He Onward Came
By: Bucket/Replacement for the Stars/filthyfreedom
Chapter Nine:
Tenacious
He onward came, far off his coming shone,
And twenty thousand (I their number heard)
Chariots of God, half on each hand were seen:
Hee on the wings of Cherub rode sublime
Paradise Lost (John Milton), Book VI, Lines 768-771
(O.o)
Yes, the scotch, Lucius told himself as he held open the door to Twilfitt and Tatting's for Harry, who pranced in, Argyll talking against his chest as he stopped and stared. The store was not very large, but it was packed to the brim with the finest Wizarding clothes, the majority of which Lucius intended to buy for Harry. Certainly the scotch. Twilfitt—as Tatting had died years and years ago; Lucius remembered meeting him once, when he was a very young boy—scurried over and Lucius saw Harry pause for a second, as Twilfitt was a very, very small man with very, very large eyes and a very, very loud, squeaky voice. However, he supplied the best Wizarding clothes in London—Lucius's thoughts were cut off as Twilfitt began exclaiming over, not Harry, but Argyll, who leapt out of Harry's hands and darted off the moment he heard Twilfitt's voice.
Harry bit his bottom lip and shifted uncomfortably when Twilfitt's huge eyes focused in on him. "He's never done that before," he admitted, and wandered off, presumably in search of Argyll.
Twilfitt turned to Lucius and bowed slightly. "Your wife was in here just last week," Twilfitt informed Lucius, and led him towards the back of the store. "She had two new dress robes sized…are you here to pick them up?"
Lucius shook his head. "No. I am here to redress Mr. Potter."
From somewhere oddly far off: "Harry!"
As Twilfitt grinned, Lucius's lips pursed and he took his wand from his cane, flicked it and murmured, "Accio Harry and Argyll." With a tiny yelp, Harry was thrown to his knees at Lucius's feet and Argyll landed smoothly on top of Harry's head.
Harry looked up at Lucius and smoothed down the front of his ragged and holey shirt. "My rate for cleaning shoes is six-thousand Galleons a minute, Lucius," he mockingly informed the Lord Malfoy, and when Twilfitt held out a hand to help Harry up, Lucius watched in amusement as Harry looked up at Twilfitt and then back at his hand, as if almost curious if Twilfitt could help him to his feet. As Harry finally allowed Twilfitt to assist him to his feet, he twisted his head back around to look curiously up at Lucius, who was patiently waiting; after all, he had all day. "What was the spell you used? I've never heard of it."
Lucius slid his wand home in his cane and hefted the black oak slightly in his hand. "The Summoning Charm, Harry. I will teach it to you later, if you remember. Now, clothes."
Harry groaned good-naturedly, explained to Twilfitt that this was entirely unnecessary, that he was a charity case and if Lucius really wanted to buy someone clothes, then why not Argyll? He was a cat, and Harry knew some Muggle women who dressed their animals, like their tiny dogs, in little tiny dog clothes.
While Twilfitt took Harry's measurements and Banished the massive rags with a look of pure disgust, Lucius quietly informed the man of the colors that he would have Harry wear. After all, he was buying and it was the scotch that was making him do it, so why not go all out? Black, grey, Slytherin green to match the boy's eyes, a spot of red, absolutely no gold except for dark copper to match Argyll's eyes when Harry—who realized that if he wanted any say in what he was wearing, he'd have to demand it—insisted on it, a tiny bit of navy blue, and when Harry kept repeating Argyll, Lucius relented—not that anyone in the store would ever admit it, or ever say that it was Lucius who held Argyll in his arms the entire dressing time—and ordered seven Argyll sweaters in differing colors, all aimed to match Harry's eyes. Twilfitt had Harry try on underpants—which Lucius gladly left for—trousers, undershirts, regular shirts, vests, sweaters, under-robes, heavy winter robes, cloaks, light summer robes, indoor robes, school robes, socks, and nineteen pairs of shoes differing from black sneakers to heeled boots similar to the type elite purebloods wore.
The pile of clothes that Lucius bought for Harry was enough—in Harry's opinion—to fill his entire cupboard. He turned to the man and immediately hugged him, half-wondering if he was going to be hexed, and quietly informed the man that no one had ever bought clothes for him before. Although Lucius did not hug properly back, he did press one hand to Harry's back between his shoulder blades and something in his posture roughened when Harry kept thanking him; Harry knew that if he met Lucius's gaze, it would be glittering so harshly that he would have to take Argyll and burst out of the store just in case the man's eyes really exploded even though Harry kind of thought they wouldn't.
Just before they were about to leave the store, Harry couldn't stop staring at the huge pile of clothes and he looked up at Lucius—Twilfitt would have described his look as a sunflower turning to the brightest ray of sunlight in the sky, a child latching on to the first kindness shown to it in too long—and curiously asked just how they were going to get it all back to the Leaky Caldron. Lucius put Argyll on Harry's shoulder and then hit him across the back with the cane; however, as Harry noted, it wasn't a hit at all, it was more of the briefest touch of the length of wood to his body, and then Lucius pointed his wand at the pile of clothes and they disappeared.
Harry pretended to faint, coming around just seconds later. "Was that…was that magic?" he cried out, and thanking Twilfitt, Lucius herded the boy out of the store, almost unable to suppress the urge to roll his eyes.
(O.o)
Harry sat with Argyll in his room at the Leaky Caldron, swinging his heels against the edge of his bed as he looked over the massive pile of clothes, parchment, inks, quills, books, things for his kitten—food, toys, a magical litter box—and a few unidentifiable items that looked like squids. Lucius had dragged Harry into nearly every shop in Diagon Alley, making the almost-third year be nearly sick, and had spent more on Harry in one day than Harry figured anyone else had ever spent on him. Now, he was deliberating between making the award for Lucius on siring such a great git or writing a thank-you letter to the man, all the while watching Argyll chase a little grey fake mouse all over the room.
Would Lucius think the thank-you was a joke? He was a nasty snake, so Harry figured that he would take Harry's thank-you as a gag meant to insult or mock his kindness, and then Harry knew that the man would take all of the things that he had gotten for Harry, and Harry would have nothing. Neither would Argyll, because Harry didn't even know how to get into his Gringotts vault, let alone know what to buy for a kitten. He had spent inordinate amounts of time with Mrs. Figg, who owned more cats than the number of times Harry breathed in one day, and since Harry had always thought that he didn't like cats, he hadn't paid much attention to them. Cats were just cats and they had always climbed up his legs and scratched his skin and Harry just didn't like that. But Argyll was different. Whenever his kitten clawed up Harry's clothes, he never really dug his claws into Harry's skin, and when he did, Harry barely noticed it.
Harry rolled off the bed and onto his stomach, watching Argyll mess around with the fake mouse. As he kept his gaze on Argyll's front legs, a flash of almost black-dark-grey caught his eye, on the inside of Argyll's left forearm, and Harry snatched out his hand to clasp his fingers around Argyll's ribs, pulling the kitten into his arms. He rolled over onto his back, cupping one hand around Argyll's bum and resting his kitten's front paws on his chest; Harry lifted Argyll's front leg, ignoring the kitten's tiny flails, and narrowed his eyes at the almost black-dark-grey mark. It wasn't any design or didn't seem to be a re-growth of hair from a nasty scar; Harry figured it was just a natural digression of hair and decided not to think anymore on it.
It was weird, though.
(O.o)
A few hours later, Lucius settled himself at the same table he and Harry had occupied for their past few meals in the pub of the Leaky Caldron, and sat himself back in the corner, shadows cloaking his shoulders and dripping down his chest. Lucius placed his snake-headed cane on the table in front of him, and dropped his gaze to the stairs. He figured Harry would be down in just a few minutes—after all, it was past the usual dinner hour—and hopefully would be dressed half-way decently in the clothes that Lucius had bought for him.
Lucius also didn't like to think about why he had bought those clothes for Harry. He was well aware that he was rather selfish—all Malfoy's were—and falling into such a hole to being seen buying clothes for a half-blood; however, it was good publicity and perhaps his 'change in loyalty' would actually be believed if he was seen often with Harry Potter.
Lucius pursed his lips, briefly raised his eyes to the ceiling, and primly crossed his right leg over his left.
And while he was giving himself an even better name, perhaps he could sway Harry Potter.
Four minutes later, Harry stumbled down the stairs and swiveled his head around to lock his brilliant green eyes on Lucius. He grinned widely and strode over; Lucius froze at what the boy was wearing. Oh, the boy was wearing the clothes that Lucius had bought him, but none of the colors coordinated and he looked ridiculous.
Lucius pushed to his feet, wrapped long fingers around the base of his cane, and stepped forward to dig the head of the snake-head into Harry's thin chest. "What is that you are wearing, Harry?" he asked silkily, and Harry paused, Argyll peering around his wild hair with wide dark copper eyes.
"Err…" Harry looked down at his outfit—a Slytherin green emerald sweater over a red collared shirt, both hanging loosely out of his pressed black pants, and brown boots—and nervously smoothed down his chest. "This is what you got me…"
"Yes," Lucius deferred, and dropped his cane from Harry's chest. "But not like…that." He motioned to Harry's dress and his eyes lingered on the corner of paper poking out from Harry's pocket. "You do not match, and you look untidy. Follow me."
Harry nodded jerkily and shadowed behind Lucius as the man stalked upstairs to Harry's room; his hand brushed over the thank-you he had written that he had stuffed in his pocket, and Harry steeled himself to give it to Lucius once the man had fixed him. Harry grinned at Argyll as he stomped up the stairs, and ignored Lucius's glance back at him when he giggled under his breath. Just because he wasn't wearing the right clothes or wearing them the right way didn't mean that he couldn't still have fun or be himself, or even be thankful to Lucius that the man had gotten him the clothes.
Lucius opened the door to Harry's room and stepped to the side for Harry to walk in first. Harry figured it was some sort of paranoid weirdness and wondered if he was supposed to be all paranoid too; after all, wasn't he supposed to defeat the guy that Lucius had been loyal to? Voldemort; Harry smiled to himself as he dropped Argyll on the bed and grinned widely up at Lucius, who's eyes slowly began to glitter.
"So what's wrong with my clothes?" Harry asked quickly, picking at his green sweater.
Lucius lifted his chin slightly. "They do not match. Your appearance is ruffled and unkempt; it is unacceptable to be seen in public in such a manner." He pointed at Harry's waistline with the head of his cane, where Harry's shirt wasn't tucked in and the edges of his sweater were rumpled.
Harry pressed his lips together in an attempt to not giggle. Lucius seemed completely serious; weren't only girls worried about their clothes? He was begging to say something about Lucius's hair—it was back in a bow; Harry had nearly fallen over when he realized that—and his 'fashion sense' but figured that would be rude and Lucius would probably smack him. Smack him right across the face with his cane.
Lucius's eyes began to glitter fiercely and Harry smoothed down the front of his sweater again. His fingertips feathered over the corner of the letter sticking out from his pocket and he pulled it out, setting it on the edge of the bed. Argyll snatched a paw out and dragged the letter under himself, firmly setting his belly on the thick parchment and not moving a single inch, keeping his dark copper gaze set resolutely on Harry. "So what do I do?" Harry queried, lifting his gaze to meet Lucius's grey eyes.
Lucius smirked, the glitter in his eyes intense, and lifted his chin slightly. "First of all…"
(O.o)
Harry spun around in front of the mirror for the last time, stumbled back, and fell back on the bed. The entire room twisted around him as his brain danced in his head, and Harry tried to smile weakly at the ceiling, but couldn't quite manage it. Lucius leaned over Harry, glanced down to what he was wearing—pressed black slacks, a bright green sweater with thin black pinstripes, a collared black shirt, heeled black boots—and pressed the snake-head of his cane to Harry's thin chest. "Better," he murmured, and long fingers motioned to Harry's outfit. "This is appropriate. The rest of your outfits have been coordinated and I have personally spelled them to not be worn unless they are matching or complimentary."
Harry grinned widely, sat up, and pushed Argyll off the letter. He gulped to himself and then held it out to Lucius, whose glittering grey eyes fell flat and narrowed dangerously. Lucius took the letter hesitantly, holding it between his fingertips, and after glancing at Harry's earnest face, he set it aside on the bed, giving Harry an unrecognizable look that made the Chosen One feel all gooey inside. Harry rolled away, intentionally falling off the bed, and snaked his hand over the edge of the bed and snatched Argyll, cupping the kitten to his chest. Harry poked his head over the side of the bed and grinned widely at Lucius. "Food?" he asked quickly, and pretended to not notice that the letter he had given Lucius was no longer on the bed and a thin corner of it was sticking out from inside Lucius's robes.
Lucius lifted his chin slightly and the glitter in his eyes returned.
If anyone feels sorry for Lucius…don't. He deserves it.
I just have to say this: so far, my favorite part of this story is when Harry tries to imitate Lucius and nearly falls to the ground. I re-read that like sixteen times, giggling all the while. The characterization of that moment is beautiful.
