s heart in his throat.

He refused to look hard enough to see if there was concern on Potter’s face.  Even a simpleton like him would have realized how much this meant to him.  “Years of work,” he mumbled to himself, stepping away so Potter didn’t do something foolish like put his hand on Draco’s shoulder.  He might crumble if the Chosen One tried to comfort him.  Pathetic.  He could practically hear his father’s voice admonishing him.  Pull it together.  Act like a Malfoy.

So, he did.  He pulled on that familiar mask; that cold composed façade.  It was like a friend, a fickle, backstabbing friend, but a comfort nonetheless.  “We have the numbers,” he stated with faux confidence. 

“I’m sure Zabini and Nott have been working overtime to make sure of that.”

“You say that as though I haven’t been doing anything,” Draco said, ignoring the resulting protest.  “I was just speaking with a Mr. Dick Posthumous—”

Potter coughed out a startled laugh.  “What’s so funny?” Draco asked confused.

“Dick Posthumous?” the raven-haired imbecile puffed out between snickers.

Draco scoffed.  “What, unfamiliar with naming conventions Potter?”  Honestly, what did they teach these days?  Though secretly, he was rather pleased to actually see the serious boy laugh, even though he couldn’t figure out why.  Draco straightened himself, turning his back to the other fool still caught up in his baffling mirth.  “Obviously, Dick is an alias of Richard.”

“My God, Malfoy.  You can’t even bring yourself to say nickname.”

“And what about you Potter?  Surely, Harry is not your given name,” Draco cut in triumphantly.  The bemused expression fell from Potter’s face, confusion supplanting it.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I would be shocked if it was actually your name,” Draco answered matter-of-fact.  “My guess is that it’s probably Henry.  Your great-uncle was a Henry, Henry F. Potter.  One of the meanest and most miserly men in the Wizengamot; according to my grandfather anyway,” Draco finished brightly.

“I’ve only ever been called Harry,” said-boy whispered, a puzzled furrow on his brow.

Draco pauses, suddenly uncomfortable.  He hadn’t thought his innocent comment would suddenly turn into a life crisis for Potter.  He cleared his throat awkwardly.  “Well, it’s not really that important,” he soothed.  “Why change things now?  I mean you’ll always be Potter to me.”

The Boy-Who-Lived-Twice pinned Draco down with a searching look.  “Really, Draco?  Always?”

Before Draco could think up a response to that, the office door swung open.  Gavin and Lord D’Acre, along with two clerks came filing in, all but the Chief Warlock with slightly stunned expressions at the sight of Harry Potter in the Wizengamot. 

Lord D’Acre was the first to recover.  “Well,” he smiled.  “When Lord Malfoy talked about a vacancy being filled, I didn’t think for a second I’d be seeing you Mr. Potter.”

“Please, sir, Draco is fine in a setting like this,” the blonde said.  “Gavin has already met him, but may I officially introduce you to Harry Potter.”

D’Acre reached over jovially and shook hands with Potter, grinning fiercely.  “A pleasure!  Draco is right, back in an office like this there’s no need for such formality.  Baldwin or Win, either works.”  Potter responded shyly, ducking his head at the familiarity.  He then went over and shook hands with both clerks who stared at him with glazed over eyes as though he were an apparition.  Draco thanked small mercies that Fitzie had procured a suitable outfit for the hermit so he was at least presentable. 

Win, as Draco incredulously is supposed to call him, worked efficiently with Gavin to check Potter’s name against the roll and certify his eligibility as the Black heir.  Potter stood tall and erect as the Marshal guided him through the swearing in, affirming that he would uphold the honor of House Black and the duties and responsibilities of a member of the Wizengamot and the lord of an ancient and noble house.  With a clear voice and a determined brow, Potter did just that.  “Congratulations,” D’Acre finished to Potter’s little relieved smile.  It provoked just the slightest flutter in Draco’s chest, the mixture of strength and shyness, as well as a small point of personal pride at having made this possible.

Gavin broke out a bottle of elf-made wine for a toast despite Draco’s grimace.  He would rather not drink before his speech but felt it rude to decline.  Besides, the resulting pleasure it brought Potter, his eyes softening towards Draco, eyebrow cocking in a slight challenge, proved irresistible.  It seemed so rare to see Potter quietly pleased like this.  Not only in the past few days they had been reacquainted, but even years ago at Hogwarts.  Certainly, that expression was never directed the blonde’s way.  And if all it took was a half-glass of good wine, who was Draco to refuse?

 “Alright gentlemen,” Gavin said forcefully.  “I think it’s time to move.”

Draco positioned himself behind Potter as the group prepared to take the short walk from the Chief Warlock’s office to the Division Antechamber.  The room, like many of the Wizengamot chambers, utilized white wood inlays to brighten the black stones that made up the monolithic Ministry.  But Draco could just sense the tension in Potter, the twitch in his jaw, restless fingers and quickened breathing.  Without thinking too hard about his actions, he pressed his hand into the other man’s lower back.  Potter jumped at the contact, but then relaxed into the touch.  “I will enter first,” Hailsen explained, oblivious to their interaction.  “I’ll call the first order of business and you just follow behind the Marshal who will announce you.”  When Harry nodded, Gavin clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a wink.  “You’ll do fine, lad.  Lord D’Acre, we’ll enter through the Aye side door, shall we?  For a bit of luck.”

They marched single file through the empty room, Draco’s hand never leaving Potter’s back.  Outside the door, the buzz of hundreds of politicos gearing up for a debate filtered through causing Harry to tense and grimace.  Draco pushed harder to get his attention, then ran his hand up and down Potter’s back in an attempt at soothing him.  Harry shot him one grateful look that Draco couldn’t explain before facing forward and readying himself.  For all the past hour had been filled with Draco’s anxiety, he now found himself deadly calm, these small comforting gestures towards his once nemesis slowing his heart rate as well.

Without a backwards glance, Hailsen marched through the right-side door and mounted the Chief Warlock’s dais.  A crack reverberated through the hall, settling the assembled MWs.  Hailsen’s voice rang out clearly even to the next room where Draco stood with the Saviour of the Wizarding World.  “Before we begin the scheduled session, and pursuant to §14(f) of the Wizengamot standing bylaws, the Marshal of Peers has a claimant to introduce to the chamber.”  One final authoritative crack ran out before their small group found themselves moving.

Public face, Draco, he thought.  Only the members closest to the door were able to see their faces, but the curiosity and occasional surprise alerted other MWs who began craning their heads to see the figures in the entryway.  It was certainly a full crowd.  Rows and rows of cardinal robes lined the white benches, a tunnel of stark colors.  You have to remember that they are individuals.

Politicians take three basic forms, he reminded himself staring out at the crowd.  The first is the most common: unimaginative sycophants who drift through their political career collecting paychecks and adding nothing of worth to society.  The second is comprised of the blowhards or the comets.  They play politics to make a splash, to see their names in the papers, to be recognized on the streets.  Divisive tactics that invite all manner of ire and admiration.  It’s a form of self-aggrandizement that tends to lead to very short careers and spectacular implosions.  The last group is the most dangerous and most important: the practitioners.  The grey men of legend who move quietly but decisively through the machinery of government, setting the foundations for our very lives.  I strive to be the latter, he thought.

“Mr. Chief Warlock,” D’Acre’s baritone thundered out.  “Under the duties ascribed to me as Marshal of Peers, I have enquired into the lineage and validity of this claim and have not found it wanting.”

Draco peered over Potter’s head into the chamber trying to get a read on the chamber’s reception.  Besides those near the door, faces ranged from politely interested to mildly bored.  They were in for a rude shock.

“The heir and claimant by right has been accepted by the Roll, and in the presence of myself and the Chief Warlock, swore to uphold and defend the sovereignty of the Wizengamot, and the honor of his house.”  Harry started forward slightly, a touch too early so Draco grabbed the back of his robe in a bunch to make him stay put. 

“Members of this august body, I present to you the new steward of his ancient and noble house, Lord Black.”  With a quick push to the Golden Boy, the three marched equidistant into the General Gallery.  A flutter of old magic brushed their shoulders, cloaking them in robes to match the others on the benches, the last sure sign that Harry Potter was now unequivocally Lord Black.  A tidal wave of noise overtook the chamber, members actually standing to see if their eyes were deceiving them.  Shouts and questions rang out, but Hailsen remained sitting, refusing to gavel them into order as D’Acre, Potter and Draco rounded the corner in a line, and as one, bowed to the authority of the Chair, before turning to walk towards their place on the hereditary benches. 

D'Acre split off to his usual spot while Draco directed Lord Black to a seat beside himself and in front of Nott.  The noise refused to abate, even the hereditary benches casting inquisitive glances to the pair of them.  Hailsen spent several minutes banging for quiet before it was reached.  Draco could feel Harry attempting to ignore the crushing attention, his eyes firmly away from the government side benches.  Draco risked a glance and almost blanched at the betrayed glare Granger was sending their way.  Just softly at his side, a pinky finger reached over to brush against his thigh.

Fighting determinedly to ignore that, Draco went over his remarks for the nth time in his head while the Chief Warlock gaveled the Gallery into silence.  “Floor will be opening debate on WB-173, Wizarding Investment and Recovery Enclave Act, short name WIRE Act.”

“The Chair recognizes the primary sponsor of the bill, the noble Lord Malfoy.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chief Warlock,” Draco said clearly, his brain shutting off serial doubts and settling into debate mode.  “Members of the Wizengamot . . . lords and ladies, I come here today to discuss the need for legislation of this kind, as well as the parameters of what this bill seeks to enact.”

Like much else of the performative nature of politics, there was an art to drawing in the chamber.  Moments of gravitas where the Gallery is full and the atmosphere tense requires a deft hand at keeping the members’ attention.  When stakes are high, MWs should not be at risk of wandering thoughts—whether they be that of their next meal or their next mistress.  Sometimes that meant rhetorical flair, an active speaking style, a witty turn of phrase or an emotional appeal.  It could require a combination of them all.

“The WIRE Act would sanction the creation of an additional, mixed-use wizarding space.  Through the use of ancient rituals and sophisticated wardary, this space would contain protections from Muggle interference and detection that would rival Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade.”  Draco flicked through his notes as though searching for the next piece.  It’s important to provide pauses for the audience to absorb the points.  “A location has already been set aside for this purpose in Birmingham, the creation of which will cause little-to-no disruption to the neighboring Muggle population.”

Draco ignored the skeptical looks as he continued his presentation.  He discussed the scarcity of available housing and shop space.  The differences between the British approach and the international embrace of expanded living room.  It was a fine line to weave; praising the Americans and Europeans enough to satisfy the wings of the Wizengamot who admired those continents’ attitudes, while not upsetting those who disdained them.  It was a truism that Continentalists despised Atlanticists, and vice versa.  But he played on that, noting that no matter member’s feelings about the international situation, the one way Britain was on its own was its attitudes towards land reclamation.

He credited Adelaide Stoneleigh for cosponsoring the bill and promoting startup credits to drive innovation and small business growth.  And for promoting her home city as the appropriate venue for their venture.

Catching a figure rise on the government side bench in the corner of his eye, Draco nodded towards Hailsen.  “Of course, I’ll yield to the honorable gentleman for a question.”

“Mr. Chief Warlock,” the MW began.  “Is the noble lord unfamiliar with the speed of magical transportation?”  There were some snickers on the benches at that.  “With such ease of travel, is geographic diversity even necessary?”

“I confess myself surprised at Mr. Derby’s question.” Draco responded with a smirk.  “It seems incredibly out of touch to suggest that because wizards can travel quickly, London should be our only cultural hub.  Indeed, the question completely ignores the existence of those new to our world, namely muggleborns and their guardians.  I would wonder if the honorable gentleman intended only those muggleborns who live within the home counties to be exposed to our world . . . if I weren’t sure that he would never suggest anything of the kind.”  He felt Harry puff out an appreciative laugh at his side. 

There was a swelling sensation in his chest at that; the strange thrill of accomplishment that happened whenever Draco got Potter’s attention.  “Birmingham was chosen because of its status as the second largest city in Britain, as well as centrality for Wales and the Midlands—"

Draco suppressed a sigh at noticing another member rise for a question.  Once that door was open, it was difficult to stop the interruptions, but he needed to retain a pleasant façade.  “May I ask the noble lord what the process of choosing this location was and were there other locations considered?”  That was Madam Walker, her thick Scottish burr rolling through the chamber.

“I’m glad of the honorable lady’s question, Mr. Chief Warlock,” he said in reply, careful to maintain a charming smile.  “Many locations were debated, each having their own attributes and qualities.  At this stage, Birmingham was deemed most suitable, but I would be happy to discuss future locations for such a district, should this measure be successful, with the member for Lothian and Berwick.”

Discontented grumbles erupted at the pronouncement of possible future expansion, setting Draco slightly on edge.  It was always a risk to confess to wishing for more wizarding space, but he refused to shy away from it.  The fact is that if this enclave was successful, he of course would advocate for more.  Naturally, this didn’t sit well with some members.  Besides which, whatever Madam Walker wanted, he wasn’t going to point out the unlikelihood of Scotland getting a second or even third district.  Relations between countrymen could always be touchy, but ignoring the presence of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade north of the border, the fact that there were ten times as many Englishmen as Scots made Caledonia a lower priority.

Still, couldn’t discount the possibility, not if he wanted a shot at her vote.  But he knew this was a sign to wind up his part of the debate.  “Members of the Wizengamot, I welcome your questions as we debate this historic piece of legislation.  For all members of our world, this enclave can bring about a greater sense of community and a prosperous future.  Access, housing, and entrepreneurial opportunity the WIRE Act would enable will bring us closer in line to our friends on the continent, and our friends overseas.  This is truly a chance to provide a brighter future for wizarding Britain.  I hope you will all join me in sending this bill to committee for consideration.”  Draco bowed his head slightly before settling in his seat to a mixture of low cheers and jeers.  The nerves that had been largely absent through his speech started up again as he waited for the Gallery’s response.  A clap on the shoulder from Theo seated behind him braced him for the invective that was sure to follow.  But the gesture that steadied him even more was that of a hesitant hand beside him reaching over and squeezing on his thigh quickly, a light reassurance that left Draco’s heart beating hard for reasons unrelated to the debate.

A junior minister from the Muggle Liaison Office was set to give the first reply.  A minor symbol that, though the government had not taken an official stance on the bill, it was leaning towards no.  The Minister of course had not come to the debate.  A close question such as this wasn’t one he wanted to pick a side in.  The speaker was a slimy little young fellow that reminded Draco unfavorably of Percy Weasley.  The speech was precisely what he expected: vaguely insulting, hinting at the dark nature of a Malfoy-led initiative and questioning what these ancient rituals would entail.  “This bill is nothing more than a costly vanity project for a member who would relish the chance to wipe off the presence of muggles from every square in Britain,” he finished venomously.

Draco didn’t give anything away in his expression, but he could feel Potter bristling beside him.  Blaise stood up, joining the other protests in the chamber, but Hailsen waived them off.  “Mr. Carlton, that last comment was ungentlemanly and beneath the dignity of this body.  I would ask that you withdraw your characterization of the noble lord.”

The reedy Carlton puffed up his thin chest.  “Mr. Chief Warlock, I will not withdraw—”

The Wizengamot roared, some in approval, some in disdain.  “Out, out!” came some shouts behind Draco in the hereditary bench.

“Get ‘em!” and “Atta boy” rand out from opposite sides of the Gallery.  Hailsen gaveled the chamber to order with a hard look on his face.  Rabblerousing never impressed him.  “As your comment was ruled out of order and you refuse to withdraw, I will direct the Sergeant-at-Arms to escort you from the chamber,” he said motioning towards a burly wizard stationed by the door.  Draco could hear some of his friends jeer appreciatively over the din as the member was taken out of the chamber.  Several government bench MWs though were crying “no, no” as the pompous junior minister was shown the exit.

“That was completely uncalled for,” Potter hissed to Draco.  He had a fiery look in his eye, his face very close as he whispered, outraged, that Carlton had no right to say that about him.

“Harry, don’t worry,” Draco soothed, taken aback by the fierce defense of his honor.  “All that means is one less vote for them.”  He patted Harry’s arm and smothered a smile as Hailsen recognized Blaise as the next speaker.

“Thank you, Mr. Chief Warlock,” Blaise said with one last glare in the direction of the exiting MW.  “I would like to express my wholehearted support of this bill, and echo my noble friend on its importance to our community.”  The magnetism of a Zabini was a very different approach to speechmaking than Draco’s style, but played to the strengths of the former lothario.  Draco noticed more than a few members, both male and female, who could scarcely look away from him.  “I want to firmly reject any accusations of self-dealing that the previous speaker intimated at.  My noble friend has been clear with this body the efforts he has put into this project.  Included in these efforts has been securing the location of the enclave and planning out its features.  I think the Wizengamot would be remiss not to accept the offer of his labors in warding and design.”

While most attention was directed at Blaise, Draco could feel a certain dark haired distraction glancing at his lips, which he was actively trying not to chew and failing.  It was a difficult charge to refute.  Everyone assumed a Malfoy would only work with an inside advantage or for a personalized benefit.  But he wasn’t going to volunteer his time and services, everything he’s been working towards, for free.  So, if he was chosen to ward parts of the district, he expected to be paid a fair wage and something to pay off the initial investment.  Would that be a hard pill for a lot of Wizengamot members to swallow?  Undoubtedly.

“Why don’t you just do it anyway?  It’s not like you need the money,” Theo said early in the planning process.

“Because,” Draco sighed.  “For once I’d be recognized for actual work that I did.  That my labors deserved recognition, instead of being handed everything like usual.”  Theo gave him such a soft look, he had to glance away.  Theo hadn’t brought it up again.

Blaise was finishing up a boisterous defense of the WIRE Act which left some members contemplative, but he was quickly followed by a droning MW who insisted that rural locations were preferable to city centers and that this entire bill needed to be rethought.  Draco knew that Theo was hoping to speak next, reassure some of the doubters.  He felt Harry prod him and then motion towards the side bench.  Granger was whispering with some other nay-voting members as the hours moved on.  Draco felt a prickle of unease at the unsubtle plotting but wasn’t sure what angle they were going for.

As the speaking MW wrapped up his dull screed against the horrors of city life, several members rose to be recognized, including Theo.  But rather than look towards the hereditary bench, Hailsen gave permission to one of Granger’s group.  “Mr. Chief Warlock,” the unremarkable MW began.  “I believe that further debate on this topic is redundant.  Therefore, I’m submitting a closure motion to this House.”

“Seconded,” Granger immediately piped up.

“Gavin, why did you recognize them?” Draco groaned.

“What’s happening?” Potter asked, seeming concerned at Draco’s distraught reaction. 

“They’re moving to end debate before we’re even halfway through our planned speakers.  If we lose this vote, the Wizengamot will immediately vote on the second reading.  I don’t see how we win that if we lose the closure motion.”

“Draco—” Theo cut in.  “Don’t worry, we’ve got our people organized, we can beat this back.”

He just nodded distractedly as Hailsen directed the chamber to divide on the question of closing debate.  “I better get us started,” he mumbled as the nerves started up.  “Harry?”  The dark-haired boy gave him all his attention.  “You’ll come with me?”

“Of course,” Harry answered without hesitation.  Bolstered by that quick confirmation of support, Draco exited the hereditary bench and walked with purpose towards the Division Antechamber.  Members let him and Harry pass without interruption, Theo hanging back to guide those in the chamber towards the Nay Lobby.  “Stay here with me Harry,” Draco instructed, pulling him along by his hand and taking his place in the Nay Lobby with the teller.  It would help having the Boy-Who-Lived standing next to him to reinforce his support.

His heart was pounding as he nodded to the MWs who came through the Nay Lobby to oppose the closure motion.  Friends and allies passed by and all he could wonder is if it would be enough.  Blaise came through; Fox, Wylie and Posthumous all fulfilled their promises.  Theo was one of the last to walk by, the three of them exiting into Confederation Hall before looping back into the General Gallery. 

“It’s going to be close,” a morose Theo said as they entered the chamber.  “D’Acre and some of the other Lords didn’t vote.”

“That’s better than voting against us.”

The tellers lined up in front of the Chief Warlock’s chair and bowed.  “On the motion to end debate on WB-173 . . . the ayes to the left, 292 . . . the nays to the right, 286—”

Roars filled the chamber as Draco felt his heart sink, the tellers announcing that the ayes had it.  He looked over at Theo, already trying to come up with a way to get through the second reading as Hailsen gaveled for silence.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” Harry murmured next to him.

Hailsen put a hand to his chin as the room quieted down.  “I recognize this body’s decision with regard to timing of this bill.  However, I do not believe there has been sufficient debate on this act.”  Draco gasped in surprise and immediately motioned towards Theo.  “Therefore, under the prerogative powers of this chair, I am denying the House’s motion to end debate.”

Theo quickly stood up and was recognized before any of the flabbergasted aye voters could react.  “I want to thank the Chief Warlock for allowing discussion on this motion to continue, an undoubtedly correct decision.”

Draco worked to suppress his smile as Theo went on with his speech.  They had been given another chance thanks to a rarely used procedural move; a gift given by his former mentor.  He did grasp Potter’s hand in excitement, an impulse he let himself indulge in.  The brunette’s cheeks stained with a blush, but he gave Draco a crooked smile and squeezed back before he let go.

Theo’s speech was only interrupted by one major interjection.  “Yes, I’ll yield to my noble friend for a question,” he said obsequiously. 

Baldwin D’Acre congenially thanked Theo for allowing him to speak.  “As this chamber knows too well, many families lost their homes during the war,” he rumbled, searching look in his eye.  “Some of whom still struggle to reach their former station.  I wonder if the noble lord would support set-asides in this district for new housing for these afflicted families.”

Theo made eye contact with Draco, who quickly nodded in assent.  “I want to thank my noble friend for a thoughtful question,” Nott said amiably.  “Myself, and I would think most in this chamber, would support such an initiative.  Indeed, this district provides opportunities for many such social outreach programs for our community.  I look forward to other ideas from members of this body that we can apply in this district.”

Speeches continued from there; other members stating what they liked or disliked about the bill and its implications.  Draco was rivetted by all the twists of the conversation and started to finally feel like the vote count from the cloture motion could be overcome.  “Here we go,” he said to Harry with bated breath.

“Does this House consent to a second reading of the WIRE Act?” Hailsen asked.  “All those in favor say aye—”

“Aye,” came the call.

“All those opposed—”

“Nay,” the throaty response.

“Division,” Hailsen ordered.  Draco dragged Harry into the Division Antechamber ahead of the rush.  “I have a good feeling about this, Draco,” Harry said as they watched MWs enter the Aye Lobby.  He just nodded distractedly, cataloguing the names as they walked by.  He was pleased to see Madam Walker enter the Aye Lobby; her concerns apparently assuaged.  Titania Audley blew smoke at him as she passed him after voting aye.  He just smiled and shifted Harry behind him as if to hide him from the slightly unhinged woman.

“I’m trusting you to do this right,” a voice said behind him.

“Lord D’Acre!” Draco said, surprised to see the man and some other hereditary members he usually had in his circle walk through the Aye Lobby.  “Of course, sir.  I’m only trying to do the right thing.”  The other man nodded, then winked at him.  Draco tried to tamp down excitement until the final numbers were read.  As he stepped back into the General Gallery with Harry Potter at his side he just hoped that he had done enough.

“The ayes to the left . . . 303.  The nays to the right . . . 295.  The ayes have it—”

Pure, unadulterated relief coursed through his body.  And next to him, with sparkling green eyes, stood a grinning Harry Potter congratulating him.