Harry Potter: The Angel of Death C32 (Patreon)

Chapter 32: Lucius Malfoy Makes an Offer 

Diagon Alley was divided into two parts: the north side, which is where the Muggle entrance to the magical district, the Leaky Cauldron, is located, and the south side, which is a much quieter place. 

On the north side, you find the main shopping area, that is where you would find entire families wandering about the week before class, buying books, potion ingredients, school uniforms, and whatnot. On the south side, there are fewer shops, and you will mainly find several cafes and tea shops, as well as the offices of several magical businesses such as the Daily Prophet, financial service companies, and so on. 

Among the many businesses in this area, there are a few exclusive tea houses catering to politicians, solicitors, and other individuals who prefer to conduct sensitive conversations away from wandering ears. Crowley happens to be familiar with such places, being a regular in a few of them.

Currently, he was sitting in a private room inside the Hornless Unicorn, a hidden tea house with a rather unfortunate name that catered primarily to corrupt politicians, shady businessmen, and other individuals who preferred discretion. The entrance was concealed inside a perfectly ordinary-looking antique shop run by a shady-looking fellow whose greatest talent is scaring away any normal customer unfortunate enough to wander through the door looking to buy something. 

Crowley is sitting with a cup of espresso in one hand and a copy of the Daily Prophet in the other. 

THE DAILY PROPHET6 August, 1993

BOY-WHO-LIVED CASE MOVES TO FULL TRIAL

Wizengamot Authorizes Trial After Shocking Allegations

By Rita Skeeter.

The first hearing of Harry Potter's emancipation case concluded yesterday with the Wizengamot authorizing a full trial and approving temporary independent residence for the thirteen-year-old wizard.

Crowley had barely finished reading the beginning of the article when the door to the private room opened. He did not look up immediately; instead, he continued reading the article, and only after finishing the second paragraph did he put down the paper. 

“Lord Malfoy,” he said idly. “You are early.” 

Malfoy did not respond right away. He crossed the room and took a seat in the chair opposite Crowley. 

“Mr. Crowley.” He settled his cane beside the table and crossed his legs before gazing at the paper. “I see Mr. Potter remains as popular a ever.” 

“A shocking development.” Crowley hummed. 

A faint smile tugged at Lucius’ lips. 

“Quite.” 

The pleasantries that followed where hallow with both men being superficial and neither caring about any of what was being said. It was just proper etiquette before addressing the real reason for this meeting. 

“Let us speak plainly.” Said Lucius after a few moments. 

“An excellent suggestion.” 

“You have built a remarkable reputation over the years, Mr. Crowley.” 

“All thanks to my extraordinary clientele.” 

A hint of amusement flickered through Lucius’ expression. 

“Your clientele has always been… eclectic.” 

That was certainly one way to describe it. Over the years, Crowley had represented dark wizards, political radicals, corrupted ministry officials,... Half the people who know him believe he would represent anyone provided the fee contained enough zeroes, and the other half did not believe it; they were completely sure of it.

“You have represented murderers-” 

“Innocent civilians accused of heinous crimes, who were proven to be innocent afterwards.” 

Lucius grinned despite the interruption. 

“Very well, Mr. Crowley.” He reached into his robes and took out a sheet of parchment, and without saying a word, he placed it on the table between them. 

Crowley glanced down, looking between the smiling Malfoy and the paper before taking it. Inside, there was only a number, one with many zeroes. It was the kind of money that would buy off entire political parties. 

“Withdraw from the case,” Lucius said. “Or sabotage it. Either way, I do not want you continuing to represent Harry Potter to the best of your abilities. Preferably, I do not want you representing him at all.” 

If Harry’s solicitor abandons the case after winning the hearing but just days before the formal trial, that would not only look horrible for Harry but would almost certainly make him lose the case. Finding another solicitor would not be hard, but finding a good one, one who could prepare for the case in less than a week, and prepare well at that,... It was downright impossible. 

If Crowley withdrew from the case, Harry would lose. If he agreed to sabotage it, Harry would lose as well. Either way, the outcome remained the same.

“You are a practical man, Mr. Crowley.” Lucius folded his hands. “I have made inquiries about you for some time now. You represent whoever hires you—” 

“Do I?” Crowley raised an eyebrow. 

“You have represented every variety of criminal imaginable, from petty thieves to individuals respectable society would prefer forgotten. That suggests, at the very least, a remarkably flexible moral code.” 

Lucius, at his core, was the kind of man who firmly believed everyone had a price. He believes that loyalty was merely a financial transaction waiting for a sufficiently large offer; be it friends or family, everyone could be bought off as long as there were enough zeros in between. 

Crowley looked down at the parchment once more, and without saying a word, he took it in his hand. Lucius’ grin widened into a full smile, but then the parchment burst into flames. Lucius froze ever so slightly, watching as golden flames consumed the paper, leaving only ash behind. 

Was it the casual use of wandless non-verbal magic or the very dramatic rejection of his offer that shocked Lucius? Crowley would guess it is both. The blonde man composed himself, but his eyes had become considerably more cautious. 

Crowley reached for his espresso. 

“My dear Lord Malfoy,” he said pleasantly, “if I were the sort of man who could be bought, you would have needed a much larger piece of parchment.”

Lucius Malfoy had fundamentally misunderstood him, but that was hardly a unique experience since most people misunderstood Anthony J. Crowley, and to be fair, Crowley worked very hard to encourage the misunderstandings. 

The truth was that he was a considerably more decent individual than he would ever willingly admit, which was very embarrassing, because he was, technically speaking, a demon. 

Standards exited and reputations had to be maintained. A demon that is not feared or thought to be evil is no demon at all. While Crowley had never been very good at being evil, he did excel at pretending to be. 

Unlike many of his siblings, he did not fall because of some grand act of evil; he had not murdered anyone, nor had he corrupted innocents or attempted to harm his purer siblings. He had simply asked questions, far too many questions according to the higher-ups. 

Back then, before humanity, before Hell and Earth and all the endless absurdity that followed, he had been Kokabiel, one of Heaven’s greatest architects. The Angel of Stars he was called. He had spent his first years creating countless star systems and even entire galaxies. He had poured every bit of his heart and soul into his creations, designing each formation carefully, paying attention to every color, making sure no star system was a copy of another. 

He had loved it; he loved every second of it. 

There were stars he created whose light was meant to reach Earth, the heart of the universe, according to the higher-ups, billions of years after their birth. He was so proud of each of them, so very proud, and that is why it hurt so much when he learned the truth. 

He was at the end of another of his projects, adding the last details to a nebula cluster when he met a younger angel, well, young by celestial standards, he was just created just a few decades before their meeting but since Kokabiel spent all his days in the far corners of the universe he hardly ever meet any other angel, specially the younger ones who had no business going that far from the celestial nest. 

The young angel had white hair and bright blue eyes full of curiosity and innocence. He had made question after question about Kokabiel, about his work, about the stars, and he had answered all of them with the patience and kindness he would have preferred he had lost alongside his bright wings. During the conversation, he had learned something truly awful: everything he and others had spent their entire lives creating, entire galaxies, countless stars and planets, vast cosmic wonders stretching beyond imagination, it was all essentially decorative scenery for Earth. 

A fancy wallpaper.

Crowley and many of his siblings had spent entire ages creating the most beautiful things imaginable, only to be told that it was all just background decoration for one tiny blue planet. 

That was the first time he questioned the wisdom of the almighty, the second time was when he learned about the Grand Design. Basically, the universe would exist for approximately six thousand years before Armageddon arrived, and everything would die. 

Six thousand years, that’s all. 

He spent much longer designing stars. 

The entire thing sounded absurd in his ears. Why create something so beautiful only to destroy it immediately afterward? Why spend ages crafting a masterpiece if the intention was always to burn it before anyone truly appreciated it?

He kept asking questions until Heaven decided it had heard quite enough from him. The Fall had been a deeply unpleasant business; one moment he was in Heaven, and the next, he was falling through endless darkness towards a destination nobody particularly wanted to discuss back home. 

Hell had welcomed him with open arms. There, he was renamed Crawly, a truly awe-inspiring name. From Kokabiel to Crawly, the indignity still annoyed him, but in fairness, after meeting some of the other demons and learning their names, he learned things could always be worse. 

Hell was every bit as dreadful as humans believe it to be: the landscape was horrible, the architecture was horrible, its inhabitants were horrible, and the management was somehow even worse. 

So he used all his charm to get an assignment that allowed him to spend most of his time on Earth. Officially, he was there to bring about the Armageddon; unofficially, he was escaping hell. 

Thing is, he never really developed any proper demonic instincts, but luckily for him, when he was ordered to corrupt humanity, to tempt them, he discovered humans generally required remarkably little assistance. Humans, he learned very quickly, possessed an extraordinary talent for making their own lives miserable. Most of Hell's long-term plans could be replaced by simply giving people enough free time to make questionable decisions.

The only time he actually did serious harm was during the incident with Adam and Eve. All he did was suggest eating the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge. At the time, he thought it was a fairly harmless thing, he expected them to be given a stern lecture for it, perhaps a soft punishment, but instead God threw them out of Paradise. He still believes that was an overreaction. 

The rest of the time, he avoided harming others with much success, such as Job’s case. He was ordered to destroy that man’s life, so naturally, he transformed his herd and children into crows, fooling both Heaven and Hell. 

In short, Crowley was possibly the least demonic demon in existence. Most of his greatest infernal accomplishments were either misunderstandings or situations where humans had done all the work themselves.

Which brings his present profession. Yes, Crowley represents criminals, but there is more to it. The Ministry was corrupted, not completely, but enough that wealthy criminals almost always escaped punishment regardless of who represented them. 

So Crowley built himself a reputation, a truly terrifying one. He convinced every aspiring criminal and aristocratic predator in Britain that only Anthony J. Crowley possessed the brilliance necessary to save them. Then, after winning their cases, he quietly redirected large portions of the money towards their victims, almost always accompanied by detailed information about his former clients. 

What happened afterward was, naturally, a coincidence.

Robert Nott's unfortunate encounter with several extremely motivated Irish farmers? Coincidence.

Elizabeth Rosier investing her fortune into a spectacularly disastrous business venture after ignoring every warning sign imaginable? Coincidence.

Albert Burke vanishing shortly after his acquittal? Also coincidence.

Anthony J. Crowley was a professional solicitor, a respected member of society and certainly not a demon with thousands of years of experience manipulating human nature and unfortunate circumstances.

That would be ridiculous.

The point was that Lucius Malfoy had approached this meeting under a fundamentally incorrect assumption: he believed Crowley could be bought.

Problem is, money doesn’t matter much to someone old enough to see the first star in the universe be born. 

“Then I believe our business is concluded.” Lucius began reaching for his cane. Crowley, however, made no move to stand; instead, he calmly reached into his briefcase and withdrew a single sheet of parchment.

“Not quite.”

Lucius paused as Crowley slid the parchment across the table. The aristocrat frowned slightly before picking it up. For several seconds he simply stared at the number, then he laughed. 

“You are out of your mind.”

“Perfectly sane,” Crowley replied. “For the most part.”

Lucius looked at him in disbelief. 

“Two million Galleons?”

Crowley sipped his espresso.

“Yes.”

“You cannot seriously expect—”

“Oh, I absolutely do.” Crowley leaned back comfortably in the chair. “In fact, I am rather confident you will consider it a bargain after reading the accompanying documentation.”

Something in his tone made Lucius wary. 

Crowley reached into his briefcase once more and took a folder, which he smoothly slid across the table. Lucius stared at it for a moment before opening it. 

Silence settled across the room as Lucius read the document. Crowley sipped his espresso, looking as calm and relaxed as ever. 

Lucius’ eyes narrowed, then widened, then narrowed again. His face reddened, and seconds later, all color drained completely. By the time he reached the final pages, his expression had hardened into cold stone. 

“I did not think Potter had it in him.”  He said. 

“We all do,”  Crowley said. “The trick is finding the right reason.” 

Lucius looked at him for several seconds before taking out a quill and signing the contract. He then pulled a cheque book from inside his robes, and the scratching of the quill sounded unusually loud as he wrote down the cheque.

Once finished, he threw the check on the table, put the contract inside his robes, and glared at Crowley. 

“You are an infuriating man, Mr. Crowley.”

“So I keep hearing.”

Without saying another word, Lucius turned and walked out. The door slammed shut behind him.

Crowley took another sip of espresso.

“I confess, I was expecting significantly more resistance.” 

***

YESTERDAY:

Harry stared at Crowley in complete disbelief. 

“You want to blackmail Malfoy?”

“Exactly.”

“Lucius Malfoy is responsible for the Chamber of Secrets,” Harry said firmly. “He's the one who started the entire thing.”

Crowley nodded.

“Yes.”

“It's his fault Ginny nearly died.”

“Yes.”

“It's his fault that diary nearly gave Tom Riddle a body.”

“Yes.”

“People could have died!”

“Yes.”

Harry threw his hands into the air.

“Then why aren't we doing something?”

Crowley's expression became more serious.

“Because doing something and accomplishing something are not necessarily the same thing.”

That made Harry pause.

The solicitor folded his hands.

“Let's imagine we prove before the entire Wizengamot that Lucius Malfoy introduced the diary into Hogwarts.”

“We can.”

“Perhaps.” Crowley shrugged. “Then what?”

Harry frowned.

“He gets arrested.”

“No.”

“Punished?”

“No.”

“Something!”

Crowley shook his head.

“A decade ago, everyone in magical Britain knew Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater.”

Harry opened his mouth, but Crowley continued before he could interrupt.

“Not suspected.” He said. “Known. And tell me, was he imprisoned?”

Harry frowned.

“No…”

 “Do you know why?” Crowley did not expect an answer, he raised a finger. “Money.”

A second finger.

“Connections.”

Another finger.

“Political influence.”

Another.

“And because proving something happened and proving it in a court are two very different things.”

Harry slumped as Crowley continued.

“The objective reality is that our case against Malfoy would be weak.”

That hurt to hear. Harry knew he was right, but it still hurt to hear. 

“Malfoy would claim he didn't know what the diary was, that he had forgotten about it after the war.”

“He's lying.”

“Certainly.” Crowley nodded. “Then he would claim he rediscovered it recently and intended to have it examined, to discover what it truly is.”

Harry groaned.

“Then he would claim it was accidentally lost during his altercation with Arthur Weasley.”

“That is ridiculous.”

“Yes.” Crowley took a sip of coffee. “Unfortunately, ridiculous explanations often work surprisingly well.”

Harry rubbed his face.

“What about him attacking me outside Dumbledore's office?”

“Fine.”

“What?”

“At best.” Crowley shrugged. “Dobby intervened before physical harm occurred. Most likely outcome is a fine.”

Harry hated politics, and he hated magical law. He hated all of it.

“That's not fair.”

“No,” Crowley agreed immediately. “It isn't.”

The solicitor leaned back in his chair.

“Life would be considerably easier if fairness were a legal principle.”

Harry stared at the floor.

“So what?” he asked quietly. “We just let him get away with it?”

“Not fighting today does not mean we cannot fight tomorrow.” Crowley smiled.

Harry looked up.

“Lucius Malfoy has already demonstrated he is willing to oppose us during your emancipation proceedings.” His smile sharpened. “Give him time to prepare and he will become a genuinely troublesome adversary.”

“Then what do we do?”

Crowley's eyes gleamed.

“We convince him that helping us is less painful than fighting us.”

***

Back in the present, Crowley picked up the cheque and examined it briefly.

Two million Galleons. 

If his estimates were correct, the amount represented roughly one fourteenth of the Malfoy family fortune. Painful enough to hurt, but not enough to provoke retaliation. A perfect balance as some would say. 

Crowley folded the cheque carefully and tucked it into his briefcase.

After all, if Lucius Malfoy insisted on paying for Harry Potter's future, who was Crowley to deny him the opportunity?

***

Author's Note: The chapters keep getting longer and longer. I started this story with chapters of around 1.8k words, and now most are pushing 3k. Keeping up with daily updates is going to become difficult before long, so I'll either split longer chapters into Part I and Part II or switch to updating every other day.

Realistically speaking, taking Malfoy to court over the Chamber of Secrets would be pointless. Everyone knew he had been a Death Eater a decade ago, yet he walked free, and in this case no one was killed or permanently injured. Securing a conviction would be virtually impossible. Since legal justice was out of reach, Crowley settled for the next best thing: making Lucius Malfoy pay Harry a substantial amount in reparations for all the trouble he had caused.