They did it there in front of everyone, in a dark corner of Knockturn Alley where no one would stop long enough to look at their faces. Draco on his knees, hands clutching fistfuls of Harry's robes. Harry leaning against a grimy wall, his head turned to the side, his eyes open and alert.

Harry came with a jolt, a graze of teeth along his cock and a swirl of tongue at the tip. Draco could do this in under five minutes. So could Harry, though he liked to be the one standing.

Draco closed Harry's robes and patted his softening cock with a rough hand and then vanished up the alley like any good whore would do. Not that anyone was looking.

Harry fished the map out of his underpants only after he had Apparated back to his flat and sealed himself inside. Alone.

A small team of Aurors found the cache of dark objects almost immediately, though it took them some time longer to break through the protections surrounding them. Their only casualty was a careless junior named Cucknill who had half his finger eaten away when he tried to pocket a ruby ring.

Voldemort killed Macnair that night in a fit of impotent rage.

Harry buggered Draco on a sacred rock not far from his family's ancestral home in Wiltshire, within a circle of power that Voldemort could neither use nor penetrate. The moonlight reflected off his pale hair and made him look like an angel. A dirty little angel.

Draco waited till Harry made him come before he said a word; Harry was still pumping away when Draco told him, "Tomorrow night, at the place where the thing happened, after moonrise."

"You're certain?" gasped Harry.

"As I can be," said Draco. "I suppose that lets Lupin out, then, doesn't it. Pity, that."

Harry came and collapsed on top of him, until Draco pushed him off and cleaned himself up to go.

The battle was short, and the battle was bloody, but in the end the battle was won by the Order thanks to an ambush they'd been able to devise in the wee hours of the morning, on too little sleep and too many waking charms. The Order lost one but the Death Eaters lost three. And the Order, at least, did not have to look forward to the crippling pain of the Cruciatus Curse for their failure.

"On your knees," said Draco, and pushed down on the top of Harry's head. If Harry hadn't heard the approaching footsteps too he would have thought Draco just wanted a quickie. He'd give him one anyway, and not just because Draco's prick was already practically poking its way out of his robes.

Harry had a mouthful and couldn't answer when Draco told him that Dolohov was injured and holed up at a distant relative's country house in Lancashire. Easy pickings. If the Order had to take them one by one, they would.

"You do swallow, don't you?" said Draco, tangling his fingers in Harry's dark hair. "I've earned it."

Harry spit, just to spite him. He'd swallow for Voldemort's location, but not for a gimpy Death Eater's. Maybe.

The Ministry had Dolohov back in custody almost before Harry could return. He wondered who would pay this time for the information he'd received. Not Draco, never Draco, the Death Eaters thought Draco their pawn. Their pretty, uninformed pawn. Harry left the blowjob out of his report.

Draco had Harry pressed up against the wall as he transferred the charmed coin from mouth to mouth. The witch across the alleyway, standing in the half-burned-out doorway and watching them, looked about five seconds away from slipping her hands into her robes.

Harry grabbed Draco's collar and rubbed hard against him before Draco let go to vanish again. "One day," he said breathlessly, "I'll be able to ask you back to mine."

"One day," Draco replied from beneath his dark hood, "I just might come."

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