Contraction
Disclaimer: [Stands on tiptoes, holds out fake ID, and hopefully smiles as she tries to get enrolled for driving lessons] I'm getting there, damn it all... Oh, and I don't own anything by Darren Hayes or Katie Melua (though I'd very much like to!)
I apologise again for the references to drug use in the last chapter...for some reason, I can just imagine Lucius' life being bad enough to have to resort to such vices, in order to forget real life for a little while. I'll try not to do it again... However, wherever Lucius' gallivants off to, I have to follow, so I can't promise anything...
In the last chapter, Lucius resorted to drastic measures of both drugs and drink in order to settle himself into a state of unconsciousness. Recent events have bought long buried memories to the surface of his mind, and his brain is so fogged with drugs that he cannot escape his trip to the past. Draco's just being boring and sleeping. So...it looks like another Lucius- centric chapter. (Am I making my fangirl intentions too obvious?) Warning – mentions of domestic violence, non-consensual sex, and a really daft author who wants to hurt a fictional father figure.
I apologise if this chapter seems a little...tentative... The subject of domestic abuse is one that I find quite difficult (stupid idea of mine to write about it, I know). Any pointers appreciated.
The morning after Lucius' arrival back at the manor was a subdued one. His mother did not appear at breakfast, and his father stopped only long enough to glare at him, before again leaving on 'business'. Now aware of his father's tricky nature, Lucius followed quietly behind him, and watched through the great windows at the front of the house as the carriage rolled away down the hill. Only when it had exited the gates, and been driven out of view, did he really believe that his father had left the house.
With his absence ensured for at least a couple of hours, Lucius felt safe to climb up the main staircase, and then slowly pad his way down heavily carpeted halls, to the west wing. It was here that the old family chambers were...and it was here that both his father and mother slept (albeit in separate rooms).
Rounding the corner into the third floor corridor, he saw some house-elves exit the room, with towels that were covered in something... Something that looked suspiciously like blood! Another tide of the creatures appeared from a small secret passage hidden behind one of the panels on the wall, laden with fresh towels, and bottles of potion. As soon as the hall was devoid of elves, Lucius hurried down towards his mother's door, which had been left slightly ajar. He could hear quiet voices from within, and was contented when he heard his mother's voice ringing out clearly.
"Has mister Malfoy left on business yet?" she enquired, obviously speaking to the house-elves that tended her. By edging slowly closer to the door, Lucius was able to get a glimpse into the room – annoyingly, his mother's bed was on the hinge side of the door, so he couldn't see her. He could still hear her though...which was good...
"Yes, he has miss," a tremulous voice told her. "He has taken clothes and effects enough for three or four days, milady."
"I see-" there was a sudden hissing intake of breath, and a whimpered 'ow', which was quickly stifled.
"Sorry miss!" another house-elf exclaimed.
"Don't worry about it, it has to be done after – ouch – all..." Unable to stand the terrible visions his mind was making up, Lucius extended a hand and gently rapped on the door. "Yes?"
"It's me, mother," he called, pushing the door open, and stepping into the room. The curtains were still drawn, and the congregation of house-elves around her bed drew back as he approached. Squinting through the darkness, he saw that one of her legs was resting on a pillow above the coverlet, with a towel draped over it...her face was pale, but unmarked...and new bruises stood out lividly on her bare arms, fading into old ones. He stopped dead, hardly able to believe what his eyes were telling him.
"Darling," she ventured softly, reaching out her arms. "No need to be alarmed darling; it was just a fight that got out of hand... Come, come over here and sit by me, hmm?" She patted the bed beside her – he briefly thought about it, but almost immediately declined, shaking his head violently.
"He...how could he...? What did he do?" he asked, feeling helplessness sweep over him as the tide does over the shore. I was outside that drawing room for an hour before father sent me away...and yet, I heard nothing... The thought that this attack had been pre-empted horrified him, but he knew that nothing could possibly have happened whilst he was still standing in that hall. He didn't want to...want to think that he could have been standing there whilst...whilst his father...and he had done nothing. "The – the," he grabbed around for a word to describe the disgusting creature, but couldn't find anything that seemed strong enough.
"Lucius," Adriana implored, leaning forwards, and wincing as she dislodged the towel over her leg. A house-elf quickly tweaked it back into place, but in that short second, Lucius had seen all he needed to see. Muscle – even bone – peering out from an open wound that was still weeping a disparagingly large amount of blood. She looked down at her re-covered leg, and, again, her resolve seemed to weaken. "Lucius...just...forget this. Go and stay with that nice Snape boy for a while, until your father and I have sorted-"
"There is no way I'm leaving you alone with that madman!" Lucius exploded. She looked a little taken aback, and he reined his anger as much as he could. In as calm a voice as he could muster, he said, "I'm going to owl grandmother Xavier, and ask that we be allowed to stay with them for Christmas. She may not like father, but she won't refuse if I request it-"
"No Lucius, you mustn't do that!" the Malfoy woman exclaimed. "If she ever found out about this... I – I'd never live it down! It would just prove to her how much of a failure of a daughter I am! And I won't have any French high-brow idiots slandering my husband!" She was now in such a state of rage that she neglected the wounds she had, and staggered out of bed, white camisole being stained by the blood that seeped from her wounds. The house- elves clustered to try and stem the flow, and push her back into bed, but she managed to kick them out of the way.
"Mother!" the blond-haired teenager gasped, horrified by the staggering mess coming towards him. "Stop it, you need to get back into bed!"
"I'm fine!" she assured him, voice suddenly it's usual airy self. She stumbled slightly, and Lucius reached out catch her before she could collapse onto the floor. "Just don't you dare send an owl to your grandmother. Lance may not be acting himself, but that's no reason to let that old battle-axe get involved!" Her eyes misted over slightly, "And, it will be the first Christmas we've spent together ever since you started school, after all!"
With that hopeful statement still hanging in the air, she slumped, her head dropping down onto her chest. Half carrying, half dragging her, Lucius managed to take his mother to her bed, and lay her down upon it. The house- elves once again fell upon her, applying potions and towels to aid the healing process. With a sneer of disbelief, he realised something... She still loves him...even after all that's happened. He thought back to his father's various elicit affairs, with both men and women. When he had threatened her with divorce so that he could marry some Swedish floozy...
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he left the room, with the full intention to go to the owlery. With his mother's pleas still so fresh in his mind, he found he couldn't bring himself to disobey her, and turned back, towards the main staircase. Treading a familiar path, once so fraught with excitement and joy, now one of despair and loss, he found himself at the scene of yesterday's 'crime against the Malfoy name'.
The door had been obliterated, so that only one panel of the wood remained, hanging woefully from a rusted hinge. The violet fire no longer burned, and the red carpet held scorch marks. Most of the furniture had been incinerated, but the balls from the pool table still remained, buried beneath the ashes of the table itself. After a few moments of silent contemplation of the scene before him, he stepped into the wreckage of the former den.
His feet crunched through a thin layer of shattered glass, which must have come from the two lamps that had once thrown light over the pool table. He noticed that one of the cues was still intact, leaning against the wall in an almost defiant manner. The television, on the other hand, was almost unrecognisable, a box of twisted, melted plastic, with a few wires haphazardly protruding from where the screen once was. The sad thing is, I could probably sell that for a thousand Galleons to some collector of muggle artefacts...he thought, finding it ironic that there should be such extremes within the wizarding world. Some wizards hated muggles, and some...well...some adored them to the point of it being a little scary...
Shaking his head, he walked further into the room, making his way to where the stereo had once lain. His father's destruction had worked so well that he couldn't find anything that was recognisable to him as a stereo part. Frantically, he searched around for all his (and his mother's) tapes and LPs...yet, this search was almost as hopeless as the search for the stereo itself.
Sighing, he sat down on what remained of his usual chair – the back of it had been ripped off, and the white synthetic stuffing was peering out of the open wound on the furniture. Looking around, he realised just how angry his father must have been the previous night... He'd never seen his father angry before... Mind you, that's probably because you're always at school, and he's always at work. It's not surprising really, is it?
Finding the silence in the room oppressive, and not at all helpful in improving his mood, he got up from the chair, and hurried out, pulling the one panel of the door shut behind him. It swung slightly on its corroded hinge, before the metal finally gave way, and the last panel fell to the floor with a resounding crash. Lucius, so lost in his angry thoughts, barely flinched as the sound reached his ears. He didn't turn back, mot wanting to again view the destruction caused by his father's anger.
Suddenly, he had the compelling need to get out of the stuffy confines of his home. With quickening footsteps, he climbed from the underground passageways into the much more lushly decorated ground floor walkways. Everywhere he looked, he could see reminders of the happy time of year it was supposed to be. It certainly doesn't feel like it, he thought wryly. He noticed with some distaste that there was not a speck of red in the house...everything was of silver and green. No gold, no red. It was as though half the Christmas decorations had been lost, and replaced with the Slytherin house colours.
Was Christmas really like this back when I was younger? He wondered, walking past a tiny winding stairway that led to the kitchens downstairs. He was willing to bet that the amount of staff contained in the manor was enough to rival the workforce in Hogwarts. Tempting smells wafted up from below, but he ignored his imploring stomach. Right now, the oppressive nature of the manor and its finery was bearing down on him that he had to get out, or...well, he didn't want to think about it...
"...Do you love me?
Or am I just another trip, in this strange relationship?
Gimme that strange relationship
Never felt pleasure and pain like this
Something so right but it feels so terribly wrong
I keep holding on..."
What in the fu-? Draco groggily opened his eyes, to find that his radio was still very much turned on – almost immediately, the grandfather clock, registering that he was awake, struck the hour. Three chimes told him that it was, in fact, three o'clock. As such, he must have been asleep for just under two hours. Groaning, he pulled himself up into a sitting position, and flicked off the radio, cutting the syrupy voice of one 'Darren Hayes' off in mid-song.
He yawned, and stretched languorously, enjoying the feeling of being completely rested. Outside, the day had managed to turn into quite a nice one, with only a few stray eddies of cloud dotting the otherwise azure sky. Sullenly, he knew that he would be unable to take advantage of such lovely weather, owing to the fact that his broom was now a series of misshapen splinters. I wonder if father would let me borrowhis one...no...best not interrupt him again so soon, he decided, remembering his earlier actions, and guessing that his father wouldn't take kindly to being annoyed further.
Instead, he rove his eyes around the room, looking for some sort of distraction. All he could come across was a stray quill lying on the floor next to his jade futon. Priceless...I'm a bored Malfoy, and yet, I have nothing better to do than homework. Hah, well, aren't I living the highlife? He crawled out of bed, and rolled up the sleeves of his pyjamas (no matter how many times he assured his mother he didn't need the extra length on the arms, she had them extended anyway). Then, he went over to his trunk, which opened at a gentle touch from his forefinger.
Surveying the contents, he tried to decide which piece of homework to complete first. He could either start off with the easy stuff and leave all the dull rubbish till later, or he could do the dull stuff and leave himself something easy to while the hours away with later on. After brief consideration (punctuated by a coughing fit and dizzy spell) he decided the easy stuff would be best. Considering the fact that he'd almost drowned and most probably had a cold, something too taxing might have an adverse effect on him after all.
Removing his potions textbook and a pile of new parchment from his trunk, he noticed something very odd... What's this doing in here? He wondered, removing his father's wand from his trunk. Actually...how the hell did this even get in here? He scratched the back of his head in puzzlement, and then shrugged. I suppose he must have dropped it, and then the house-elves must have assumed it was mine and chucked it in here...or something... He decided that that seemed like a reasonable explanation, and thought no more of it. I'll give it back to him at supper.
With this decision, he was able to pick up his book and parchment, along with the quill that was resting on the floor, and go over to his desk. There was already a pot of black ink in the inkwell to his right, and he sat down on his office chair, depositing book and parchment onto the desk. He opened the textbook to the appropriate page, drew a sheet towards him dipped his quill into the ink, and then began to write.
After a few minutes, he found that the silence was quite stifling, and hurried over to his side-table in order to retrieve his radio. Then, he switched it on, and recognised with a pleased smile that the sultry tones of Katie Melua were coming at him through the contraption. He continued to write, whilst tapping his foot jauntily against his chair-leg in time to the music.
Lucius had quickly become accustomed to a routine in his time at home. On the days when his father was away on business, he would pop in to see his mother (and see what further damage Lance had inflicted upon her.) Each time, he would try and persuade her to come with him to grandmother Xavier's, but every time she insisted that everything was all right. Disheartened by this, he would then usually return to his chambers, in order to brood and plot, and come up with nothing sensible. After that, he would take a cloak from his wardrobe, and then walk around the grounds until it started to get dark once again.
When his father was at home, he would skip past his mother altogether, and go straight outside into the snow. Often, he would make his way to the gazebo by the lake, and sit there, staring at the glassy surface of the frozen water, and contemplate his options. Alas...they weren't many. He didn't feel it would be prudent to bother Severus during his Christmas holiday – it was the first Christmas for both of them that they'd be spending at home since they started Hogwarts. And, I very much doubt that Severus is having quite such a terrible time of it, he thought, ruefully drawing patterns in the snow with his foot.
It was on one such occasion when his father was home, that Lucius decided he may as well make use of all this snow. So, stooping down, he gathered some in his bare hands, and pressed it into a ball. With a muttered curse, he removed his hands from the icy powder, and waved them in the air, which only succeeded in making the burning feeling of cold even worse. I'm sure I had some gloves around here somewhere! He went through his pockets, and then remembered that he had left his gloves on the table next to the front door. Damn it!
The painful feeling in his fingers had turned to a numb tingling, and he decided that he wouldn't let the cold stop him. So, using a combination of his hands and feet, he began to roll his ball of snow around, picking up more of the glittering white powder as he went. Soon, he had quite a sizeable sphere of the stuff, and he paused, panting slightly because of the cold. His breath misted in the air, and he laughed for a reason that he couldn't really understand. It had been so long since he'd last just messed about in this manner. He had been being preened for the next Malfoy patriarch, that he hadn't been allowed much time to act childishly.
Finding the snow bizarrely amusing, he laughed again, the sound echoing loudly across the grounds, barren of any life apart from him...or, so he thought...
Suddenly, a snowball caught him in the side of his face – he was so stunned that he fell over sideways, collapsing right onto the body of his snowman, and rendering it dead. "Hey!" he exclaimed, trying to get back to his feet, but stumbling on his cloak on the way. Clearing the snow out of his eyes and from his face, he looked up. And his jaw dropped. "Father?" He was surprised to see a cheeky smile spreading across his father's face, and couldn't help but to return it. The audacity of his attack was quite humorous, after all...
"I just realised that I've been working so hard, that I haven't spent any time with you," he said, shrugging slightly. Lucius felt as though he wanted his jaw to drop again, but managed to keep it clamped shut.
What in the world is going on? One minute, he's the evil demon bastard from hell, the next he's throwing snowballs at me? "Uh...yeah," Lucius replied lamely, continuing to rake snow from his hair, and shuddering as a lump of it managed to creep down the back of his collar. ...I'm confused...
"Well, are you just going to stand there, or are you going to fight?" his father demanded, reaching down to grab another handful of snow. Lucius blinked, shook his head, and then looked down at his decimated snowman.
"Well, actually..." he stepped out of the way of the pile of snow, and Lance's grey eyes fell upon it. "I was making a snowman, until you knocked me over into it. It's more of a snow-mess now," he tried to inject some humour into the situation, as he felt distinctly uncomfortable.
"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't realise!" his father said, and he sounded sincere. Lucius raised an eyebrow as his father waded towards him through the snow, head bowed apologetically. "What about if I help you make another one?" he asked, throwing a shoulder over Lucius' shoulder. Lucius felt glad that none of his friends were around to see him like this. As it was, he felt embarrassed, and tried to stealthily shrug the arm off.
"Well, I suppose- GAH!" something cold and wet was stuffed down the back of his shirt, and his father staggered backwards through the snow, laughing. Lucius tried unsuccessfully to remove the clump of snow from his shirt, and then looked murderously at his father. "You do realise that this means war, don't you?" His father, still laughing, just nodded his head, and clutched his stomach in mirth. Well, this is certainly...different... It's the first time I've seen him smile, let alone laugh, in about five years...
He felt a smile come to his own face, and took up two handfuls of his slaughtered snowman, and chucked them at his defenceless father. They made intricate patterns of white crystals all over his cape, and he abruptly stopped laughing. He looked up at Lucius, eyes narrowed dangerously, and then smiled widely. "I'm giving you five seconds to run before I bombard you with more snow than you could ever imagine," he said, conversationally. Lucius stood his ground, a determined grin on his face. "Go on, I mean it."
"Do your worst," Lucius dared him, suddenly finding himself able to fall right back into the old relationship he had had with his father when he was younger. Maybe...maybe it's just the stress that made him... If we can just get him to stop helping out Riddle...then he'll be back to normal... Lucius plotted even as he fled from his father's threat of a snowball bombardment. Of course, Lance had been bluffing completely, as he threw a round of snowballs as soon as Lucius had turned his back.
The Malfoy boy continued to run, planning to set up some sort of fortress like area within the gazebo, which wasn't far from where they were. Breath trailing behind him like the steam of the Hogwarts express, he hurried to his shelter. There, he wiped snow off of the benches, and using the ten- second advantage he had on his father (who was a much slower runner), he managed to construct a pile of snowballs, all ready to pelt him with.
As soon as he was in range, he let loose a volley – two connected, and one missed, and then his father was close enough to physically tackle him, causing the both of them to topple off the gazebo steps altogether, and into a large snow-drift. The vibrations caused by their landing managed to shake the structure of the gazebo, and a great sheet of snow collapsed from the roof and onto them. Laughing, Lucius began to burrow to the surface – his hand connected with his father's arm (he was to the left of him), and was grabbed.
Both of his eyebrows launched to the top of his forehead in surprise, as his father managed to pull him out of the drift with little effort. Both of them were covered in snow, and Lucius sneezed as some of it tickled his nose. Lance looked a little worried, and looked back up at the manor. "We'd best get you back inside I think...wouldn't want to catch a cold over Christmas after all, would you?"
"Nah, I'll be fine," Lucius protested, as he was propelled back up the hill and through the grounds to the main entrance. Another sneeze escaped him as they made their way up the main steps, and Lance again threw an arm over his shoulder, squeezing him slightly against his side. From the corner of his eye, Lucius noted that his father was still smiling, and smiled as well. It was nice to have his 'old man' back to normal. Or, at least, normal for five years ago anyway...
As they entered the hall, the heat of the house seemed to sear his bare fingers, and he had to clench and unclench his fist in order to try and relieve the dreadful pins and needles that assaulted his hands. His father continued to compel him to move forwards, and even went so far as to walk him to his chambers. He opened the door, and then followed in behind Lucius, closing the door behind him. Lucius found this odd, but didn't question it, he was so eager to get out of his sodden clothes and into some dry ones.
"I'll just go and get changed, might have a shower..." Lucius said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder to the bathroom. Lance nodded, and took a seat in front of Lucius' fireplace – he pointed his wand at it, and muttered,
"Incendio," and immediately, the marble surround was filled with merrily dancing flames. "I'll get the house-elves to bring us some cocoa, shall I?" There was now a slightly funny edge to his father's voice, but Lucius just put it down to the cold.
"...yeah, all right," he agreed, padding into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. He noted in annoyance that the lock on it still hadn't been fixed, and the bar didn't align with the catch on the doorframe. Ah well, it's not like anyone's going to come in, so who cares? He removed his cloak, and couldn't be bothered to hang it up, so left it lying in a waterlogged heap on the floor. The same went for his clothes.
He reached out, and turned the faucet for the shower – immediately, pleasantly warm water spewed forth, and he stepped straight into the shower, the shock from cold to hot painful for a few seconds, before the warmth penetrated his frozen body completely. Then, he sighed, and turned the temperature dial so that the water was so hot that it was creating steam. He sighed again, and closed his eyes, ducking his head under the almost scalding stream.
Well, whilst I'm here, may as well make sure all of me is clean. He reached out blindly for the soap rack, and managed to find the cold glass of his jar of expensive shampoo. Fumbling slightly, he managed to knock the lid of it off, and scooped a little of the gloopy substance out from the container. This, he transferred to his hair, and he rubbed it into his scalp, before washing the lather away and repeating the action. This done, he leant against the cool tiles of the shower, which were covered in condensation, and basked in the heat of the room. I could stay here all day...
There was a clicking sound, and he opened his eyes to see what had made it. However, a neglected droplet of shampoo managed to get into his eyes, and the stinging sensation coaxed a swearword from him as he rubbed his eyes with his fists. "Bloody hell, ow!" he again reached out, this time seeking the towel that was on the rack just outside the shower door. It wasn't there... But, I distinctly remember it being there – where's it gone? He bent down, thinking that it might have fallen on the floor, and felt around for it.
He didn't find it. He did, however, find something that felt suspiciously like a foot. Ignoring the agony of his eyes for two seconds, he opened them, and looked up with blurry vision. Yet, not even blurred vision could allow him to mistake the identity of the person in the bathroom with him. "Dad?" he exclaimed, using the old endearment in his shock. "...what are you doing in here?" He felt suddenly terribly self-conscious. And, he noticed, almost as a side note, he's wearing my towel... All thoughts of the shampoo in his eyes vanished, as he began to stand up, hoping that the frosted glass of the shower door was opaque enough...
Lance licked his lips, and waited for Lucius to stand up before replying. "I just thought I might join you," he said simply, reaching out to open the door further. Lucius' hand shot out, and grabbed the smoothed edge of the glass.
"What the fuck is up with you?" he asked, hands clenching on the glass. "You cannot be serious! This is absurd!"
"Oh, really?" the smile that had been present on Lance's face wavered a little, and then flickered out altogether. "I find it quite absurd that you are being insubordinate, boy. Do remember whose roof you're living under." All of this was said coolly, and Lucius' eyes widened as his father loosened his towel. He turned away, and in doing so stumbled slightly on the slippery floor of the shower. He let go of the shower door in order to steady himself, reaching out and slamming one hand hard against the wall. His arm jarred, and he winced slightly.
This was forgotten when he felt a hand creeping around his waist, and bare skin against his side. He closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply, before violently attempting to escape, writhing in the suddenly iron-grip around him. "Get the hell off me!" he hissed, his feet sliding across the floor as his father dragged him back under the jet of the shower.
The swathes of steam caused by the water meant that Lance didn't notice the bar of soap Lucius had inadvertently knocked from the stand when he had slipped. His foot landed upon it, and he stumbled in much the same manner that Lucius had, and relinquished his grip. This allowed Lucius to explode from the shower, slamming the door shut behind him with such force that the glass cracked. In his flight, he paused only to pick up his cloak, and then he sprinted from the bathroom and into his bedroom, which felt freezing in comparison.
Shivering from both cold and fright, he went over to his door, and rammed straight into it, expecting it to open. It didn't... He reached down and fumbled with the handle, trying to force it downwards – then, he wondered if it had been locked, and tried to find the key...it was to no avail. At the sound of the bathroom door slamming, he turned around, his back to the door. With one hand, he clutched the cloak around himself...with the other hand, he search for anything he could use as a weapon...
The only thing within his reach was a vase – he shuffled closer to it, always keeping his back to the wall. His father, an angered look in his eyes, advanced, and Lucius saw with horror that his wand was in his hand. In a panic, he took up the vase, and hurled it blindly. It shattered on the floor a good foot short of the target. Lance smirked, and raised an eyebrow at his son. "No wonder I've always won at snowball wars," he said, the lightness of his voice not suiting the situation.
"Stay away from me," Lucius stuttered. "I-I'm warning you, don't come any closer!"
"Or what? You'll throw another vase at me?" he enquired mockingly. The blond Malfoy gulped, hand once again searching for something to use as a weapon. "This is boring me," his father suddenly snapped, and Lucius flinched as he raised his wand. A spell that he had not heard before issued from his father's lips. "Imperio!" His limbs suddenly felt weightless, and he was unable to move. What the hell-?
"Come over here Lucius," Lance commanded, and Lucius wanted to scoff at the suggestion... However, his limbs obeyed without any consultation with his brain, and he walked over to his father. There was a glint of greedy indulgence in the eyes of the Malfoy patriarch, and Lucius tried to order his legs to run – somehow, though, he could not make his body do anything at all. "Very good," Lance nodded, obviously pleased with the result of his spell. He reached out, and poked Lucius in the chest with one finger – he collapsed rigidly to the floor.
Ow! The younger Malfoy found that, not only could he not move, he also couldn't speak. The only thing he could manage to do was to move his eyes. And right now, they were focused fearfully upon his father, who was bending down next to him with a delighted smirk on his face. He reached out a finger, and stroked it gently across Lucius' cheek. Lucius felt the wish to recoil, but again couldn't move.
Before he knew what was happening, his father had grabbed onto his chin forcefully, and attacked his mouth with nipping teeth and an exploring tongue. Repulsed, Lucius fought against the effects of the spell, and managed to bite down hard upon the prying tongue in his mouth. His father recoiled, and pushed his head onto the floor, so that it collided painfully against the stone. "You'll regret that," he whispered, reaching down to nip softly upon the supple skin of the blond's neck. Then, he drew back again, and levelled his wand between Lucius' eyes.
"Crucio," he said calmly. Lucius blinked once, confused by the sound of yet another new spell. What- Fucking hell! That didn't quite cover it, but, after two seconds, the very idea of thinking was painful. The whole world was reduced to pain and suffering, and he was at the centre of it. His skin felt as though it were on fire, every bone as though it had been fractured in multiple places. His insides writhed, and his heart felt as though it was going to explode out of his constricting rib-cage – each breath was a bombardment of daggers on his throat, and when he closed his eyes, it only succeeded in making the whole thing worse...
Quickly as the pain had come, it went. He gasped, taking in all the air he had missed out on during the curse. The world was spinning, and he only just made out his father's grim face. "I'd suggest you behave," he said silkily, fingering the tapered ebony wand in his hands. "Either that, or I'll have to do this again... Crucio." The pain came, and almost immediately went again – it still left Lucius gasping for air.
He could feel bile rise insistently in his throat as his father picked his paralysed body from the floor, and literally threw him onto his very own bed. His copy of 'Hogwarts, a history' was swept onto the floor with a loud thud, and then the burly body of his father pressed down on top of him. The urge to be sick was even greater when he realised that his father was...aroused.
With a great effort, he swallowed the churning contents of his stomach back down, and closed his eyes, not wanting to look at his father. "Imperio," was murmured again, and then, once more, Lance leant down to whisper into his ear. "You will kiss...and you will do as I say...understand?" He nodded even before he could comprehend the implications of the words...
Mwa ha ha ha! I leave it there for I am evil! (And also because this chapter is already ten pages, and I want to draw the whole thing out for a very long time...which means I'll cut it short and leave a cliff hanger, rather than give you a ridiculously long chapter). I'm mean, aren't I?
The idea of his using the Imperius and Cruciatus curses came about, because, well, Voldermort is meant to have 'invented' them, as such. This would mean that Lucius wouldn't have heard of them, and he wouldn't have any kind of immunity to their effects... Which means Lance can tell him to do whatever he wants him to do.
(I wish I had that kind of power... [Evil cackle.])
Also, the lyrics are from Darren Hayes' 'Strange Relationship'. I thought it would work, what with the strange relationship between Lance and Lucius, and also the awkward relationship between Lucius and Draco. See, I do think about these things at times!
Tune in next chapter for more depravity from the keyboard of canihavea- soda.
PS: Sorry if that snowball scene seemed...odd. I was trying to make it so that Lance was gaining Lucius' trust, in the hopes that he would give into his sexual wiles. Or something like that... (OK, I'll admit, the idea of Lucius frolicking in the snow just amuses me.)
