Hello all!

This is an updated rewrite of a story I wrote in 2003(!). It is completely AU and only canon-compliant up to GOF.

Warnings include a large age gap (16 to Lucius Malfoy's late 30's), violence, underage sex, an INCREDIBLE amount of fluff, and a strong divergence from canon, post book 4. (OOTP, HBP and DH had not yet been published at the original onset of this story, so there was no knowledge or mention of the Deathly Hallows, no death of Dumbledore, etc.)

While you will encounter plenty of canon favorites in this story, it does tend to skew more Harry Potter inspired than your average fanfic. The first few chapters are entirely OC centric, with a few familiar references hither and thither. Canon characters enter with abandon around chapter 11.

I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it! I adore every comment or criticism that you feel inclined to give.

xoxo

Cebaje

. . . . .

Even with the blindfold on, she could feel the crowd pressing in around her. The ring of human detritus hovered in silent orbit, blocking the light of the fires and torches. Though the floor beneath her feet had long since hemorrhaged any memory of warmth, it was not the chill that made her skin ripple with gooseflesh, but the knowledge that somewhere within the circle of black-robed satellites he stood, watching behind a faceless mask.

After a few moments, the little sounds of scraping heels and rustling fabric stilled, and a darker breed of quiet descended. Approaching footsteps beat an arrhythmic metronome against the stone, just loud enough to drown out the sudden hammering of her heart.

Hands fell against her shoulders, fingers dug into the thin fabric of her snow-colored robe. A sob of recognition stole the breath from her lungs, but she disguised the fierce black joy as a cry of pain, though the familiar touch was far gentler than she knew it could be. He pushed her forward several steps, then nudged the back of her legs so that she buckled to her knees.

The protest died in her mouth as she felt the warmth of his presence recede, and only then did she begin to tremble.

To her left the footsteps resumed, followed by a dry, slithery sound she had not noticed before. Something cool and slick, shivering with incredible kinetic power, brushed against her thigh. This time, she could not stifle the thin little scream that split her lips in a gasping rictus of horror. The snake, she thought. A murmuring tide of laughter crested in a hateful wave before subsiding into silence again.

"Icarus did not lie," came the voice, dry and cold as the scales still running the length of her leg. "Perfection."

She stiffened at the sound of her father's name, but at least now she had a direction in which to turn her focus. An icy finger touched her chin and bid her to lift her face to the sky.

"Nothing else would suit you, my Lord."

She turned towards his voice before she had a chance to blunt the swiftness of her response. Lucius Malfoy flinched beneath his mask when he saw the Dark Lord's jaw twitch.

"Remove her robes, Lucius."

Voldemort watched in impassive silence as Lucius stepped forward. He lifted the curtain of raven-blue hair and untied the simple white sheath, gloved hands brushing her skin as he pushed the fabric down her shoulders and allowed it to gather in an ivory puddle around her knees. She swallowed the ember of terror rising in her throat and instinctively wrapped her arms around herself, cheeks blazing with shame.

Lord Voldemort's mirthful chuckle preceded the sting of magic in her wrists, which were suddenly locked and drawn above her head. She wanted so badly to be brave, but there was no greater humiliation than this, baring her flesh to this roomful of strangers, this creature wearing the skin of a man. She gasped at the pressure of a boot-heel driving against the small of her back, forcing her to arch into the solid mass of the body in front of her.

"Oh," came a voice from the circle, a deep male tenor laced with desire. Voldemort hissed an unintelligible spell, and she hear the unmistakable crack of several bones breaking at once, following by a low, keening wail.

"Mine," said the dark lord. He reached down and threaded his skeletal fingers through her hair, wrenching her head back, exposing her throat and driving her spine even harder into the heel that held her in place.

"Is she worthy, Lucius? She has proven herself loyal, bringing the boy with a whisper and a smile. But does she deserve a place in my bed?"

The hand in her hair tightened and was joined by another, this one tracing a path between her breasts, down her belly. The pressure against her spine faltered as Lord Voldemort slid two fingers inside the warm, wet channel between her thighs. Fear made this sudden, ruthless invasion all the more painful than it would have been, even considering the reparative spells that Lucius had cast to restore the appearance of virginity.

She lost it, and began crying in great, ripping heaves. Not just for the agonizing thrust of his fingers inside her, but for the treasonous pleasure ignited by the unwelcome touch. She hated herself in that moment, hated the sea and the moon and the man that had made her, hated the treachery of her body and the inhuman blood beneath the skin that flushed and shuddered in response.

But he could not bring her there, to that place that only one had brought her. She would not – could not allow it. She snapped her tongue between her teeth until the copper salt of blood filled her mouth, using the pain as an anchor to tether herself to the humanity that rose up against her Faery nature.

It was this rebellion that was her undoing, for it broke the spell she did not know she had cast. Lord Voldemort had been in very real danger of forgetting the truths he had been told, the secrets brought to him not an hour before this meeting commenced. Even he was not immune to the power of a Siren – had not been, until he felt the cold rejection of a body promised to be willing, no matter what.

He withdrew his hand and released the spell that held her hands above her head, and stepped away.

"Lucius," he said. "Finish it."

The boot left her back and she dissolved into a heap at his feet, her forehead flush against the stone and her body wracked with sobs.

Lucius hesitated. Something was badly, horribly wrong.

"My Lord?"

"Finish it," he said again, nudging the girl with his foot. She started and stilled in a breath, rising up on her elbows.

"I could never," said Lucius. "I could never touch something that belongs so wholly to you."

"Try," said Voldemort, his voice lower, silky, fraught with threat.

Lucius' arm came around her and lifted her up, pulled her so that she sat on his lap, her legs outflung, the scrap of her gown riding mercifully between her knees. His chest was warm against her back, his breath came in harsh hot bursts, stirring her unbound hair. A barely-suppressed tremble of rage shivered over his muscles.

"Take that silly bauble off," said the Dark Lord. "I want you to feel her as I did."

A tiny metallic snap caught her ears, and the jealous anger emanating from his body became something else, something she knew, a soft, familiar tenderness. He must have removed his gloves, for it was with bare hands now that he traced the line of her ribs, skimmed the flare of her hips, brushed against the hot peak of desire at her center. He legs fell open willingly, eagerly, and she forgot the danger and the audience and the doom that her submission would bring. She rocked against the motion of his hand, urging him to continue, delighting in the guttural moan that warmed her neck.

He found his way inside her gently, a curled finger stroking the place just there, a movement and a motion that only someone intimately familiar with her body would know. She gasped and dug her nails into his black-clad thigh, mouth upturned and teeth bared to graze against the stubble at his jawline.

It was over in moments, it was over too soon, it was over. She thudded back into her body with a grimace, feeling the dampness of sweat on her skin, the cool air replacing the heat of his hand. Her chin dropped to her chest as she was struck with the realization of what he had done, how she had responded.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, the first words she'd spoken since this ordeal began. She felt Lucius' heavy, shuddering sigh behind her. Voldemort tsked above them.

"You fucked her, " Voldemort said. Iphany's stomach dropped as though she'd fallen from a broom. Lucius rushed to respond, stumbling fatally over his words.

"No, your greatness. I would never...I...I knew she was saved for you." He scrambled up, depositing her on the floor in the process, moving swiftly in front of the Dark Lord.

"How many times?"

"I swear to you, my Lord, I did not – "

She heard a scuffle and a shout as someone pulled Lucius back, and someone else reached for her and untied her blindfold. She barely had time to register her surroundings – ancient stone and ceilings so high she could not fathom their end, the faint glimmer of firelight on white masks. Lucius had been stripped of his and driven to his knees next to her, held by two other pale faced Death Eaters.

"I don't believe you." Voldemort rounded on her, and for the first time she looked on him fully. She covered her face with her hands to hide the revulsion and shame.

"You lied to me. You knew she was mine, Lucius. I did not think I had to tell you not to take her." The poison of his words made her feel dizzy and sick; she sank down hard on her heels to keep from tipping over. Beside her, Lucius moaned softly, sagging in his captors' hands.

"I'm...I'm sorry my Lord. I removed the necklace once...and I touched her...and...I could not..."

"I know, Lucius. You are weak. You could not help it. That is why I am going to spare you. Let him up." Voldemort replied, his voice surprisingly light and consoling. She peered through her fingers, watching as the Death Eaters obeyed. Lucius rose to his feet.

He lasted a sight longer than you did, she thought. Voldemort's eyes snapped towards her, as though he could read her thoughts. He grinned, showing a row of jagged, sharp teeth.

"Thank you, my Lord. You are most gracious." Lucius replied, bowing again and again as he turned to make his way back to his place in the circle. Voldemort stopped him before he could rejoin the ranks.

"Wait, Lucius. She must be punished, don't you think? Denying her master, seducing her caregiver. Unforgivable sins, no?"

"Of course," Lucius replied, bereft of tone or feeling. The callousness of his response made her throat constrict with unshed tears. She turned to look at him, dropping her hands, eyes wide and imploring. He could not match her gaze.

"Death is appropriate, isn't it? I'd torment her, first, and make you watch...but your past loyalties are no small matter. I would spare you seeing your little plaything's blood paint the walls."

"My Lord, if I may be allowed to say...I think..." He trailed off, unable to finish at the sight of Voldemort's glare. A thin smile crawled across the Dark Lord's fleshless lips, and he sheathed his own wand.

"You do it, Lucius."

"My Lord, I-"

"Do it, or I'll kill both of you."

She shut her eyes when Lucius reached for his wand. He would not chose her over his own life, but perhaps it was more than that. Perhaps he wished to do her this mercy, and himself. He took his place in front of her, back to Voldemort.

"Look at him, Iphany." The Dark Lord commanded. She shuddered and opened her eyes to Lucius' face, cold and emotionless as he raised his wand. But as he steadied himself, his gaze dropped to meet hers, and she saw the shine of tears in his eyes.

'I'm sorry," He mouthed, repeating her own words back to her. A soft smile touched her face; sunlight breaking through a storm cloud. She nodded.

"Now, Lucius." Voldemort commanded. Lucius drew in a deep breath.

"Avada..."