He Onward Came
By: Bucket/Replacement for the Stars/filthyfreedom

Chapter Eleven:
Trusts

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)

Harry twirled around his room with Argyll in his arms around two hours after he had finally decided that he would allow himself to trust Lucius, if only to keep himself safe from Black. He had finally eaten all of his fish and chips without Argyll stealing anymore, and had gotten some of Lucius's wine-cooked fancy duck with fancy wine sauce, or something like that, and Harry had really liked it. He had also learned that when Voldemort—although Lucius was trying to get him to call him the Dark Lord for some reason—had been destroyed, Black had lost everything. But Lucius had also reassured him—Harry had also wondered why Lucius had been so open with him while they had been sitting in the pub with all those people around him, but he had figured that the man had done something so all those people couldn't hear—that Black wouldn't be able to get to him while he—Lucius—was around, and once he was at Hogwarts, he would also be safe, because Black wouldn't dare break into Hogwarts.

He had also learned that Dementors were going to be guarding Hogwarts, but Lucius had promised to teach him a spell that would repel them, as well as the Summoning Charm.

Harry squirmed inside; he felt all gooey and unfamiliar. His belly kept on swooping and whenever Lucius was around, something wrapped around Harry's heart and he wanted the man to hug him really tightly and never let him go. Harry found himself wanting to emulate the man—dress like he did, walk like he did, act like he did—but then realized that if he did that, gave into that deep-seated urge, Lucius would probably make fun of him, because even if they were both famous, like Lucius had said, then that didn't mean that he could just go around acting like someone else that he had long thought he didn't even like.

Lucius had warned Harry that the two spells he was going to be teaching him—Patronus and the Summoning Charm—were rather advanced for a third-year and he most likely wouldn't even be able to manage the bottom of the spell. Harry had grinned widely and triumphantly informed Lucius that he was rather fond of surprising the hell out of people—even Snape, who, Harry had realized, was coming up more and more in his thoughts, for some reason, like the man was significant, ha!, or something—by doing things that no one expected or going far beyond what someone thought possible. Lucius's eyes had glittered so fiercely that Harry hadn't been able to look away; he had felt some sort of weird sucking and prodding, and then there had been something in his mind, and he had seen memories that he wasn't even thinking of, and he had felt again his feelings and thought his thoughts again towards Lucius, like there had been something or someone in his mind that was making him think things, but then it had disappeared and he had just been looking at Lucius again, Argyll sitting on his shoulder and chewing comfortably on his hair.

Harry shook his head in remembrance of that moment and dropped back onto the bed, one-handedly shucking off his sweater, shirt, shoes and pants and dropping them all off the side of the bed. He laid pleasantly on the bed, Argyll curled up against his left side, and Harry Potter slowly fell asleep. Just as he was about to descend, a familiar form's hands fluttered over his face and petted his hair, pressed a kiss to his forehead, and Harry felt himself let out a contented sigh and relax completely as he fell.

Lucius stepped away from Harry, eyes wide at his own foolishness—he had just kissed the boy, just like the boy was his son; he had never even done that with Draco!—but he could not force himself to rub the boy from his lips. He was only keeping the boy close for his own political gain; no one could see him in here and the boy was asleep? He had come in only because it was late for a thirteen-year-old and Lucius had wanted to make sure that Harry was in bed…

His hand went automatically to the painfully sweet thank-you letter in his inside robe pocket, and Lucius nearly threw himself out of Harry's room; he couldn't stand to be around the boy any longer.