4.
The portkey deposited Lucius in the main hall of his home, and he chuckled at the shouted, "Remeo leo! Remeo leo!" echoing off the high ceiling.
"It's a one-way key, Harry, dearest. It will bring you only to Malfoy Manor, and as you are already here, it will not work again until you leave." He removed his gloves and cloak, and tossed them to the house-elf which appeared at his heels. "Teagle, have someone go to Little Whinging -- number four, Privet Drive -- to collect all of Harry Potter's belongings. Place them in the mistress' chambers, and be sure you don't miss anything." The elf bobbed her head and vanished, and Lucius turned back to Harry. "The ring will always bring you back here, should you need to escape," he continued as though the interruption had not occurred.
"And what if here is where I need to escape from?" the brat shot back.
"Why, you shall have to wait for me to save you, I suppose." Lucius crooked a finger. "Now, come here."
Harry stepped back, looking ready to bolt, though all of the exits were sealed.
"I've no wish to play cat and mouse with you this night, my dear, although the idea has potential. Perhaps some other time. For now I only wish to cement this union. Petrificus totalus," he added conversationally. "Mobilicorpus."
Lucius turned and headed for the curved, marble staircase, hearing the unnaturally even tread of a mobilized body follow obediently. He hated to admit it, but his heart rate sped at the delightful sound. He decided to relax and enjoy himself, for the night had gone much more smoothly than he could have hoped, with the added bonus of Harry's charming reactions. The boy flitted between helpless rage and tearful fright like a drunken bumblebee, and it amused Lucius that Voldemort himself could only provoke classic Gryffindor courage.
It unsettled him, too, if he were honest with himself. Sometime over the thirteen years of Voldemort's 'demise', tirades on the death of their cause became bitter grumbling, then hollow mouthings. The Dark Lord would return and defeat their enemies. Voldemort would purge the taint from their society. World hunger would be eliminated.
*Pish,* Lucius thought. *If that ass Pettigrew hadn't pulled his little necromantic stunt, we might have woken up and resumed the work ourselves. Perhaps the Death Eaters might have accomplished something with myself at the reins.* Being dead had done something to Voldemort; that, or Harry Potter was a lot more powerful than he appeared. Lucius tilted the cane so the snake's silver tongue showed him the boy pacing woodenly behind him. Definitely the first.
Even after accumulating a collection of defeats at the hands of the Boy Who Lived, Voldemort persisted in confronting him. The old Voldemort would have neutralized Harry if he could not be eliminated, but this new, twisted, half-mad thing obsessed over his failure to kill one boy. Lucius snorted. A proper Slytherin knew when to retreat; only Gryffindors persisted even when they knew they would lose.
"Ah, here we are," Lucius said as they arrived at his door. He hissed something in parseltongue at the pewter snake guarding the door handle -- not that he understood the language, but the password had descended through his family for generations, a reminder of a past more glorious. His grandfather told him the sibilant whisper meant 'uninvited beware', and made him practice hissing it for hours. *I suppose I shall have to change it now, with a parselmouth for a husband. Pity.*
Despite losing a centuries-old password few could even pronounce should they guess it, the thought of his husband sent a coil of anticipation worming into Lucius' stomach, creeping lower until he became hyper-aware of the silk underclothes rubbing against his imminent erection. He led Harry inside, shutting and sealing the door behind him, through the parlour, where he repeated the process on the next door, then the lounge, and finally the bedroom.
Lucius cast the last locking spell and turned to observe his new spouse, standing stiff under the petrificus. It would be too easy to strip and bind him thus, and simple, albeit uncomfortable, to take unyielding flesh.
"Finite incantatum," he said, and was across the room before Harry could do more than gasp in outrage. He seized the boy and pulled him close, using one hand to prevent escape and the other to explore his prize. Far too thin -- he could count ribs -- but the muscle tone was there. Flesh firm, skin unblemished, and.... He ignored Harry's furious yell as he delved into the boy's too-loose trousers. Yes, sizeable package. He might -- at some point in the far future -- consider bottoming. Once he was certain Harry had learned his place.
"Let's just dispose of these, shall we?" Lucius said, imbuing his voice with good cheer just to watch the indignant blush blossom on Harry's cheeks. Once he removed the frayed belt, the trousers fell away with embarrassing ease, and Harry's blush deepened.
Nevertheless, he made a grab for Lucius' wand, and Lucius allowed it, and tsked when Harry cried out and stuck his burnt fingers in his mouth.
"As much as I enjoy you squirming so eagerly against me, I think this will be much more pleasant for both of us if we slow down a bit. Corpus relaxo."
The delightful but hindering struggles ceased, and Harry swayed. "What...?"
"It's a simple languor spell. Honestly, darling, you'd think you were a muggle. It leaves your senses sharp but slows voluntary reactions and lessens motor control. See how easy everything is now?" Lucius removed Harry's remaining clothes and led the now pliant boy to his bed. "Up you get. Watch your balance... I know it's frustrating, but don't cry. It will wear off soon. Shh, don't cry."
* * * * *
Dumbledore had neither smiled nor sent him to bed, and, most unfortunately, he had not offered another explanation. Apparating to Malfoy Manor -- against Dumbledore's advice -- Severus fought down the bitter mixture of rage, nausea, and fresh betrayal; Lily had certainly known her child's father, for there was no way *his* son so closely resembled James Potter without magic. He wondered why no one had noticed before, for it was unnatural for a child to so strongly resemble just *one* parent.
*Except for the eyes. Those lying, mudblood eyes.*
Lucius' voice again, and he shoved it away. He would *not* listen to that voice ever again.
* * * * *
"Divorced?" Draco pulled back in shock, and Narcissa clung even tighter. "Stop it, you're tearing my shirt. Now, tell me what happened. I assume you agreed to it or the paperwork would not have gone through the ministry so quickly."
"I signed the divorce papers at the same time as the betrothal agreement. Don't look at me like that! He said it was in case of an emergency."
"And you believed him?"
"No, but he would have called off the wedding if I hadn't signed."
Draco petted the blonde head, which leaked tears and less noble fluids onto his favourite shirt, more to quiet his mother than comfort her. "So why did he file them now? What is there to gain?"
"I don't know." Narcissa sniffled, and Draco irritably ordered her to use the handkerchief he'd given her. "I've been in Paris for the last three weeks. The papers came this morning by owl while I was taking breakfast, and when I tried to return home the wards had been changed."
"Did you at least prearrange a settlement when you signed over power to divorce you at will?"
"Don't speak to me in that manner! I'm still your mother. Yes, I've the villa, this flat, and a tenth of the Gringott's vault. A tenth! After twenty years of living in hell with the devil--"
Draco tuned her out as the tears turned to profanity. He had no idea what his father had planned, but he would find out as soon as it was safe to leave Narcissa alone. Right now she would probably do something idiotic like slit her wrists, and with her luck no one would find her and the play for sympathy would blow up on her. He rolled his eyes as she started the well-hashed list of Lucius' faults.
"Yes, Mother, he's a bastard." *Of course he is. He's a Malfoy.*
The portkey deposited Lucius in the main hall of his home, and he chuckled at the shouted, "Remeo leo! Remeo leo!" echoing off the high ceiling.
"It's a one-way key, Harry, dearest. It will bring you only to Malfoy Manor, and as you are already here, it will not work again until you leave." He removed his gloves and cloak, and tossed them to the house-elf which appeared at his heels. "Teagle, have someone go to Little Whinging -- number four, Privet Drive -- to collect all of Harry Potter's belongings. Place them in the mistress' chambers, and be sure you don't miss anything." The elf bobbed her head and vanished, and Lucius turned back to Harry. "The ring will always bring you back here, should you need to escape," he continued as though the interruption had not occurred.
"And what if here is where I need to escape from?" the brat shot back.
"Why, you shall have to wait for me to save you, I suppose." Lucius crooked a finger. "Now, come here."
Harry stepped back, looking ready to bolt, though all of the exits were sealed.
"I've no wish to play cat and mouse with you this night, my dear, although the idea has potential. Perhaps some other time. For now I only wish to cement this union. Petrificus totalus," he added conversationally. "Mobilicorpus."
Lucius turned and headed for the curved, marble staircase, hearing the unnaturally even tread of a mobilized body follow obediently. He hated to admit it, but his heart rate sped at the delightful sound. He decided to relax and enjoy himself, for the night had gone much more smoothly than he could have hoped, with the added bonus of Harry's charming reactions. The boy flitted between helpless rage and tearful fright like a drunken bumblebee, and it amused Lucius that Voldemort himself could only provoke classic Gryffindor courage.
It unsettled him, too, if he were honest with himself. Sometime over the thirteen years of Voldemort's 'demise', tirades on the death of their cause became bitter grumbling, then hollow mouthings. The Dark Lord would return and defeat their enemies. Voldemort would purge the taint from their society. World hunger would be eliminated.
*Pish,* Lucius thought. *If that ass Pettigrew hadn't pulled his little necromantic stunt, we might have woken up and resumed the work ourselves. Perhaps the Death Eaters might have accomplished something with myself at the reins.* Being dead had done something to Voldemort; that, or Harry Potter was a lot more powerful than he appeared. Lucius tilted the cane so the snake's silver tongue showed him the boy pacing woodenly behind him. Definitely the first.
Even after accumulating a collection of defeats at the hands of the Boy Who Lived, Voldemort persisted in confronting him. The old Voldemort would have neutralized Harry if he could not be eliminated, but this new, twisted, half-mad thing obsessed over his failure to kill one boy. Lucius snorted. A proper Slytherin knew when to retreat; only Gryffindors persisted even when they knew they would lose.
"Ah, here we are," Lucius said as they arrived at his door. He hissed something in parseltongue at the pewter snake guarding the door handle -- not that he understood the language, but the password had descended through his family for generations, a reminder of a past more glorious. His grandfather told him the sibilant whisper meant 'uninvited beware', and made him practice hissing it for hours. *I suppose I shall have to change it now, with a parselmouth for a husband. Pity.*
Despite losing a centuries-old password few could even pronounce should they guess it, the thought of his husband sent a coil of anticipation worming into Lucius' stomach, creeping lower until he became hyper-aware of the silk underclothes rubbing against his imminent erection. He led Harry inside, shutting and sealing the door behind him, through the parlour, where he repeated the process on the next door, then the lounge, and finally the bedroom.
Lucius cast the last locking spell and turned to observe his new spouse, standing stiff under the petrificus. It would be too easy to strip and bind him thus, and simple, albeit uncomfortable, to take unyielding flesh.
"Finite incantatum," he said, and was across the room before Harry could do more than gasp in outrage. He seized the boy and pulled him close, using one hand to prevent escape and the other to explore his prize. Far too thin -- he could count ribs -- but the muscle tone was there. Flesh firm, skin unblemished, and.... He ignored Harry's furious yell as he delved into the boy's too-loose trousers. Yes, sizeable package. He might -- at some point in the far future -- consider bottoming. Once he was certain Harry had learned his place.
"Let's just dispose of these, shall we?" Lucius said, imbuing his voice with good cheer just to watch the indignant blush blossom on Harry's cheeks. Once he removed the frayed belt, the trousers fell away with embarrassing ease, and Harry's blush deepened.
Nevertheless, he made a grab for Lucius' wand, and Lucius allowed it, and tsked when Harry cried out and stuck his burnt fingers in his mouth.
"As much as I enjoy you squirming so eagerly against me, I think this will be much more pleasant for both of us if we slow down a bit. Corpus relaxo."
The delightful but hindering struggles ceased, and Harry swayed. "What...?"
"It's a simple languor spell. Honestly, darling, you'd think you were a muggle. It leaves your senses sharp but slows voluntary reactions and lessens motor control. See how easy everything is now?" Lucius removed Harry's remaining clothes and led the now pliant boy to his bed. "Up you get. Watch your balance... I know it's frustrating, but don't cry. It will wear off soon. Shh, don't cry."
* * * * *
Dumbledore had neither smiled nor sent him to bed, and, most unfortunately, he had not offered another explanation. Apparating to Malfoy Manor -- against Dumbledore's advice -- Severus fought down the bitter mixture of rage, nausea, and fresh betrayal; Lily had certainly known her child's father, for there was no way *his* son so closely resembled James Potter without magic. He wondered why no one had noticed before, for it was unnatural for a child to so strongly resemble just *one* parent.
*Except for the eyes. Those lying, mudblood eyes.*
Lucius' voice again, and he shoved it away. He would *not* listen to that voice ever again.
* * * * *
"Divorced?" Draco pulled back in shock, and Narcissa clung even tighter. "Stop it, you're tearing my shirt. Now, tell me what happened. I assume you agreed to it or the paperwork would not have gone through the ministry so quickly."
"I signed the divorce papers at the same time as the betrothal agreement. Don't look at me like that! He said it was in case of an emergency."
"And you believed him?"
"No, but he would have called off the wedding if I hadn't signed."
Draco petted the blonde head, which leaked tears and less noble fluids onto his favourite shirt, more to quiet his mother than comfort her. "So why did he file them now? What is there to gain?"
"I don't know." Narcissa sniffled, and Draco irritably ordered her to use the handkerchief he'd given her. "I've been in Paris for the last three weeks. The papers came this morning by owl while I was taking breakfast, and when I tried to return home the wards had been changed."
"Did you at least prearrange a settlement when you signed over power to divorce you at will?"
"Don't speak to me in that manner! I'm still your mother. Yes, I've the villa, this flat, and a tenth of the Gringott's vault. A tenth! After twenty years of living in hell with the devil--"
Draco tuned her out as the tears turned to profanity. He had no idea what his father had planned, but he would find out as soon as it was safe to leave Narcissa alone. Right now she would probably do something idiotic like slit her wrists, and with her luck no one would find her and the play for sympathy would blow up on her. He rolled his eyes as she started the well-hashed list of Lucius' faults.
"Yes, Mother, he's a bastard." *Of course he is. He's a Malfoy.*