CHAPTER 47

.

.

"Thanks for sharing your concerns," Harry said, escorting the last member of the committee for fucking entitled whingeing arseholes from his office. "I'll look into that today and let you know what I find."

Several nods and well-wishes were exchanged and then finally— finally— he could close the door.

At once, he was blissfully alone for the first time today.

He stood in his office, silent and unmoving, and just breathed.

Merlin, this job was a lot.

All of his time now was spent talking, and that was something that he had never been good at. As the Minister, he could suggest plans and make decisions, but the actual action of every choice was done by other people.

It made him feel idle. Like nothing he was doing was making any difference. It wasn't paying for his crimes or solving the problems he'd created. He just talked when there were more important things that he should be focusing on.

Like Voldemort.

Like figuring out what the hell the man did all day long. Every time the Dark Lord strode into his office to feed him, Harry expected to see the man using his magic again. But so far, three days since leaving his stolen manor, Voldemort still hadn't made a move to fix that.

His thoughts got caught remembering their time at Voldemort's new residence.

Those long, lean legs stretched out over mine, that tense body that yielded, submitting to my strikes on his arse— Fuck, the way that arse had felt clenched around me, how Voldemort had looked so impossibly shy and nervous— the sodding Dark Lord...

Harry groaned, feeling himself harden in his trousers. But no, he didn't have time to wank— hadn't had time for anything since being with Voldemort—

He remembered the way that tall, imposing body had trembled as he worked his fingers inside of it—

Think of something else. Like your next meeting, or—

There was a knock at his door. Harry rushed to sit behind his desk to hide his fucking erection, smoothing out his robes and clearing his throat.

Don't think about Voldemort.

"Come in," he said, grateful that his voice didn't waver.

Soogrim poked her head in, looking harassed.

"Sir, there is someone here to see you, but they do not have an appointment. They're being very rude and unreasonable."

Harry frowned.

"Okay. Who is it?"

"Draco Malfoy, sir. Should I call security?"

Harry shook his head. The idiot.

"No. Send him in."

Soogrim looked scandalised.

"But you have another appointment in two minutes with—"

"It can wait," Harry said, trying to firm his tone like Voldemort kept demanding he do. "Send him in now."

Soogrim pleaded with her eyes for a second longer and then sighed as she left. Harry knew that she hadn't been very happy with him lately. A certain Mr Foncé kept dropping by without making an appointment and Harry was always more assertive after he left.

When Draco entered, he looked irritated— haughtily so. As usual. Like he was still not used to people barring him from doing whatever he wanted.

"Friendly staff you have there, Potter," Draco remarked sardonically, striding forward and sitting down in one of the chairs in front of his desk. Without being invited to.

Harry snorted.

"Don't blame her for your bad manners."

Draco didn't offer a rebuttal or a rebuke. He just stared at Harry with stern disapproval. It was a look that Harry was quite familiar with, as he saw it from a variety of people.

Draco flourished his wand, setting up a few privacy wards.

Harry was about to quip about the office already being warded, but the way Draco was eyeing him made him wary. He waited.

The blonde put his wand away and then continued to scrutinise him. Harry knew that Voldemort would want him not to fidget. To show no fear and project strength, so he sat up straighter and folded his hands on his desk patiently. Calmly.

Ignoring the worry that was coursing through him.

"I'm not going to ask if you know where the Dark Lord is," Draco began, and Harry fought not to react, "because I know that you're just going to lie."

Fuck.

"But I do need to know if he has his magic back," Draco finished, his keen, grey eyes scouring his face.

Harry forced himself to maintain their eye contact.

"He doesn't."

"And that's the fucking truth?"

Harry scoffed.

"I'm not with him, Malfoy. I don't know for sure, but the last I heard— yes. That's the truth."

Draco made a sound that was not terribly gracious.

"So he's got a body. His freedom. His memories."

Harry froze with surprise. The public couldn't know about that. Had Ron and Hermione been telling people?

"He doesn't have his mem—"

"Don't bother with that lie, Potter. I'm not an idiot. He killed Kingsley and then Slughorn. That's too specific to be random."

When Harry didn't reply, Draco huffed out a disgusted breath and stood, walking to the window. He looked out, his body tense. Harry watched him in silence.

"It won't be long until he figures out how to get his magic back," Draco muttered, turning to face Harry again. "What then? What will you do to protect us when he starts killing people once more? When he comes after me and my family."

"He won't," Harry assured him, but he had nothing to back that up.

They'd never talked about the future. He had asked for no promises to protect the world.

Draco barked out a laugh of incredulity.

"It's insane how you think that he's some sort of reformed pet simply because you love him. Face it, Harry— you love a monster."

I do. He's a monster. But he doesn't have to be.

"So, if you've got him on such a tight leash, what's he doing out there on his own?"

"Don't worry. I'll handle it."

"I'm sick of people telling me that and then failing every time!" Draco suddenly shouted, slamming his hand down onto Harry's desk. His ink bottles rattled. "You can make all the promises to me that you want but he's the man you love. He's the one you're going to protect."

"I can still help—"

"Never mind, Potter," Draco dismissed scathingly, walking back towards the chairs and sitting himself down again. "I didn't come here to beg you to care about me. I gave up on that years ago."

Guilt swarmed him. A feeling of obligation, of duty— maybe just fuck him again, give him something to help. Voldemort wouldn't know—

But that was a colossal lie.

Voldemort would find out. And he would tear Draco apart. It didn't matter that Harry didn't want Draco that way, had never really. Draco had just been the one person he'd felt could make him pay. He wouldn't hero-worship Harry, wouldn't expect him to be perfect.

But there was nothing else there. No feelings.

Not like the ravenous possessiveness he felt about Voldemort. The desperate need to serve and conquer. The safety of being with someone who accepted his weakness— who could even manage to alleviate some of his crushing guilt. The relief of knowing that he could share his burden with someone strong who could help him carry it.

Draco was no Voldemort.

"I know you're busy," Draco said snidely, and Harry looked up to see the blonde examining him. His stony face didn't match his sorrowful tone. "And I won't take up much more of your time. I'm just here because even though you don't give a fuck about me, I still can't stand the idea of you hurt. So like a pathetic fool, I'm here with a warning."

You should have done better by him. He just wanted some attention from you. You're selfish to have ignored him.

"My father," Draco muttered quietly, and then took a deep breath.

Harry's trepidation began to rise. He obviously wasn't afraid of Lucius, the incompetent arsehole, but the man had the time and resources to be a problem for Voldemort right now.

"What about him?" Harry asked.

"He's single-minded lately." The man's voice was less antagonistic now and more anxious. He looked at Harry with something close to regret. "He... has a group of people. They meet and... make plans."

"Okay..." Harry said when the silence stretched too long. "Plans to kill me? To kill Voldemort?"

Draco nodded, his expression contrite.

"Both. I thought that he was just bitter and vocal because his pride was hurt when he lost the election to you. But it's more than that. It's deeper. He's meeting these people..." Draco looked worried. "Harry. It's repulsive to hear him talk about them. They're almost like his Death Eaters."

Harry examined that pale face, picturing it.

Lucius, surrounded by other pureblooded wankers, disgruntled that Harry Potter just kept winning.

"He's using them. Tricking them into attacking you while he stays back and then takes over when you're..."

Draco trailed off, then looked at him imploringly.

"I'm not afraid of your father, Draco," Harry said, and he meant it. He wasn't. Fuck that guy. "He'll get over it. Or, he'll try something and then I'll have an excuse to remind him not to fuck with me."

Draco's fingers tightened on the armrests of the chair.

"If I thought it was nothing, I wouldn't have bothered to come down here and warn you."

"Okay, so what is it they're planning?"

Draco grimaced.

"The press conference tomorrow. The one you've said will detail your plans for dealing with the Dark Lord."

Draco paused and Harry nodded impatiently.

"Yeah. So what? He's going to show up with his three friends and hurl some Dungbombs at me?"

"Take this seriously!" Draco furiously demanded. "You do know that my father was an Inner Circle Death Eater, right? Do you know how many men he's killed?"

"No, but I mean..." Harry shrugged, smiling because it was Lucius. "C'mon, I've been dealing with Lord Voldemort since I was eleven. After him, no one else can really be scary."

"My father's going to get them to kill you, Harry."

Draco's face was suddenly white, his eyes pleading and scared.

"They can try," Harry quipped, but Draco stood and grabbed Harry's hands that had been resting on the surface of his desk.

"Listen to me. Eight people are going to be on the outskirts of the crowd tomorrow. They're all going to hit you with some spell I'd never heard of before, but it's powerful Dark magic. I looked it up. It'll incapacitate you, shred your veins so that you bleed internally— but it won't kill you right away. It takes days and it's incredibly difficult to detect. It'll just look like you're unconscious."

Harry tried to wiggle his fingers free, but Draco held them tight, staring into his eyes. Trying to scare him. Harry cleared his throat.

"Lots of people have tried to kill me before, Draco—"

"Stop being so damn arrogant! They're going to attempt to murder you and my father won't listen to me anymore! He won't! So fucking stop being blasé with your life and protect yourself, for once! Put up a ward between you and the crowd at the very least. Alert the Aurors that go with you. Do anything! Just, take some precautions, please. Merlin, Harry, why are you like this?"

Draco dropped Harry's hands and rubbed his own face, leaning back in his chair.

"Look," Harry began quietly, feeling so very awkward about this whole thing, "I appreciate that you told me." He bit his lip. "It's not that I'm arrogant. Not at all, actually. I'm just really not afraid of your dad. Or his new friends. I've been hunted my entire life by Lord Voldemort. And after that... well, it takes a whole lot more than butt-hurt losers to scare me."

Draco stood abruptly. He looked deeply offended.

"I'm sorry," Harry said quickly, standing too. "I shouldn't have—"

"It's fine, Harry. You know what? Ignore this. I was foolish to think you'd listen."

"What? C'mon, it's not—"

"Let's see if your famous good luck holds. And I hope for your sake that your Dark Lord has his magic back so he can protect you." Draco scoffed, walking away towards the door. "I'm actually pretty shocked, Potter. I never expected you to be this selfish."

Selfish. Worthless. Traitor.

"Draco, come back!" he called, but the blonde was already storming out of his office.

When the door slammed, Harry took a moment to release a long breath.

First Ron and Hermione. Now this.

By choosing Voldemort, he was losing everyone. And although he had known that that was going to be the case, for some reason, having even Draco hate him really hit home how very isolated he was becoming.

.

.

It was almost impossible to remain silent.

To have to watch Lucius Malfoy strut around amidst a collection of mediocre wizards and witches as he blamed the boy for his own failures.

If he had his magic...

But not yet.

As he was, Lord Voldemort would not be able to kill every person present without more time to plan. Therefore instead, he would listen and wait.

It was vital that he secure Lucius first. Once Lord Voldemort's full might returned, his last two extant Death Eaters would be alerted immediately via their Dark Marks. Thus, he needed to ensure that Lucius could not disappear as soon as the alarm sounded.

"We will be stationed as close to the Floo entrances as we can get," Lucius replied to someone's question, clicking his ridiculous snake cane against the marble floor with every step. "Does anyone not know which fireplace is theirs?"

Voldemort glanced around and saw resolve and confidence on the faces of the strangers around him.

Each person in this room will die.

"After Potter is taken out," one such cadaver began, "if it goes smoothly, should we stick around to tell the public that they're safe? To reassure them?"

Lucius stopped pacing.

"No. It will not matter how morally correct our actions are. There will be an outcry because of Potter's popularity. We leave once he goes down."

Lucius was lying.

He could tell, had always been able to tell. The traitor intended to betray this group as well, making them take the fall for his machinations.

"And the Ministership will pass to you?" someone asked, and Voldemort studied their moustached, boney face.

I will watch you burn.

"Yes. For a time, and then there'll be elections, obviously. Without Potter, I'll be selected unanimously, I'm sure. After a few strategic donations."

A few chuckles at that. Voldemort memorised the details of their bodies. No names were used, but his recollections would aid him in tracking them all down.

"And then," Lucius went on, "we can focus the might of the Ministry on finding and killing Lord Voldemort."

Brave, Lucius.

The man faced his worms, his devious lips twisting into an excited smile.

It will be your last.

"That will do. Go home and rest and I shall see you all tomorrow at half past two. Remember, it's imperative that you let yourself be glimpsed far from our attack locations, and then Disillusion yourself before you take your place."

Murmurs of assent, and then the group dispersed. Voldemort followed the current, denying himself the clamouring pleasure of taking Lucius right now.

He could wait. As always, Lord Voldemort was in control of the situation. These men wanted Harry killed, but they would have to get through him first to do so. And no one had yet been capable of that.

.

.

"Mr Potter, you're on in fifteen. Can I bring you a cuppa?"

Harry shook his head.

"I'm fine, thanks, Eugene."

"Okay, sir. Good luck and—"

Harry heard the man keep talking, but every part of his attention was on the now-familiar figure of Mr Foncé striding towards him. He saw those lips begin to curl and realised that his own mouth was stretched into a relieved grin.

The Dark Lord stopped beside him, placing a subtle hand on Harry's lower back.

"Hello, Minister," Voldemort said quietly, intimately, looking down at him with intense eyes. "May I have a moment of your time?"

Harry nodded and followed him out of the room they were in— one just off the Atrium where the crowd was assembled— and into another room. An empty room.

"Wards," Voldemort ordered as soon as the door shut.

Harry cast them all, his gaze never leaving that face.

"Good boy," Voldemort praised lowly when he was done.

Harry watched him neck back the Polyjuice reversal potion. Slowly, the man's true form appeared and Harry felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Of contentment.

His eyes closed for a beat, his whole body growing heavy, and suddenly Voldemort's arms were around him. He curled into that looming frame, stretching up to kiss him, but Voldemort stayed frustratingly out of reach. Harry groaned.

"We do not have time for what you are thinking, Harry," the Dark Lord said with quiet amusement. "I have come with purpose and you must pay attention to my words."

"I will. I promise. Right after."

He felt around until he located the part in the man's robes. Sneaking his hands through, he slid them down that hard body until he could grope the man through his trousers.

Voldemort made a breathless sound and Harry moaned.

"Fuck yes, please. Please, just fuck me before I have to do this. C'mon. Just—"

"I will take care of you later, Harry. As you know I will. Right now, you must listen."

But he didn't want to listen. He couldn't. He needed something— anything to make him focus. To distract him from the reality that he was about to walk into the Atrium full of people and lie to them about his plans to conquer the man currently holding him.

The man he loved.

"Fuck me," Harry begged. "Hit me. Do something—"

Voldemort spun him abruptly and bent him over until his hands were touching the floor. His robes were thrown over his head and his naked back was suddenly exposed. What is he going to—

Sharp, merciless fingernails gouged into his skin as they dragged down his back. He shouted, whipping his head back with shock, and then it happened again. And again.

It stung like fuck. He could tell that Voldemort had drawn blood with all of the lines crossing overtop of each other— and it was perfect. Just what he'd needed.

When Voldemort pulled down Harry's robes once more, the material burned against the cuts and Harry savoured it.

He felt calmer. More in control.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Voldemort leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to Harry's forehead, right over his lightning bolt scar.

"You are mine to care for, Harry. And that is why I have come. I need to inform you that a few extra Aurors have been assigned as your security for this event. You may not recognise them, but they can be trusted."

"What? I didn't request that. Why?"

"I know. I did. And because there will be a group of imbeciles attempting to touch what is mine."

Ah, yes. I knew about that.

"Let me guess— Lucius, right?"

Voldemort nodded grimly.

"Among others. Lucius wishes to take your position by murder."

"Neat," Harry replied, unconcerned.

"You will cast a specialised shield that I have created for you. Take out your wand and let me see you produce it."

Harry pulled away slightly, but their hands were still holding on to each other.

"You just invented one?"

Voldemort nodded.

"Your wand, Harry."

"But... did you... Do you have your magic back?"

Voldemort's gaze darkened.

"Not yet. We shall speak on that later."

"Then— how? How did you create a spell without testing? Without—"

"I am singular in magical prowess. I do not require testing."

That word was said with deep disdain. Harry huffed out an awed chuckle.

Merlin. No big deal. He just created a spell in his head like it's fucking nursery school.

Resigned to simply be jealously amazed, Harry pulled out his wand and then turned to Voldemort, eager to learn. The Dark Lord looked pleased.

"This shield will protect you against everything save for a few curses. It is unique because it pulls its power from the assailant, not the caster. Thus, the more magic that strikes it, the stronger it grows."

Harry thought about that, marvelling at the dead usefulness of it.

"Why did you not create this sooner?" Harry asked, confused. "Wouldn't this have been helpful in battle for you?"

Voldemort tilted his head, looking disappointed by the question.

"Employing a shield implies an expectation to be hit, Harry. Lord Voldemort is untouchable."

Harry snorted.

"Yeah. Unless you cast the spell, then those hit you every time."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed.

"Careful, Potter. Do not persuade me away from saving your life."

Harry laughed.

"Right. Okay. So, what's the spell?"

"It is Saepe Defensionem. You must cast it before you enter the Atrium. It will last an hour without recasting and a simple Finite from you will remove it. Do it now."

Harry tried the spell. A large, blue sphere enclosed him for a moment and then disappeared.

"Did it work?" Harry asked, glancing around.

Voldemort closed the distance between them. He placed a cool hand on Harry's chest.

"Conjure a blade for me."

Harry obeyed immediately, only afterwards realising that the request should concern him. Accepting the risk, he handed it over.

Without a word, Voldemort's arm swung forward to plunge the knife into his chest. Harry had no time to react. About five inches before it would sink into his heart, the blade stopped abruptly.

"What the fuck?" Harry angrily demanded, shoving Voldemort back.

Adrenaline was racing through him. He had not seen that attack coming. The bloody bastard.

"You questioned my proficiency," Voldemort commented lightly. "I thought a demonstration would calm you."

Harry laughed raggedly.

"Yeah. Course. I'm totally calm now, thanks."

Voldemort smirked and moved towards him again.

"One last alteration before I allow you to go, Harry. You will cast a detection charm of my creation onto the shield. It will register the magical signature of each spell so I will have a comprehensive list of who attacked you. After your speech, we will also go together into a Pensieve so that I may view the event from all angles."

"Jeez, Voldemort. It's just Lucius. Are you really that afraid that he'll land a hit?"

Voldemort's fingers flashed out and grabbed Harry by the throat.

"Afraid. No, Harry. I am not afraid. Do you know why?"

Those long fingers crept down Harry's chest to his lower stomach. Voldemort pressed his palm against Harry's rune.

"This protects us. They cannot touch you. Not while I am alive."

"Wait. What does that mean? It's a protection rune?"

Unsurprisingly, Voldemort did not reply. Harry thought it over.

"But then..." he said slowly, trying not to get distracted by the way those nimble fingers had moved down, coming dangerously close to his pants. "Why bother with the shield and stuff?"

Those digits sneaked between his inner thigh and the material of his underclothes. The Dark Lord was suddenly touching his cock, which surged with blood at the contact.

"I prefer to be over-prepared for any event," Voldemort whispered, lightly tracing his skin, his mouth coming down to bite at his neck. "And I will need to know who to visit when this is through."

Harry groaned, tilting his head back to give Voldemort better access.

It felt so good, Voldemort inundating all of his senses. He felt overpowered. Like some of the pressure to please everyone melted away and he could just be Harry. Boy.

Who to visit.

I will need to know who to visit when this is through.

Harry pulled back, glaring at the Dark Lord for making him have to worry about that when he could be enjoying the handjob.

"No more killing, remember?" Harry reminded him with irritation.

Voldemort's smile showed teeth.

"We can debate that later. You should be readying for your speech."

Those hands released him.

Bugger! Not yet!

Harry reached up and encircled his arms around that long neck, trying to yank it down. Voldemort broke his hold and instead enveloped him in a surprising hug. Harry fought it for a few seconds as a matter of form, but then allowed himself to be held.

Releasing a deep breath, he laid his cheek against the Dark Lord's chest in surrender, letting the man's slow heartbeat soothe him. Calm him.

"There's going to be questions about us," Harry whispered into the material of Voldemort's robes.

He felt the deep hum that the man gave in response through the skin of his face.

"So tell them."

Harry closed his eyes.

"You know I can't."

Voldemort was silent for a time.

"Then deny it. Who is left to gainsay you?"

"Lucius."

He felt the Dark Lord's arms tighten.

"He will not be a problem for much longer."

Harry tilted his head up to see the man's expression, but all he could glimpse was the bottom of his stupid chin.

"You can't kill him. My god, Voldemort, you're bloody relentless."

"I do not intend to kill him, Harry. Not yet, anyway. You will remember that I cannot do so, even if I wished to."

The Vow. That's right.

"So what's your plan, then?"

Voldemort did not reply at once and Harry waited, but a sudden knock at the door brought him swiftly back to reality.

He pulled away.

And all at once, he wasn't himself anymore; he was Harry Potter, the Chosen One, the Minister for Magic. And he had a job to do.

Voldemort scrutinised his transformation with approval. He pulled a potion out of his pocket and drank it down, turning at once back into Mr Foncé.

"Strong for them," Voldemort said firmly.

"Weak for you," Harry replied, and then went out to greet the public.