Chapter 4: friday.may.2.2008
Chapter Text
friday.may.2.2008
This world of ours, it always needs saving. Has, does, will. I'm still at it, inch after ink-stained inch, because someone's got to, you're all so bloody blind you're beyond myopic. The things I write, they're rarely what you want to read—I've post enough to reassure me on that front—but they're things you need. Truths.
Can't do anything about saving yourselves without those, can you?
"What would Harry do?" Regulus Black, The Quibbler, May 2, 2008, p. 5
Prophets litter the lobby, abandoned with tea. Not a Quibbler in sight, which suits Harry just fine. He doubts it's a distribution problem, so they've either all been binned, or they're being re-read. Either way, he's done his bit. Nothing left now but the Howlers.
"Spanked them that hard, did you?" Draco asks, and Harry says, "There was some doubt I would?"
Draco slings an arm around his shoulders, tugs Harry in. Harry slides his hand into Draco's far pocket, aligns their hips. As always, it's a near-perfect fit.
***
The columnists' photos for the Quibbler aren't precisely honest. Disingenuous, really, in that Luna looks her dippy best despite not being dippy at all, in that at least two of the sports wankers look less like slovenly hags than they should. It's ego, maybe, that Harry likes his own best, all dark lines and shadow cutting him the hard sort of angles that go with his words.
There's a hat and an eye usually, sometimes a scowl, and one of the things he likes about it is what it doesn't show. Shot tight, he won't ever show the whole of his face, and "Regulus" mugs in a cycle of scorn-mock-challenge somehow blunted by the hat.
The photo editor has a shit when Luna makes him take it. Says that defeats the point of having pictures at all, having something no one'll spot on the streets, and Harry tugs down the brim of his hat, secures it over the scar, and says that's the fucking point.
How's he meant to find Truth and such if he's known on sight? The things he has to tell people are ridiculous, doesn't anyone think?
***
When he finally sees a Quibbler, his photo flips him off, elegantly profane and committed to ink. His post, he imagines, will be quite interesting indeed.
***
He knows Draco's read it because Draco's not said a word. No arguing, which happens every time Harry weighs in on the courts, and no obvious scrounging, which happens when their subscription owl goes astray.
The silence he takes as approval because Draco's never been shy about reaming him out for anything, why start now?
Overrated, talking, but sometimes, Harry thinks Draco needs to write.
***
So here's all you really need to know: this Ministry makes me sick. All of it, from its troglodyte politicians to its post-war narcissism, but what I hate most is this: the filthy lies you tell yourselves about how well we're doing these days.
"I hate it here: notes from the new guy", Regulus Black, The Quibbler, April 30, 2000, p. 5
It's everywhere. Snatches of conversation, some spreading debate, and he's not sure why they'd debate it, he'd thought it fairly concrete, but his readers are just like that. Picky. Fickle. Easily led. What he didn't see coming about this whole Journalism thing: they'd take to Regulus with the same mindless agreement they take everything else.
YOU ARE READING
𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐇/𝐃/𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐄 2008
Fanfiction⚠︎This is not mine, for offline purpose only to satisfy my need and i also want to share it with all of you in case you haven't read it This is a collection of drarry stories from hds_beltane 2008 on livejournal Art Cover Credit by no-point-but-cyni...
