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Black Phoenix	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 21568 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

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Chapter Fourteen--Feathers to Fly With
            "Well, this is new."
            Harry shifted over. Briseis had been sorting through letters when he'd come into the office, and Harry had flopped back into his chair and left her to get on with it, still exhausted from the interviews he'd done. But her tone of voice had made it obvious that he wasn't going to get much rest this afternoon.
            "What?" he asked, and Briseis, with that irritating sense of drama she sometimes had, put the letter into his hand without telling him what it was.
            It was a huge, snowy envelope with dun and cream markings on the edges, and the golden Ministry seal in the middle. Harry raised his eyebrows. He didn't think he'd ever received a letter this fancy from the Ministry, not even when they sent him the post that told him he'd passed through the training program and been officially accepted as an Auror.
            "Well, go on, open it."
            When Harry looked up, Briseis was wobbling on the edge of her seat. Her eyes were fixed on the envelope, and she was licking her lips, her face so pale that Harry narrowed his own eyes. This wasn't just excitement. "Do you sense something about this letter?" he demanded, and waved it around.
            Briseis sighed and shifted her gaze to his face, also sitting down in her chair like a normal person. "I told you that those feelings were hard to define. Yes, there's something of the same kind coming from that letter. But it doesn't have to have much to do with who sent it or wrote it. It could be connected to someone who was in the room at the time, or made suggestions as to what to put in it. Or even just the person who took it to the owl they used. That's how hard this is, how imprecise."
            Harry nodded after a minute, accepting that, even with a kind of jolt of humor. Of course he would be the one who got the adviser with the potentially useful gift that couldn't actually be pinned down and made to give an answer.
            He slit open the envelope, and caught sight of a tremble of color out of the corner of his eye. Once again, he vanished the glass before Persephone could crash into it. Persephone landed on the corner of his desk and craned her neck around to watch the envelope. Harry waited, but she didn't object to him opening it or look as if she was laying traps for any of his fingers, so he went on reading it.
            This is a declaration of war. The Ministry is pleased to inform Dark Lord Harry Potter that he is now considered an enemy of state, under the Dark Lords Act (1998).
            That was all that was in it. Harry turned the paper--as nice as the envelope--around, and raised his eyebrows. "It's no wonder your intuition found nothing to focus on," he told Briseis. "This is only two lines long."
            Briseis snatched the letter from him, frowning, and Persephone crooned and flew over to land on Harry's shoulder. Harry turned to her in resignation. "And you know that something bad is coming, don't you?" he asked.
            Persephone gave him a little coo and cocked her head. She didn't even bother to nip at his chin, which Harry thought must mean that she knew exactly what it was, and she was looking forward to it happening.
            "You don't want to give me a hint?" he asked, since Briseis was still frowning at the letter instead of trying to say something to him.
            Persephone gave an excited stretch of her wings, kicking out with one leg down the fan of feathers, and snuggled in towards his ear. She didn't try to bite his earlobe, either. Harry had to shiver and shrug her off, then turn to Briseis.
            "Can you make anything out of that?" he asked. "Or at least tell me what the Dark Lords Act is?"
            "It was an act the Wizengamot passed saying that the Ministry had to move at once against someone who proclaimed himself a Dark Lord," said Briseis, and looked up quickly to give him a flashing smile. "Notice that they only passed it after Voldemort was dead." She looked thoughtfully back down. "And honestly, I don't know why they didn't do something about it before now. It would be an easy excuse to go after you."
            "Perhaps someone in the Ministry still hoped to settle it peacefully?" Harry suggested, leaning back. Persephone took off, perhaps because he had crushed her tail feathers against the back of the chair, but since she flipped her wings and proceeded to do a little dance in the middle of the office, Harry doubted that. "Or maybe Tillipop thought sustaining a war would be too much of an effort, and wanted to focus on his campaign."
            Briseis snorted and folded up the letter. "I'd place more money on the last one. The Ministry hasn't been conciliating to you since the day you proclaimed yourself."
            Harry nodded gloomily, unsurprised. So he had some unspecified danger pressing in on him, and Persephone rejoicing, which meant it was probably bigger than he knew, and the Ministry with a desire to come after him. And Briseis couldn't give him any more advice, either.
            Someone knocked on the door briefly before they opened it. Hermione leaned in, her face a little pale. "Harry? There are Aurors at the edge of the grounds."
            Harry growled and stood up. The Ministry had learned well from their last mistakes, not that he wanted it to happen. They knew that Hogwarts would only alert him of enemies if they actually stepped onto the grounds. If they were outside the wards, then Harry would be unable to sense them through his bond with Hogwarts.
            "Fine," he said. "I'll come." He raised an eyebrow at Persephone, who was still dancing with her own tail, fluttering around the long feathers as though she enjoyed the sensation of her wings touching the edges of the plumes. "Are you coming?"
            Persephone chirped smugly and soared after him, landing on his shoulder again as he strode out the door of his office. Harry shook his head. Well, he supposed that might make him marginally more frightening to his enemies.
*
            "Candidate Malfoy, can't you give me any more solid answer as to what you're going to do about the werewolves?"
            Draco pasted a weary smile on his face, and leaned forwards so that he could examine the woman in front of him. She was a reporter, he knew, and that meant he had to answer and couldn't get exasperated. But he thought she was the same one who had asked him about werewolves at the last three speeches he'd given, and since he couldn't give a different answer, he had to wonder about her persistence.
            "Can I ask why?" he murmured. "Are you perhaps a werewolf yourself, or do you have a relative or a friend who's one?"
            That made laughter bubble and race along the edges of the garden in Malfoy Manor where this particular speech was taking place, and the reporter turn red to her ears. But she looked straight at him and said simply, with a dignity Draco had to admire, "No, sir. I'm just someone who's extremely interested in the rights that magical creatures should have."
            Draco inclined his head. He could admire that, yes. "I can't give you more of an answer than I have so far. I'll be happy to talk with any werewolves who want to support me. So far, no one's come forwards to do so."
            "Then their support of Lord Potter doesn't count?" That was Rita Skeeter, apparently in a combative mood today, leaning back on the chair behind her and considering him with squinted eyes and one quill tapping on his parchment.
            Draco sighed. "Their support for Lord Potter was because he could give them a place in his court. They haven't come to me and made any such bargain, or asked for anything like the same safety and security. I wouldn't have it to offer them unless I was elected Minister."
            "Do you consider that so unlikely an occurrence?" Yes, Skeeter's lips were quirking up in that way which meant she had decided that it would be most entertaining today to oppose him. Draco had to restrain another exasperated sigh.
            He opened his mouth to answer, still planning to couch it in vivid half-truths, and then the world exploded around him.
            Even as Draco wrapped his arms around his head and rolled on the ground to put out the flames on his burning clothes, he smelled the lightning in the air and knew exactly what had happened. Someone had cast the Portable Thunderstorm Curse right at his feet, and destroyed his podium and stage.
            They had meant to destroy him, that was certain.
            Draco leaped back to his feet, beat out the last flames, and snatched out his wand. Rosenthal was busy tugging on his arm, urging him to retreat, but Draco held still. He wanted to see how many people were dead or injured, something he knew he would be blamed for, and he wanted to catch a glimpse of the perpetrator, if he could.
            He could see no one immediately in the mass of moaning, shrieking, rocking people. Draco narrowed his eyes. He was willing to believe that they could have got away, but he had to admit, he didn't see how.
            Then someone moved above him, and Draco tilted his head back and shielded his eyes with one hand.
            There was a figure on the roof of Malfoy Manor, dressed in a heavy cloak and holding the hood forwards as though they couldn't be bothered with a glamour on their face. They strolled to the edge of the roof and stood looking down at Draco, in a silence that Draco felt was contemplative.
            Draco cleared his throat. He might sound ridiculous, but he was still going to fling a challenge in the figure's fucking teeth. "Had enough of being up there? Think you might want to come down?"
            He had the impression that the figure smiled, although he didn't know how he could tell that, since the cloak really did cover the whole face. Then it spread its arms and leaped into the air, turning head over heels as though it was a clown.
            Draco's Stunner followed Rosenthal's spell, which would have made a net materialize and fall on top of the figure, by mere seconds. But it did no good. The figure simply turned to mist and smoke in mid-air and faded away before either spell could touch it.
            Draco swallowed. His heart was pounding wildly, and he didn't understand why the attacker hadn't used another spell to hurt him, since the first curse hadn't worked.
            Then he looked around at the gasping, moaning people, and shook his head. "Go and firecall St. Mungo's," he told Rosenthal, and she nodded and raced off without pausing. Probably only because she thinks it won't look good for me if someone dies at one of these press conferences, Draco thought humorlessly, and folded his fingers down against his hand.
            Perhaps the Portable Thunderstorm Curse had been one of those spells that would have made a good assassination attempt if it had succeeded, but since it hadn't, the assassin could pretend that he had meant it as a warning instead. It would be nice if Draco knew what he was being warned of, though.
            He moved forwards to kneel beside the young reporter who had asked him so often about werewolves, both because he wanted to make sure someone he admired was okay and because it would look good for the cameras, if any of them were still flashing. She seemed to be all right, from what Draco could tell. A few burns, but the fires had gone out before doing her any damage, and she was breathing.
            "Candidate Malfoy."
            Draco started and looked up. Rita Skeeter was standing in front of him, and there was a militant look to her face that made Draco rise slowly to his feet, about to put his hands up and proclaim that he hadn't hurt the woman he was crouching beside.
            "They dared to attack the press," said Skeeter, and glared at him. "Probably because they thought we might report something unflattering about Tillipop."
            Draco bit his lip, severely hard, so that he wouldn't say what he thought of that, and inclined his head instead. "Are you sure, madam? It seemed as though the Portable Thunderstorm Curse was aimed at me." He might be able to use Skeeter's reaction, but he didn't want to try to take advantage of a paper-thin shield.
            "I'm sure." Skeeter tossed her hair out of her eyes, her expression still full of outrage. "I was standing there, of course. And so were a few other people the Unspeakables might want to get rid of."
            Draco blinked. "You think it's Unspeakables?" He supposed that might fit with the way the cloaked figure had disappeared, although Draco would have thought the assassination spell would be a little more unusual in that case.
            Unless it really was just meant as a warning.
            "I'm sure of it." Skeeter's nostrils were flaring. "I have an article that's getting ready to come out on them and their shady ways. It's typical of them to imagine they can take me out, and then the Prophet's editors might be too scared to print the article." She looked straight at Draco and gripped her quill. "They can't take me out that way. I want you to tell me everything you can think of that hurts Minister Tillipop, and then I'm going to print it."
            Draco bit his lip again, and nodded. "That would be a good way to make him think better, now that you mention it."
            Skeeter assumed an alert expression and motioned with her quill towards her parchment. "It only remains for you to tell me what you want."
            Draco smiled slowly, and began to speak.
*
            "So," Harry said, appearing behind the Aurors, "it would help if you told me why you were here, so that we can get past the initial unpleasantness and get to the detailed unpleasantness."
            The leap the Aurors made into the air, and the way they came down and drew wands, was entertaining. Persephone leaned forwards off Harry's shoulder--she'd had no trouble with his Apparition off the grounds and into the grass behind the Aurors--and snapped her beak suggestively. One young man aimed his wand at her, but the senior Auror who appeared to be in charge of the investigation reached out, with a sigh, and wrenched his arm down.
            "Dark Lord Potter?" she asked, as if there was any room for doubt.
            Harry gave an exaggerated nod. Persephone snapped her beak again, which probably was her version of a snicker.
            "We've been asked to make sure that you received the Ministry's latest communication, detailing the state of war that you are now in, as entities." The woman's voice was brisk, business-like, but her gaze flickered nervously over to Persephone.
            Harry nodded again. "I have. And that means you can go away now." He gestured, and thick ropes of black and green braided magic rose from the ground and headed towards them like snakes. "Unless you have some reason to stay?"
            "Fuck, no!" blurted the boy from the back, the one who had aimed his wand at Persephone.
            "Try to be professional, Matthewson," said the woman, half-closing her eyes. "Good. Then you acknowledge the delivery of the communication."
            Harry nodded.
            Several Stunners flew at him at once.
            Harry raised a wall of dirt and grass with a single gesture of his hand. He didn't stand on the grounds of Hogwarts, but his magic could still delve into the earth and raise it up, and that was what he did. The Stunners rebounded from the curved wall suddenly in front of him, and Harry heard the Aurors swearing in startled frustration.
            He stepped out from the wall and strolled towards them, speaking to the woman in charge although his focus on all of them at once. "So, does that mean that you'll do your best to kill me, and I have the right to do the same to you?" He clenched his hand, and nets formed above his head, meshes of sparkling golden light. "That sounds fair to me. Especially because you have your wands and I don't."
            He whirled the nets like bolos and threw them over the heads of the Aurors who looked as if they'd cast again any second. They went down under them, and Harry fastened the corners of the nets to the earth with an easy gesture. Then he turned to the woman who headed them, a little curious as to what she would say.
            She said nothing, because she had aimed her wand, and the next instant, a pain more incapacitating than any Stunner hit Harry and took him to the ground.
            He lifted his head, gasping, and wondered how she could have hit him with a spell that he hadn't even seen coming.
            Then he saw that it wasn't him she had caught, but Persephone, in a flow of ice that made Persephone shriek and flail her wings, and the pain was spreading through him, darkening his vision, making him stagger, driving him towards the ground, and then into unconsciousness.
*
SP777: I think Persephone might have met her match.
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Black Phoenix