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The Rising of the Stones	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 13237 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
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Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Thirty-One—Spreading the News
Draco spun Harry around the minute they got inside the bedroom door, and caged him with his arms against the wall. Harry stood there, panting and staring at him. Draco wondered when he would realize that he could actually move all he wanted. Draco wasn’t touching his shoulders or pinning his wrists, was barely touching him at all.
Draco held Harry with his eyes and his charisma alone, and he had to admit, he was bloody good at it.
“Do you want to do more than simply rub each other off now?” Draco breathed.
Harry’s head jerked a little. “That was good, and you know it!”
“I know. But I’m asking you if you’re ready for more now, or if you want to do that again.”
Harry glared at Draco and then turned his head away. He was trying to come up with some sort of response, Draco thought, but from the way his ears flushed and his breathing grew heavy, he was too distracted by what Draco wanted to do to defend what they had done.
Draco took up Harry’s wrist. Harry’s eyes turned to him. Draco held his gaze as he lifted Harry’s hand to his mouth and licked the middle of his palm.
Then Harry was the one tackling Draco, smothering him with lips and hungry teeth, spinning him so that Draco crashed into the side of the bed and nearly slid down it to the floor because the blankets were so smooth. Draco raised his arms, with a shudder, and cradled Harry close. But he did nudge his hips pointedly up and then actually point at the bed when Harry seemed to want to lie on the floor kissing him forever.
Harry detached himself entirely and scrambled up. Draco frowned. That wasn’t what he’d meant. But then Harry flopped down in the middle of the bed, raised and separated his legs, and let them fall, open as wide as he could put them, with a very final thump.
Draco felt as if he was about to start drooling. He had to blink rapidly, several times, to make sure he didn’t.
“Is this enough answer for you about what I want?” Harry asked, and even if he couldn’t speak the words, his clenching hands and his brilliantly red face spoke for him.
Draco stood up and bent over him for a gentle kiss, because taking a risk like this meant Harry had earned a reward. Then he stood back and began to strip. He had never thought a kiss was the only reward Harry had earned.
Harry just stared, and stared, as more and more of Draco’s skin came out into the open. He flinched at one point, and, when he looked down, Draco thought it was because of the long, thin scars the Sectumsempra curse had printed him with. But then he saw Harry staring at the bloody soul-mark that supposedly connected him to Rose Sheldon.
Draco raised his eyebrows and did nothing to hide it. That would annihilate the whole point of things he was trying to make with Harry. He waited, his eyes fixed on Harry, who stared back at him and chewed on his lip.
Then Harry swallowed and met Draco's eyes, and said, with a faint smile, "Are we going to do this or not?"
Draco practically bounded onto the bed and started pulling on Harry's clothes and kissing him at the same time, so grateful was he that Harry hadn't let the mood be broken by his blasted soul-mark. Harry cradled his face and kept kissing him, and Draco grabbed his arm and held it high so he could kiss the underside. Harry made the most astonishing sound, half-keening and half-startled, and flung his head back so that Draco could lean in to suck on his throat.
It took far longer than Draco thought it should have to remove Harry's clothes, but when he was done, Harry lay revealed and shining before Draco, and Draco took his time licking his hands and dipping his tongue into his navel and rejoicing in the fact there was no soul-mark anywhere he could see.
"Are you going to fuck me or what?"
"So impatient," Draco said softly, and reached out to trail his fingers slowly down Harry's arm, where he'd kissed him before. Harry squirmed, and Draco reached for his wand.
He'd decided to use magic since they were both too impatient for fingers, but honestly, by the time he'd made the slow passes with his wand and watched Harry's eyes widening as the spells affected his arse, it was almost like having his fingers inside Harry. He still hissed when he cast the spell on his cock, the lube soaking him and warming almost instantly, but there was that moment of cold and shock when he caught Harry's eye and saw the greedy wonder there.
"I want you," Harry said, softly and determinedly, as if he thought Draco might have changed his mind because of the feel of the lube on his cock.
"I want you," Draco echoed back, and his voice was breathier and gaspier than he had imagined. He lifted his cock slowly, cupping and stroking, and saw the way Harry fastened his eyes on it, and the way his legs shivered open and shut and open again.
"Yes."
Draco leaned forwards, kissing Harry at the same moment as he slid slowly inside him. Harry bucked and tightened with pain, and Draco kept him there a moment, stroking his flanks, letting Harry adjust. Then he continued to press unhurriedly forwards, listening to the whines that rose up to his ears.
Harry soon started flexing and pushing with his hips, as if he wanted to get more of Draco inside him but didn't know how. The slippery satin sheets didn't help much. Draco chuckled and moved, oh so slowly--he had to be slow or he would slip out--to kneel on the bed and shove a little further inside.
"Bloody hell, that's good," Harry said, and his head went back, wild hair tossed around his face and wild eyes open.
"I know," Draco said, smugly. He kept thinking, as he pushed forwards again and again, and Harry picked up the pace of the thrusts and began to move with him, all the time staring at his face in wonder, that this was the first time Harry would have experienced this. Maybe he'd done it with another man, but not Draco.
This is mine. This is mine as much as he is. What we're doing is what we're doing, and no one can take that away from us.
It wasn't long before Harry had started to hiss through his teeth when Draco's cock moved forwards inside him. Draco watched him, but didn't stop moving. He was still sure that Harry would say something if he was really in pain, and until then Draco would do what they both wanted.
Harry didn't ask Draco to stop. He didn't ask anything. His long moment wore on and on, and he painted, and then he abruptly arched his back and reached down as far as he could, grabbing Draco's sides, digging in. Draco winced as he felt tiny drops of blood start from the cuts, and Harry's eyes grew fixed past his head.
"Are you all right?" Draco succumbed to weakness in the moment before he could think better of it. Harry should be the one to tell him what was wrong.
But then Harry let loose, in the same moment, a little whine and floods of come. Draco found himself sitting back so it didn't slime all of his shirt. He blinked and stared down, watching Harry shake from the mere sensation of having Draco stroke along his insides, watching him come, climax, orgasm, whatever you wanted to call it, because Draco was there and doing this to him.
Draco felt the shudders starting in his loins, too, little more than a minute after Harry had subsided. He shook and buried his face against Harry's hair, his fingers curving into claws that might carve blood from Harry's temples in turn, and Merlin, it had never felt like this before. So dizzying and brightening and emptying and draining.
Harry was actually the first one to stir, before Draco had come back from his journey into the depths of--whatever that was. He sighed so heavily that Draco started, and took his hand back so he could comb gentle fingers through Draco's hair in turn. Draco blinked at him, close, close, close with his face resting against Harry's cheek.
"I never knew," Harry said simply.
Draco could come up with smug and self-interested things to say, but in the end, he chose, "Me, neither," and laid his cheek against Harry's with the tiniest of sighs.
They didn't fall asleep yet, and as it turned out, Harry had a lot more to say. But they didn't say it then, silent and drifting, with warmth and pleasure and something more, burning, tucked between them.
*
“Are you sure that you want to say something that aggressive? It’ll change all our game plans.”
Doge’s fingers were practically fluttering over his parchment and ink. Draco controlled his sneer with an effort. Doge himself wanted to run the story Harry was telling him about. Only drool would make it clearer.
But he was afraid—of de Berenzan, as so many people were, of the consequences. Draco controlled his sneer and stood behind Harry’s chair with his arms folded, though. He had promised that he would let Harry handle this particular challenge.
“I’m sure.” Harry sat up and radiated confidence, even though he also had his arms folded. “The public deserves to know.”
Magical words to someone like Doge, Draco thought, as he watched the man’s face smooth out and his hand stop its nervous tapping. He nodded. “They do indeed, Mr. Potter. I suppose you wouldn’t be willing to talk in detail about your own search for a soulmate?”
Tension corded Draco’s muscles. He was ready and willing to let Harry start the story circulating of exactly why de Berenzan had run the article about Sheldon, they’d discussed that, but Harry’s own personal details weren’t part of the bargain.
Harry, though, reached back and squeezed Draco’s hand once, seeming to know without consultation what he felt. “Only a small part of it. I think we need to keep the focus on what our Minister and Ministry are doing. And, well, I never found a soulmate. Can you make a satisfying story out of a quest with no ending?”
Well done again, Draco thought as Doge’s expression became thoughtful. He made a few incomprehensible notes to himself and hummed.
“No, I suppose not,” he said at last. “But you are willing to say that de Berenzan ran that story only to try to undermine Draco and his support for you?”
“Well, and to make me look bad, of course,” said Harry, with a slight shrug. “Like I was breaking up a pair of happy and destined lovers. You have to put it in there, or it seems like a big risk for de Berenzan to take, without a lot of payoff.”
He’s always taking risks like that. Pissing me off, for example. But once again, Draco could keep his mouth shut against the words that wanted to rush out.
“All right, all right,” Doge was grumbling as he wrote. He acted like it was a huge imposition, but Draco knew exactly what those trembling hands and vicious smile meant. Doge was beside himself with the chance to cause trouble. “If you think enough people will believe this, I have no trouble writing it.”
“Good,” Harry said, mildly enough that even Draco had to take a second glance. But there was no doubt about the promised trouble gleaming in his eyes if Doge didn’t do as he’d said, and Doge glanced up, saw, and swallowed.
He had some bravado left in him, though. “You don’t think the Minister might come after you himself for implying this?”
Harry reached back with another hand, clasped Draco’s, and let Draco draw him to his feet. “Think? We’re counting on that.”
*
Granger hadn’t stopped giving Draco curious glances since he and Harry had walked into Lovegood’s house that morning.
Draco was conclusively ignoring her, as far as he could when they needed to plan a strategy together. He knew what she was slavering to ask. Why he’d refused his soulmate, how could he be with Harry when he had someone marked as the supposed other half of his soul out there, or any variation of those.
Even for someone who acknowledged that they didn’t know what soul-marks meant and had to think about it in more detail, she had those unthinking Gryffindor prejudices in favor of romance.
Luckily, Harry announcing that they would step up the campaign against de Berenzan distracted her thoroughly.
“Are you sure that’s going to be enough?” she fretted, pacing back and forth in front of the huge, twisted block of round black stone that Lovegood used as her kitchen table. Draco wondered if the house had ever had a normal table, but then, Lovegood would probably just have set fire to it if it had. “I mean, yes, of course the Minister is one of those people who knew the secrets about markless children, but the Wizengamot had to know, too. Can we convince people to stop the slaughter if we only have a new Minister?”
Harry rolled one eye sideways to Draco, silently asking him if he wanted to take this. Draco nodded, and stood up to confront Granger.
Harry lounged back on the couch. It thrilled Draco to know that he would be utterly unconcerned about Draco “handling” one of his friends.
“I don’t see that we have any other choice but to believe the Minister mostly responsible,” Draco began. “It’s certainly de Berenzan who’s been most frantic to stop us, and the propaganda we found was addressed to Minister Bagnold. Not the Wizengamot. I don’t think any members of the Wizengamot have even spoken up, have they?” He glanced at Lovegood, who was better at keeping track of things like that.
“They have not,” Lovegood said, and then looked up with a slightly pensive frown on her face. “Unless they were whispering their secrets to sunflowers and the sunflowers were forgetting to deliver them. Some of them do that, you know.”
“Some people?” Draco asked, unable to resist.
“And some flowers.”
Harry gave Draco a mild glare. He did still object to him teasing Lovegood. Draco sighed and turned back to his main target. “We have no evidence that the Wizengamot was actually involved. No, Granger, reasonable suppositions aren’t evidence,” he added, as Granger opened her mouth even wider. “We have to have some kind, and we don’t.”
“But then what happens if we do manage to remove Minister de Berenzan?”
“We have a new Minister.”
Granger’s arms looked like they were folded tightly enough to give her constipation—which would explain something about the expression on her face, Draco mused. “You know what I mean, Malfoy. The Wizengamot aren’t going to sit tamely back and let us do this. What happens once they start opposing us? We’ll be vulnerable no matter how strong we are.”
“I think you’ll find the Wizengamot hates one thing more than someone telling them what to do,” said Draco, nodding.
“What’s that?” Granger stopped pacing long enough to look at them.
“Someone lying to them so that they have no idea what to do,” said Draco, and watched the way her face became thoughtful. “For whatever reason, the Ministry workers who wrote that record for Bagnold didn’t talk about the Wizengamot. None of the names I’ve been able to track down come from the current Wizengamot.”
“But the older ones—”
“They might be related to the current ones. That doesn’t mean all of these Wizengamot members will think the same thing as the older ones did.” Besides, Draco wanted to add, death is the usual way that one leaves the Wizengamot, so we probably don’t have to worry about the older members.
Granger went back to pacing, but it was a little less frenzied now. Draco leaned on the table and cocked his head at Harry.
“This puts you in the most danger.”
“I’ve been in danger since the day I was born, what with the prophecy and no mark. I’ll be fine.”
Draco nodded, a little less convinced than he wanted to be. But Harry was the one who had calmed Weasley already, although Draco had paid no attention to the conversation, and he was the one who moved forwards and lowered his voice to speak with Granger now. Draco supposed he would have to accept that Harry was the best judge of his own safety.
Looking restlessly around the kitchen, he caught Lovegood’s eye. She nodded and cut another article out of an old Daily Prophet. Draco knew she was planning on announcing this story through the Quibbler after Doge published his article, but he had no idea why she wanted to collect Prophet editions.
“It will be all right,” Lovegood said.
“Did the sunflowers tell you that?”
“No. The Wrackspurts. They can be useful, sometimes, although they don’t like being that way.” Lovegood brought her wand down sharply on the last piece of paper that attached that article to the rest of the Prophet, and nodded. “They feel like being useful right now.”
Draco sighed and closed his eyes. He hadn’t slept well last night, after he and Harry had planned this out, trying to foresee every way the plan could go wrong. As long as no one needed him right now, he thought he could afford to snatch some rest.
*
SP777: He will, if he doesn't fill the Minsitry with his political enemies.
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The Rising of the Stones