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Burning Day	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 10061 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

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Chapter Sixteen—Silver Phoenix
            “Is that thing going to come everywhere with you?”
            Draco turned around, careful not to unbalance the silver phoenix illusion on his shoulder. Of course, it was hard to do that anyway, since the phoenix was only a weaving of air and magic and light, but Draco didn’t want to give the impression that it was anything but a real bird of flesh and bone, too. “What do you mean?” he asked. “The Dark Lord of Hogwarts gave this phoenix to me for my protection. I don’t have a choice about whether it comes with me or not.”
            The woman who had come to speak to him, a colleague of Amos’s, leaned forwards and studied him frankly. Draco studied her back. Brown eyes, black hair, a set mouth. She nodded once, finally, and said, “I see that this time, our Minister has some strength. Unlike Tillipop.”
            Her expression said that wet tissue probably had more strength than Tillipop. Because Draco agreed, he gave her a smile. Because he didn’t want to be undiplomatic to anyone in earshot in the bustling corridors of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement who had served Tillipop, he said, “I hope that I’ll have my own strength.”
            “Maybe you will,” said the woman, and put out her hand. “Alice Reynaud.”
            Amos had told him her name already, but Draco didn’t want to be undiplomatic about that, either. He took her hand and kissed the air above her knuckles. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Reynaud. Amos said that you were bringing up the reports about some Obliviators who had decided that they didn’t have to listen to the council’s authority?”
            “Yes.” Reynaud rattled the papers she held, gave one more dubious glance at the phoenix on Draco’s shoulder, and then obviously decided to ignore it. “Some of the council are proving stubborn about giving up their authority, as well.”
            Draco fell softly into pace beside her as she turned to lead him down the corridor towards the “secret” meeting room that, in reality, he already knew about. He reminded himself to act surprised when the door opened, though. “So we have problems on two fronts?”
            Reynaud glanced sideways at him, and didn’t answer. Draco was tempted to wave one hand up and down in front of her eyes, but before he could succumb to the temptation, Reynaud said abruptly, “You’re different than I thought you were.”
            “In a good or bad way?” Draco asked calmly. “Or just a way that will make it hard for you to work with me?”
            Reynaud pinched the air in a throwing-away motion. “Neither. But I had heard that you had little strength to face up to the Dark Lord, and here you are, ready to take charge in the way a Minister should.”
            Draco turned to look at her. “Do you really think that it takes weakness to let the Dark Lord do as he wants to me without retaliating?” he asked. “Knowing that doing so keeps him from doing the same thing to other people?”
            Reynaud’s eyes glinted at him. “I think that you might start out with weakness and then define it as strength by necessity, because the Dark Lord won’t let you do anything else,” she said.
            Draco concealed a wince. Reynaud was disconcertingly smart. He hoped that outwitting her wasn’t going to become a priority. “Well. That could be. But in reality, this is making the best of the situation. Whether it started in weakness or not, it didn’t stay there. Letting the Dark Lord hit me as hard as he wants keeps the same thing from happening to someone else.”
            Reynaud parted her lips in a soundless whistle. “Because Malfoys have always been known for their altruism.”
            “It isn’t altruism,” Draco said, and let a touch of sharpness enter his voice. “I crave the power that I’ve been promised as Minister, just like everyone else running did. But if I can serve my people and keep the Dark Lord from turning on them, too, then that’s what I’m going to do. Of course. The two goals can march with each other.”
            Reynaud considered that, then abruptly answered his question. “It’s not weakness to do what you do, unless you’re giving in to the Dark Lord about something that could cost your people something they don’t want to give up.”
            “Even then, I trust my own judgment more,” Draco said, and this time he let himself be dry. “If the Department of Mysteries, for example, wanted permission to attack the Dark Lord, and didn’t want to give that up, tough shit. I’m still not going to do something that would get them in trouble.”
            “Well said,” said Reynaud. “Now. I’ll warn you that none of the members of the council are happy.”
            “They include Unspeakables. They wouldn’t be.”
            “Indeed.” Reynaud sneaked a look at the silver phoenix on Draco’s shoulder that Draco thought had some fascination. Maybe he should tell Harry to start making illusions like this for people who proved themselves worthy of Harry and Draco’s trust. It wouldn’t solve every problem, but the gift of “pets” like that would charm some people and bind others.
            “Just tell me the challenges,” said Draco. “And you needn’t be afraid to say anything in front of Brightness that you would say in front of the Dark Lord.”
            Again, he got a sidelong glance. “An interesting definition of fear you have there,” said Reynaud. “Why do you call the phoenix Brightness? It’s rather a plain name.”
            “It’s what I hope to bring to the future of the Ministry and the entire wizarding world,” said Draco primly.
            “Aren’t you a charmer,” said Reynaud. “Very well. I think the biggest problem is going to be Desiree Hocum. She’s a relative of Minister Tillipop’s, and of course she would be happiest if her family’s influence wasn’t going to diminish the way it inevitably will because of his resignation…”
*
            “My Lord!” Briseis came flying into his office, papers scattering around her. Harry stood up at once. It had to be serious, from the way she was letting the paperwork fall to the floor.
            “What is it?” he asked quietly, and Briseis clenched her fists and resolutely pulled herself back from what looked like the brink of a panic attack.
            “Several wizards coming towards the gates of Hogwarts, my Lord,” she said. “They aren’t dressed like Unspeakables, but they may be them. They wear black cloaks and carry their wands openly.”
            “Why didn’t the grounds tell me about them?” Harry asked, cocking his head, wondering if the new wards he had put up in an attempt to capture the use of the crystals had interfered somehow with the detection of regular enemies.
            Then he heard a low, muffled pounding at the very edge of his awareness, which wavered up and down like someone beating a drum underground. Harry grimaced. He hated Dark wizards who were expert in the use of Chant Magic.
            “My Lord?”
            Harry raised a hand so that he could concentrate on the pounding, and Briseis grimaced but closed her mouth. This way, Harry could hear the voices separately, at least when he focused his awareness and the awareness of the grounds on them enough. Yes, there was one voice that was leading all that chanting, a strong one that Harry half-thought he recognized. Well, that wizard, whoever he was, wouldn’t get away with doing that kind of thing at Hogwarts for very long.
            He was prepared to go out and battle them himself, but then he paused and thought about what Gabrielle had told him concerning the properties of the Veela-soul trees. He smiled.
            “My Lord?” Briseis repeated, wary.
            Harry focused on her. She had backed away from him with one hand raised, as though she understood that there was something dangerous in front of her but didn’t know exactly what it was.
            Harry nodded calmly to her and murmured, “My enemies are using a form of power called Chant Magic. It blends the magical cores of several wizards under the control of a single leader, at least as long as they also blend their voices.”
            “I’ve never heard of it,” said Briseis, and looked around in a way that indicated she wished she had ink and parchment so she could write it down. Harry found himself smiling. She must have been reassured by his calm naming of the enemy and his evident ability to understand and handle what force the Dark wizards were bringing in.
            “Not many people have,” said Harry, and threw his cloak over his shoulders as he raised his hand. His black phoenix illusion came wafting down from the ceiling. “It’s something of a specialty of Dark wizards who live in Scandinavia, and not even they use it very often. I think someone I’ve run into before is leading the Chant.”
            He touched the black phoenix’s head and breathed his will into it, and the shining bird soared out the window. “Not for very long,” Harry added casually, leaning his elbow on the sill and watching.
            Briseis came up to watch beside him, breathless. Together, they saw the black phoenix soar over the gates of Hogwarts and towards the Chanters. Most of them ignored it, as Harry had known they would. Once a wizard was wound into the power of the Chant, he tended to ignore everything else.
            But it wasn’t so easy when the black phoenix began to sing, a burst of music that ran easily up and down the scale, chilling the soul, thrilling it. It spread its wings and hovered over the head of the leader, disrupting his ability to begin the next Chant with a precisely timed fling of sound.
            The leader tilted his head back to glare at the phoenix, while the Chant of the ones behind him faltered, and Harry nodded in satisfaction. Yes, he recognized those black eyes and white beard.
            “Watch,” he told Briseis, who was looking nervous as the wizard Harry knew as Norvald Sigursson—not his original name—pulled out his wand.
            The phoenix sang until the wand was pointed at its breast, and then turned and flew a short distance towards the Forest, tauntingly. Sigursson chased it while the other Dark wizards broke up in confusion, their magic returning to them slowly, one by one, and leaving them disoriented.
            “And now,” Harry said, watching the unfolding of white limbs in the darkness.
            The Veela soul-trees were interwoven with the stone, and the stones moved with them as they struck. It looked like the flapping of giant wings to Harry, echoed by the movements of the black phoenix’s wings as it soared away above the Dark wizards.
            But these wings were also mouths, and they drew the Dark wizards into them. The weight of the stone held them down. The living material of the tree-souls knew what to do with them. They dragged them closer, and netted them inside roots, and held them, and cradled them, and put them to sleep.
            “Wonderful, my Lord,” said Briseis, in a sort of strained tone. “But what will happen to them? Surely you can’t keep them prisoners forever.”
            “Of course not,” Harry said, and gestured to the trees, which were already turning so that their limbs pointed upwards and their roots pointed down again. “But the trees are going to keep them for a while. They’ll pick through their minds, Gabrielle told me. They’ll look at their memories in a deeper way than a mere Legilimens can.” He thought he heard Briseis mutter something about “mere” Legilimency, but he felt entitled to ignore it. “They’ll raise them back to earth and let them go when they’ve learned as much as they can about their purpose for coming here. And those particular wizards won’t be able to set foot on the grounds again without falling asleep at once. Unless they come in peacefully.”
            Briseis said something breathless that Harry didn’t have to listen to, either. Then she said aloud, “And you really think that wizards treated that way will be future members of your Court, my Lord?”
            “Probably not,” Harry admitted. “But they might be sent as negotiators. Or spies.”
            “Would the trees feel it if they came in as spies?”
            “Yes. Or the Veela would notice. The Veela can absorb emotions from their tree-souls, at least if the trees are interwoven with their home like this. I don’t think it works when they’re being carried from place to place.”
            Briseis cocked her head slowly. Then she said, “Very well, my Lord. I did wonder at first about your decision to let the Veela stay when they’d already tried to trick you and lie to you, but they have their advantages.”
            Harry smiled, and decided not to tell her that he hadn’t foreseen those advantages. He’d just done the best he could with the magical creatures who had come to him for help, and reprimanded them when he thought they were going beyond the limits that would allow them to coexist peacefully with other people in the Court.
            “I’m going to strengthen the wards, to make them more sensitive to Chant Magic,” he said, and Briseis nodded. When she left the office, Harry turned inwards and descended into his bond with Hogwarts.
            He hadn’t thought about Chant Magic, but he should have, especially because he was familiar with it. It was time to remedy that and make sure that other uncommon kinds of magic he knew about didn’t stand a chance of hurting his people or his Court.
*
            Amazingly enough, while Draco had spent a rough hour with the council appointed in place of Minister Tillipop, most of whom didn’t want to give up their power, when an attack came on him, it wasn’t from them.
            Or from the Unspeakables, for that matter. Unless the black dragon had already flown news back to Harry that Draco didn’t know about.
            There was a glow along the place where the ceiling met the wall that Draco had noticed for a moment, but he didn’t pay it much attention. Most Eavesdropping Charms worked that way, and Draco was putting on a performance for everyone in the room. Anyone who wanted to study that performance, and anyone who hoped to use it to find out secrets, was welcome. Draco knew he wasn’t being arrogant if he trusted in his ability to protect himself.
            But then the white glow grew brighter, and at the moment when Draco turned his head towards it, a bolt of lightning spat in his direction.
            On Draco’s shoulder, quiet enough to be forgotten, Brightness abruptly cried out and took off in the direction of the bolt.
            Draco only understood what had happened later, at least fully; at the time, too much was going on too fast. He saw the charm flash, he saw the silver phoenix take off, and he watched them tumble through the air as they met. He didn’t think Brightness would be able to do much, since the lightning bolt was meant to strike a solid target, and would pass through an illusion.
            But when the light faded away, Brightness was the one who hovered in the middle of the room. A few faint silver feathers were drifting down from its legs, and it twitched its head back and forth as if the lightning had succeeded in shocking it. But it raised its head, tilted its beak back, and gave a triumphant cry a few seconds later, and then drifted down and landed on Draco’s shoulder, touching him. Draco could feel a faint pressure.
            Draco stared, along with most people in the room—the ones who weren’t shouting. He had known that Brightness was a protective illusion, but he really didn’t think Harry had endowed it with any extraordinary powers. He had thought its main purpose was to fly and get Harry if Draco was in danger, the way that Persephone had flown to alert people when the Unspeakables captured Harry.
            Realizing that being so surprised by the phoenix’s capabilities might reveal his secret (although they would think that Harry had told him all about what the silver phoenix could do in an attempt to intimidate him), Draco managed to close his jaw. He reached up and let one hand rest on Brightness’s head, taking care it didn’t sink through. He decided that looking shaken was justified, though.
            “Does anyone know who that was?” he asked. “Where it came from? Or who would have the most interest in disrupting the meeting?”
            “That wasn’t disrupting the meeting,” said Reynaud, looking at him as if she wondered whether he was mental. “I think it was aimed at killing you, more than it was aimed at anything else.”
            “Perhaps so,” said Draco, and dipped his head. “But my questions remain the same. I have so many enemies. I thought that most of them didn’t care to adopt such direct tactics, though.”
            “I’ll find out.” Reynaud’s mouth was narrow. “That could have hit several of us, along with you. I think we need to take the threat seriously.”
            That doesn’t make it easier to answer, Draco realized, and turned with a little sigh back to continue his negotiations. He would have to ask Harry soon about the silver phoenix’s abilities. He didn’t want to look so surprised next time.
            Brightness nuzzled its beak against Draco’s neck, uttering melodic little chirps that gradually calmed Draco’s pounding heart.
            Not that I’m not grateful to be alive. But I’d like to know more.
*
SP777: I don’t think I’ve mentioned the glasses in a long time.
And Harry doesn’t want another familiar right now. Still too much loyalty to Persephone.
Jester: Even if they fire at it, they can’t harm it.
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Burning Day