Chapter 26 – Public Relations
Draco walked calmly through the mass of cheering children to the reporters who were gazing at him with rapturous faces, and tried to decide which question to answer first – no, no, Arthur Weasley was doing a fine job, thank you, but perhaps after his term expires I would be happy to serve if asked – yes, well, it's true there were eight Death Eaters, but he had faced worse odds and after all, there were children to be protected – well, yes, there was one disappointment, the escape of Bellatrix Lestrange was disappointing to be sure, but that pales when you look at the relieved face of the children...
Draco shook his head to clear the vision and tried to tune out what Rita Skeeter was shrieking at him. He had already tried futilely to answer several questions only to have his answers shouted down or ignored.
"Dark Magic! An Auror using Dark Magic! Malfoy, do you think that you'll be prosecuted or merely expelled from the Auror ranks?"
The other comments by the reporters surrounding the orphanage grounds were along much the same lines.
"Malfoy! Did you learn to summon the forces of darkness when you were still in the service of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"
"Diggory, does the Auror division intend to pay damages to the alleged Death Eaters who were butchered without a fair trial?"
Amos Diggory glared at the reporter who had muttered the last bit of insanity and threw political caution to the winds.
"Actually, I was thinking of seizing their estates for the Ministry."
The uproar that followed was quickly silenced when a tall man dressed all in black and wearing gloves and a huge hat that protected every inch of exposed chalk-white skin from the sun spoke in a clear voice.
"Mr. Diggory! Sebastian Calizar, VRL, there are indications that Auror Malfoy used a form of mind-control to induce an innocent vampire to somehow attack and then subsequently destroyed that same vampire. The Vampire Rights League demands an answer to these allegations!"
Diggory smiled at the vampire and merely said, "Bollocks."
Three members of Magical Law Enforcement started pushing the crowd away, as Diggory and Draco started walking back towards the house. Draco couldn't help but notice that the Aurors themselves seemed split into three groups, one giving Draco nods of approval, another group shooting him glares of open contempt, and a third group maintaining stoic expressions of pure neutrality.
"So, Draco, what the bloody hell DID you do, anyways?"
"I invoked Article 13."
Diggory actually snorted. "Really? Never would have guessed. But WHAT exactly did you do? Avada Kedavra is one thing, but this is something I've never seen before."
Draco sighed. "Centuries ago, one of my ancestors sort of did a favor for some of the darker forces in the world. Now, the eldest son of the Malfoys has the power to summon the magic that created vampirism in the first place."
Amos Diggory looked hard at Draco, and then said, "Do that much, now, do you?"
"First time."
"Good. Well, we've got a score of living children who would be dead if you hadn't done what you've done, but good luck explaining it to that lot over there."
Amos jerked a thumb to the mass of braying reporters.
Draco smirked.
"I think if we got Merlin himself to do my PR, I'd still be screwed."
Suddenly, there was a flash of light and a pop as an expanding wall of light swept in a growing circular pattern around the area.
The wall of light was a special spell that had been designed by an Auror years ago – it would detect the placement of every person within a radius of roughly a hundred meters, and would also detect if there was any person with a Dark Mark within that radius – it was extremely difficult to project a spell ahead of an Apparatition, and only one wizard had ever been able to actually cast it.
Diggory smiled. "Well, I think we're about to get the next closest thing."
Draco looked with shock as Harry Potter walked, unassisted, out of the burst of light.
He looked worn, and thin, but he was striding confidently towards Draco, without aid of a cane or crutch, and wearing full Auror robes.
In plain view of the reporters, he walked up to Draco and put both hands on Draco's shoulders, and stared at Draco's face for a long moment – just enough time, in fact, for the reporters to press forward.
In a clear, firm voice, Harry spoke, his words distinct in the absolute silence that had fallen upon the group.
"Thank you, Draco, for saving my children. I know what it cost you to do that, and I can never repay you."
A single tear rolled down Harry's cheek.
The reporters erupted in bedlam.
"Mr. Potter! Does this mean you're fully healed?"
"Harry! Are you returning to the Aurors?"
"Potter! Did you teach Malfoy the spell he used to save the children?"
Harry waved a hand over the reporters, as Draco watched in amazement.
"Well, I'm not in tip-top shape yet, but I'm certainly feeling better, thanks to my wife and friends."
Good Lord, Harry, when did you get so good at manipulating the press? They're eating out of your hand.
"I wouldn't mind a bit more time to recover and spend some more time getting to know my family again, but I'm needed right away, of course I'll serve. But I don't think that's necessary, Minister Weasley and Amos Diggory seem to have matters well in hand."
A short, stubby man with a pointed beard shouted out the next question.
"Are you going to lead the fight against He-Who-Must-Be-Named?"
Harry smiled.
"No, no, Minister Weasley is leading the fight against Tommy Riddle, or Voldemort, or whatever that nutter is calling himself these days. I just help and advise when I can."
The crowd, which had uttered a half-gasp, half-moan at Harry's mocking tone, started murmuring amongst themselves.
A smallish man popped out in front of the crown of reporters.
"Harry! Colin Creevy, The Quibbler Daily, do you have any thoughts on what happened here today?
"I'm so glad you asked that, Colin. I think it's pretty obvious what happened here. Tom Riddle, also known as Voldemort, sent a cowardly group of eight ruthless killers to slaughter a bunch of defenseless children – mostly orphaned Muggleborns and half-bloods – and at great cost to themselves, two great Aurors, Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley, used every means at their disposal to stop those children from getting killed – say, Teresa, is this going out live?" - Harry's last statement was directed at a shapely young witch who was levitating a camera with her wand.
"Yes, Mr. Potter, I think it's going overseas, too."
Harry flashed the witch from Wizarding Wireless Moving Pictures yet another grin.
"That's great – it's good for our friends outside England to know what we're dealing with here – it's kind of odd, really, that Voldemort would want to attack a bunch of Muggleborns and half-bloods, seeing as how his father was a Muggle himself. If the silly bugger hates half-bloods so much I just wish he would hurry up and off himself and save the taxpayers a load of Galleons. But, I don't think he'll do us that favor anytime soon."
"Thank you, Mr. Potter!"
No one knew which reporter had shouted the traditional closing phrase, but the group of reporters quickly disbursed, seeming both glad at their good copy and relieved that they wouldn't have to be the conduit for more mockery of the Dark Lord.
Harry turned to Draco, his face suddenly pale, and muttered, "let's get inside before I die."
Ron, Draco and Harry walked as quickly as they could without being obviously in a hurry. The moment they went inside the orphanage, Harry collapsed. Ron caught him just before he crashed to the floor.
"Bloody hell, Harry what have you done now?"
Harry's eyes opened, and rolled aimlessly in his head as he gasped for air.
After a few moments, he finally spoke.
"Sorry...Draco and you looked like you were getting kind of beat up, so I figured I'd lend a good word."
Draco looked critically at Harry.
"You were unable to walk this morning, and out there you were strutting around. Not that I don't appreciate it, but what did you do with yourself?"
Harry shrugged and waved a hand. "Sometimes you can do things with magic that are really bad for you. Doesn't matter, it'll just take me a little long to heal. I'm just more worried about what Gin's going to do to me when she finds out about this little excursion."
Draco laughed. "When did you learn how to play with the press like that?"
"Took a course at Hogwarts – PR for the Boy Who Lived."
Ron arched an eyebrow.
"I suspect my wife."
Draco looked at Ron. "Why do you always suspect your wife when someone does something brilliant they were never able to do before?"
Ron looked blankly at Draco, who responded to his own question. "Right, then. Stupid question, really. Now what do we do?"
Harry looked up at Draco. "First, I lie here and catch my breath. Then you make me a Portkey to get me back home, and we raise a glass as we imagine Voldemort's reaction to my little press conference."
Deep in southern England, a wizard rapped on the door to a dilapidated bedroom.
"Enter, Macnair."
A wretched looking wizard sporting an eye patch came into the room.
"Yes, my Lord?"
The high voice that came from the solitary figure standing in the middle of the room seemed not to fit, although Macnair dared not laugh.
"Potter seems to think it's funny to mock me for the press."
Wisely, Walden Macnair kept silent, for there was an unspoken assumption amongst the Death Eaters that it would be best to ignore Harry Potter's remarks – indeed, it would most likely be a good policy to pretend they never saw Potter on the wireless publicly mocking their Lord and Master.
"I think it would be best to show him that words have a price."
"Yes, Master."
Voldemort turned to face him, and gave Macnair orders that he had hoped to hear for years.
"We've already put one of Potter's dogs down. I believe I shall leave it to you to dispatch the other, as publicly as possible."
"With the greatest pleasure, thank you, my Lord."
It was a magnificent day in Diagon Alley.
Remus Lupin walked cheerfully down the street, thinking that perhaps things would work out after all.
Tonight, he was going to propose to Evelyn. For the tenth time in as many minutes, he felt through his pocket for the box holding her ring.
Lupin had despaired that he would ever find happiness after his relationship to Nymphadora Tonks had disintegrated years ago. Although they remained friends, there was a distance between them that would most likely never be bridged.
Evelyn was considerably different from Tonks, but she also shared Tonks' ability to look past the werewolf to the man within.
Lupin smiled at everyone as he walked, newly dressed in fine but simple robes. His poverty was a thing of the past, thanks to a thriving practice tutoring young pre-Hogwarts students and also due to a share in Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. His "consultancy" had grown into a small but lucrative ownership portion in Fred and George's absurdly successful business.
Diagon Alley itself seemed more cheerful, as the people in the street laughed and joked – it seemed the utter destruction of eight Death Eaters the day before and the surprise public return of Harry in full Auror regalia had newly re-inspired the public.
Lupin was under no illusions about Harry's true physical state. He knew that Harry was still all but incapacitated, but still...
Yes, Harry was still a mess, but to see the son of James Potter, so similar and yet already older than James had ever been, standing in a posture of quiet, confident command had made even the tired werewolf feel hope.
From now on, things would only get better.
Lupin saw a sign advertising a new shipment of books at Flourish & Blotts. Perhaps it would be a good idea to give it a once-over – he certainly didn't want his teaching curriculum to become stale. Unconsciously, he put his hand in the pocket holding Evelyn's ring as he darted across the street.
As he reached the dead center of the street, he felt the wind get knocked out of him with a sudden blow. He looked down at his chest, only to find a silver arrowhead sticking out of his torso.
He felt a salty tang as blood filled his mouth, and was already falling to the ground as the second arrow pieced through the back of his neck.
As he fell, his arms spasmed, ripping his pockets. His eyes followed the ring box as it tumbled from his torn robes, and as he tried to focus on the ring which had fallen out of the box – i'm dying, i'm dead, it's just not finished yet but i mustn't lose the ring – he felt his eyelids close against his will. He felt his blood, tainted with silver, burning against his skin, but he couldn't open his eyes. He could hear screaming, but it didn't really seem to concern him, as it sounded so far away and was growing fainter.
what who why no not now not now please
The last thing Lupin felt as he died was the curious sensation of the Wolf leaving him – for the brief three or four seconds before his brain shut down from lack of blood, he knew that for the first time since he was five years old, he was free of the Wolf.
High above, perched on the roof of a long-closed store, Walden Macnair let his crossbow drop to his feet as he cast the Dark Mark above the panicking figures below him in the alley. With a last look at the slain werewolf below, he grabbed his Portkey and vanished even as Aurors began to Apparate all around.