Written for the AWDT maintained by jamie2109 and nocturnaly.
Prompt: "Lie to me."
Characters/pairings: Luuu(cius), Narcy(ssa), Harry/Draco
Rating: PG-13 for nondescriptive sexual references.
Word count: 3300
Warnings: uhm… slash, Kellyisms, X-over-kinda-sorta, no plot just random things
Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor the series Married… With Children.
Beta: nico and kestrelsparhawk
A/N: I was talking with someone and the topic of Lucius came up, how he is only characterised by the extreme: he is either a super-cruel super-vile super-naughty Death Eater or a super-loving father and husband sooo in love, sophisticated and noble to near-Gryffindorish degrees. But what if he is just plain boring at home? Thus, the idea of this fic came up and I seriously didn't think I'd ever write it, but here it is.
A/N2: The main theme is based on a sitcom and it is supposed to sound like a sitcom, so the overused description of facial emotions is deliberate. The use of the 'blond' adjective has the same reason. (Is not usually my style, since it makes it sound as if I were talking about objects… Riiiiight.)
"Hello, Luuu." Narcy came in just when Lu settled on the sofa. "How was work?" she asked out of habit – not that she paid more than superficial attention to his answer.
"Boring. As usual." Lu rolled his eyes.
Honestly, what did she expect? That one day he would suddenly come home all excited about having to rot away in the boot department of a second-rate robe shop? He would have to dye his hair blond or grow a vagina first. Wait, his hair was already blond… Yuck! No way!
"I could put in a good word for you in Gladrags. I'm sure they would treat you better. If they only knew you, you'd be better respected."
"Narcy, remember what happened the last time you were sure you were right about something?" Lu drawled contemptuously. Not that Narcy ever seemed to notice his tone of voice. "You told the Ministry to use Veritaserum on me because I must be telling the truth about the Dark Lord having kept me under Imperius, and I ended up with having all ambition magicked out of me!"
"So?" she deadpanned. "I think it's a vast improvement."
Lu had his own opinion about that.
"And then we got saddled with Potter, so I could 'prove my good intentions by giving him a home' and 'repenting'," he continued his complaints, gesturing with his fingers where quotation marks were appropriate.
"Potter? Who?" Narcy asked, surprised. Lu rolled his eyes.
"You know, your son. The one who doesn't look like a girl," he clarified.
"Oh, you mean Harry!" Narcy's face brightened up with recognition, but then she returned to her previous track of conversion. "Anyhow. I'm going to talk to Madam Bigbuns. You'll see it will do you good."
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"Luuu!" He heard his wife's voice calling his name and, instantly, his back broke out in goose bumps. He hadn't even noticed that she was home. He usually only noticed when she left because she always nagged him for money before she went away.
"Yes, Narcy?" he called back obligingly, but his gaze didn't turn from the WWN where Aidan Lynch just got badgered by a Bludger and subsequently by a beater's bat that had somehow got in the way of his flight. Ouch.
Narcy sidled in front of him, obscuring his view of the Quidditch game, and Lu was forced to look up at her, grimacing at her ridiculous looking robes and the ton of make-up she was wearing.
"What?"
"Luuu," she said, elongating the last vowel of his name the way he hated it the most. "I'm going to Diagon Alley and I need money," she said, holding out her hand to him.
Nowadays, there was only one rule in this house: whoever worked got to keep the money they got for it. And since Lu was the only one with a job, that meant everyone came to him for money.
Initially, he had devised this rule so he would at least occasionally get to see his wife and children. By now, he had realised that seeing his family was overrated; they always disturbed him during watching Quidditch. But because he didn't want to look like a henpecked husband, he needed to keep up appearances and thus, the rule stayed.
"Whatever do you need money for now? You went to Diagon Alley yesterday," he said to Narcy, because he liked to know what was going on in his house. Then his attention strayed back to the WWN – Oliver Wood had been stabbed in the stomach with the stray end of a broomstick that coincidentally belonged to the other team's Chaser and he was gasping for air while said Chaser landed a ball. Lu was grinning with excitement.
He realised that Narcy was talking to him and turned his attention back to her rather unenthusiastically. Why couldn't she leave him alone – never mind that he had asked her a question, but why did she have to answer it now when she usually never did?
"Luuu, are you listening? I said I needed a new pair of earrings. So give me some money," she said, still waving her palm in front of his nose while the other was firmly put on her curved hip.
"You have tons of earrings. Why would you need new ones?" Lu drawled, continuously bored with her.
"I told you that, too," she simpered, rolling her pencilled eyes at him. "I need a new pair because none of what I have matches the colour of my hair today," she told him patiently. Well, she had already learnt to pay attention if she wanted to squeeze some Galleons out of him.
Personally, Lu didn't see how her hair colour was any different from that of last night, but he didn't want to miss any more of the Quidditch match, so he shrugged and gave in, taking out his pouch and giving her a Galleon. But she took his pouch instead, then gave it back –weighing considerably less.
Lu shrugged again and remembered to yell after her, "And bring some pizza!" so she wouldn't believe she could do just anything.
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"You didn't bring any pizza." Lu pouted after he had finished looking through his wife's purchases. Only useless bric-a-brac.
"I've already eaten," she told him, not really paying attention.
"But I haven't!" Lu whined. His belly was protesting. Of course, he hadn't got up from the couch throughout the whole day. "Cook dinner for me."
"Why don't you ask Dobby to cook?" she answered offhandedly.
"Dobby won't cook for me!" Lu protested, though she didn't really listen to him. "Not since Potter tricked me to give him my one-month-old sock to sniffle on as a punishment."
"Well, then that's your fault, isn't it?" Narcy sighed, a bit bored with the conversation. "Anyhow, I'm going over to Peg Parkinson. See you tomorrow, because I assume you'll be 'too tired' by the time I get home and into bed, right?"
Lu grimaced while he thought over the situation.
"Will you cook for me if I'm not tired?" he asked finally.
"No," Narcy told him categorically.
"Well, then, that one is your fault, isn't it?" Lu answered, sneering contemptuously, savouring the brief contentment of having been able to get one over his wife. But when he next looked, Narcy wasn't there anymore. So Lu settled back to the sofa and resolved to make a firecall.
After the fire flared green, the bald head of a man wearing glasses appeared in it and Lu leaned closer.
"Hey, Art!"
"Hey yourself, Lu!" The other man seemed inordinately pleased by his call. "What's up?"
"Today is the Pride versus Tornadoes," he said causally.
"Right! I've totally forgotten. Thanks for reminding me." Arthur's face lit up in excitement. "Can I come over to watch?" he asked.
Lu pretended to think about the idea, finally, he shrugged offhandedly.
"Why not? I'll squeeze in a little room for you."
"All right," Arthur said, thankful.
"But you bring the food," Lu added after a small but accentuated pause, scowling, with one finger in front of his face. It was very important that Arthur don't forget this.
"Sure, will do," Arthur said jovially. "I'm going to ask Molly to pack something right away."
Lu disconnected the call and leaned back contently, nodding his head, as if thanking an audience applauding him. Who said he had completely lost his edge?
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Arthur brought his wife's cooking when he came. Actually, that was the only reason why Lu let him enter his house – and because he needed someone who would listen to his complaints about his life and laugh at his jokes.
He would have preferred someone less verbose, though. Arthur was a typical case of a repressed husband. He had no say at home, so he talked incessantly, even during Quidditch, which didn't interest him that much, so Lu always sent him away after the food was gone to be able to enjoy the rest of the match undisturbed.
For now, he let Arthur carry on about his plug collection (which, for some incomprehensible reason, Narcy and Draco were always snickering about) and didn't even pretend to listen to it, choosing instead to stare at the WWN.
Arthur usually didn't mind.
Lu thought Arthur was a looser.
Actually, having a looser as his only company had the advantage of the satisfaction that – however boring Lu's own life might be – he would never sink that low.
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"I have a date. Dad, do you think my new robe looks pretty?" Draco asked, slipping between Lu and the WWN and turning three-hundred-and-sixty degrees, so that Lu's sight of the green field and tiny players zooming around was momentarily switched to a bright flowered fabric.
At first, he thought it must be advertisement time, then he realised that the fabric was a lot closer to his face than advertisements usually were. And anyhow, who would want to buy floral-patterned Butterbeer?
"Oh." He looked Draco up and down for a second. "Where did you get that one?" he asked, shocked. He knew for certain that Twillfit & Tatting's didn't sell things like that. It must have been custom-made. It resembled Draco's Beauxbatons robes in that it barely reached his thigh, but additionally, it had no sleeves either and its neckline was awfully revealing.
"Muggle," Draco told him, face shining with delight. Lu groaned, horrified, looking at his 'son' doubtfully. Then his gaze came to rest on the hint of a shoulder-strap peeking out from under the flimsy material.
"Are you wearing a bra, Pumpkin Pasty? What for? You don't even have tits!" Lu exclaimed, grimacing.
Draco looked at him for a second with the deepest hurt in his eyes, then his face crumpled.
"Dad, you're so mean! Like… like a bull in a Chinese shop!" And he ran back up to his room, bawling his eyes out and yelling for his mum.
Lu shrugged and turned back to his Quidditch, putting his hand into his pants as usual. He couldn't help this habit; he was missing his snake cane terribly; his hand needed something else to rest on, however inadequate it may be.
He rolled his eyes and stared after his hysterical daughter's… son's flowered robe disappearing behind the turn of the staircase and sighed, jaded.
"Where did we go wrong with him?" he asked his wife but couldn't muster the motivation for more than minor desperation. Of course, he knew the answer. It was when he and Narcy couldn't agree whether to send him to Durmstrang or Hogwarts, so they had agreed on a compromise that both of them equally hated: they sent him to Beauxbatons.
An all girl school.
Go figure!
Narcy looked back at him through her hand mirror, checking her make-up and adjusting her hair.
"Wrong? What do you mean?" she asked, absent-mindedly.
Lu pursed his lips, realising that he was talking to the wrong person.
"Never mind." He sighed theatrically and turned back to the WWN. No one in this family understood him.
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"Dobby, bring me the Prophet!" Lu yelled.
At his command, Dobby popped out of the room, only to reappear a second later with the paper. But then his gaze turned reproving and prideful, and instead of giving the Prophet to Lu, like a well-trained house-elf should, he perched on the couch next to him and started reading it himself.
"Dobby," Lu whined after a few seconds of staring incredulously at the creature. "I said bring me the Prophet!"
The elf didn't even flop an ear.
"Dobby! I said something!"
"Dobby heard," came the bored answer.
"Well, if you heard then you must obey! I am the man of this house and you must listen to my commands!" Lu complained, all in vain.
"Dobby is a free house-elf. Master Harry has freed him, and Dobby only listens to Master Harry." And then he continued perusing the paper. Lu sighed resignedly and reached for the remote of the WWN.
"Potter?" he growled, disgusted. "Since when does Potter have any say in this house?"
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There was a sharp, rapping sound coming from the other side of his door. Draco lifted his tear-streaked face from his pillow.
"Go away!" he yelled in his best wounded-swan-voice.
"It's me!" came the muffled reply. Of course, only Harry would think of barging into his room when he was sulking. Oh well, he was bored with sulking, anyhow.
He called, "Come in!" but then he realised that he must be looking dreadful and hastily scrambled for his wand to cast a quick freshening charm on his face and make the traces of his earlier breakdown disappear.
"Draco? Are you all right?" Harry stuck his head into the room tentatively. Draco plastered a miserable expression on his face – he didn't really need to exaggerate there, did he? – before he answered.
"No, I'm not. How do you think I'd feel? My date was ruined by my own father! And come in and close the door because the draught is going to wreck my hair."
"Dad didn't really mean it, you know…" Harry said after he had shut the door, wisely refraining from asking just how one comment from their dad was a reason to break down in hysteria. He couldn't say things like that. He had an objective, after all.
Instead, he obeyed Draco and went to sit down on Draco's bed. Secretly, he was glad about it because Draco was still three inches taller than him. Harry wanted to talk to him as an equal, which was hard to do if he had to strain his neck and look up the whole time.
He wiggled a bit until he succeeded in getting rather closer to Draco than strictly necessary and placed a tentative hand on the small of the blond's back.
"He did, too." Draco sniffled for a second before he turned over on the bed to settle in a more comfortable position while complaining to Harry. "I know he sent you here to talk a vole in my head and then he would come up, again, smelling like Guns N' Roses."
Harry's hand fell off Draco's waist while his mind was busy with processing his words, but Draco didn't really have time to regret the loss of warmth on his skin, because Harry reached for the blond's hand next, taking it into his own and petting it nervously with the other. Draco let him, but he carefully maintained a wounded expression.
"Draco, I swear he didn't send me. I came on my own."
"What do you want? Right now, I need company like a hole in my arse," Draco sniffled.
Harry, thrilled that Draco gave him an opening (pun not intended, but appreciated nonetheless) cleared his throat and launched into his prepared speech.
"Draco, you know you're not really my brother…"
Well, that was a beginning, Draco thought. Even if Harry didn't have dark hair, Draco would know that because no one else in this family was this timid! It grated on his nerves, but Draco had to keep up appearances, at least at the start, so he rolled his eyes theatrically and sneered at Harry.
"That's the lamest pick-up line I've ever heard," he told his not-brother, slowly and articulately, as if he were talking to a five-year-old. "Everyone, and I mean everyone, could have said that!"
Harry looked at Draco for a second, baffled, while he was turning over what he had heard in his mind. Then he shrugged because Draco was right, but he wouldn't let that little setback deter him. He was on a crusade, worthy of a Gryffindor.
"So, what do you say?" he asked blandly.
Draco pulled his hand out of Harry's grip, then he kneeled up on his bed gracefully, lifting the hem of his short robe above his waist and exposing his panty-clad bottom to Harry.
"Do you have a condom?" he asked casually.
Harry needed a few seconds until he could stop staring, and wondering about his good luck.
He felt light-headed and a little giddy, his mind reeling with the possibilities. He hadn't expected Draco to put out this quickly, but something was still amiss.
"Don't I get a kiss first?" he asked, a bit disappointed.
Draco looked at him over his shoulder as if Harry had lost his mind.
"Not until you scrub the dirt off your face."
"That's not dirt, it's my goatee," Harry said, pouting, lifting his hand to his chin defensively and caressing his pride and joy. "And I have been told that it looks good on me. Makes me more mature."
"Did the Weasel tell you that?" Draco looked suspiciously as if he could barely manage to keep a straight face. "It figures he would want someone to whom he would look less ridiculous in comparison."
Harry blinked a few times, because he figured Draco's words made sense. Then he shrugged and clambered on the bed behind Draco, sneaking a nervous hand under the lace panties and fanning out his fingers around the enticing swell of flesh.
"Are we going out now?" he wanted to clarify.
"Do you really want me to answer that question?" Draco asked back, his brows lifted.
Harry's forehead wrinkled in deep thought. Finally, he shrugged.
"Lie to me."
Draco nodded and pursed his lips, thinking.
"Depends. If you're packing like sardines. But you can't tell your friends."
"What about yours?"
"Are you kidding? First off, they avoid you like Prague." Draco scoffed. "Second, they would never believe I'd let you shag me, not even coming from me."
"Okay then," Harry said, shrugging, and resolved to focus on much more interesting matters from now on – particularly the lily-white, salivation-worthy piece of bum in front of him.
Way to go, Harry! He nodded to himself, proud, while sliding the tiny bit of material off his prize and sampling the taste of Draco's skin. Draco moaned demandingly, but Harry decided not to let himself be hurried. He planned to make Draco remember this one, so that he would feel inclined to keep his word about going out with him.
He knew, if he didn't remind him of that little detail, Draco wouldn't remember later that Harry had asked him to lie…
Who knew, maybe if he shaved and finally got his growth spurt, Draco would be willing to appear with him in public as well.
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An hour later, Harry flopped tiredly on the couch next to Lu, wearing a dreamy grin that almost split his clean-shaved face in two. Oh, yes. His day had been perfect, and he intended to finish it in the same manner. And what would be more perfect after finally having lost his virginity than a night of relaxing on the couch and watching Quidditch?
"Why are you in such a good mood, Potter?" Lu looked at him with disgust. He couldn't suffer others having a better time than himself. "You look like an idiot, grinning like that."
Harry turned his head, realising he had been spoken to, but his mind was still too high in the clouds to mind the tone. So he just continued grinning, causing Lu to continue looking at him as if he were a fly in his Butterbeer.
"Just… you know…" he gestured with his hand in the general direction of the universe, then realised who he was talking to and stopped for a few seconds to be able to validate the situation accordingly.
"Eh… Never mind, dad," Harry finally said in a dreamy voice. "You wouldn't understand. Let's watch Quidditch."
Lu shrugged, but his frown was soon replaced by an approving expression when Harry suggested they concentrate on the match.
"Son, you're the only normal one in this house besides me," he said. "Have I told you about the time I played reserve Keeper for my House? Once, in the House Championship, I scored four goals to Slytherin! They called me," and here he puffed himself up, "Malfoy, our King!"
"Sure, dad," Harry mumbled, his attention already focussed on the match.
Lu shrugged and turned back to the WWN, grinning with anticipation, when Kevin and Karl Broadmoor 'accidentally' flattened someone from the other team between their bulks...
- fade to black and let the credits roll -