The Self-Made Man

Summary: It's 1895, and in the Victorian society Charles Dickens and Oscar Wilde existed in, you never know who to trust. Harry/Draco slash, AU. D

Chapter One: The Ball

"What do you mean, 'I don't want to go'? You have to go!"

"Oh, Hermione, don't force him if he doesn't want to."

"But he does want to!"

"I remember saying otherwise," Harry Potter interrupted, rather testily.

Hermione Granger sighed with a slight frown, but it wasn't a sigh of resignation. She clasped her hands together in her lap, over her pale lavender dress, before standing and pacing around the room, seemingly serenely. Ginny Weasley was sitting on a sofa with cushions of an elaborate floral design. She had been reading one of Jane Austen's novels, though – at Harry and Hermione's conversation – she began to peer over the top of the pages. Ron Weasley was casually reclining on the same sofa as Ginny; he too watched his friends, glad for something to distract him from the utter boredom that had been plaguing him.

Hermione strolled past the pair on the sofa as she walked towards the piano. It was rare for women to be as highly skilled in the art of music as Hermione Granger was, and the piano was one of her most prized possessions. She smoothed her hand on top of the black, shiny instrument, as though to check for dust, before glancing around her sitting room.

The high-class sitting room also belonged to Hermione, as did the rest of Granger Mansion, for she had inherited it from her wealthy parents. The room was anything but modest. The pink wallpaper had been carefully selected, as was the golden chandelier that hung from the roof. It was delicately furnished with soft sofas and two tables – one of them being near her book shelf filled with large volumes, the other being occupied with a frozen game of chess. Next to the latter of the two tables sat a stiff Harry Potter.

He, Ginny, and Ron often came to visit Hermione, even though the mansion was placed well out in the countryside and all three of them lived in the city. Ron and Ginny lived in a grungy flat near London; from their clothes, grimy and almost moth-eaten, anyone could tell that they weren't of a very high social status.

The Weasley family, in fact, was a traditional middle-class family. Despite this, they were well-known among all classes, for they were rather friendly and generous. Each of the brothers was noteworthy, and easily remembered by whomever crossed their paths. For example, the twins were famed for their antics, hilarity, and charms with the women. Percy was well-known for his astute business-oriented mind and, had he enough money to attend Oxford, many thought that he could be a brilliant worker for the government. Ginny, too – despite being only nineteen years old – had caught the attention of others with her beauty alone, never mind her cunning intellect. However, the family was never able to rise to a higher status because of their uncanny ability to have – as many snotty, elderly ladies would whisper amongst themselves – far too many children.

On the other hand, the Potter family had, in the past, been a very wealthy family – wealthier than the Granger family, even – but, after the deaths of Lily and James Potter, everything that belonged to them was taken to pay for debts that the family owed. Little Harry Potter, tragically, was sent to live with nasty cousins whose lack of manners made them rather infamous. No one expected much of the boy, and he was quickly forgotten in the ring of social life.

However, after having heard very many noble tales of his parents from strangers and how they lost everything – even status – because of an insane murderer, Harry Potter, from a very young age, decided that he would restore everything. He would buy back the Potter mansion, ancient artifacts that were once the Potters' prized possessions, and show his chivalry towards those who cared and mattered. He decided that he would climb the social ladder until, finally, the Potter name was successfully returned.

To say that he had been successful would be an understatement. At the fresh age of twenty-one, Harry Potter had managed to earn the title of the Self-Made Man. His mansion, in Surrey, was restored to the Potter name, as were many of the lost artifacts. Having already found a job in Surrey, as well as a few new friends, he decided that he would leave London and move into the mansion within a year.

All that was left to do now, certainly, was for Harry to earn the status that his parents once had. With the title of the Self-Made Man, he had earned the respect of many; there was no doubt about that. However, before now, Harry had only been invited to one formal ball. At this ball, Harry easily became disgusted with the people there. They two-facedly, snidely regarded him; whispered behind their hands about him. Hadn't it been for Neville Longbottom, who was also attending the party, Harry wasn't sure if he could survive with the snobbish, high-class people he met there.

That's why, understandably, he wasn't too eager to attend the latest ball he'd been invited to.

The silence, apparently, became too much for Hermione, for – after pressing the highest key of her piano casually – she said, "Too bad, Harry. This ball is the one ball everyone is so looking forward to."

"Then why aren't you going?" he asked, exasperated.

"Because I happen to not care about what others think of me," she said with a soft smile.

"I don't either, Hermione, you know that."

"But you, unlike me, have to care."

"I don't want to."

"Harry, you've worked so hard over the years that I've known you – too hard to merely stop now," she insisted. "It's a high honor for you to have been invited. For you to not accept will insult the Zabini family – "

When it became apparent that Harry had stubbornly decided that he would not be persuaded, Hermione stopped herself from sighing in annoyance and turned an almost desperate eye to Ron and Ginny for help. Ron pointedly glanced away, preferring to take a sip of tea. Ginny, on the other hand, leaned forward with a smile.

"Harry," Ginny said, placing her book face down, "A friend or two are bound to be there! Like – maybe Neville, perhaps. You like him, don't you?"

"I – suppose."

"And there's a fair chance that Cedric Diggory and Justin Finch-Fletchley will be there, too. They're also very nice."

Harry nodded in agreement. "Yes, well…"

He sighed and took his gaze away from his friends. It was times like those that he truly was envious of them. After all, they were of the middle-class and didn't have to care about formal balls or socializing with people they loathed. They were relatively well-off and happy with their positions in life. Hermione didn't have to worry about socializing with people she disliked either for, though of a traditional and wealthy family, she had outcast herself. She was an outspoken young lady, self-educated and rather opinionated – too opinionated, in the judgment of others. She wrote articles daily and sent them to newspapers, advocating for things and people, such as prostitutes, who – according to her – were merely victims of the vicious British economy. Ron and Ginny, though they didn't live as high-classed as Hermione or Harry, could spend their days going to pubs, and drunken dances – the types of places Harry would love to go to, rather than the boring balls. They were all self-assured, while Harry felt as though he were dragging along pathetically in low self-esteem; and he felt even worst that he had to care about what others thought of him when it went against his very nature to do so. Yet at the same time, he felt as though he wouldn't be doing his parents' memory justice if he allowed the family name to remain soiled.

"Harry, I'm sure it'll be fine," Hermione said soothingly with a smile. "After all, many have been invited to this ball. The room will be absolutely crowded. You can easily avoid those you dislike in the sea of faces." When she saw that he was beginning to allow himself to be persuaded, she eagerly pressed on by adding, "And, while you're steering clear of them, you'll have the opportunity to meet new people and make new friends."

Of course, making new friends was the highest objective. More friends meant more allies, more balls he would be invited to, and more chances to restore his family's status by being as chivalrous as possible.

Harry sighed and stood up off of the chair, his hands stuffed into his pockets. "All right, then. All right," he nodded, and couldn't help but smile back at Hermione, who had unleashed a radiant grin. "It'll be boring if none of you are there, but I'll go."

Ginny put down Pride and Prejudice with a gracious smile. "You'll have to wear your best suit."

"That means I'll have to go all the way back to London," Harry frowned.

"I'll go and see what is in my father's wardrobe," Hermione happily offered.

As she left the sitting room, Ginny smiled and tapped Harry's leg. "Hermione's right, you know. This will be a great opportunity to meet new people."

Harry nodded.

"Hopefully they won't be too dreadful," Ron mumbled behind his tea cup.

Hermione had picked out a wonderful suit; even Harry couldn't help but agree with that fact. It was black, soft and comfortable, and refined for wealthy taste. Ginny helped to take in the waist and Ron grudgingly agreed to help polish his shoes. Harry needed all the help he could get; he had to hurry, for the Zabini Manor was several miles away, and it would take several hours to arrive there by carriage.

"Remember, Harry, very many people are curious about who you are, the Self-Made Man. If anyone of higher status introduces themselves to you, graciously reply."

"I understand, Hermione," Harry said gruffly.

"And for the love of God, remember your basic manners," she chided as she stopped inspecting the work of her friends and moved forward to attempt to get his hair under control. She sleeked it with oil, but it rebelliously stuck straight back up. Giving up, she helped Ginny with the pins.

Finally, Hermione called on the driver from the servant quarters. She and Ginny hugged Harry for good luck, and Ron shook his hand with a lopsided grin.

The night's ride started out casually boring, with only the landscape of the countryside to peer at. As time went on, he began to feel more and more nervous. His leg wouldn't stop bouncing as thoughts raced through his head: could he honestly hold his own? What if Millicent Bulstrode was there again? The lady – if he could call her a lady – had practically led the attack against him at his first ball, which had helped to make him conclude that it would also be his last.

But Hermione had a point, he decided. Ever since he was nine years old, he decided that he wanted to embark on an adventure different from the ones boys his age wanted. They wanted to play pirates in the mud puddles and chase after the daughters of prostitutes. He decided that he wanted an education and that, despite what others thought of him, he would rise in status to return his family's honor.

Overcoming the horrid people at the ball was just one of the hardships, really. One more hardship on top of hundreds he'd already fought and won against.

When he arrived at the gardens that led the entrance to the mansion, he could tell that many others were already there. This was obvious from the lines of carriages that waited outside, beside the long stone staircase, which led up to the large, gothic manor. The doors stood, wide open, and a servant waited at the entrance to greet guests. The outside looked nothing like Hermione's mansion. This mansion was darker, almost depressing.

He interrupted his musings abruptly. It was clear that he was already rather late, and thinking about the appearance of the building wasn't helping him to arrive any earlier. Because he was so late, he decided that he would slip in as quietly as possible so as to not make a scene.

He generously thanked the driver, asking him to wait, and the older man left the carriage to join the group of drivers standing near the corner of the stairs.

Harry felt his heart nervously hammering against his chest. As he walked up each stair, he took in a shaky breath and calmly let it out. It would be all right, he thought to himself. There was no reason to be so nervous; he always overcame hardships before, and tonight would be no different.

He smiled at the servant, a young girl who blushed and curtsied. "Welcome, sir."

He nodded to her and stepped inside. The heels of his shoes clipped against the white tiles of the dark entrance hall, attracting the attention of some of the men and women who stood near by, laughing and holding glasses between their hands gracefully. None of them were familiar to Harry and, obviously, he wasn't familiar to any of them, for many quieted as they watched him pass. Harry distinctly heard a woman, who was a horrible whisperer, ask, "Who is he?"

Harry didn't have to wonder which door or hall led to the ballroom, for it was too obvious, from the amount of cheerful laughter and music coming from the room. Wide doors were sprawled open, and the bright light of the room was welcoming from the shadowy corridor, lit by only a few candles.

The ballroom was magnificent. There were two staircases that led up to the orchestra, which was displayed above. The floor had a wonderful tiled pattern, and was cleared for the dance. Ladies and gentlemen smiled and laughed as they performed the moves stylishly, clapping their hands once, turning on their heel to face a new partner, clapping their hands twice, and repeating the step. Crowds were also found off to the sides, at small, circular tables that had been set up. At one of the tables Harry stood near, a rather large and obnoxious man was loudly telling a story that had the others rolling in peals of laughter. One man even had tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes as he gripped his side.

Upon entering, Harry was unsure about what his next move was to be. If he had seen Neville, or any other familiar face, he would have immediately gone to them with a smile; however, all of the faces, charming though they seemed, were completely unrecognizable.

Instead, he opted to sit at a table and take in the breathtaking beauty of the ballroom. The golden light of candles and chandeliers, the loud and well-played music of the orchestra, and even the people were admirable. They seemed to be of the highest classes possible, even higher than that of the Granger family. Harry began to wonder why it was he'd even been invited, but his thoughts were interrupted.

"Why, Mr. Potter," a voice said to his side.

He looked up, rather surprised, and felt his surprise fall with sudden dismay. He quickly forced a smile and stood to bow his head slightly. "Millicent Bulstrode. You're well, I presume?"

Millicent was wearing a beautiful red gown, with a train that swept the floor for several feet. However, this was perhaps the only beautiful thing about her. Someone had attempted to plaster make-up onto her face, but this only slightly managed to neutralize her distinct ugliness.

Pansy Parkinson was standing beside her. At the last ball, she had helped Millicent make Harry feel completely unwelcome, and had snidely implied that he didn't deserve to be in balls of such high class. She, at least, was prettier than Millicent, and her blue dress was perhaps as regal as her friend's. She didn't bother to force a smile at Harry as he nodded his head politely.

"Why sit alone?" Millicent asked with a voice of kindness, though her eyes were full of taunting.

Harry shrugged with a small smile and lied, "I had a rather long journey. I was merely resting."

"Ah, but this isn't a time for rest! Come, you must at least meet Mr. Zabini. He told me that he'd heard of you, and wanted to see you."

He subdued an impatient sigh and nodded in agreement. He followed the pair through the crowds, forcing a smile as they constantly stopped, for Millicent and Pansy both knew very many people at the party. Each time they stopped, Harry was very quickly introduced to the greeters. Every time, their smiles suddenly froze and they found that they had to go elsewhere, to speak to someone they hadn't seen all night. Each time, Pansy and Millicent both smirked, as if they enjoyed nothing more than silently and subtly humiliating Harry. Harry began to feel that he should've fought harder against Hermione, or that he should've told the driver to take him to his flat in London instead. Perhaps he could even slip outside and ask the man to take him home early.

But he couldn't just leave. That would be highly rude, and – even if this was an embarrassing experience – he was, at least, getting to meet new people. That had to help in the long run somehow… right?

Finally, Millicent and Pansy led him into a private side room. In this room, two sofas surrounded a table, where glasses and a bowl of wine sat. On a sofa sat a handsome man with dark skin and cold eyes. When he saw Harry, he smirked and stood up.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," he took Harry hand and shook it briefly, "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I learned so much of you from stories I've heard."

He smiled unsurely and sat down when Blaise Zabini asked him to. He was introduced to the others sitting on the sofas, who all turned out to be other men, all of whom had names that were familiar, for their families were known for wealth and status. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, for some reason, both looked as familiar as their names sounded, and he figured that they were at the last party with Pansy and Millicent. There was no question, however, in this being his first formal meeting with Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy.

Millicent and Pansy both sat on separate chairs, and a conversation began as Millicent spoke of Padma Patil's horrid dress, and asked Blaise how he could possibly have invited her.

"I'm not so surprised," Pansy said. "You've made it a habit, lately, of inviting the unworthy." Her glance clearly went to Harry, and no one in the room hid their smirks.

Harry had the strong desire to expose all of them for being the two-faced bigots that they were, but – at the last minute – he imagined Hermione's and his own disappointment in not being able to charm such important people. Instead, he pointedly held her gaze but said nothing.

"It's amazing to me, really," Draco Malfoy said with a hint of boredom, "that you women are so often obsessed with such trivial matters. The treaty ending the Sino-Japanese war was signed but two days ago, and you only care about a lady's dress."

"That's just a quality found in all women," Blaise declared after Vincent, Gregory, and Theodore's snickers subsided, and before Pansy or Millicent could audibly disagree about the matter being trivial. "There's nothing amazing about it. What do you think, Mr. Potter?" he suddenly turned to Harry.

This being completely unexpected, he almost jumped and glanced around at the faces, all peering at him; Pansy and Millicent exchanged smirks. "Well, I – I wouldn't say it's a quality of all women."

"No?" Blaise was surprised that someone of Harry's status dared to disagree with him at his own ball.

He shook his head. "For example, my female friend is one of the most intelligent people of the century. She constantly debates over political matters – and – and she writes articles – "

"Oh, really? This friend wouldn't happen to be Hermione Granger, would it?"

Sensing the tone of disgust, he boldly held Millicent's gaze levelly. "Yes, she is the friend I speak of."

"That's the opinionated lass, isn't it?" Theodore asked shrewdly.

"Yes," Pansy muttered. "I've never met such an intolerable woman in my life."

"She's intolerable to some only because she intimidates them," Harry said heatedly. "And she's opinionated because she doesn't want to waste the intelligence she's been graced with," he continued, suddenly not seeming to care that he was being regarded with angry shock. "Something not all were blessed with, I'm sorry to say."

He eyed both Pansy and Millicent; they, in turn, cracked a pair of graceful smiles, though they were very obviously forced. Vincent and Gregory exchanged frowns, and Theodore suddenly seemed rather nervous. Blaise began to chuckle, though his eyes were colder than ever.

"Mr. Potter, you're one of those who have been blessed, yes? I hear that you managed to self-educate yourself so persistently that you were able to enroll in the University of Cambridge."

Harry nodded, suddenly off-balanced. He hadn't known that his life-story had become public knowledge.

"Impressive, if I do say so myself. What did you do with this education?"

"I – studied technology," he said uncertainly. "With what everyone's calling the Industrial Revolution, you know – "

"Are you an inventor, Mr. Potter?"

"I've created a few things, yes. Studied different versions of engines and such. Art was always my real passion, however," he added after a pause.

"Oh, really?" Blaise quirked an eyebrow. "We have two men of intense creativity in the same room, then." At Harry's confused look, he said, "But surely you've heard of Mr. Malfoy's work."

"Er – no, I can't say that I have," he frowned as Pansy and Millicent exchanged satisfied smirks.

Draco Malfoy had hardly stirred. He seemed rather bored, if anything, and was sipping his wine impatiently. He didn't acknowledge that the others were speaking of him.

"They're wonderful novels. Really, you should read them sometime," Blaise insisted. "Mr. Malfoy studied literature for years. I dare say, he's met Rudyard Kipling on several different occasions."

Harry felt himself fill with awe. He'd read The Jungle Book several times, and it was one of his favorite novels.

"His latest novel is, at least, much better than Jude the Obscene," Pansy sneered. (1)

"He's also a much better writer than, say, Oscar Wilde," Millicent nodded with a sniff. "And with a much higher degree of morality, if I do say so myself."

Pansy shook her head. "How dreadfully scandalous and foolish," she remarked when Millicent mentioned Wilde. "16 year old boys! He should be killed for such actions!" (2)

At this, Draco stirred. "And yet his defense of pederastic friendships was highly moving."

"Did you think so?" Blaise asked. "He had a point, that I will admit; of David and Jonathon, for example." (3)

Perhaps sure that Harry, yet again, wouldn't know what they were discussing, Millicent asked, "What do you think, Mr. Potter?"

Harry cleared his throat unsurely as everyone turned their gazes to him. He remembered his discussion with Hermione on this very matter, and repeated what they both agreed on: "Anyone should have the freedom of living their private lives without having others pry – "

"He was raping little boys!" Pansy cried, fakeness immediately disappearing. "It's one thing for your friend to advocate prostitutes, but for you to advocate rapists – "

"He didn't rape anyone," Harry frowned. "He had lovers and willing partners. The only reason he was ever convicted is because his lover's father was upset…"

"You speak of such scandalous matters so freely, Mr. Potter," Millicent observed with a small sneer.

By "scandalous matters", Harry could only assume that she meant sex; and, deciding not to point out that Pansy, only a moment ago, was shrieking about rape and sodomy, he said rather casually and with a small shrug, "I've found that most scandalous matters are perfectly natural, and nothing to be ashamed of."

"Typical," Theodore muttered. "I think I'll go for some fresh air," he stood abruptly, frowning at Harry as he nodded to the others and bade them good night.

"You're very interesting, Mr. Potter," Blaise leaned forward slightly, indicating to the wine bowl. "Don't you want any?"

It would be rude to not accept, so he took a cup, poured himself some, and took a sip. It was nice – sweet. He placed the cup down.

"You have an interesting background too, I hear," he continued. "Your parents were murdered, yes?"

Harry nodded with a clenched jaw.

"And you were left to live with the Dursley family."

Pansy snorted. Everyone knew of the disgusting habits of the Dursley family.

"Self-education, acceptance into the University of Cambridge… Tell me, why have you worked so hard to become the Self-Made Man you are today?"

Harry hesitated, then shrugged. "Why shouldn't I want to?"

Pansy suddenly stood up and began to walk around the room, similarly to how Hermione was walking around her sitting-room earlier. However, while Hermione was serenely taking a walk simply for the pleasure of stretching her legs, Pansy moved as though to make Harry feel uncomfortable. She moved as though she were a vulture, her cold eyes fastened onto Harry as she stalked. She paused at Draco's head, slipping her fingers through his blonde hair casually; and finally she tore her eyes away from Harry's to glance down at the man. "Mr. Malfoy, wouldn't it be a wonderful idea to write a story based on Mr. Potter's adventures? His – rise in society?"

"Splendid idea," Blaise confirmed. Vincent and Gregory looked at each other unsurely. Harry felt as uncertain as they looked. After all, these people were two-faced, and – under their false politeness – they hated him; why would they want to waste their time with him anymore than necessary, other than to learn more about him so that they could taunt and humiliate him?

However, he found himself agreeing, despite his feelings of unease. The others left so that Harry and Draco could have the interview in private.

1: "Jude the Obscene" was the nickname given to Thomas Hardy's Jude the Obscure because of its frank treatment of sex.

2: Oscar Wilde was convicted of "gross indecency" in 1895.

3: David and Jonathon of the Bible were possibly lovers; whether their love was platonic or sexual is uncertain. Wilde used their relationship in a speech during his trial.

A/N: Well! That's the first chapter of The Self-Made Man. I enjoyed writing it, but I hope that it didn't turn out to be a boring history lesson for anyone. I would love to know what you think!