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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 Eight—Publish and Be Damned
            “There’s someone in the fire for you, Ministerial Candidate Malfoy.”
            Draco stood at once. Rosenthal’s voice was smooth and light, but there was a heaviness to her brow, a hoodedness to her eyes, that alerted him that this was no ordinary firecall. Besides, he was with Rahad and a few other trusted allies. If Rosenthal had thought it ordinary, she would have announced the name.
            “If you will excuse me,” Draco said, and bowed from the waist, making sure to direct most of the bow towards Rahad, not as the senior Ministry official present in the room, but as the one he had promised the most to after his election and who had promised the most in return. “This may be important.”
            Rahad smiled and leaned back in the chair, saluting him a little with a glance that said she knew all about subordinates deciding that something was more important than it really was. Draco ducked his head in humility that he knew she knew was false, but it looked good, and then walked out of the sitting room to see what Rosenthal wanted.
            She waited for him in the corridor with her face gone pale. Draco cast a charm that would add color to her features in case they passed anyone else asking her for guidance; there were several parties of strangers wandering the Manor this morning, the lesser Ministry flunkies whom Rosenthal and a few of his less important advisers were entertaining.
            “Harry?” Draco asked. Harry, with bad news, was the only person he could think of who could have made Rosenthal look like that.
            Rosenthal shook her head. Draco was glad to see that her hands had stopped shaking and her face, while still unnaturally white even with the glamour charm, had gone from strained to composed. “Minister Tillipop,” she said.
            Draco stared at her. But he knew Rosenthal wouldn’t lie, and although she might be fooled by someone with a glamour claiming to be the Minister, Draco couldn’t see who would do that. Easy enough to check later if it was and they also managed to fool Draco himself. Tillipop wasn’t known for making his moves subtle or hard to detect.
            “Very well,” he said, and moved down the corridor in the direction of the sitting room that Rosenthal indicated. “Please give my excuses to Rahad and the others.”
            Rosenthal nodded, then closed her eyes, probably to help her summon up the right words in her mind. Draco didn’t envy her. He had the harder task, but Rosenthal was more badly shaken by the circumstance of the Minister firecalling him than Draco was.
            Draco did have to admit that along with the worry, he walked into the sitting room with curiosity burning up his chest. What could Tillipop have to say to him, through this relatively private and discreet form of communication? He was the type to announce his moves at the top of his lungs, especially if he thought there was every chance of them working. And he wasn’t smart enough to figure out what didn’t work.
            “Ministerial Candidate Malfoy?”
            The words were expertly pronounced, which eliminated drunkenness and most glamours. It was hard to cast an auditory glamour that would fool someone who knew the Minister’s voice well, as Draco did. Draco didn’t discount Polyjuice yet, though. He shut the door of the sitting room behind him and nodded to the face floating in the fire. “Tillipop,” he said, not seeing the need to use a title of respect that would be removed from the man soon enough. “You had something you wished to say to me?”
            Tillipop licked his lips. Draco inched the chance of this being the man himself higher on his mental probability scale. Polyjuice gave you the voice and the looks, but not innate mastery over the habits and gestures of the person you were imitating.
            “We both know that we need to stop playing games,” Tillipop said.
            Draco sat down in front of the fireplace, in a chair he had placed the proper distance away to communicate but not get ashes on himself, and crossed his legs as he smiled at Tillipop. “But all of politics is a game,” he said. “If you wish to remove yourself from the board, of course, you have only to say so. Announce your retirement instead of your running in the election.”
            Tillipop clenched his jaw hard enough that Draco heard a popping sound. Then he took a deep breath, and gave Draco a smile that could have been mistaken as indulgent by someone stupider than Draco. “We both know that I hold the winning hand.”
            “I wasn’t aware that this was cards,” Draco said softly.
            Tillipop looked now as if he wished that he would have had someone else handle this firecall instead. But he shook his head and moved forwards into the threats that Draco had already been expecting. “Mr. Malfoy. You know that we have damaging evidence of the connection you have with Dark Lord Potter, and that we can publish that damaging evidence.”
            Draco didn’t move, didn’t start, didn’t flinch. There was always the possibility that someone else would have betrayed him—maybe Blaise, whose mother had been punished by Harry—or that someone would have put two and two together and claimed to have decisive evidence. “You caught me,” he said.
            Tillipop gaped at him.
            “I did indeed donate some money to Hogwarts.” Draco cast his eyes down and sighed sadly. “And invited him to dine with my parents. I was afraid that my dirty secrets must come out at last.”
            “Mr. Malfoy!” From the sound of it, something expensive had broken in the room behind Tillipop. Draco hoped it was because someone else with him was staggering about with laughter. “You know what I mean. Your friendship, and his funding of your campaign.”
            Stop. Wait. Draco wanted to laugh aloud, but he maintained his mask without much difficulty. He had been through harder attempts to crack his mask when it came to his father. Admittedly, he hadn’t been through many trials as hilarious as this. They’ve got hold of the stick by the wrong end, haven’t they?
            Draco leaned further back in the chair, and blinked. “What about his funding of my campaign?”
            Tillipop laughed, the kind of laugh that said he was master of the situation and everyone else would have to bow down to him. The poor fool, Draco thought. The only reason he became Minister at all was to be a useful puppet to some people, and now that he’s not useful anymore, he’s been abandoned to his fate. “We know that he was at Gringotts yesterday, rearranging his vaults. What does that mean but that he was taking some money out to give to your campaign?”
            “You could contact him and ask him, of course,” Draco said. “I don’t think he’s lied yet about his intentions.”
            Tillipop sneered at him. “I’m asking you.”
            Draco dipped his head. He would have to send a letter to Harry, of course, partially because he thought he knew what Harry was doing at Gringotts but he didn’t know, and partially to make sure that this tactic wouldn’t backfire. But the chance to ask the question and bait the Minister into a trap was too rich to be resisted. “I’m so honored that you’re asking me, Minister, but honestly, I’m not sure that I can help you. Maybe it would be better if you published the information and we could see what light the general public could throw on the situation.”
            “This is blackmail, you fool,” said Tillipop, unexpectedly loud. “Do you realize that?”
            And that Pensieve memory, Minister, just cost you the campaign. But Draco kept himself leaning back in the chair, and just shook his head a little. “You’ve published many things already that hurt the Dark Lord Potter worse, and still he’s limited his retaliation against you. Do you want to publish this? Go ahead.”
            Tillipop did some more staring. Draco looked back at him. Of course he doesn’t understand what I’m playing at. He was never a professional politician, but he’s facing one. Training at Lucius Malfoy’s knee was excellent preparation for a life in politics.
            Finally, Tillipop said, “You’ll be sorry that you didn’t accede to my request.”
            Draco smiled. “Was that a threat? Or did you already make the threat?”
            There was an inrush of flame, and Tillipop vanished from his hearth. Draco leaned forwards and pressed his fingers to his forehead, taking a minute to revise his actions and make sure that he hadn’t done something that could get him in trouble.
            But no, he was pretty sure he hadn’t. The Minister would publish this, and the goblins of Gringotts would explain what had really happened—the goblins had no reason not to—and Tillipop would look even stupider.
            Of course, the success of that strategy depended on Draco going and spending some time with Harry to warn him about the impending article.
            Draco grinned. Luckily, that’s no trouble at all.
*
            Harry smiled, but kept his eyes on his notes for now. The ripple of joy that had run through Hogwarts, the shutters flying open in empty rooms and then closing again, the suddenly straining branches of the trees, the breath of health and happiness in musty corridors, told him well enough who had come through the fire. But for now, he would let Draco have his little surprise.
            Hands wrapped around his eyes, and Draco’s voice murmured, “Guess who?”
            “My secret boyfriend?” Harry responded promptly. “Careful, you want to hurry out of here before you run into my other lover, the one who’s running for Minister.”
            Draco snorted and spun his chair around. Harry went with it, glad for once that Briseis had insisted on casting spells on the chair that would allow it to turn easily. Harry could have done that with his own magic, but it eased her boredom in this pause between major actions, and a bored Slytherin was a dangerous one.
            He was forcibly reminded of that when Draco climbed into his lap and whispered, “Are you busy, or can you spare some time for your first secret boyfriend?”
            “For you? Always.” Harry slid his hands up Draco’s neck and into his hair, kissing him. He felt his magic slide and brighten, and there was a disgusted flapping of wings outside his window that told him Persephone was flying away. She had taken to bringing small animals in from the Forbidden Forest lately and artistically arranging their corpses on his pillow, but she would have to go off and eat the latest one by herself.
            “Wow,” Draco said, sounding simply and happily dazed, as he surfaced from the latest kiss, blinking.
            “Did you come here to make love, or for something more serious?” Harry turned towards the bed, which hopped up on sudden, new toes and jolted towards them, anxious to be of service.
            “Something more serious, unfortunately.” Draco tightened a hand in Harry’s hair and sighed. “Tillipop found out that you did some sort of rearrangement of vaults at Gringotts. He contacted me threatening to publish the information that you’d been funding my campaign.” He cocked an eyebrow at Harry. “As though he knew the exact size of the Malfoy vaults. Fool. I told him to publish and be damned. Was I right?”
            The undercurrent of anxiety in Draco’s voice made Harry smile. He kissed Draco again, hard enough to make him wriggle, and murmured into his ear, “You did exactly right. We’ll make Tillipop squirm.”
            “Not in the same way as me, hopefully,” Draco said, and widened his legs over Harry’s lap.
            “Never in the same way,” Harry promised, and slid his hand down to Draco’s groin. “I only want you. Along with, you know, my people safe and possible eventual world domination—no, wait, that’s my evil twin in the Daily Prophet. I want the first two things. And the second is all right for now, so…” And he kissed Draco again.
            Giving himself to Harry’s strokes, his eyes rolling back in his head and his body falling gracefully into the rhythm, made Draco one of the most beautiful things Harry had ever seen. Watching the expressions flit and change across his face meant more than watching the sunrise. There was nothing dark about him, in any sense, only simple surrender, simple pleasure.
            Out in the Forest, he knew, Persephone was probably vomiting from the sweetness. Or relieving her feelings by tearing something small and crunchy to bits.
            Harry snickered, and stroked faster.
*
            Draco couldn’t believe the soaring feelings in his own chest. He had thought he had enjoyed flying when he was sitting on his broom, but it was nothing compared to this, to the sheer abundance of delight.
            He hadn’t felt it that much, he thought woozily, as he wobbled back and forth on Harry’s lap and Harry steadied him with an arm across his back, then continued moving his hand in the best way. His father had always said there was contentment and glee in politics, but no happiness. That had been in the nature of a warning when Draco announced that he intended to pursue a career as Minister. Lucius seemed concerned that happiness was something that Draco would miss.
            Maybe it would have been. But now…
            Harry, Draco thought, his head bowing forwards until his brow touched Harry’s shoulder, and his hair rustled in a rhythm that told him just how hard and fast and well Harry was stroking him. Harry kissed him and murmured into his ear, and it didn’t matter that the words weren’t audible.
            Harry, Draco thought again, and came.
            Harry hissed in satisfaction, a literal hiss, and raised his hand to his mouth. Draco stared at him in surprise. He hadn’t even realized that Harry had unbuttoned his robes, and so Draco had exploded over Harry’s fingers instead of inside cloth.
            Harry held his eyes. Draco stared back, feeling like a bird before a snake. Well, that was appropriate, given that Harry could speak Parseltongue.
            But in this case, it seemed that Harry had only wanted to make sure that Draco was watching, not to hypnotize him. Because he stuck out his tongue and swept it down his fingers in a long, impressive lick, humming under his breath.
            Draco shuddered all over. If it wasn’t that he felt utterly spent, he was sure he could have gone again. Instead, he managed to reach behind himself, or under, and then shift forwards again when he realized exactly where in Harry’s lap he was. Harry smiled and rolled his hips, offering himself up to Draco’s fumbling grip as if he couldn’t imagine anything better.
            It seemed the enchantment that had guided Draco’s steps so far this day, though, letting him make the right decision with Tillipop and enjoy this interlude with Harry, had come to an end, because the door to the office opened.
            Draco scrambled, but Harry held him still, and turned to face the door with a calm gaze. Draco cleared his throat and reminded himself that Hogwarts would have told Harry who was coming long before they arrived. He did try to make sure that his cock was out of sight, though.
            Especially when he saw that Granger, pale and nervous, was the one who stood in the doorway. At least her gaping at him and Harry made a change from her nervousness, which Draco would have found tiresome to deal with.
            “Harry,” Granger whispered. “I thought—I thought I’d try and see if you still had an exception for me in the wards, and now…” She trailed off. Draco decided she was trying to look at the ceiling and away from them to spare them all some embarrassment, but she also didn’t want to remove her eyes from her best friend’s face.
            “There’s always an exception for you,” Harry said, and his eyes were wise and his smile infectious. He put out a hand to Granger, and she blinked at him and muttered something about having to send a letter instead.
            Draco could sense how precarious the balance in the room was. His words might have made Granger consider better, but she had probably come here without a plan, except testing the wards the way she had talked about. She hadn’t come here to talk to Harry, but she hadn’t come here not to talk to him, either. She could flee any second if she decided that the fortunes of the moment were against her, and she might not come back.
            Just like a Gryffindor, Draco thought. Jump right in, because lack of a plan can’t possibly hurt them, right?
            Granger shut her eyes and swallowed. Then she opened her eyes again, and whispered, “H-Harry?”
            “I still need you,” Harry said, his voice deep, his eyes never moving from her face. “I still would welcome you back. But we need to have a good long talk about what we both believe, and maybe make each other some promises.”
            Granger’s face looked on the verge of crumbling. Draco quickly and quietly picked up his wand. He knew what was best. He would Apparate himself home, which he could easily do through the exceptions in the wards that Harry had built in for him. Someone like Granger could walk into the school without tripping the guards; Draco was the only one other than Harry and Weasley who could Apparate in and out of the office.
            But Harry caught his hand without seeming to look at him, and said, “Let Draco and me get into a less compromising position, and then we can talk, Hermione.”
            Granger nodded, her eyes squinting as though she was trying to keep back sunlight—or tears. Harry turned to Draco and smiled at him.
            “Your choice,” he said. “Stay or go. I just didn’t want you to feel as though you had to leave.”
            “All things considered,” Draco said carefully, “it might be best.”
            That won him the smile that was Harry’s alone, and Harry leaned up to kiss him delicately on the cheek. “Goodbye,” he whispered. “Remember you owe me one.”
            “The kind of debt I enjoy owing, and the only one I do,” Draco said, for Granger’s benefit, and carefully stood up and prepared himself and his clothes before he Apparated away, the last thing he felt under his hand the touch of his lord and lover’s shoulder.
*
SP777: Yes, I need to make Blackthorne a more major character. I think I’ll go have him do some recruiting.
Genuka: Yes. But Hermione may be close to doing that.
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