Author's note: The golden rule of fan-fiction says that if it's not there, write it yourself. This particular pairing is overwhelmingly underrated (at least in my humble opinion). Your thoughts are appreciated on this serious matter. Anyway, moving on...
Tagged as: Male slash (mature content, warnings added), romance, not canon compliant, political bedroom games, a bit of angst, multiple chapters
Pairing: Harry Potter/Lucius Malfoy
Setting: Ten years after the war. Harry's an Auror. Lucius is Lucius.
If this doesn't float your boat, tickle your fancy, turn your crank, isn't your cup of tea — *points to the door*. If you flame, I flame back. Hardcore. The ground will be charred.
FYI — in case anyone wants to skip the bedroom fun, chapters 2 & 5 should be read with caution (but you won't, you devious thing). Still, I have indicated the beginning and the end of certain parts.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. *sheds a tear*
Some dark undercurrent woe
Chapter One
Harry Potter really does have the worst of luck. Misfortune has been stalking him for years; it is a solid fact. What might have seemed like a lot of dumb luck at first is nothing more than rotten fortune—from childhood to the tentative years of teenage rebellion to a life of a young adult. It's nothing more than having been dealt a rather shitty hand in life. It is a series of uncontrollable events that have nothing to do with choice or fated course in life. It's it what it is—and it's absolute bollocks. Years have not settled him anywhere but mostly kept him afloat like a wrecked ship that refuses to sink.
He keeps his eyes on the black tiled floor as he walks ahead, only barely aware of the nattering to his right.
"—so I was thinking that if I can get into this meeting with the department heads, I might be able to push my proposal through. Cattlehorn is a toffy-nosed prig, but he understands that the wizarding government cannot simply ostracize a large number of magical being and creatures. We're talking about the Veela Council, werewolves, goblins, merpeople—they are all a fundamental part of magical society."
Hermione Granger stops walking without saying another word and looks cross. She waves a hand in front of her friend's face and asks, "You haven't heard a single word I've said, have you?"
Harry blinks. "Err...magical society?"
Hermione puffs out air from her nose and shakes her head.
"I'm sorry," Harry sighs and rubs his neck. "I didn't sleep well and I haven't had lunch yet. And I had a meeting with Una Crusher."
Hermione snorts. "She's a nightmare. I heard that she hates everyone in the Ministry, so don't take it personally. I think she might even hate everyone in the wizarding community. Or in the world."
"Well, she was assigned to review the complaints made against Aurors, and I can tell you that she's a bloody harpy. She's treating Aurors as criminals, conducting interviews and she has filed at least eighteen search warrants—which the Wizengamot sanctioned for some strange reason—to get Pensieve memories and search the Aurors cubicles. Auror Polanski was in tears after she had her interview with that bitch. Polanski has the lowest arrest rate in the department because she feels sorry for the people she should be arresting, but really is no reason for Crusher mouth off."
Hermione notes. "Muggles police has an internal affairs investigation unit."
"Davenport calls it innovation, but he's just changing everything to be more Muggle."
Hermione frowns. "While I support good relations with Muggles, I don't think it is necessary to convert magical society into a more Muggle-like environment."
"Everyone thinks that it's over the top, but Davenport is a Muggle-born and he's totally anti-pureblood. You are a Muggle-born witch but you don't want to everything to be Muggle."
"Walter Davenport is an idiot," Hermione replies with a roll of her eyes. "He was made into the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement because the Ministry needed to show itself as Muggle-born friendly. In the past, Muggle-borns have not been favoured in an official capacity but the Ministry needs to boost its image and popularity."
Harry gives a dissatisfied groan. "Well, someone should have checked his background. Did you know that he organised some type of 'death to pure-bloods' rallies when he was working in the records department?"
"No, I didn't," Hermione says, "but I'm not exactly shocked. Besides, I'm not a big fan of pure-bloods either."
"I don't see you organising a demonstration up and down Diagon Alley, carrying signs that kindly recommend pure-bloods to set themselves on fire."
Hermione's expression changes and she says, "Damn, I forgot that the Department of Education has an assembly today. I really must speak to Parvati about those awful new textbooks. Can you believe that it has no illustrations? How on earth should children learn about magical creatures if there are no pictures? I'll see you later, Harry."
She quickly walks towards the lifts, her heels clicking against the polished floor. Hermione works at the Ministry and she knows everything. Shacklebolt is a decent Minister, somewhat lacking finesse in the diplomacy division, but he's a good man and knows how to keep everyone on the straight and narrow.
Harry feels a headache coming on. He doesn't particularly fear for his job, even though some witch is poking her nose into places it definitely doesn't belong. As the Head of the Auror Office, Harry has to deal with the woman on a daily basis, but he considers this special investigator no more than a barking dog that doesn't bite.
After the war, the tactics that Aurors use have changed; it can't be denied. Aurors handle criminals with a firm hand and sometimes excess force is used. Harry himself is guilty of roughing up suspected criminals, but his past dealings with dark wizards and witches have left him angry, unfulfilled and violent in a way that Harry doesn't want to be. He knows that some of the Aurors in his team have crossed the line between what is necessary and what can be considered illegal. Harry doesn't consider his Aurors corrupted or overly aggressive, but he knows that a number of them had lost loved ones during the war and that sort of loss will never truly fade from one's mind.
Harry's therapist says it is something soldiers go through after coming back home from war, but Harry is sure that he simply hates those who commit crimes against children, creatures or innocent people. He thinks about Fred and Remus and Tonks and Dobby. He thinks about his schoolmates and nameless people in the crowd. It is not hard to work oneself into a violent frenzy like that.
He tries to clear his head. There is a meeting with Davenport that he has to get through. Now, the wizard is a bit officious and unapproachable but not everyone is the type to shake hands with everyone and cuddle kittens. Walter Davenport is in his late thirties and classically handsome. His facial features are perfectly sculpted and not a single hair on his head is ever misplaced; the man's rich chocolate hair is always styled in a way that makes Harry's hair look like something a Troll vomited up on top of his head. Davenport has blue eyes that make all the ladies swoon and a smile that seems almost too perfect with teeth so white that Harry has considered wearing sunglasses whenever he has to be in the man's presence. Sometimes the wizard wears Muggle t-shirts and those shirts always make his arms look bulged as if he's secretly a bodybuilder. He has a smooth, perfectly accented voice that makes him sound so posh that the Queen herself would keel over and someone would definitely roll out a red carpet.
He has made a career out of nothing. Working in the Departments of Records, the man had slowly climbed out of the dark archives and into a cushy office on the upper floors. Harry believes that his direct superior is not stupid; in fact, Harry believes that he is intelligent to the point of being cunning. The man had been a Ravenclaw—that much Harry knows because the office gossip never dies down. Harry knows a great deal about his boss from the chatty Kathy army of secretaries and assistants and trainee Aurors. Davenport is not married, which makes all the women gush and blush. He is entirely polite and charming but also determined. At times, Harry thinks that the man is the embodiment of an iron fist in a velvet glove. It doesn't scare him, but without a doubt makes Harry consider his words more carefully.
He has clashed with the man before. The witch digging into past cases and making the Aurors cry is one such time when Harry had not stayed silent. In the end, Davenport had pushed and pushed, driving Harry into a corner with no allies. Everyone admires Walter Davenport as if he holds the key to paradise. If anyone thinks badly of his status as a Muggle-born, they certainly don't voice it.
Standing behind the man's door with a folder tucked under his arm, Harry knocks. No answer comes and Harry feels a surge of annoyance. If Davenport isn't in his office, Harry has no reason to take part in a meeting for one. However, he is a curious person and since he has not seen the wizard around the Ministry, Harry decides to check just in case. The carved handle of the door smoothly moves down in Harry's hand and the door clicks open. Feeling a bit foolish and irked, Harry pushes the door open and promptly drops the folder. His first reaction is to flush bright red and the next is to grab his wand.
Davenport is in his office after all, but he isn't alone. The man looks like a kid who has his hand stuck in a container of biscuits when he was specifically told not to eat any before supper. His cheeks are tinted pink, but his eyes are angry. There is a storm in there somewhere. But Harry doesn't care about Walter Davenport. Oh, no—Harry only focuses on the other person in the room with him.
If anything can be said about Lucius Malfoy then it is this—the wizard must be immortal. Or perhaps he is in the habit of sipping Unicorn blood for a nightcap. Harry isn't any good at complicated mathematics, but he can add a few simple numbers. It is telling him that Malfoy must be a few years over fifty by now. The funny thing is that he looks exactly the same as he did ten years ago; in fact, he looks better than he had ten years ago. He's like one of those marble statues, carved to be perfect and unchangeable.
It pisses Harry off like nothing else in his life ever has. Lucius had suffered minor inconveniences after the war. He had paid reparations and the Ministry had been satisfied with his contributions. Of course, Harry had not been happy, but he had decided to just let it go for the sake of his own mental health.
Harry has not seen much of the man in recent years, but he has read about his donations to St. Mungo's and to the orphanage that had been set up after the war. Harry knows that Malfoy has given a lot of money to the newly founded council that monitors the treatment of creatures. He has even donated to the Remus Lupin Charity for Werewolves. Harry considers it beyond hypocritical. The fact that a Death Eater has once again found his way back to the top of the food chain is something that only fuels Harry's violent outbursts and he really can't blame himself for beating up scum that reminds him of past enemies.
Unlike Davenport, Malfoy does not look uncomfortable at all. In truth, he's wearing the smuggest of expressions. It's wily and despicable but so utterly gorgeous that Harry wants to take a knife and cut it off. The man's silver-blond hair is loose and the ends of it reach down his back. There is a thin braid that runs from the top of his ear all the way down. Harry wants to think that it looks stupid, but even that looks too good, much to Harry's annoyance. Malfoy has a grandson who is around three or four years old, so maybe it's his creation, but Harry really doesn't need to think about that. He doesn't want to think about Lucius Malfoy and children in the same sentence.
Davenport, having found his voice, clears it and says, "Potter, were you raised in a barn? It is only polite to knock before entering."
"Actually, I was raised by Muggles who treated me like a dog and made me sleep in a cupboard. I was never taught how to knock." Harry gives a wry reply. "Oh, and I did knock—but you must not have heard it, being busy and all."
Harry isn't going to mention what he thinks about Davenport's reasons for not hearing the knock. It doesn't take a degree in any sort of field to understand what Davenport's flushed appearance means. The top button of his shirt is undone and Harry knows that the man is pedantic about such matters. Malfoy looks devious—that is the only word Harry can think up to perfectly capture the man's entire being. Current and otherwise.
"What is it, Potter? I'm incredibly busy at the moment," Walter Davenport snaps, his hands going to his hips.
"You wanted to go over Miss Crusher's latest report. She has made some interesting observations about a number of my Aurors and you wished to discuss those unflattering remarks." Harry picks up the folder and waves it a little to get his point across. He makes a point in not looking at Malfoy's irritatingly attractive form perched on Davenport's desk. "Perhaps we should reschedule. You do seem very busy at the moment."
Davenport's mouth drops open a little but he snaps it shut and waves a hand towards the door. "We will discuss Miss Crusher's report some other time." Harry snorts to himself but gives a nod. When he doesn't immediately leave, Davenport barks at him, "Don't you have reports to write, Potter?"
Harry quirks a brow, "Perhaps Mister Malfoy here wants to hand in something dark and illegal for me to write a report on?"
"You are welcome to search my home and my person, Auror Potter."
A full-body shudder runs through Harry as Lucius says those words, thoroughly soaked in something sticky and sweet and oh-so-dangerous. It doesn't make Harry wish to clutch his wand close to him, but it does make him feel something. Perhaps it is his past revisiting or maybe it's nothing but it definitely has Harry paying attention.
ooo
Harry runs into Hermione as he is heading into the dining hall. He ushers the witch towards the table in the back. It's the perfect place for telling Hermione about his boss.
"You look like you're up to something," Hermione comments as she takes a seat and starts stirring her tea.
"I had a meeting with Davenport, but he was entertaining a rather surprising guest when I got there." Harry can't keep himself from smirking. "Walter Davenport, our very own star-studded Muggle-born and hater of all things related to pure-bloods, was having a very private meeting of his own...with Lucius Malfoy."
"No way!" Hermione gasps. "But he hates wizards like Malfoy who have old family money and connections and a pedigree."
"Yes way," Harry laughs. "Not only that—Davenport looked totally flushed like I had caught him wearing his grandmother's knickers. I think he was doing it with Malfoy."
Hermione frowns and she plucks her teacup from the saucer and takes a sip. She savours the drink and asks, "Doing what?"
Harry tears a piece of from Hermione's croissant and snorts. "What do you think, Hermione... buggering."
"That's ridiculous, Harry. He hates pure-bloods and never even shakes hands with them, so I really don't think he would touch other body parts belonging to Lucius Malfoy. Besides, Malfoy hates Muggles and Muggle-borns. They wouldn't even live in the same city, let alone sleep together."
"Well, he was sitting on Davenport's desk, looking a tad too relaxed. Davenport looked horrified when I walked in."
"What would those two have to talk about? It makes no sense."
"They weren't talking when I got there, so I have no idea what was being discussed or if there even was any talking involved."
Hermione leans back in her chair and says, "Well, I don't like it. It is bad enough that Lucius Malfoy is once again in the best position to influence politics. Ginny was right, you know—the public loves a bad boy."
"Is that why she's dating Blaise Zabini?"
"No, Ginny says it is because Blaise is a master in the art of pleasure. He makes her come three times in a row."
Harry chokes on his food and grabs a napkin. He wheezes out, "Do you mind? I don't want to hear about Ginny's wonderful sex-life."
"Because you have no sex-life?" Hermione chuckles. "You know perfectly why you and Ginny broke up."
"How could I forget? Ginny wanted more zing in the bedroom and I wanted to fuck men instead. It's pretty simple, Mione."
Hermione states. "You need to find someone for yourself, Harry. Being on your own is not doing you any good."
"I like being on my own. I don't have to worry about a curfew or any neurotic lovers waiting for me at home, ready to throw yet another ruined dinner at me when I get home late in the evening after promising to never miss dinner again. You know how much work I have and it's not easy to fit anyone else into my life."
Hermione nods because she does understand. Her days are long as well and she spends a lot of time away from home.
"Ron is a freak of nature," Harry points out. "He's the perfect housewife and loves every minute of it."
It is true that Hermione's husband is an odd one. Ron is happy to stay at home with their four-year-old daughter Rose and their youngest child Hugo. Ron loves to cook and clean and is happy to let Hermione work while he gets to deal with their small children.
"Well, you definitely don't need a Ron at home. You need someone exciting."
"Are you saying that Ron is boring or that I'm boring?"
Hermione shrugs. "I'm saying that you need to get out of this funk."
"I'm not in a funk."
"Whatever, Harry." Hermione rolls her eyes and picks up her cup again. As she brings it to her lips, she smirks and says, "I don't think you realise the pot of gold you have just been handed, Harry. Think about it—Davenport is openly opposing pure-bloods, trying to get our good Minister to pass laws and regulations that go up against pure-blood ideals and traditions, but he's having secret meetings with Lucius Malfoy. I think he does not want this to get around."
"You think I should blackmail my boss?" Harry asks and smiles. "I like the way you think."
Hermione muses out loud. "I'm not saying that you should blackmail him, but I think you should keep your fingers on the pulse. Davenport is up to something, that much is clear."
"I'm going to tell him to call off his bitch. Crusher can shove off with her questionnaires and psychological evaluations. Trust me—Davenport really doesn't want me telling people about his little cosy get-together with Malfoy."
"Be careful, Harry. He can write up a disciplinary about you if you step on his toes."
"I'm not going to do anything about it right this minute. I can be patient when I have to be," Harry says. "I'm having a pint later. You in?"
"No, I can't leave Cattlehorn by himself with the draft of the legislation I've made. He'll shred it the moment I turn my back."
Harry wipes his mouth and hums. "You're only going to miss Ginny gushing over Zabini's horse cock."
Hermione bursts into giggles.
"It's actually not that funny, Mione," Harry groans and explains. "She won't shut up about Zabini this and Zabini that. I do not need to be reminded that I figured out that I fancy men while I was having sex with my girlfriend. Ginny keeps comparing me to Zabini. It's emasculating."
"I guess she isn't over it yet. You know how Ginny is; she isn't the type to forgive and forget."
"That does not give her the right to keep hassling me about it. Maybe that's why I don't want to have an intimate relationship with anyone—because she keeps telling me how shite I was in bed."
"Then tell her to shut up about it," Hermione suggests. "You are twenty-eight years old. Resolve this like a man."
"Thanks for the advice," Harry bites back with a dry smile.
Hermione gathers her bag and stands. She says, "We're having a little party for Hugo this weekend to celebrate his first birthday. Be there or be prepared to have Papa Ron wave a spatula in your face."
"Should I bring anything?"
Hermione shrugs. "Hugo won't care. He considers spit-bubbles a good way to spend time. You can bring some wine for me and something nice for Rose. She really does miss you terribly."
"If Ginny brings Zabini, I'm going to go and find the first tart in Knockturn Alley and bring him as my date."
"You are so childish, do you know that?"
"I'm childish? Ginny said she'll owl me a few snaps of Zabini's pecker so I wouldn't have to wank off to a mental picture of it. You know, since it is so big and wonderful and bloody amazing."
"Fine, you are both children. Now get to work," Hermione tells the wizard as she marches off.
Harry sighs to himself and relaxes into his seat. He brings his laced fingers on top of his head and rests them there, slightly slanting back with the chair balanced on two legs. He spots Davenport approaching, the man's legs taking quick steps as he crosses the mishmash of tables and chairs. He stops right in front of Harry's table and his face is stony. "I would like to have a word, Potter. In my office; be there in five minutes."
"Should I knock?" Harry asks as the man starts to walk away. He receives a cold look that does to take away from the man's mortification. Harry mutters to himself, "Tosser."
ooo
Harry gets to keep his job. Davenport knows that he can't sack Harry Potter without probable cause and he sure as hell won't tell Minister Shacklebolt that he wants to fire Harry because he sort of walked in on him having a private party with Lucius Malfoy. It is simply not happening. So he just tells Harry to mind his own business and to keep his mouth shut. Of course, Harry doesn't have to do anything, but he will for the time being because he has to figure out Davenport's angle first—or Malfoy's for that matter. He gets a chance to poke his wand into the nest of a deadly snake sooner than he would have wanted but it doesn't matter in the end.
The ride down into the Atrium is uneventful. It gets a lot more interesting when the doors open and in walks Lucius Malfoy. Now, Harry isn't afraid to kick the hornet's nest, but he does know that it has to be done with a certain grace. Lucius is nothing more or nothing less than a Malfoy. He most likely wants nothing more than to snuff the life out of the younger wizard, but then again, it is exactly what Harry wants to do. The ride down is silent but no longer uneventful. Harry can see Malfoy's reflection on the golden doors and he can tell that the man's eyes are on him even though he isn't looking at Harry directly. It is an uncomfortable game that Harry wants to play. They both know that the other is staring, but neither wants to be the first to break it.
The ride is about to end as the bodiless voice says that their next stop will be the Atrium. It's strange but Harry doesn't want it to be over. He doesn't have to touch his pulse to know that it is climbing, almost pounding. His stomach clenches and there is a sort of heaviness in his legs. As the doors open, Harry knows that the game is up, but he hadn't considered Malfoy pushing the stop button that halts the lift and keeps the door closed until the button is pushed again.
They stay in silence for a moment but then Lucius says, "Walter Davenport is a clever little man who has ideas above his station."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Lucius turns around, his expression amused and entirely too scheming. "It means that a wizard with a questionable bloodline should not be allowed to run a magical government, Mister Potter."
Harry isn't surprised that Davenport wants to run for Minister and he certainly isn't surprised that Lucius is against the idea. "And you are telling me this because—"
"For no other reason than to inform you." Lucius smiles and it isn't a friendly one.
"If you don't want a twat like Davenport to be the next Minister then what sort of business are you conducting with him?" Harry asks. "In such a private setting no less."
Instead of getting angry or acting insulted, Malfoy laughs. The sound makes Harry's gut tighten. The pleasurable tone of the man's laugh is the very reason why Harry's trousers are suddenly incredibly tight as well. Without realising it, Harry backs away because he's afraid—not of Malfoy, but of his own desires. He wants to jump Malfoy and rough him up, make him lose that smarmy smile and then he wants to fuck him against the golden doors of the lift.
"The truth, Mister Potter, is rather simple. Walter Davenport is an insignificant cog in a well-oiled machine and right now, I need him to stay where he is because it suits my interests."
"You don't have to tell me what those interests are because I doubt they have changed in a decade."
"You would be surprised how a person's principles can undergo a momentous change when faced with one's failures."
Harry smirks, "That is nothing new for you, right? It must burn you up inside to know that even a decade won't change the fact that you will always be a Death Eater."
"Perhaps," the man says. "Then again, I'm not the one facing charges for battering suspects."
Harry frowns and demands, "What charges?"
"Oh, just a little something I saw on Davenport's desk. A certain report from a Miss Crusher. It seems control is not one of your strengths." Lucius smiles and reaches into his inner pocket. Harry is sure that it is nothing good but grows a bit paler when Lucius hands him a scroll of parchment. It is a written testimony from a wizard who had been arrested for selling stolen goods. "I have seen Aurors getting sacked for less than assault charges, so perhaps you will value this second chance I am offering you."
"Out of the kindness of your heart?" Harry gives an ironic smile. "I don't buy it."
Lucius comments, "This is an olive branch, in a manner of speaking; one that you will take, Mister Potter."
"Why?" Harry questions as he takes the document and stuffs it into his robe pocket.
"Davenport has his uses," Lucius starts, "but he does not have the level of influence in the Ministry as do you and the lovely Mrs Weasley."
"You need a favour, right?" Harry snorts.
"In a way, but this favour does not directly involve me. My daughter-in-law has decided to set up candidacy for the upcoming elections. She has support but not enough and not from those who wish to let Muggle customs and ways flood our society."
Harry understands. He knows of Astoria Malfoy née Greengrass and she is a fiercely intelligent witch. Even Hermione considers her a formidable opponent when trying to push certain legislations to come to pass. Astoria, the same as Hermione, is a fully qualified and trained barrister. Astoria isn't some pencil-pusher or a bureaucrat, but she is a pure-blood and has a set of principles and ideas that might take the magical community back into a time of mindless blood purity. It is not a big leap into a time where crazy dark wizards might start thinking about another utopia.
"Crusher's enthusiasm is commendable," Lucius says, "however, her attention can be easily diverted. Unofficially, you understand."
"You haven't changed a bit, have you?" Harry is genuinely amused.
"Quite the opposite," Lucius says and he seems more serious as he goes on, "The well-being of my family is my only priority. It has not been so in the past; I'm sure you know that, Mister Potter. Consider my offer and perhaps I shall tell Astoria to expect you for tea."
Lucius pushes the button that opens the doors and they are met by several angry looking Ministry workers who all want to go up. Lucius steps out and gives Harry a nod before disappearing from view. Harry doesn't get out and the lift is suddenly overflowing with people. Harry gets off one floor up and stands in the empty corridor. He doesn't know what to think. Yes, he knows that he has been a bit too passionate when interrogating suspects, but he had no idea that Crusher had actual witness testimonies. It is troubling.
Malfoy's offer isn't anything too overwhelming but the situation isn't ideal. Malfoy asks for a finger but will take an arm—Harry can already see it happening—but the shocking thing is that he doesn't care. There isn't enough zing in his life as he has been told before. Maybe Malfoy can provide it.