For Lucius, there was nothing more irksome than watching his fourteen year-old nemesis grow up and into his own power. Harry never went away. He never faded into irrelevancy like every brash upstart Lucius had ever known. No, that little brat had to grow into a handsome man whose opinion was taken seriously, and who's magic was even more so. Worse, the boy remained unmarried, uncommitted, and uncompromised. What a proper betrothal would've tamed, an orphan rearing snubbed. Harry strutted about town leaking magic that purebloods coveted and had the nerve to bitch about the media not allowing him to leave his past behind. Poor thing.
Age is a strange thing. One finally relaxes into its mantle, enjoys its fruits, only to have young ones assert their ambitions against you. He couldn't help but feel a threat come with Draco's renewed friendship with Harry. Harry, who would not go away in spite of those humiliating trials. Harry, who surely would never forget the threats Lucius had aimed at him prior to Voldemort's fall. Harry, who Draco was obviously dating, even though both had skirted the topic when pressed. Harry, who had sat so triumphantly, invited, at the Malfoy dinner table last night. Who'd had the nerve to blush every time Lucius's eyes went from him to Draco, to determine what was really going on between them.
It was one thing to get wind of the rumors. And another to be faced with the evidence. Apparently, Mr. Potter's reputation extended to the bedroom and was something others found worthy of collection. Lucius's bruised pride could've ignored that little unraveled thread for the rest of his life, as long as he never had to look Harry in the face ever again. Leave it to his son to dangle those fibers, to pick at the frays, and place Harry front and center, complete with a reason for Harry to make himself at home at the manor.
He did his best not to meddle in his son's business, but sounds coming from behind Draco's door last night, could not be ignored. Yes, our Mr. Potter was all grown up. Lucius still couldn't quite match those dark growls with the bespectacled face at his table. He was well aware that Harry had not gone home after dinner. In fact, Draco seemed to take impish delight in announcing that Harry would be staying over, as if testing his father to challenge him. No one saw Narcissa take Lucius's hand beneath table. No one saw him grip it and use it to anchor his displeasure. Draco's agreement to return home, to the management of the estate, had come with the stipulation that he would live openly and bring any man he wanted home, and that was the modern way and Lucius could take it or leave it.
Still hoping against hope for a grandchild, Lucius took it.
It was very important to pretend not to meddle in the affairs of one's grown children. There were subtle, wiser ways of going about it. Draco should've left well enough alone. If he resented his father's choices in the war, and wanted to parade Harry under Lucius's nose, the joke was on him. Lucius had kept his hands off Potter for years. He'd had to exercise inhuman restraint, and for that he deserved respect. No one knew the demons he'd fought looking into James Potter's beautiful son's countenance, and having to suppress the boy's ridiculous heroics at the same time. There had been plenty of times when he'd wanted to step outside of everyone's agenda, take the boy to a side room, and ruin his smug advocation of right and wrong with a good smack across his bare arse, and maybe a bit more. If those porcelain cheeks could flush in anger as quickly as they did, imagine what they'd look like caught on the shock of how far Lucius would go.
Leave it to Draco to bring the most troubling, rebellious, stomper of pureblood tradition, home. Leave it to his acetous son to uncork that forbidden drink, releasing vapors that drifted out into the hall from behind Draco's door last night. Vapors that had Lucius up and thirsty, sniffing the dark till his slippered feet stopped at his son's door. For two hours, he tried to make sense of what he heard. For two hours, his mind filled with speculation and reverie that his body had no way of emptying. Near bursting, he'd put his hand inside his sleep gown, and cursed both Harry and his son.
All he could think of, when it took him, was the horror of being completely at Harry's mercy if the door happened to open. In the grip of his emission, he found religion and prayed to survive the spasms without being caught. It was not his most dignified moment. And for that, Harry would have to pay. How dare Draco do this! How dare Draco, a lover of men, not see what Harry's presence has done to him all these years? He'd done his damnedest to leave the boy alone. That struggle was over. If Harry was a man now, and judging by those lawless groans on the other side of the door, he was, he'd be damned if he was going to fight this battle any longer.
He'd bide his time. He'd wait. Draco's new boyfriend wasn't a fluke. Wasn't just anyone. Harry was a very powerful, very selective wizard, who had studied and tracked Lucius for a decade, protected by his age. It was only a matter of time before they'd confront each other, wizard to wizard. Draco would be out. The manor would be quiet. They would either finish what had blistered between them for years, or start a whole new fire.
End