[hp] corridors of power 10
Corridors of Power
Being An Originally Intermittent Account
of the Political (Mis)Adventures
of the Viscount Northallerton, Lord Malfoy of Wimbledon;
and the Rt. Honourable Harry J. Potter,
Member of Parliament for North Southwark and Bermondsey (Liberal Democrat).
Annotated, with Footnotes
STATE OPENING OF PARLIAMENT
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (LORDS)
Tuesday 17th May, 3:24 pm
Maybe the Air Force, Draco mused, peering at the Chief of the Air Staff1 up in the gallery.
He really didn't fancy the law (besides, that would just mean another wig); the clergy was right out; and everyone else who had some kind of archaic frou-frou embellishment to their robe looked plain ridiculous.
Royal blue was very smart, Draco decided. How hard could it be to conjure a stint at Cranwell2 into his Muggle past? He could certainly fake a conversation about aerodynamics or warfare if needed, and besides, hadn't they let Prince Andrew into the Navy?
Draco twitched his robes back on his shoulders, tried to be happy with his charcoal Oswald Boateng3, and sighed. After the first few, the State Opening of Parliament wasn't so much a glorious display of English tradition as something that reminded Draco of waiting around while his mother presided over garden parties. Except Narcissa Malfoy would never have worn the entire family fortune in jewels on her head disguised as a lumpy purple cushion, like Her Majesty.
True, the old biddy was getting on, but there really was no accounting for what monstrosities of fashion an hereditary monarchy could conceive of--
--Oooh, the rabble approacheth.
Black Rod4 and the new Chancellor precessed into the Lords in suitably stately fashion, followed by Blair and Howard (there was a Crossbenchers pool on how long he was going to last after the Conservative loss; Draco privately thought the term "falling on one's sword" had never been so appropriate and had fifty pounds on six weeks)5, Kennedy, Brown, and then the pinkish blur of Senior Members who Draco only recognised if they'd said something controversial.
So none, then.
There was a polite amount of shuffling and shoving for seats but not much more than a cheerful hum. "There was a fight one year," said the Lord Harris of High Cross to Draco's left, nodding at the MP's behind the bar, "ought to happen again. Liven things up, what?"6
"Prescott's down there," Draco said hopefully.
No sign of Potter, though, even though Draco was certain Kennedy would've sent a rousing yellow memo around insisting all the Liberal Democrats scurry to the front of the herd and get their presence on the BBC Parliament coverage. Smart man for his absence, Draco had to admit. Potter was probably slouching on a bench in Westminster Hall with a transfigured gin and tonic, pretending to be serious about the Queen's Speech on the telecast.
"... will continue to pursue economic policies which entrench stability and promote long-term growth and prosperity. To this end, my Government will continue to secure low inflation and sound public finances--"
Draco closed his eyes in dismay. Two sentences in, and that was how it was going to be. Economics and stability. They were in for four years of utter boredom and creeping disappointment by the sounds of the manifesto. The Queen sounded bored herself as she read off the centrist rhetoric like the instructions to a kitset Floo point, albeit in a clipped set of vowels that even a Malfoy would strive to tone down.
"... will further reform the education system--"
Into oblivion, thought Draco.
".. committed to creating safe and secure communities, and fostering a culture of respect--"
"I think you'll find it liberating," Blaise had said, summoning books from bookcases Draco hadn't even known his office had, packing them neatly into a crate. "You're probably quite a radical underneath all that in-bred ennui. My sabbatical might release your inner activist."
"Nonsense," Draco had snapped. "I'll just have to make my own tea. Traitor."
"... legislation will be taken forward to introduce an identity cards scheme--"
Draco hated how Blaise was eventually always right.
*
1. AIR CHIEF: Or in full, Air Chief Marshal Sir Jock Stirrup. You cannot make these names up.
2. CRANWELL: The Air Force College.
3. OZWALD BOATENG: 12a Saville Row. Ask for Rupert.
4. BLACK ROD: The official usher of the House of Lords. Carries a big stick and bangs on doors with it.
5. HOWARD: Draco lost out in the pool, as Howard hung on by his fingernail for another six months, eventually hoisted out by the dynamic and fresh new Tory pin-up David Cameron, who has since proceeded to appear on television non-stop, opining on everything.
6. FIGHT: The Commons MPs are encouraged to act rowdy in the name of tradition. In 1901 it went so far as to have the newspapers comment on fisticuffs in the unruly mob.
LONDON EYE
WATERLOO
Monday 6th June, 10:02 am
"What are you wearing?"
"Hallo and nice to see you too," said Draco under his breath. "I thought this was supposed to be some clandestine meeting free from Ministry lackeys and Muggle journalists."
"What, no--" Harry's forehead creased up. "You're in disguise."
Draco considering transfiguring the tracksuit back into shirt and trousers, but there were eighteen other people in their capsule and he was actually quite comfortable. He settled for folding up the baseball cap in his palm until it reverted to a handkerchief.
"Your note was ten sorts of cryptic and said not only urgent but come alone," Draco frowned, "and exploited the exclamation mark, but you have a speechwriter now so I imagine grammar is one of life's little annoyances that--"
"Just wanted to make sure you'd turn up." Harry had this smile that seemed to blank out all other possibilities except clichés, like 'it filled the room' or 'beaming', and Draco hated it. People with enough historical angst to fill a Gringott's vault shouldn't be capable of being genuinely sunny.
Draco also wasn't quite prepared to deal with the implications of that smile, so he glared out over the rising view of the Thames. "There's this amazing invention called an answering service, you know. One can leave a recorded message of one's voice, and communicate one's wishes without ambiguity."
Harry turned to lean on the rail next to him. "You don't listen to your voicemail, Draco. You use magic to turn on your telly. Besides, I think Hedwig missed you."
"Hedwig."
"The grouchier you are the more pompous your vocabulary, did you know that?"
"Fuck off," Draco smiled.
After a moment, Harry blinked. "You got some sun," he said, which Draco thought was really just an excuse for some high-level scrutiny of the Potterish sort--which was to say rare, intense, and resembling Theodore in profoundly unsettling and entirely unfair ways. It was a vast comfort to Draco that there was nothing about him that would ever remind Harry of Ron.
"No freckles, though," Harry grinned, and Draco stared and thought about the fine line between keeping someone out of your mind and getting into theirs, and possibly it was not nearly close enough to lunchtime and the large glass of wine that had Draco's name on it.
Harry steered them aside for a couple of pensioners to move to the rail, his hand brushing down Draco's back, and Draco thought maybe the whole bottle.
"Went to the Seychelles," Draco said, counting bridges and wondering if Harry's building was visible from here. He glanced at Harry, who looked to be doing the same thing from the way he was squinting.
"There," Harry's finger jabbed the glass, and he moved aside for Draco to shift into his line of sight. The warehouses along the back of Butler's Wharf all looked the same from the air, but there was the white block of the Design Museum, and--
"Didn't those islands get hit by the tsunami?"
"Playgrounds of the filthy rich seem to have curiously short rebuilding times," Draco shrugged. "I must say I didn't notice any difference--no, wait, the bar staff bringing my cocktails on the beach seemed a little subdued."
Harry snickered. "Oh come on, how much did you donate to the Red Cross?"
"I don't actually have a heart of gold, despite your wild fantasies." Their pod was reaching the top of its arc now, and Draco moved further around the capsule to the south. "Or not, because now I know you'd rather be rowing down Putney7 than mucking in at your soup-kitchen--"
"I said I was sorry, Draco." Harry's voice was tight.
Draco grinned. "Yeah, I know. I just wanted to hear it again."
"Wanker."
"Penitent's good on you," Draco murmured when Harry crowded closer. "I don't get to see it nearly enough."
Harry said nothing, but raised his eyebrows in a vaguely conspiratorial way that caused all sorts of pleasant images to flash through Draco's mind, the least of which was the way his mouth positively pouted when Harry said sorry.
*
"You cannot see all the way to Wimbledon," Harry scoffed.
Draco took off his sunglasses and handed them to Harry. "It's amazing what kind of military technology gets filtered down to the masses these days." By military he meant Auror, and by filtered down he meant requisitioned for personal use by his cousin, but Harry would get the general drift.
"Woah," Harry said, leaning forward on the railing. Draco considered the rooftops of the Houses of Parliament and traced an imaginary path from Victoria Tower to St Stephens. It was like the opposite of that odd time-travelling phone-box program on the BBC; it seemed much larger on the outside.
"Your cherry trees are blossoming," Harry said quite sincerely, and Draco burst out laughing.
*
"Why are we here, by the way?" The pod was descending in to the docking area; Harry was still marveling at the far-field specs, and Draco was sitting on the bench in the middle of the capsule, feeling slightly wobbly.
Flying aside, he did have an uneasy relationship with heights.
"I'd never been," Harry said, tossing the glasses to Draco and pulling off his own to rub at his eyes. "One of those things where you see it every day and don't bother, because you know it's going to always be there."
Draco stomach did a sort of slow somersault.
"And then there was all the fuss about it losing the lease and being shut down, and we all got emails saying the party wanted to support London's Olympic bid and how important landmarks were crucial... so. Yeah." Harry ran his hands through his hair. "Plus it gave me a guaranteed twenty-five minutes of your time without you being able to stalk off in a snit."
"If I turned up."
"Which you did."
"Successful, then."
"I had fun." The capsule stopped and the doors opened. Harry frowned at Draco. "You look sort of green."
"Urgh. Nice view, could do without the revolving vertigo." They exited the pod, Draco stepping carefully out behind Harry. "It's disturbing how often I feel nauseous in your company, you know."
Harry turned, and actually fluttered his eyelashes at him.
Draco scowled, because there was no way Harry was getting away with that. "Stop that. Next time we're going... good lord, do you even have any phobias?"
"Next time, huh--"
"Quiet. Where are we having lunch?"
*
7. PUTNEY: Potter appears to have taken up the gentleman's sport of rowing as some sort of substitute for the dubious thrills of Quidditch. Given Draco's weakness for well-cut forearms this might explain a lot.
CENTRAL LOBBY
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT
Tuesday 21st June, 4:52 pm
Harry--harassed-looking and straightening his tie--didn't even notice Draco as he strode through the door and over to the Clerk's Bench. Draco watched Harry hand over the green card, looking at it like it was written in Urdu and about to combust. "Someone's waiting for me, apparently?"
"The gentleman in blue by Gladstone, sir."
Draco flipped the stub of the summons card over in his fingers and tried his best to look like a constituent.
"You couldn't just..." Harry waved his hands around, "you know, wait? Until the debates ended?"
"It's amazing what archaic little practices this place still has," Draco shook his head. "But it's reassuring, isn't it? One's representative really is at the beck and call of the populace."*
Harry narrowed his eyes. "You are not my populace."
"Am now. I bought one of those new developments behind the Tate. You are now officially my--"
"Please do not say mem--"
"--Member."
Harry sighed. "What do you want?"
"As your constituent I'd like to know how you're planning to respond to the government's proposals for national identification cards." Draco patted his jacket pocket for the notes he'd written during Thursday's Procedurals sub-committee meeting. Baroness Boothroyd kept nodding approvingly at him every time he jotted down something--which was gratifying, but he hadn't had his Zabini-special notebook, and consequently not only could he not decipher his own handwriting, but there was a lot to be said for that opinionated indexing charm.
"Right. And we couldn't discuss this in the bar?"
"I have a whole set of possible tactics to thwart this bill," Draco said brightly. "I wanted to give you the heads-up at the starting post."
Harry backed away a step. "Draco. You're using sporting metaphors and acting like you give a shit. Should I be concerned?"
"Don't be flip, Potter," Draco snapped, and tucked the list into Harry's breast pocket. "Look through that during the adjournment debate and I'll fill you in on the finer points. Once you grasp the basics."
"We do actually have a party-level strategy to vote against and amend this legislation, you know." Harry looked all sorts of affronted, which made Draco feel quite nostalgic.
Draco snickered. "Yes, I've read the press releases." He tapped Harry's pocket. "Hence the alternatives."
Rm 407
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (LORDS)
Thursday 23rd June, 11:24pm
"The Ministry seems to think that the general mood is swinging back to separatist," Harry said, jamming his hands in his pockets. "From how the whole ID card debacle is being reported, Bob Average Wizard reckons he'll have to have his hand stamped with a big red sign if he so much as looks at the Muggle world." He sighed, and there was a soft thunk when he leaned his forehead against the window.
"I think you're being naive if you ever thought the mood wasn't separatist," Draco said, and double-checked that the Porta-Hearth was actually off. He had strong suspicions it was just a disposable barbeque from Sainsburys with a strong Farseeing Charm, but until someone got a decent webcam conferencing system set up in Shacklebolt's office it was the best he and Harry could do.
He crunched his apple. "It's just that it became politically incorrect to be pro-mage after the war, and--"
"Anti-Muggle," Harry grouched, but that was an old discussion.
"--and now I think we're seeing people feel they can voice their discomfort with the Ministry's Muggle-pandering agenda." Draco calculated the angle the apple core would need to hit Harry's head, because the bin was too far from the couch. "It's just sad that they're regurgitating all the barmy nonsense in the Prophet as well. Tell you what, instituting a journalistic code of conduct'll be the first thing I do when I'm Minister."
There was a long pause in between Harry catching the apple--Draco was really going to have to work on his aim--and him turning around. "I think that's the first time you've said that outright," Harry grinned, and it was the kind of grin from long ago, when catching something first actually mattered.
"The wizarding press is in a truly appalling state."
Harry perched on the arm of the couch, his arms folded, looking down critically at Draco. Draco stretched out until his toes were just about touching Harry's thigh, and Harry looked sternly at those, too. "Here I was thinking you were the only Slytherin without an ounce of ambition."
"Don't act like you're surprised, Harry," Draco said, as coolly as was possibly under the circumstances. "Besides, you'd end up voting with the whips and forgetting why you're here if you didn't have the competition."
"Oh, it's altruism. I beg your pardon."
"Hmm." Draco caught his tongue between his teeth. "And then education reform."
"I'm sorry?"
"All magical schools need to be relocated somewhere on the south coast. None of this wintry wilds of Scotland nonsense," Draco mused. "Maybe even the Isle of Wight."
Harry shoved Draco's feet over to make room on the couch. "So you're going for the popular vote, then."
"I'm thinking what they're thinking, to improve upon an election slogan." Draco closed his eyes and didn't move, because Harry was right there, a gesture away, and he could feel how warm he was.
Silence for a while.
"So. You had to have your wand registered?" There was a different tone to Harry's voice.
Draco pulled it out of his sleeve and handed it to Harry. "There. At the base. There's a little notch where the tracker was fixed." He opened an eye to look at Harry. "You ever see the monitoring room at the Ministry before Artefacts took it over? Dozens of little blips on a map. Quite ingenious, really."
Harry opened his mouth like he was about to say something and shut it again. Balanced the wand on Draco's knees and let his fingers rest there for a moment.
Draco closed his eyes again. "And there's all sorts of nonsense you can encode on a computer chip."
"So now you want to save the Muggles from their surveillance nightmare?"
"Pragmatism would suggest it as a wise course of action, certainly." Draco rubbed his nose. "I'll leave the heroic details to you, though."
"Cheers."
"Pleasure."
OFFICE OF THE MINISTER FOR MAGIC
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (UNPLOTTABLE)
Monday 27th, 12:19 pm
"I'll pass."
"'fraid not."
Boris's whole forehead twitched, which made Draco vaguely uneasy.
Harry screwed his face up like there was a small part of him that wanted to take the tickets and run. "Look, Minister, I know you're all up to your eyebrows in this because, lets face it, no-one wants to turn down a photo-op with Bono, but I can't in all good conscience do it."
There was definitely no Lib Dem party line on this one, so Draco had to admit the possibility that Harry had reached certain conclusions on his own. Which was admirable. Draco wondered who'd been doing his research for him.
The Minister sat back and frowned. "Do you two know how much these bloody things go for on e-Bay? More to the point, don't you think that two of the youngest politicians in Westminster ought to be out there raising money for Africa and singing along to Coldplay?"
Draco shuddered.
"Surely you two like Madonna?"
Harry winced.
"Robbie Williams?"
Draco carefully schooled his face to nonchalance and stepped on Harry's foot.
"The, um, line-up isn't the issue," Harry choked out. "This whole concert is a farce. It's all carefully managed feel-good PR for Blair, and Geldof's a bloody idiot not to realise he's having the mickey taken out of him." Harry looked at Draco, who nodded in complete agreement. Anyone who thought holy matrimony with Paula Yates was a good idea really was a few salmon vol-au-vents short of a picnic.
"There's no debt relief for these countries," Harry went on, and Boris was blinking in something quite close to astonishment, "they're all having their aid taken away as a trade-off!"
Draco lent forward over Boris's desk and tilted his head back at Harry. "I think this is what your columnists call the passionate fires of liberal indignation," he said softly. "You should be proud. Or frightened. Possibly both."
He winked at Harry, and there was that furtive little smile hovering behind the left-wing rage, if you knew where to look.
"Shove it, Malfoy," Harry said, but Draco liked to think it was with fondness.
"Draco," said Boris, with the kind of tired resignation of a man who has just realised what uphill battles his future holds, "I'm going to assume your particular brand of neo-conservatism is against any and all foreign aid and thus accounts for your refusal to trot along to a pop concert and show your face for the press."
Harry snorted. "Pretty sure Draco thinks the same thing--"
Draco glanced up at the Division screen where there was a summons for both Houses. "Actually no, Harry, Boris is right," he said, trying not to smirk. "It really is all about the line-up."
Well, one had to keep up appearances.
*
End, Part X ~ Epilogue, Part I
Thank you to everyone who indulged my wacky AU, especially to lazlet who gave the whole thing a thorough beta, and to sparcck (who helped with the formatting also) and circe-tigana who made cracktastic and useful suggestions along the way.
Any remaining errors and inconsistencies in editing are Blaise's fault.
Being An Originally Intermittent Account
of the Political (Mis)Adventures
of the Viscount Northallerton, Lord Malfoy of Wimbledon;
and the Rt. Honourable Harry J. Potter,
Member of Parliament for North Southwark and Bermondsey (Liberal Democrat).
Annotated, with Footnotes
STATE OPENING OF PARLIAMENT
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (LORDS)
Tuesday 17th May, 3:24 pm
Maybe the Air Force, Draco mused, peering at the Chief of the Air Staff1 up in the gallery.
He really didn't fancy the law (besides, that would just mean another wig); the clergy was right out; and everyone else who had some kind of archaic frou-frou embellishment to their robe looked plain ridiculous.
Royal blue was very smart, Draco decided. How hard could it be to conjure a stint at Cranwell2 into his Muggle past? He could certainly fake a conversation about aerodynamics or warfare if needed, and besides, hadn't they let Prince Andrew into the Navy?
Draco twitched his robes back on his shoulders, tried to be happy with his charcoal Oswald Boateng3, and sighed. After the first few, the State Opening of Parliament wasn't so much a glorious display of English tradition as something that reminded Draco of waiting around while his mother presided over garden parties. Except Narcissa Malfoy would never have worn the entire family fortune in jewels on her head disguised as a lumpy purple cushion, like Her Majesty.
True, the old biddy was getting on, but there really was no accounting for what monstrosities of fashion an hereditary monarchy could conceive of--
--Oooh, the rabble approacheth.
Black Rod4 and the new Chancellor precessed into the Lords in suitably stately fashion, followed by Blair and Howard (there was a Crossbenchers pool on how long he was going to last after the Conservative loss; Draco privately thought the term "falling on one's sword" had never been so appropriate and had fifty pounds on six weeks)5, Kennedy, Brown, and then the pinkish blur of Senior Members who Draco only recognised if they'd said something controversial.
So none, then.
There was a polite amount of shuffling and shoving for seats but not much more than a cheerful hum. "There was a fight one year," said the Lord Harris of High Cross to Draco's left, nodding at the MP's behind the bar, "ought to happen again. Liven things up, what?"6
"Prescott's down there," Draco said hopefully.
No sign of Potter, though, even though Draco was certain Kennedy would've sent a rousing yellow memo around insisting all the Liberal Democrats scurry to the front of the herd and get their presence on the BBC Parliament coverage. Smart man for his absence, Draco had to admit. Potter was probably slouching on a bench in Westminster Hall with a transfigured gin and tonic, pretending to be serious about the Queen's Speech on the telecast.
"... will continue to pursue economic policies which entrench stability and promote long-term growth and prosperity. To this end, my Government will continue to secure low inflation and sound public finances--"
Draco closed his eyes in dismay. Two sentences in, and that was how it was going to be. Economics and stability. They were in for four years of utter boredom and creeping disappointment by the sounds of the manifesto. The Queen sounded bored herself as she read off the centrist rhetoric like the instructions to a kitset Floo point, albeit in a clipped set of vowels that even a Malfoy would strive to tone down.
"... will further reform the education system--"
Into oblivion, thought Draco.
".. committed to creating safe and secure communities, and fostering a culture of respect--"
"I think you'll find it liberating," Blaise had said, summoning books from bookcases Draco hadn't even known his office had, packing them neatly into a crate. "You're probably quite a radical underneath all that in-bred ennui. My sabbatical might release your inner activist."
"Nonsense," Draco had snapped. "I'll just have to make my own tea. Traitor."
"... legislation will be taken forward to introduce an identity cards scheme--"
Draco hated how Blaise was eventually always right.
*
1. AIR CHIEF: Or in full, Air Chief Marshal Sir Jock Stirrup. You cannot make these names up.
2. CRANWELL: The Air Force College.
3. OZWALD BOATENG: 12a Saville Row. Ask for Rupert.
4. BLACK ROD: The official usher of the House of Lords. Carries a big stick and bangs on doors with it.
5. HOWARD: Draco lost out in the pool, as Howard hung on by his fingernail for another six months, eventually hoisted out by the dynamic and fresh new Tory pin-up David Cameron, who has since proceeded to appear on television non-stop, opining on everything.
6. FIGHT: The Commons MPs are encouraged to act rowdy in the name of tradition. In 1901 it went so far as to have the newspapers comment on fisticuffs in the unruly mob.
LONDON EYE
WATERLOO
Monday 6th June, 10:02 am
"What are you wearing?"
"Hallo and nice to see you too," said Draco under his breath. "I thought this was supposed to be some clandestine meeting free from Ministry lackeys and Muggle journalists."
"What, no--" Harry's forehead creased up. "You're in disguise."
Draco considering transfiguring the tracksuit back into shirt and trousers, but there were eighteen other people in their capsule and he was actually quite comfortable. He settled for folding up the baseball cap in his palm until it reverted to a handkerchief.
"Your note was ten sorts of cryptic and said not only urgent but come alone," Draco frowned, "and exploited the exclamation mark, but you have a speechwriter now so I imagine grammar is one of life's little annoyances that--"
"Just wanted to make sure you'd turn up." Harry had this smile that seemed to blank out all other possibilities except clichés, like 'it filled the room' or 'beaming', and Draco hated it. People with enough historical angst to fill a Gringott's vault shouldn't be capable of being genuinely sunny.
Draco also wasn't quite prepared to deal with the implications of that smile, so he glared out over the rising view of the Thames. "There's this amazing invention called an answering service, you know. One can leave a recorded message of one's voice, and communicate one's wishes without ambiguity."
Harry turned to lean on the rail next to him. "You don't listen to your voicemail, Draco. You use magic to turn on your telly. Besides, I think Hedwig missed you."
"Hedwig."
"The grouchier you are the more pompous your vocabulary, did you know that?"
"Fuck off," Draco smiled.
After a moment, Harry blinked. "You got some sun," he said, which Draco thought was really just an excuse for some high-level scrutiny of the Potterish sort--which was to say rare, intense, and resembling Theodore in profoundly unsettling and entirely unfair ways. It was a vast comfort to Draco that there was nothing about him that would ever remind Harry of Ron.
"No freckles, though," Harry grinned, and Draco stared and thought about the fine line between keeping someone out of your mind and getting into theirs, and possibly it was not nearly close enough to lunchtime and the large glass of wine that had Draco's name on it.
Harry steered them aside for a couple of pensioners to move to the rail, his hand brushing down Draco's back, and Draco thought maybe the whole bottle.
"Went to the Seychelles," Draco said, counting bridges and wondering if Harry's building was visible from here. He glanced at Harry, who looked to be doing the same thing from the way he was squinting.
"There," Harry's finger jabbed the glass, and he moved aside for Draco to shift into his line of sight. The warehouses along the back of Butler's Wharf all looked the same from the air, but there was the white block of the Design Museum, and--
"Didn't those islands get hit by the tsunami?"
"Playgrounds of the filthy rich seem to have curiously short rebuilding times," Draco shrugged. "I must say I didn't notice any difference--no, wait, the bar staff bringing my cocktails on the beach seemed a little subdued."
Harry snickered. "Oh come on, how much did you donate to the Red Cross?"
"I don't actually have a heart of gold, despite your wild fantasies." Their pod was reaching the top of its arc now, and Draco moved further around the capsule to the south. "Or not, because now I know you'd rather be rowing down Putney7 than mucking in at your soup-kitchen--"
"I said I was sorry, Draco." Harry's voice was tight.
Draco grinned. "Yeah, I know. I just wanted to hear it again."
"Wanker."
"Penitent's good on you," Draco murmured when Harry crowded closer. "I don't get to see it nearly enough."
Harry said nothing, but raised his eyebrows in a vaguely conspiratorial way that caused all sorts of pleasant images to flash through Draco's mind, the least of which was the way his mouth positively pouted when Harry said sorry.
*
"You cannot see all the way to Wimbledon," Harry scoffed.
Draco took off his sunglasses and handed them to Harry. "It's amazing what kind of military technology gets filtered down to the masses these days." By military he meant Auror, and by filtered down he meant requisitioned for personal use by his cousin, but Harry would get the general drift.
"Woah," Harry said, leaning forward on the railing. Draco considered the rooftops of the Houses of Parliament and traced an imaginary path from Victoria Tower to St Stephens. It was like the opposite of that odd time-travelling phone-box program on the BBC; it seemed much larger on the outside.
"Your cherry trees are blossoming," Harry said quite sincerely, and Draco burst out laughing.
*
"Why are we here, by the way?" The pod was descending in to the docking area; Harry was still marveling at the far-field specs, and Draco was sitting on the bench in the middle of the capsule, feeling slightly wobbly.
Flying aside, he did have an uneasy relationship with heights.
"I'd never been," Harry said, tossing the glasses to Draco and pulling off his own to rub at his eyes. "One of those things where you see it every day and don't bother, because you know it's going to always be there."
Draco stomach did a sort of slow somersault.
"And then there was all the fuss about it losing the lease and being shut down, and we all got emails saying the party wanted to support London's Olympic bid and how important landmarks were crucial... so. Yeah." Harry ran his hands through his hair. "Plus it gave me a guaranteed twenty-five minutes of your time without you being able to stalk off in a snit."
"If I turned up."
"Which you did."
"Successful, then."
"I had fun." The capsule stopped and the doors opened. Harry frowned at Draco. "You look sort of green."
"Urgh. Nice view, could do without the revolving vertigo." They exited the pod, Draco stepping carefully out behind Harry. "It's disturbing how often I feel nauseous in your company, you know."
Harry turned, and actually fluttered his eyelashes at him.
Draco scowled, because there was no way Harry was getting away with that. "Stop that. Next time we're going... good lord, do you even have any phobias?"
"Next time, huh--"
"Quiet. Where are we having lunch?"
*
7. PUTNEY: Potter appears to have taken up the gentleman's sport of rowing as some sort of substitute for the dubious thrills of Quidditch. Given Draco's weakness for well-cut forearms this might explain a lot.
CENTRAL LOBBY
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT
Tuesday 21st June, 4:52 pm
Harry--harassed-looking and straightening his tie--didn't even notice Draco as he strode through the door and over to the Clerk's Bench. Draco watched Harry hand over the green card, looking at it like it was written in Urdu and about to combust. "Someone's waiting for me, apparently?"
"The gentleman in blue by Gladstone, sir."
Draco flipped the stub of the summons card over in his fingers and tried his best to look like a constituent.
"You couldn't just..." Harry waved his hands around, "you know, wait? Until the debates ended?"
"It's amazing what archaic little practices this place still has," Draco shook his head. "But it's reassuring, isn't it? One's representative really is at the beck and call of the populace."*
Harry narrowed his eyes. "You are not my populace."
"Am now. I bought one of those new developments behind the Tate. You are now officially my--"
"Please do not say mem--"
"--Member."
Harry sighed. "What do you want?"
"As your constituent I'd like to know how you're planning to respond to the government's proposals for national identification cards." Draco patted his jacket pocket for the notes he'd written during Thursday's Procedurals sub-committee meeting. Baroness Boothroyd kept nodding approvingly at him every time he jotted down something--which was gratifying, but he hadn't had his Zabini-special notebook, and consequently not only could he not decipher his own handwriting, but there was a lot to be said for that opinionated indexing charm.
"Right. And we couldn't discuss this in the bar?"
"I have a whole set of possible tactics to thwart this bill," Draco said brightly. "I wanted to give you the heads-up at the starting post."
Harry backed away a step. "Draco. You're using sporting metaphors and acting like you give a shit. Should I be concerned?"
"Don't be flip, Potter," Draco snapped, and tucked the list into Harry's breast pocket. "Look through that during the adjournment debate and I'll fill you in on the finer points. Once you grasp the basics."
"We do actually have a party-level strategy to vote against and amend this legislation, you know." Harry looked all sorts of affronted, which made Draco feel quite nostalgic.
Draco snickered. "Yes, I've read the press releases." He tapped Harry's pocket. "Hence the alternatives."
Rm 407
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (LORDS)
Thursday 23rd June, 11:24pm
"The Ministry seems to think that the general mood is swinging back to separatist," Harry said, jamming his hands in his pockets. "From how the whole ID card debacle is being reported, Bob Average Wizard reckons he'll have to have his hand stamped with a big red sign if he so much as looks at the Muggle world." He sighed, and there was a soft thunk when he leaned his forehead against the window.
"I think you're being naive if you ever thought the mood wasn't separatist," Draco said, and double-checked that the Porta-Hearth was actually off. He had strong suspicions it was just a disposable barbeque from Sainsburys with a strong Farseeing Charm, but until someone got a decent webcam conferencing system set up in Shacklebolt's office it was the best he and Harry could do.
He crunched his apple. "It's just that it became politically incorrect to be pro-mage after the war, and--"
"Anti-Muggle," Harry grouched, but that was an old discussion.
"--and now I think we're seeing people feel they can voice their discomfort with the Ministry's Muggle-pandering agenda." Draco calculated the angle the apple core would need to hit Harry's head, because the bin was too far from the couch. "It's just sad that they're regurgitating all the barmy nonsense in the Prophet as well. Tell you what, instituting a journalistic code of conduct'll be the first thing I do when I'm Minister."
There was a long pause in between Harry catching the apple--Draco was really going to have to work on his aim--and him turning around. "I think that's the first time you've said that outright," Harry grinned, and it was the kind of grin from long ago, when catching something first actually mattered.
"The wizarding press is in a truly appalling state."
Harry perched on the arm of the couch, his arms folded, looking down critically at Draco. Draco stretched out until his toes were just about touching Harry's thigh, and Harry looked sternly at those, too. "Here I was thinking you were the only Slytherin without an ounce of ambition."
"Don't act like you're surprised, Harry," Draco said, as coolly as was possibly under the circumstances. "Besides, you'd end up voting with the whips and forgetting why you're here if you didn't have the competition."
"Oh, it's altruism. I beg your pardon."
"Hmm." Draco caught his tongue between his teeth. "And then education reform."
"I'm sorry?"
"All magical schools need to be relocated somewhere on the south coast. None of this wintry wilds of Scotland nonsense," Draco mused. "Maybe even the Isle of Wight."
Harry shoved Draco's feet over to make room on the couch. "So you're going for the popular vote, then."
"I'm thinking what they're thinking, to improve upon an election slogan." Draco closed his eyes and didn't move, because Harry was right there, a gesture away, and he could feel how warm he was.
Silence for a while.
"So. You had to have your wand registered?" There was a different tone to Harry's voice.
Draco pulled it out of his sleeve and handed it to Harry. "There. At the base. There's a little notch where the tracker was fixed." He opened an eye to look at Harry. "You ever see the monitoring room at the Ministry before Artefacts took it over? Dozens of little blips on a map. Quite ingenious, really."
Harry opened his mouth like he was about to say something and shut it again. Balanced the wand on Draco's knees and let his fingers rest there for a moment.
Draco closed his eyes again. "And there's all sorts of nonsense you can encode on a computer chip."
"So now you want to save the Muggles from their surveillance nightmare?"
"Pragmatism would suggest it as a wise course of action, certainly." Draco rubbed his nose. "I'll leave the heroic details to you, though."
"Cheers."
"Pleasure."
OFFICE OF THE MINISTER FOR MAGIC
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (UNPLOTTABLE)
Monday 27th, 12:19 pm
"I'll pass."
"'fraid not."
Boris's whole forehead twitched, which made Draco vaguely uneasy.
Harry screwed his face up like there was a small part of him that wanted to take the tickets and run. "Look, Minister, I know you're all up to your eyebrows in this because, lets face it, no-one wants to turn down a photo-op with Bono, but I can't in all good conscience do it."
There was definitely no Lib Dem party line on this one, so Draco had to admit the possibility that Harry had reached certain conclusions on his own. Which was admirable. Draco wondered who'd been doing his research for him.
The Minister sat back and frowned. "Do you two know how much these bloody things go for on e-Bay? More to the point, don't you think that two of the youngest politicians in Westminster ought to be out there raising money for Africa and singing along to Coldplay?"
Draco shuddered.
"Surely you two like Madonna?"
Harry winced.
"Robbie Williams?"
Draco carefully schooled his face to nonchalance and stepped on Harry's foot.
"The, um, line-up isn't the issue," Harry choked out. "This whole concert is a farce. It's all carefully managed feel-good PR for Blair, and Geldof's a bloody idiot not to realise he's having the mickey taken out of him." Harry looked at Draco, who nodded in complete agreement. Anyone who thought holy matrimony with Paula Yates was a good idea really was a few salmon vol-au-vents short of a picnic.
"There's no debt relief for these countries," Harry went on, and Boris was blinking in something quite close to astonishment, "they're all having their aid taken away as a trade-off!"
Draco lent forward over Boris's desk and tilted his head back at Harry. "I think this is what your columnists call the passionate fires of liberal indignation," he said softly. "You should be proud. Or frightened. Possibly both."
He winked at Harry, and there was that furtive little smile hovering behind the left-wing rage, if you knew where to look.
"Shove it, Malfoy," Harry said, but Draco liked to think it was with fondness.
"Draco," said Boris, with the kind of tired resignation of a man who has just realised what uphill battles his future holds, "I'm going to assume your particular brand of neo-conservatism is against any and all foreign aid and thus accounts for your refusal to trot along to a pop concert and show your face for the press."
Harry snorted. "Pretty sure Draco thinks the same thing--"
Draco glanced up at the Division screen where there was a summons for both Houses. "Actually no, Harry, Boris is right," he said, trying not to smirk. "It really is all about the line-up."
Well, one had to keep up appearances.
*
End, Part X ~ Epilogue, Part I
Thank you to everyone who indulged my wacky AU, especially to lazlet who gave the whole thing a thorough beta, and to sparcck (who helped with the formatting also) and circe-tigana who made cracktastic and useful suggestions along the way.
Any remaining errors and inconsistencies in editing are Blaise's fault.