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Sympathy for the Predators	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Lucius Views: 14907 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I am not making any money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Sympathy for the Predators
- 2-Tiger
- 3-Cheetah
- 4-Wolf
- 5-Fox
- 6-Falcon
- 7-Jaguar
- 8-Killer Whale
- 9-Lion
- 10-Dolphin
- 8
- 9
- 10
Thank you again for all the reviews!

Part IX. Lion.

Hunting together.

            Harry woke at what felt like an early hour, but try as he might, Lucius was up before him.

            “Good morning,” said the refined voice, which Harry felt like treacle pouring over his skin now that he had some experience of how the body felt. “Do you prefer juice or tea for breakfast?”

            Harry lay still and inhaled the scent of the sheets before he responded. He had the feeling that calculation and long pauses would do him no harm at all with Lucius. And if house-elves were serving everything, as Harry suspected was the case, then he didn’t have to worry about the food cooling or being less than perfect if he waited.

            “Tea,” he said at last, and sat up and turned around in the bed. He wondered if Lucius would be naked, dressed, or somewhere in between.

            Lucius wore a long and pale dressing robe, which was draped around his body casually enough that one could imagine the lines of his chest and shoulders beneath it—at least, Harry amended conscientiously, one could if one was familiar with them already. He found that he didn’t like to think about whether other people who might have been with Lucius like this could see them or not. He had the Prophet in front of him and a plate covered with small pieces of meat that Harry didn’t recognize. He eyed them curiously as he conjured a dressing robe for himself and came forwards to sit on the other side of the table from Lucius. His teacup was already waiting for him.

            “What are you eating?” he asked.

            “Quail,” Lucius said. “I favor it in the morning, sometimes.” He didn’t raise his eyes from the paper.

            Harry made a face despite himself. “That sounds like something more suited for a full meal,” he remarked, aware that he wanted to make Lucius look at him, and wondering if it was an unworthy desire. “Or one of those Ministry farces that I do my best not to attend.”

            “Do you attend any of them?” Lucius turned a page. His voice remained no more than mildly interested. “Since you turned against the Ministry, I imagine that you have not been showered with invitations.”

            “At times I go to see friends or contacts,” Harry said, and wondered if he should clap his hands or merely ask for a house-elf so that he could get some food. Tea was nice, but not filling—at least, not without Lucius’s attention. “And to see what people are saying about me, of course.”

            “Of course,” Lucius said, lifting his eyes at last. “One must be talked about to achieve anything in the wizarding world.”

            Harry caught his breath. Lucius’s glance was like a flame in the way that it burned away the shelters Harry had instinctively tried to hide behind. He swallowed, wondering if Lucius had known it would be like this and if that was the reason he had looked down so steadfastly until this point.

            “Let us have one thing absolutely understood,” Lucius said. His voice was low but clear, like a wind blowing off an iceberg. “You are mine now. I will expect no straying, no sharing. I do not share well. If I hear a rumor that you are dating anyone else, then I will strike first and ask questions later.”

            Harry narrowed his eyes. In one way, such a declaration of possession made him feel breathless and flattered. Ginny had never been that jealous, because she had been secure that he would never cheat on her.

            On the other hand, it made him feel bloody annoyed.

            “Then you’ll be challenging a lot of people to duels, I expect,” Harry snapped.



            Lucius laid down the paper and leaned forwards to listen better, his eyes filled with an absolutely feral light.

“There will always be rumors about me,” Harry said. “I’m the Boy-Who-Lived. And there will always be people like Willowwand who think they can force their attentions on me even though I give them a clear refusal.” He pushed his chair back from the table. “If you can’t live with that, if I’m always to be the one at fault, then perhaps it’s for the best if I leave now.”

The breathless feeling had changed to one of anger; the flattered feeling was gone. So Lucius was like all the rest of them, wanting Harry so exclusively that the inevitable stories would drive him away, blaming Harry for fame he had never wanted—

Lucius stepped around the table and caught Harry in imprisoning arms that held his own arms firmly at his sides. “Do calm down,” he murmured, managing to sound more reasonable than Harry had thought he would. “I did not mean that I would accuse you of straying because of ridiculous stories. I warn you only against taking another lover of your own free will.”

“Oh, yes?” Harry wrenched at his arms, irritated to find that Lucius was stronger than he was. Not magically, though, he thought, and began to call his power. “And how are you going to distinguish them? Plenty of people haven’t done so. Sometimes the people who knew me well in school believe them.” Everyone except Ron and Hermione, he added silently. Even Neville had firecalled him once to ask if it was true that Harry had slept with his grandmother, a story that was the result of an exceptionally slow newsday at the Prophet.

            Lucius was silent for long moments. Then he said, “Forgive me. I can only imagine that others will be as eager to have you as I am.”

            “Do you think I would let them?” Harry replied disdainfully. His magic leaned warmly against his ribs from the inside, ready to do as he commanded. He was contemplating a slight sting to the bottom of Lucius’s arms. “Possessiveness like that gives me no credit for strength of my own whatsoever.”

            Lucius, though certainly perceptive enough to guess that his tight hold was irritating Harry, tightened it further still. “Forgive me,” he repeated, voice low in Harry’s ear and as warm as the tea. “But there must be a way to reconcile the claims of my need and your independence.”

            “Must there?” Harry kept still, not letting the magic get out of him, but not letting Lucius’s words unduly influence him, either. “I don’t see why. Perhaps we’re suited to each other, but in limited ways. Living together may not be one of those ways.”

            Lucius showed no signs of letting him go. Therefore, Harry did nothing but stare steadily into his eyes and wait for his words to penetrate that stubborn brain.

*



            Everything with Potter is a battle.

            Lucius had to laugh at himself as his visions of a perfect, smooth time with Potter puffed into oblivion. Of course being with him was not perfect. It could not be so when they had challenges to face from the Ministry, Draco, and, doubtless, Potter’s friends and the Auror who was obsessed with him.

            He loosened his arms enough that Potter would feel less trapped, and smoothed his hair back from his scar.

            “Everyone sees you as their hero,” he said. “Or almost everyone. Your friends and your lover do not.”

            Potter blinked at the word lover, but otherwise maintained a calm face and a calm stare at Lucius.

            “You have managed to live your own life in spite of the pressures of fame,” Lucius continued. “That is a task many would call impossible.” He stared at the scar and marveled that he now knew what it tasted like. “Your courage, your strength, are equal to that. Do you believe that they are not equal to the pressure of this relationship between us? And do you believe that my will is not?”

            Potter gave a slight start. Lucius was a past master at noting when such things happened, and he was sure that it had been at the moment he spoke the word relationship. So Potter had not expected him to call it that, had not expected Lucius to believe in their future as a joined pair so strongly? That was something worth knowing.

            “That isn’t the point,” Potter said. His voice remained low and so even that Lucius expected the Minister would find it a surprise if he ever tried to debate Potter. This was not the impulsive child whom Lucius had faced years ago. That impressed him once more, and made him sure that Potter had not approached him last night because of a sudden, regrettable desire that would flare and burn out once assuaged. “I don’t doubt your strength, or mine. But there are some things that simply can’t be compromised or reasoned with. The laws of gravity and heat. I think that this is one of those things, if you insist on having complete control of my movements and who I see. I spent too long as a slave. I’m not going to give into anyone’s ownership.”

            Lucius smoothed a hand down Potter’s back. The dip between his shoulder blades probably tasted wonderful, though Lucius had not had a chance to absorb that last night. “Then perhaps you cannot compromise your independence,” he said. “But my desire for ownership is not such a fundamental law of my being.” He met Potter’s eyes and smiled in a way that he knew made his face look even more handsome than usual. “It may be, however, that I will require reassurance in other ways if I trust to your word.”

            “Such as?” Potter still looked wary, but less as if he were a deer that would bolt the moment Lucius began talking.

            “Constant compliments,” Lucius said. Potter only looked interested instead of scornful, so he went on. “Constant sex.” That brought a smile. Lucius touched his cheek and tried not to think about how much he would enjoy seeing it pressed to his pillow again right now. As close as they were, Potter could not miss Lucius’s reaction to such a thought, and he would assume that the conversation was not sufficiently serious. He had not yet learned that seriousness and desire could coexist. “Constant closeness.”

            “That doesn’t sound so bad, actually,” said Potter, and his voice was a little breathless.

            Lucius smiled at him and released him. Potter sat down on the chair he’d risen from, looking thoughtful.

            “Did you wish breakfast?” Lucius glanced at the empty plate in front of Potter.

            Potter smiled at him. “I wasn’t sure how to get it.”

            “Clap your hands, and then name the foods aloud that you want,” Lucius said. “Bell will serve you.” He waited for the automatic distaste to cross Potter’s face when he named his house-elf, but Potter only looked thoughtful again, then clapped his hands and began to name a list of common breakfast foods, of which Lucius only bothered to listen to the toast and eggs.

            The food appeared, and Potter ate. Lucius sat opposite him, studying his manners. Tranquil, practiced, polished. Of course, he had expected that, seeing how much time Potter had spent in the company of people who would expect sophistication from a patron of the arts. And there would have been private parties that Potter would have had to make a good showing at, even for the least fussy people.

            He remained as beautiful as he had. Lucius had wondered whether bedding Potter would mar his visions in that direction. If anything, however, Potter seemed heightened in beauty now. He was comfortable in his body as Lucius had never seen him. A subtle but noticeable tension was gone.

            He at last is getting regular sex again, Lucius thought, and couldn’t resist a stretch of self-congratulations. Potter’s gaze came to him at once, which made it even better. Lucius turned his head to the side, and, yes, Potter followed the curve of his neck and the flex of his throat with hungry eyes.

            Lucius turned back and gave him a knowing smile. Potter blushed, then returned the smile. Lucius nodded. “I will train you to acknowledge your pleasure and revel in your body over time,” he promised.

            “That’s good to know,” Potter said, and Lucius saw, to his astonishment, that Potter was already thinking of something else. The blush in his cheeks had faded, and his eyes were clear as he regarded Lucius. “But what else do we need to face? What else do we need to do? Draco is going to be angry, but how angry? Will be the Aurors hold him for long, or will his Ministry contacts ensure that he’s out in a short while?”

            Lucius spent a moment wishing that he could have established more of a hold over Potter than that. Then he said, “I suspect that his contacts will guarantee his release, at least, but his position has been weakened. He attacked me in public, and failed to kill me—a more devastating result than losing his temper in public would have been. I believe those wary of angering you or me will put pressure on him not to turn to them for assistance. His power is broken.” His words ended with a vicious, snapping hiss, a tone which he had once imagined he would never use when discussing Draco. On the other hand, he had once imagined that his son would never disappoint him so violently.

            Potter nodded. “Do we need to make a public statement? I know that plenty of people will expect one, but there’s a fine line between doing what’s necessary and catering to the crowd’s appetite for favors.” He made a wry face. “And their appetite for me.”

            Lucius bit his lip, hard, so that he would not say some of the things he wanted to in response to that. His jealousy was already like bile, but Potter could not help being famous; his destiny had been chosen for him before he was old enough to make a choice in any way that mattered.

            And now I am defending him from beliefs I would have shared two months ago.

            But that did not trouble Lucius unduly. After all, he had been forced to change his mind quickly more than once, such as both times after the Dark Lord lost, and then convince others that he had always believed that way. In this case, he had much more incentive than he had those times. Then, he had only freedom and life to gain.

            This time, power, beauty, and a lover.

            He gave Potter a smile that he probably did not understand, if the walleyed glance he gave Lucius was any indication, and said, “I think no statement necessary. Let the papers and the public work themselves into a frenzy of speculation. Meanwhile, we will appear in public as companions and whatever else we please to be. If we are summoned to make statements by the Ministry, of course that is a different thing.”

            Potter nodded, using his fork to pick up a last bite of scrambled eggs and frowning at the wall. “Yeah, it probably would have happened already, except that Ron is my friend and he could have used the memories of witnesses to tell him what happened.”

            “We should consider,” Lucius said, moving delicately on from an area of knowledge, that of Weasley, that he was happy to leave to Potter, “what should happen when your friends learn the truth.”

            Potter gave him a small smile. “Ron already suspects, from the way he looked at me when he came marching in to arrest Draco. But Hermione might take the news badly.”

            “And your friends among the artists?” Lucius prompted, when he realized that Potter had no intention of continuing the list.

            Potter blinked at him, and then lifted his shoulders in a small shrug. “None of them are that close. Most of them are happy as long as I find commissions or patrons for them, and that’s the extent of my involvement.”

            “Not good enough,” Lucius said, and showed his smile and his teeth at the same time, so that Potter could evaluate the threat in context. “The wizarding world is poised on the brink of revolution, as you know. What you do and say among the artists in the next few weeks will matter greatly, since that is where your source of power comes from.”

            Potter lifted his head in challenge, and Lucius saw the predatory gleam in his eyes for the first time since last night. That told Lucius he would have a fight on his hands.

            Lucius knew smiling in approval at this point was a weakness, but he could not help it. He had had lovers before who had expected sharing a bed to change everything between them, who had demanded considerations he would give no one after the event and who had wailed pitifully when he abandoned them. But Potter had not changed. He was still combative, still prone to challenging Lucius’s words if he thought they were not true.

            Give him his rightful name, he told himself, when Potter glared at the smile and drew himself up further.

            Call him Harry.

*

            “Look,” Harry said, keeping his voice low because he thought he would start shouting otherwise. Does he know how infuriating he is? But of course he does. That’s the way he makes it fun for himself. “I’m not going to deny I have influence over the artists. Of course I do. But I’ve refused invitations to become a leader of some kind of disaffected faction before now, both from the artists I’ve helped themselves and from Superbus. I can help. But I’m not a leader. I’m especially not a war-leader, which it sounds like you’re advising me to become.”

            Lucius leaned back against his chair, sleek and posing and still enough to rattle Harry’s breath in his lungs for all of that. Harry bit the inside of his cheek angrily and struggled to maintain his composure in his face, if nowhere else. It seems it’s not easy to stop wanting him once I’ve started. Damn.

            “I am advising you to do nothing,” Lucius said calmly. “This began with a question, that is all. How are your friends among the artists likely to react when they realize that you’re dating notorious former Death Eater Lucius Malfoy?”

            “You sound like a Daily Prophet article,” Harry said darkly.

            That got a reaction. Lucius’s lips tightened and his eyes narrowed so rapidly that Harry might have leaped back and tried to put the table between them if it wasn’t already—and if he was that much of a coward. As things stood, he simply gave Lucius a long look and refused to move.

            “Answer the question,” Lucius said, after a silence in which Harry thought he was probably considering several different responses and rejecting most of them.

            “Some of them won’t care,” Harry said. “Risa Turner surely wouldn’t. My value to them is that I support them and give them advice, and that’s all. Being with you wouldn’t change that.”

            Lucius nodded. “And others?”

            “Others would try to discredit me,” Harry said, and picked up his cup of tea to take a final sip of it. He needed something to do with his hands, or they would roam nervously over the tabletop and probably reach for Lucius again. “Luke Thornsley, for example. But my conflict with him is old, and I doubt that most people would pay much attention to him.”

            “Are there any in the middle category?” Lucius asked calmly. “Any whose disapproval would sting you, and who are likely to disapprove?”

            Harry sighed. “One. Giles Burne-Jones, the one you saw me talking to at the exhibition where Thornsley’s statue took center place.”

            Lucius nodded as if he recalled the man perfectly, though Harry had to wonder if he did. On the one hand, he was willing to credit Lucius with a retentive memory for faces and names; it would be an asset in the political game he had played for so long. On the other, whether Lucius would notice someone he considered below him was an open question. “Then I should go with you when you speak to him.”

            Harry blinked. “Why? I should go by myself, so that he won’t be suspicious.”

            “He’s going to be suspicious no matter what happens,” Lucius pointed out. “At least, if I am there, he can see me face-to-face. It’s harder for people to resist me when I do that.”

            Harry looked at him in silence until he can find the right words. “I should be disgusted that you’re thinking of manipulating people like that,” he said, “but I can’t be, not when I’ve so often done the same thing myself.”

            Lucius gave him a blade-edged smile and didn't deign to comment.

            “Yes, all right.” Harry tapped his fingers against his chin as he considered. “And if he makes a cautious statement that you can be trusted, that statement is likely to spread out and encompass most of the artistic community. Everyone knows Giles.”

            “Of course,” Lucius said.

            Harry wondered about asking him if he planned that, and then refrained. Of course he had planned it that way.

            “Should we go today?” Harry asked. “Or wait until we’re summoned to the Ministry to speak about Draco, if we are?”

            “Today,” Lucius said, rising to his feet, “for two reasons. First, it never pays to let your enemy dictate your moves. If we show that we are not afraid of anything Superbus might do, then he will hesitate to strike at us.”

            Harry nodded. “And the other?”

            “If we stay in these rooms much longer,” Lucius said, “I will take you again. And then the expression on your face after that would tempt me to take you a third time. And then we would never get anything done.”

*

            “Harry.” The painter looked at Harry exclusively for some moments before he focused on Lucius with a reluctance that Lucius could have chosen to take as insulting. He chose to take it as a sign of respect instead. The man was wary of him, and he should be. “Mr. Malfoy.”

            Lucius nodded. “Giles Burne-Jones?” he said, and held out his hand. He could see Burne-Jones gaping at him and feel Harry doing so. He kept his smile hidden behind a mask of bland marble. He did like startling his lovers.

            The man nodded and shook Lucius’s hand, watching it as if he thought that it would open any moment to reveal a wrist-blade which Lucius would sink into his gut. It was good that Lucius had perfected a nondescript expression at many Ministry functions; he needed all of it as he surveyed Burne-Jones. Yes, he knew Harry was at home among commoners, but did he always have to choose someone who was so ugly?

            Or perhaps the painter was not exactly ugly. Perhaps Lucius’s eyes were dazzled by looking on the fallen star that was Harry for the past seventeen hours. But when they moved into the painter’s home, the contrast between them became all the more apparent.

            Harry prowled the room like a cheetah, all long loose movements of his legs and rolling shoulders, gazing up at the paintings with admiration that made him look as if he wanted to eat them. Then he took a chair as if it were a tree branch. Lucius moved lightly to stand beside him, and swiftly enough that he could conceal his erection. He placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. It was as close as he could come right now to the touching he wanted.

            And it was an effective way to show Burne-Jones they were together without kissing Harry. Lucius felt some of his arousal subside and his amusement return when he saw the drop-jawed way Burne-Jones regarded them both, twisting his head back and forth as if he assumed that this was a joke.

            “I am Harry’s lover,” Lucius said, before Harry could speak the no doubt too-conciliating words he had planned on. “Will that disgust or upset you?”

            Harry’s skin slid back and forth under his hand, resembling the skin of the             cheetah Lucius had thought he was like earlier. But he didn’t turn and scold Lucius. Lucius was glad of that. A confrontation between them at this point could only have damaged his credibility in Burne-Jones’s eyes, and they were trying to establish a confident, united front.

            For long moments, Burne-Jones looked as though he didn’t know how to answer. He was staring mostly at Harry, Lucius noted, as if he had automatically assumed that Harry was in control of what lay between them. Lucius kept his annoyance to himself—he had remained standing partially so that he could make a strong impression on Burne-Jones—and waited for his pronouncement.

            “It’s unexpected,” said Burne-Jones at last, taking refuge in a diplomatic word Lucius had often used himself. “How long has this been going on?”

            “Since last night,” Harry said, and gave him a wry smile. “I was sorry to disrupt your exhibition that way.”

            No explanations, no apologies, Lucius thought, the words rolling together in his head with a clacking sound like marbles. I should have told him that before we came into the house. But he doubted Harry would have listened. Their coming here at all was to attempt an explanation of sorts.

            “I was glad you weren’t hurt,” Burne-Jones said. He gave a little sigh, probably of relief, when the conventional words were out of his mouth, and then glanced reluctantly at Lucius. “And you, Mr. Malfoy? I know your son injured you.”

            “Harry cast the appropriate spells,” Lucius said, and made his voice gracious and smooth and cool. He moved his hand gently back and forth on Harry’s shoulder, massaging him. “I did not have to spend long in St. Mungo’s because of his quick thinking. I am grateful to him.”

            Lucius could only see the skin turning red around Harry’s ears and the nape of his neck, rather than feel the extra heat, but he did feel the slight stiffness of Harry’s shoulder before he gave in and leaned back towards Lucius. “That’s right,” he said. “And we came here because we wanted to know if you think this revelation is going to cause trouble among the artists who know me and sometimes listen to my nebulous scraps of advice.”

            Before he could stop himself, Lucius hissed. Such a blunt confession was not why they had come here. They were going to gauge Burne-Jones’s reaction and then use that as a sign of what might happen among other artists close to Harry.

            Harry just looked up at him stubbornly, and Burne-Jones gave Lucius a corkscrew smile. “Oh, you didn’t want him to say that, did you?” he taunted softly. He turned back to Harry then, and appeared to forget that there was anyone else in the room. It was a trick Lucius had rarely seen mastered, and he split his mind in two, one part to admire, the other to detest, the man’s control.

            “Some people won’t like it,” Burne-Jones said. “The ones who prefer to think of you as a hero, like Henry and Orison.”

            Lucius didn’t know either name, but Harry nodded as if he did. “I didn’t expect to please everyone,” he said. “But the others?”

            Burne-Jones spread his hands. “I expect most of them will want to know whether it interferes with your giving them money and time and attention.” He deigned to take notice of Lucius again, a glance so cool that Lucius automatically raised a hand to touch his cheek; it felt as if he should carry the marks of ice there. “I hope that you won’t monopolize Harry,” he said. “There are others in the world who need him more than you do.”

            “I suggest that you do not try to judge the extent of my need,” Lucius said simply. Simplicity would be best to respond to what was almost a naked threat. Besides, the more absurd suggestion under the surface—that Lucius should step tamely aside if someone else wanted to use Harry—was absurd and did not deserve a response. “But in the meantime, I will help Harry, and shelter him, and care for him. You ought to be in favor of that.” He flattened his hand out on Harry’s shoulder and brought his other one into play, working his fingers down between Harry’s neck and the couch. Harry let his head drop forwards, as graceful and languid as a lion in sunlight.

            Burne-Jones gave him a glance steady with hatred, and then stood up. “I think you’ve made clear what you want and what you’re going to do,” he said. “Leave now.”

            “You don’t know me as well as you think you do.” Harry’s voice was lazy, but when he brought his head up, Lucius saw Burne-Jones flinch from the look in his eyes. “I know that some people will react to this with anger that Lucius doesn’t deserve, simply because they consider my life to be public property. Let them know that I don’t intend to back away or start dating someone else because they disapprove. I’ll live much the way I did before, but I won’t abandon Lucius and I won’t allow myself to be dictated to.”

            Burne-Jones said, “You’ve changed.”

            “You speak as though Lucius was an infection,” Harry said, and stood up. Lucius rearranged his hands so that he clasped Harry’s shoulders and leaned around him to smile at Burne-Jones. Let the man think that Lucius was sheltering behind Harry if he wanted. In reality, this was the best way Lucius knew to show how close they were and how much he trusted Harry. “He is not.” Harry paused, then went on in a gentler voice. “I’m still the same person, I promise. I’m just not interested in placating everyone. That’s why we came to you first, among other reasons, so that you could spread truth and not rumors. If you hear them, be good enough to shut them up and explain that you know the truth, won’t you?”

            Burne-Jones folded his arms and looked obstinate. “Maybe I will and maybe I won’t.”

            Harry gave him a tolerant look. “You’re better than that. I know you. If you decide it’s the right thing to do, you will.” And he actually reached out and squeezed the man’s arm, as if he believed Lucius would not react to Harry touching someone else in front of him. Lucius lowered his head until his nose touched the back of Harry’s neck and said nothing, but if Harry was wise, he would take warning from the sharp hiss of breath almost in his ear.

            “Maybe I will,” Burne-Jones said, and Lucius expected him to follow that with another childish declaration, but in the end he shook his head and gave Harry a helpless smile. “This is just so strange. I thought of you one way, and now I have to think of you another way.”

            Harry grinned. “And you’ve never had that experience with a painting before? You’ve never started out thinking you were creating one thing, and it changed on you before the end?”

            “Paintings and people are different,” Burne-Jones said. “They’re alive in different ways.” He let his gaze drift to Lucius, and his mouth went hard. “I’m going to be watching you,” he said, as if he believed that Lucius had been waiting breathlessly for his declaration of where he would stand in this conflict. “If you make the slightest motion to tell me that you’re hurting or controlling Harry, I’ll take revenge on you somehow.”

            Lucius looked back at him, and tried his best to strike a balance between apparent belief and apparent unconcern. In truth, he did not feel threatened at all by Burne-Jones, but showing that would only increase the man’s determination to be a nuisance. “As you wish,” he said. “But I do not intend to hurt or control Harry. What I delight in most, in fact, is when he becomes uncontrolled.”

            Harry went into a coughing fit, while Burne-Jones’s gaze turned puzzled. Harry shook his head and towed Lucius to the door. Lucius allowed it because he thought Harry might need to recover a bit of authority in the eyes of his friend at the moment. Lucius had wanted to make that comment, but it did potentially make Burne-Jones think Harry was weak.

*

            Being out of Giles’s flat felt like being out of the middle of a raging fire. Harry took several deep, grateful breaths of cool air before he turned around and stared at Lucius. “You just had to do that, didn’t you?” he asked.

            “Do what?” Lucius met his eyes and seemed unconcerned.

            “Attack him as if he were an enemy.” Harry sighed and began to move down the street. Remaining too near Giles’s door would tempt him to listen in, and as much as Harry was irritated with Lucius at the moment, conversations like this should still be private.

            Lucius paced beside him, eyes alert and sympathetic. Or perhaps, Harry thought, glancing at him again, gleaming with a trick of the light that could be taken for sympathy if one was inclined to think so.

            “You shoved the fact that we’re lovers in his face,” Harry said. “Yes, I know that you didn’t say much, Lucius, but you don’t need to,” he added quickly, when he saw Lucius opening his mouth to claim innocence. “You can make innocent comments into weapons of war.”

            Lucius studied him from head to foot with an appreciative gaze that made Harry have difficulty walking. “That is the nicest compliment you have ever paid me.”

            Harry shook his head. He wondered if he would get past the stage of being dazzled by Lucius and thinking that everything he said was a good idea soon. He hoped so. Yes, Lucius was his lover, and yes, Harry had made decisions that he otherwise wouldn’t because of him, and yes, he wasn’t about to back off now, but he hated to think of himself as someone treading on friends because of the sun-glaze in his eyes.

            “Regardless,” he said. “There was no reason to antagonize him. He wasn’t threatening to hurt us.”

            “Did you not see the look in his eyes?” Lucius tilted his head inquiringly, sending his braided hair sliding down his shoulder, and Harry told his distracting memories to shut up and behave themselves. “He thought of my existence, or rather, my existence in your orbit, as a threat. Whether it was to your friendship with him or how much money you would spend on him as opposed to me—”

            “It’s not that,” Harry snapped, and then felt embarrassed for reacting so quickly. Bloody Lucius. He even does it to me.

            Lucius gave him a cutting smile that said he knew exactly what he was doing, and continued, “I would not presume to say. But he wanted to let me know that he considered me so. And you must have felt the edge of it, as well, or else why would you claim that I am not an infection?”

            Harry nodded reluctantly. He didn’t want to persist in mindless opposition to Lucius any more than he wanted to persist in mindless adoration. Yes, Giles had been more hostile than would have been ideal, and Harry had not reacted as quickly as he should have because he had been trying to placate him.

            But why should he? Giles was not a close friend like Ron and Hermione, not even someone who had aspired to be Harry’s lover in the way that Willowwand was. And Harry’s visit to him this time had been for avowedly political reasons. There was no reason to be hurt because Giles had not done exactly as Harry would have wished, and no reason to hold back on his own strikes once he determined that he needed to use them.



            “I do take pleasure from that look in your eyes,” Lucius said. “It means that you are about to say something intelligent.”

            Harry glanced sideways at him. “And those things are so rare that you need to celebrate them, are they?”

            “I need to celebrate you,” Lucius said.

            And then, bloody Lucius does something like this. Harry shook his head and sighed, reaching out to put a hand on his arm. He didn’t try to grip, just slid his fingers over Lucius’s skin and the cloth of his robes and up to his shoulder. Lucius stopped walking and stood there, looking like a smug cat who had finally received the quantity of petting he thought he deserved.

            “Yes,” Harry said at last. “I defended you as strongly as you defended me.”

            “Do not claim equality where none exists.” Lucius blinked at him and moved forwards, so Harry had to follow quickly or look like he was tagging behind. Bloody, Harry thought, and then didn’t finish the thought. It had become too familiar to need a final word. “He was more frightened of me than he was of you.”

            “But probably more affected, since he knows me better,” Harry said. He wanted to slap a hand over his face a moment later. Did I really just argue that I threatened someone who’s friendly to me better than Lucius did?

            “Perhaps,” Lucius said, and gracefully changed the subject to something else, the way he often seemed to do when he sensed he was losing. “Now, shall we go see Draco and the Minister?”

            Harry bit his lip, hard. He suspected that Lucius would think he was being obnoxious if he laughed, but really. Lucius spoke in a way that said Draco and the Minister were guests he had invited over to tea who would fail to show up on time without a reminder.

            And then exhilaration reared up in Harry like a fledgling learning to fly, because there was a time not long ago when he would have been unable to imagine taking Superbus so casually.

            “Let’s,” he said, and watched the way the hunting gleam glazed the surface of Lucius’s eye.

            With Lucius beside me, I am stronger.

*

            “Come in. Mr. Malfoy.” Superbus nodded to him first, and then faced Harry and gave such a slow and lazy nod that most people would have taken it for an insult and attacked at once, or at least flushed. “Mr. Potter.”

            Harry sat down in the chair placed closest to the desk. Lucius might have been amused about that if he had let himself. Harry took up the position of the protector so naturally that he probably would have given Lucius a blank stare if Lucius had pointed it out. Lucius draped himself over the other chair and let his eyes half-lid as he studied Superbus.

            The Minister was dangerous. There was no doubt about that. He was clever, and he had more extensive political contacts than Lucius had ever managed to make. (There was only so much that even Malfoy money could do to counter the effect of the Mark on his arm). He spent his time studying opponents before he tried to destroy them. Sometimes he seemed to move suddenly, but those were only the end, visible results of a great deal of slow, invisible planning. Lucius would never tell Harry to regard him lightly.

            But at the same time, Superbus didn’t merit the extreme respect with which Harry studied him as he sat forwards on the edge of the chair. His caution was his weakness. He was likely to overestimate his enemies’ readiness, and his very holding off gave them more time to prepare—at least as long as they knew he was coming.

            Harry treated Superbus like someone who could annihilate him. But not Harry Potter. Not a man with the kind of casual grace Lucius had seen at work in their conversations and their bedroom.

            Not the Chosen One, Lucius’s chosen.

            “I heard of the attack last night,” Superbus said, and he looked at Lucius with such an excellent parody of concern that Lucius was tempted to touch his palms together. “I trust you are fully healed, Mr. Malfoy?”

            “Of course,” Lucius said, and smiled serenely back into those hawk-eyes that assumed everyone around them was prey. “Mr. Potter here moved quickly, and made sure that I was fully healed even before the Aurors arrived. And of course, his was the magic that stopped my son’s attack in the first place.”

            Superbus turned to stare at Harry. Lucius smiled. He knew what he was doing. Putting the fear of Harry into Superbus might be one of the few ways to ensure he would back off, since Lucius doubted that he could persuade Harry to abandon his plan of opposing the Ministry.

            Not that I would want him to, he admitted, as Harry sat up straighter and gave an unconscious little flick of his shoulders that seemed to ready him for battle. His passion stands to change the wizarding world, and his courage and intelligence give me a reason to hope I will survive it without damage.

            “I had no idea you knew such powerful healing spells,” Superbus said, and his voice was blunter, his words truly surprised instead of admiring. He knew the tools that should handle Harry, Lucius thought. It was not—precisely—his fault that they did not work.

            “Lucius flatters me,” Harry said, but the statement would only tend to confirm what Lucius had said in Superbus’s mind, because no one as dangerous as he was could be around Harry Potter for five minutes without knowing that he tended to underrate himself. “We’ve come to make a statement about the attack. The Aurors need one, I trust?”

            Superbus settled back in his chair and split his focus between them. “There is no need for that,” he said. “We would not have troubled you, since we had other witnesses eager to volunteer in droves. It’s not every day that one sees the Hero of the Wizarding World defending someone who—some say—deserves to be in Azkaban.”

            Harry winced at the title, which was of course exactly what Superbus wanted and hoped for, so he would be distracted during the next part of the conversation. Lucky for Harry, he had Lucius there to take over for him.

            “It is not,” Lucius agreed. “But it is a sight that will become much more common from now on, since we have become lovers.” He put a possessive hand on Harry’s, not simply because he wanted to do it, but because someone as cautious as Superbus would expect to see some sign of lover-like tendencies before he would believe Lucius.

            The Minister leaned back in his chair. Someone unacquainted with his body language might have thought he was figuring out how to respond to the blatant touch, but Lucius could see the minute lines tightening around his mouth and the way that one of his hands bent halfway down, fingers curling in towards his palm, before he made himself stop. He was both shocked and dismayed.

            “I am glad that you told me in preparation for the media storm that will sweep the wizarding world when the papers find out,” Superbus said at last. He looked at Harry again. “And what does this statement due to your famous opposition to the Ministry, Mr. Potter?”

            Harry had had time to recover, another reason Lucius had moved to startle Superbus. He met the Minister’s gaze coolly, his eyes polished jewels again. “What should one have to do with the other?” he asked with an emotions as close to disdain as Lucius thought he could come, when the subject under discussion was one so personal to him. “Who I take as a lover has nothing to do with my politics.”

            Except, of course, it did, but the issue was not one that Superbus could point out without sounding like a bigot himself. He tightened his lips, possibly at the revelation, and plunged on. “As a matter of fact, I am curious about something now that you are here, Mr. Potter. Why did you not attend the meeting on the proposed house-elf legislation?”

            “I appreciated the invitation,” Harry said, and his eyes were wide and his shoulders were back, in a posture that made him look like a political innocent. Lucius had never seen him use it before. He stared with narrowed eyes, wondering why. Perhaps it was simply a matter of context. It would not suit Harry to appear innocent at the art exhibitions when he was discussing matters of price and value with a knowledgeable audience. “But I felt it best that someone take my place who was more knowledgeable about the issue than I was. Hermione Granger has spent years studying this. She can speak about the latest studies.” He paused. “In fact, Minister, I think you had a chance to see her expertise at close hand not too long ago.”

            Superbus clenched his teeth down on each other, though Lucius could only tell that by the way his cheeks moved. Lucius felt his own fingers twitch. Harry probably hadn’t thought about the words in advance, but he had spun them as smoothly as if he had.

            We are good together. In bed, yes, but also in politics. I hoped for that without realizing it would come to us.

            Superbus was looking back and forth between them two of them now, though he was trying not to make it obvious. Lucius smiled serenely at him, and made a silent resolve. There is no sense in sitting back and letting Superbus make the first move. Yes, we came here, but that was a challenge rather than a bid for control. I think we shall take as much control of this dance as we can the moment we leave the Ministry.

            “I wished you there for other reasons than sheer knowledge,” Superbus said at last.

            Harry lowered his head. “But, Minister,” he said in a pleasant, soft voice, “the meeting was to discuss the legislation. Knowledge was required.”

            Superbus looked, for a moment, as if he wished he had chosen a different job. Then he managed to assume a smile that had not an edge of pleading to it. Despite himself, Lucius was impressed.

            “Do reconsider, if you wish to help keep the peace,” he said. “There are some people who trust no decision of the Ministry unless your voice is involved in it.” He shook his head and reached out to pull a bellrope hanging beside him.

            “You don’t need our statements on the case against my son, then?” Lucius asked. He rose to his feet and offered a commanding hand to Harry. Harry ignored it and stood. Lucius smiled and let his hand fall, watching Superbus watch them.

            “As I said,” Superbus repeated, in the majestic tones of a man not used to having his preferences questioned, “there are plenty of other witnesses, and there is the word of Mr. Malfoy himself.”

            “I would like to see him,” Lucius said, “if possible.”

            Superbus shook his head. “The Mind-Healers think his hatred for you excessive,” he said gently. “I could not answer for what happened if you entered his cell.”

            Lucius nodded. He had expected the response. They had showed too much open defiance today, and the Minister did not reward those who were not loyal to him.

            “Is he in St. Mungos’s?” Harry asked. “Or here, with Healers to see him?” Lucius thought he was probably the only one who knew the meaning of the ripple in Harry’s shoulder then. Draco might more easily escape from St. Mungo’s and threaten Lucius again.

            If he does, I can handle him, Lucius would have liked to say, but he had no intention of saying that in front of Superbus and no time to think of a calm, insignificant set of words that would deliver the message to Harry while hiding it from the Minister.

            “A holding cell here,” Superbus said. “He is being well-treated, I assure you.”

            Lucius did not actually think that was a lie. Draco would hardly be obliged to Superbus if he was not, and the Minister liked to cultivate favors. And Draco probably still had a few friends in the Ministry who would help him get small luxuries.

            “I don’t think there are any questions we can ask, or answer,” Harry said. “We only came to see if we could help you with a correct statement of the case, Minister.” He looked at Lucius. “Are you coming?”

            Lucius nodded, though he would have liked to stay a little longer and see if he could intimidate the Minister. Retreating this fast might look like weakness.

            Then he remembered he had Harry by his side, and felt like laughing aloud. The Minister did not work with his allies, any of them, even the most formidable, in the way that Lucius worked with Harry. They would eat the strongest defenses that Superbus could present to them.

            “I hope you have a pleasant journey,” Superbus said.

            He was worried about Lucius’s grin, as Lucius saw from his narrow-eyed stare, and struggling to present a polite façade in the hopes of aiming it away from him. Lucius nodded to him and left the office.

            Harry walked at his side, with many glances. It wasn’t until they had reached the Atrium, when he started for the fireplaces and Lucius caught his arm and shook his head, that he gave in and asked the question. “What are we doing?”

            “Do you trust me?” Lucius asked.

            “As I trust a lion not to bite down when my head is in its mouth,” Harry said.

            Lucius smiled to show that he appreciated the metaphor, and said, “Then come with me, and trust me now.”

*

            Harry grimaced as he stepped out of the main entrance of the Ministry. The reporters had had time to gather. They eddied back and forth, staring like hungry sharks, and Harry probably would have turned around and walked right back into the Ministry if not for Lucius’s presence at his side.

            “Mr. Potter!” someone yelled, waving excitedly. The first camera flash exploded. “Will you look over here, for just a minute?”

            “Is it true that Lucius Malfoy is your friend?” someone else called.

            That seemed to be the signal for a chorus of shouts to start.

            “Your ally?”

            “Your comrade?”

            “Your lover?” That suggestion won some delighted whistles, and more camera flashes, while some reporters raced along the periphery of the crowd, acting as if they couldn’t find the best place to got a picture of both of them at once.

            Lucius’s arm snaked around his chest. Harry felt himself spun around, and he went with it, remembering what Lucius had said about trusting him. He half-wondered if they were going to fake a row. Perhaps Lucius had decided they could accomplish more on their own for now. Harry didn’t like that idea, remembering how good he felt when they were working together, but he had to admit that Lucius probably knew more about politics than he did.

            Lucius kissed him.

            Harry stood motionless for one stunned moment, and then leaned in and gave it back, wrapping his arms around Lucius’s neck like strangling vines. He made sure to draw back enough that everyone could see he was the one who pulled Lucius after him, and who panted and licked at his lips, before he dove fully back into the kiss.

            Stunned silence hung around them for longer than Harry would have thought possible, given their audience. Then people started calling again, and the cameras clicked, and everything was faster and brighter and louder.

            They drew apart at last, when Harry’s lungs felt desperate, and Lucius posed there with a possessive arm around his shoulders. Harry did the same thing, heart pounding, wondering for a moment what had happened. Had Lucius just wanted to stake a claim on him in front of everyone, to discourage admirers like Willowwand?

            Then he saw the enthralled expressions on their faces, and felt the way Lucius was already tensing to Apparate, and understood.

            The currents of the wizarding world were shifting and changing. Harry had sensed that himself, even before he became involved with Lucius. The factions that stood opposite the Ministry were growing more ardent, more independent, and looking for a champion, some sort of signal to begin their charge or a change that they could seize as a pretext.

            He and Lucius had just given them one.

            It didn’t matter if the change was violent or peaceful, resisted by the Ministry or embraced. It was coming now.

            Lucius Apparated them to Malfoy Manor. Harry went with him, panting and gasping and so excited that he knocked Lucius to the floor first thing.

            He’d been cautions for so long, because he didn’t want to start a revolution that depended solely on him. There were just too many people around him who deserved to be their own leaders and to promote their own goals.

            But now he wasn’t alone. Lucius would share credit for any leadership and any power that fell to him. If people didn’t want that, Harry would insist on it happening.

            And he was the signal, more than anything else. Other people would explode in their own directions, exactly as he had hoped, and Harry would be nothing but another part of the wave.

            Lucius smiled up at him, eyes full of diamond-fire. “I believe I told you to trust me?” he asked.

            Harry bent down and fed him lips and tongue and teeth in a burning kiss.

*

            Review responses for the last chapter (which I know was a hell of a long time ago) can be found at http://lomonaaerenrr.livejournal.com/14195.html
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Sympathy for the Predators