Title: On a Red Field, Venom and Tears
Author: r_grayjoy
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Theme: AU
Warnings: rather on the rough, hate!sex side, with a smidge of dirty talk
Word Count: 2,850
Summary: With their homeland on the brink of war with a neighboring realm, a rivalry between two young Magi comes to a head.
Notes: Huge thanks to snegurochka_lee for allowing me to post late in light of my recent internet and computer troubles. This is my first attempt at a true AU; tell me how I did?

On a Red Field, Venom and Tears

Harry stormed away from the private audience chamber, his deep red robes of office billowing out behind him. He had tried once more to warn Dumbledore of probable duplicity amongst his closest advisors, but his Lord would not hear him. Dumbledore had repeatedly brushed Harry's concerns aside as though they were no more consequential than a swarm of gnats. Today he had become terse with Harry, telling him that he did not wish to discuss the matter further and putting a swift end to the topic. If he's so damned "blessed" with "extraordinary" mental power, Harry thought bitterly to himself, then why does he even bother keeping my counsel? Not for the first time, Harry regretted ever having told his sovereign of the prophecy.

Relations between Lord Dumbledore's lands and those of Lord Voldemort had been growing increasingly strained for some time. Reports of border raids and rumors of spies in their midst had been circulating with alarming frequency, and many felt that war was imminent. It was against this backdrop of tension and paranoia that Seer Trelawney had spoken the True Prophecy to which only Harry had borne witness.

The phoenix and the serpent will meet on a red field. Venom and tears will wax and ebb as phases of the moon while the encounter progresses. The phoenix will return home to a rain of flowers. The phoenix and the serpent will meet on a red field…

When Harry relayed the prophecy to his Lord, Dumbledore had seemed intrigued, but largely unconcerned. He had told Harry that the true power of a prophecy was in the emphasis individuals chose to place upon it, and he had no intention of giving this one undue power. Nonetheless, those who would press for war were quick to use it to bolster their cause, arguing that it spoke of certain victory for their side. Dumbledore himself had yet to act, but had lately been keeping closer and closer confidence with Maester Snape, a smirking, slippery man who had always looked down upon Harry, and who Harry did not like at all.

Suspicious, Harry had surreptitiously followed Snape when the opportunity presented itself, and Harry had discovered the Maester in a clandestine meeting with Draco Malfoy. Malfoy was Harry's fellow Magus and his direct rival for Lord Dumbledore's ear. Snape was a secretive man and his motives were difficult to determine, but Malfoy had quite openly and loudly been pressing for war. The fact that the two were meeting did not bode well, Harry was certain, yet Dumbledore insisted that Snape was trustworthy.

Frustrated by his inability to make his Lord see the potential danger, Harry rounded the next corner and pulled up short. Hands balled into fists, he punched angrily at the stone wall of the castle corridor and muttered to himself, "He is not to be trusted. He's plotting something, I know it!"

"Talking to yourself again, Magus Potter? The Maesters say that's the first sign of insanity, you know."

The familiar mocking tone immediately sent a fresh surge of resentment through Harry. "Magus Malfoy," he ground out between clenched teeth. "Kindly do me the honor of pissing right off."

The only son of a wealthy Viscount, Malfoy clearly considered Harry, the bastard son of a lesser nobleman, to be beneath him. Their enmity had first developed early in their days as students at the Academy of the Magi, and had only increased when they had both been appointed Lord Dumbledore's personal advisors. Dumbledore had long tolerated the rivalry, but today had strongly suggested that Harry attempt to set aside his differences with Malfoy and learn to work with him. Harry, however, thought there was greater likelihood of both of them being eaten by a grue in broad daylight.

Rather than pissing off as requested, Malfoy took a few sauntering steps forward. "So hostile, Potter," he goaded. "What's flown up your robes and nested in your arse?"

Harry turned to fully face Malfoy and straightened his spine. "I truly can't imagine. It can't be that we're on the brink of war, and certain fools don't possess enough sense to be the least bit concerned about it," he replied sarcastically.

"Oh, here we go with this tired subject again," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. "You need a new song and dance, Potter; after all these years, you're finally beginning to bore me."

"I do not speak for your amusement, Malfoy."

'"Then perhaps you should not speak at all," Malfoy said. "Your opinion is not popular."

"I apologize for not finding the prospect of war to be diverting," Harry spat.

"Our victory over Voldemort could enable us to stop living in fear of internal sabotage, never mind all-out assault. You cannot fault others for being excited by the possibility."

"If we win! Lord Voldemort's forces are well-equipped and outnumber ours two to one. His Magi have no qualms with utilizing the Dark Arts in battle."

"The True Prophecy foretells certain victory," Malfoy said glibly.

"Its meaning is nebulous at best," Harry retorted.

"Your lack of vision astounds me!" Malfoy exclaimed. " 'The phoenix will return home to a rain of flowers'. How much more clear could it possibly be? Lord Dumbledore's army will return victorious to be showered with rose petals and ribbon by the grateful people. How else could it possibly be interpreted?"

"How about as a rain of flowers falling on the graves of the defeated?" Harry's tone was dark.

"Bah. You're stretching." Malfoy waved one hand in a dismissive gesture, but Harry thought he appeared uncertain for an instant.

"Even in triumph there is defeat," Harry pressed. "This is war we're talking about! Hundreds, thousands of lives will be lost, and not just on the other side."

"A certain amount of loss is acceptable if it helps us achieve our goal. The ends justify the means."

Disgusted by Malfoy's cavalier attitude, Harry remarked, "I thank the gods that our Lord does not share your view."

"Are you so certain he doesn't?" Malfoy arched an eyebrow.

"I'm certain of very little of late, since you seem to have risen in his esteem, Magus Malfoy." Narrowing his eyes, Harry moved towards Malfoy until he was near enough to thrust his finger into Malfoy's as he said, "I don't trust you, and I don't trust your friend, Maester Snape."

"Maester Snape was Lord Dumbledore's man while you and I were still in swaddling clothes, Potter," Malfoy said, brushing Harry's hand aside irritably.

Harry walked forward again, forcing Malfoy to retreat until his back hit the large tapestry that covered the opposite wall of the corridor and he could go no farther. Quietly, Harry said, "I'm not deaf. The Whisperers say that he's a spy for Lord Voldemort."

Appalled, Malfoy glanced along the hallway and whispered angrily, "He is Lord Dumbledore's spy; you know that. He is no more working for Voldemort than I!"

"Yes, that's precisely what I'm afraid of," said Harry.

Malfoy ground his teeth together before he asked very softly, "Are you insinuating what I believe you are?"

"I insinuate nothing. I am stating outright that your loyalties are suspect."

"That is a most dangerous accusation," Malfoy hissed.

"Dangerous for whom?"

For several long moments, there was no sound in the hallway save Harry and Malfoy's rapid breathing as the two Magi glared at each other in challenge. They stood so near that Harry could feel Malfoy's breath on his face, could feel magic crackle dangerously in the air between them. Then Malfoy's lips slowly curled up into a wicked smirk.

"Very devious of you, Potter, but I see what you're playing at. You're just trying to get a rise out of me."

"What?" Harry said, taken aback by the abrupt change in Malfoy's demeanor.

Leering down at Harry, Malfoy asked smoothly, "The bickering, the threats, the accusations… does it arouse you, Magus?"

"What?! No!" Horrified, Harry hastily jerked away from Malfoy and put distance between them.

Now the very picture of confidence and grace, Malfoy pushed off from the wall and advanced on Harry. "It does. I can see the flush on your cheeks, the pulse beating in your throat."

Refusing to retreat further from the likes of Malfoy, Harry stubbornly held his ground. Malfoy, however, continued moving towards Harry until they were once more separated by only a few inches. "Always so ready to spar with me, my old adversary," Malfoy murmured. "How many times have you fantasized about throwing me down and subduing me?"

The mortifying truth of the matter was that Harry had, in his most private moments, had such fantasies, although he had certainly never confessed them to anyone. He wasn't truly attracted to Malfoy. Such thoughts were merely the consequence of their intense rivalry and the feelings of frustration that often resulted. However, the lascivious tone of Malfoy's voice, the heat from his body, the mental images his words evoked were conspiring to have a most unwelcome effect on Harry's libido. Doing his best to ignore the stirrings beneath his robes, Harry muttered hoarsely, "You're delusional."

Malfoy ignored the dismissal and held Harry's gaze. "How. Many. Times?"

"Never," Harry insisted, but the word came out as little more than a whisper.

With a small movement, Malfoy brushed the back of his hand over the growing bulge at Harry's groin. "Liar."

It was then that Harry heard the faint hitch in Malfoy's breath. A suspicion blossomed in Harry's mind, and without thinking, he acted upon it. Malfoy gasped in surprise as Harry's hand closed firmly over the erection beneath Malfoy's robes, and Harry felt a rush of triumph and relief that he had guessed correctly. "That's your fantasy, not mine," Harry said. "The very thought of being subdued makes you hard as iron."

"You have neither the courage nor the strength." Malfoy didn't pull away, and Harry heard the challenge in his tone.

Something feral awoke within Harry and he stopped thinking altogether as he surged forward, forcing Malfoy back against the wall once more. The aged tapestry -- a golden phoenix on a scarlet field, Lord Dumbledore's standard -- did little to soften the blow, but Harry didn't allow Malfoy time to regain his bearings. Instead he immediately moved in and captured Malfoy's mouth with his own.

Fisting one hand in Malfoy's hair, Harry poured years of antagonism and vexation into Malfoy's yielding mouth. Their erections ground together through their clothing, their teeth bruised their lips, and still Malfoy pulled at Harry, attempting to draw him closer. Malfoy's hips thrust reflexively, and Harry grunted in triumph at the tiny whimpers and moans that Malfoy could not hold back. Abruptly, Malfoy's hands left Harry, then returned an instant later to tug blindly at the fastenings of Harry's robes. Heedless of the risk of discovery, Harry tore at Malfoy's clothing in turn.

With their robes fallen open at last, Malfoy tried to push away from the wall, to reverse their positions or exert control, perhaps. Alert to the maneuver, Harry shoved Malfoy back hard, relishing the startled gasp that escaped Malfoy at the impact. "Down!" Harry commanded, as though chastising an unruly pup.

Harry pressed his body flush against Malfoy's, pinning the other Magus to the tapestry and holding him there. Malfoy writhed wildly and his fingers twisted in Harry's robes, but Harry refused to move, refused to give Malfoy the friction he sought. "You want this," he hissed near Malfoy's ear.

Malfoy's response was an unintelligible and frustrated string of vowels. "Say it!" Harry demanded.

"Yes! Damn it!" Malfoy sobbed. Satisfied, Harry rolled his hips sharply and fell into a swift, rough rhythm. Malfoy squeezed his eyes shut and moved against Harry in counterpoint, his fingernails biting into Harry's back. Harry's breath came fast through his clenched teeth. Sweat and precome gathered between them and rolled in droplets down Harry's thighs. Malfoy's cock, so rigid, dug into his hip almost painfully as Harry thrust harder still.

Harry was close, so close, but he'd be damned if he'd finish before Malfoy. Pulling away suddenly, he shot one hand down and took Malfoy's straining prick in a tight grip. Malfoy snapped his hips forward and clawed at the tapestry as Harry stroked him furiously. "Hear me, Malfoy!" Harry said, his voice low and fierce. "For more than a decade I've taken your taunts, your reproach, your abuse. No more! After this, you will never be able to sneer at me, to look at me again without remembering my hand on your cock and how much you wanted it, without knowing that I made you come screaming."

At Harry's final words, Malfoy did precisely as Harry had predicted. As hot spunk spilled over his fist, Harry brought his free hand up and clapped it firmly over Malfoy's mouth to stifle his wail. He drained Malfoy utterly, wringing his climax from him until he slumped back against the tapestry at last. Only then did Harry take himself in hand, and with five sharp pulls, he came all over Malfoy's stomach, sullying his perfect, highborn flesh.

Sated and gasping for breath, Harry leaned against Malfoy, resting his forehead on the taller Magus' shoulder. He allowed himself this indulgence for only the merest of moments, however, before he turned away and brusquely began readjusting his clothing.

"I recant my previous statement, Potter." Malfoy spoke with something akin to his usual arrogant intonation.

"What statement would that be?" Harry asked apprehensively, tying his robe unevenly about his waist.

"You're not boring."

Harry couldn't help but chuckle, albeit a bit darkly, at Malfoy's remark. Sobering quickly, he turned to face Malfoy once more. "I still don't trust you. This changes nothing."

To Harry's surprise and consternation, Malfoy had already put his appearance in order. A faint flush to his cheek was the only sign that anything uncommon had transpired. "Any time you wish to discuss the matter further, do let me know, won't you?" Malfoy drawled, flashing a devilish smirk at Harry, then slipped down the corridor and out of sight.

For some time, Harry stared at the gold and scarlet tapestry, feeling alternately confused, intrigued, smug, and mortified. He wasn't entirely certain what had just happened, or what it meant. He could only think that, when Dumbledore had suggested he attempt to get along with Malfoy, this could not have been at all what his Lord had had in mind.

* * * * *

"You're late."

"I was accosted by Magus Potter on the way here and was delayed," Draco said.

"Mmm. And what inanities did Potter have to offer up today?" asked Snape.

"Only that war is an uncertain venture," Draco replied, taking a seat across from the Maester and picking up the goblet of wine that had been set out for him. "And that he does not trust me… or you. He seems to be aware that we're connected in some way."

"How much do you believe he knows, or suspects?"

Draco shrugged. "Not a great deal. He made no specific accusations."

"Nonetheless, we will have to proceed carefully. Potter has a suspicious mind and is a most determined snoop."

"Well I know it," Draco agreed with a derisive snort. "I was forced to change the subject dramatically and resort to rather drastic measures in order to divert him from the matter a few moments ago."

"Started a fight with him again, did you?" Snape asked, his lips twitching in amusement.

"Something to that effect," Draco said airily.

"It might be in our best interests if, rather than provoking him regularly, you attempted to gain his amity."

Draco lifted an eyebrow, intrigued. "Are you finally thinking of bringing him into our plans? In part, at least? I still say he would pose less of a threat if we simply gave him a bit of the information he seeks. It's more than Lord Dumbledore provides him."

"On the contrary, I have reason to suspect that Lord Dumbledore will soon give Potter some information that perhaps even we lack," Snape said. "I believe you stand the best chance of finding out what it is."

"He would give information to Potter that he has not given you? Impossible."

"He does not tell me everything. There is a proverb about eggs and baskets?" Snape's smile was wry.

"All right," Draco said with a sigh. "I'll make the attempt, but don't expect miracles. He's not likely to easily forget years of animosity -- no more am I."

"Don't ever forget," Snape advised, "but look for an opportunity to use it to your advantage."

Draco merely nodded. Privately, he though that he might already be a few steps ahead of the Maester on that count. It mattered not that the earlier scene between Potter and himself was likely not at all what Snape had in mind, since Draco had no intention of making him aware of it. He also wasn't particularly inclined to tell Snape about the single wildflower he had conjured and anonymously laid at the door to Harry's chambers. After all, in these games of intrigue, it was preferable to keep a few secrets just for oneself.