Three weeks later, the sound of someone's fists frantically pounding on the manor door roused Lucius Malfoy from his study.
"Severus?" Lucius drew open the front door of the manor and stepped lightly aside, allowing the sobbing, rain-soaked young man entrance. "What's the matter with you?"
Mumbling incoherently, Severus made his way into the front room, and Lucius regarded him with apprehension. Severus' gait, never graceful, was exceptionally clumsy on this night, and twice he tripped, barefoot, over the curled edge of the ancient Persian rug, nearly collapsing into a sodden heap on the floor. He was dressed in Muggle clothing: a pair of battered brown trousers and a black jumper dotted with minuscule moth holes, without shoes or a coat despite the lashing rain outside.
Two house elves entered the front room apprehensively, summoned by the ringing of the door chimes. The stared, wide-eyed, at Severus for a moment before directing their gaze to Lucius, who glared back at them. "Tea," Lucius demanded. He looked at Severus, whose face was a blur of terror, his mouth wide and speechless, his eyes glassy from shock. "And sherry," Lucius added. Severus fell down onto the rug, skinning his elbows, gibberish spouting from his bloodless lips. "Oh hell, bring the whole beverage cart."
It was not that Lucius had never seen someone in such a disorientated state before. He had watched numerous Muggles in the last instant of their lives, their eyes crazed, pleas issuing from their mouths, backs bent as they begged for survival. He had simply never seen someone he knew, a wizard like himself, crawling and babbling, looking as if they had been struck by a particularly virulent Confoundus curse. It unsettled him.
"Get up," he ordered, his voice firm. He had worked hard to cultivate that demanding voice, changing his tone from a petulant whine to a forceful directive, accustomed to telling others what to do. "Sit down on the couch, Severus. You're barely capable of walking." It was his favourite piece, a watery blue silk sofa, but Lucius' Hogwarts education had not been in vain, and he knew enough about cleansing spells to repair any stain that found its way onto his furniture.
Severus found his footing somehow, and hoisted himself onto the sofa. It hurt to sit, but then again it hurt to stand, to walk, to move, to breathe. The backs of his thighs stung where Tobias had scratched him, those sharp fingernails digging into the skin and holding him still during the moment of penetration. Severus did not want to remember, but could not forget, the way Tobias had clawed him frantically during the brief struggle on the carpet. He remembered the cruel plunge of Tobias' cock into his sensitive arse, the involuntary spread of his legs as Tobias kneed him sharply, those rough, heavy hands dragging him apart. Severus gulped, his fingernails digging bloody welts into the palms of his hands as he shook his head, as if the movements could chase the truth away.
"Here, drink this," Lucius ordered, handing him a glass of something warm and amber. Severus tipped the glass to his lips, letting the vile liquid pour down his ravaged throat to burn in his stomach, forgetting those promises he had made to himself that he would never drink, would never emulate his father in that way. He accepted the next one and the one after that as well, downing his second in a gulp and sipping his third, clutching the glass with shaking hands.
"Now, tell me what this is all about," said Lucius, twirling his own glass so that the ice clinked pleasantly. "What brings you to me, and in such a state?"
They were not what anyone would call friends. Lucius had been a seventh year when Severus had arrived at Hogwarts, and he had been far too consumed with his own pride to notice the petite first years that found themselves in Slytherin. He had been everything Severus wasn't; Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, a member of the duelling club, an expert at Charms, well-liked by most, and best of all, an exhibitor of the pureblood elegance that had been, at the time, talk of the school. Severus had been a little lost boy trailing his heels, aglow in admiration, and if Lucius had paid him any attention, it was only because that obvious respect in Severus' eyes was slightly endearing. He had discovered Severus' Potions talent by accident, and filed it away as useful, but what had solidified the respect Lucius felt for the boy had been his encyclopedic knowledge of the Dark arts.
As a Malfoy, Lucius had been trained from birth in the more subtle Dark spells, the promise of more always on his father's lips, but Severus had known them all already, all those secrets packaged neatly within his lightning-quick mind. Lucius had taken him on a comrade, spending quiet Saturday afternoons with Severus at his knee, lecturing him on this and that, always asking Severus more about the Dark arts. They had spoken during those quiet grey periods between classes and meals, when Hogwarts dissolved and no one had to be anywhere in particular, when the Gryffindors soared overhead spewing Quidditch talk, their bright cloaks flying.
They were not friends, arms linked and merry laughs echoing behind them, but something like it. Brothers, Severus sometimes thought when the dormitory was dark and no one could see his hopeful blush. Lovers, Lucius imagined in the same still darkness, a naughty grin on his lips. He was in love with Severus, well, not so much with Severus. He was in love with the way the young man looked at him, the shine in his eyes telling, the tentative smile of his mouth. Lucius was infatuated with the way Severus waited, breathless, for him to emerge from class, the way Severus trotted at his heels, ever patient. And now Severus was fifteen, no longer trapped in a child's body but something else, half-man. The darkness in his eyes was real, no longer an illusion, and the bitter words on his lips were no longer feigned but intended. Lucius could almost taste him, could nearly feel himself getting his way.
"He, he --" Severus choked out.
"Who?"
Severus shuddered. "My father. He -- raped me." An explosive sob followed the admission, followed in turn by a desperate gasp.
The glass shattered musically in Lucius' clenched fist, the crystal clear shards of it falling to the carpet and the clear liquid pouring out, uniting with the claret that flowed from Lucius' cut hand. "He raped you," Lucius repeated, stunned, ignoring the blood that dripped onto the rug. "Your father?"
Severus nodded wildly, his hair in his face, his drink sloshing onto his trousers. He sniffed, slapping his hair back, out of his eyes, raising his head to regard Lucius. The man was as gorgeous as always, reclining in his chair wearing what appeared to be a dark red smoking jacket, closed like a kimono at the waist, and creased black trousers. His hair, silver-blonde, spilled down his shoulders. His feet rested in elegant slippers, all making an appealing picture, save for the blood smeared across Lucius' hand and the chunk of glass embedded there, in the soft flesh beneath his thumb.
"God damn it," Lucius cursed, shaking his bloody hand, so that flecks of red spattered across the couch. Catlike, he licked the wound, his eyes on Severus. "I hope you murdered him."
"I couldn't," Severus whispered, his voice low. "He broke my wand."
"Broke your wand? I'll kill him myself, the Muggle bastard," Lucius declared furiously. He snapped the fingers of his uninjured hand, summoning the house elves. They brought him warm towels, with which he dabbed the place where he had been cut. He wrenched the shard of glass from his hand with scarcely a whimper. Dropping the sharp piece of glass to the ground, where the house elves feverishly cleaned the mess, he climbed out of his chair and settled on the couch, near where Severus sat. "No matter, we can purchase you a new wand tomorrow. You're soaked through to the skin, Severus. Here, out of those clothes, I'll fix you up."
Nodding, Severus peeled the damp jumper from his skin and stepped out of his trousers.
"All of it," Lucius commanded, pretending not to watch as the y fronts came down, bunching around Severus' bony ankles.
"He raped me," Severus said, his voice devoid of emotion as he kicked the underclothes aside and sat back down.
"Don't worry," said Lucius, sliding closer, not listening. He wrapped one arm around Severus' trembling shoulders, loving the look of appreciation Severus flashed him. Severus' body was dappled with bruises, but that did nothing to ease Lucius' ardour. He felt himself hardening slightly at the feel of Severus' burning skin beneath his fingers, for there is no such thing as mercy in the world of Malfoys.
Lucius' long fingers felt good entangled in Severus' hair, and Severus allowed himself the luxury of a soft sigh, the panic and terror of the past few weeks leaking out just a little. Unlike Tobias, Lucius had a gentle touch, stroking Severus' aching shoulder softly. Severus had almost drifted off, comforted for the first time in weeks, when he felt the gentle pressure of Lucius' lips grazing his cheek.
"What are you --"
"Hush," Lucius commanded, smiling a little. He ran one hand down Severus' chest, feeling rather than hearing the jackrabbit beat of Severus' heart beneath the skin.
Severus opened his eyes, blushing as he remembered he was naked. He tried to pull away, to snatch up his clothing from the ground, but the gentle sensation of Lucius hand against his skin stilled him. Lucius' skin was warm against his own, his breath billowing welcome heat against Severus' neck. Lucius's hand guided him, forcing him to look into the older man's eyes, and Severus found himself unwilling to fight.
Caressing Severus' chin, Lucius drew him closer, pressing his lips against Severus'. Severus had come to Lucius seeking safety, and safety Lucius would provide, but at a price. He had wanted this for years, ever since he had met the younger boy. There was something about Severus, despite the lack of obvious beauty, that drew Lucius to him. Perhaps it was the aura of brilliance, or the taint of Dark Arts that seemed to have seared into Severus' flesh. Lucius knew too that Severus felt the same way; in some secret part of his mind, Severus craved the connection as much as Lucius did. He was unsurprised to find that Severus opened his mouth willingly, kissing him back.
Severus' exploratory tongue probed Lucius' mouth, seeking the warmth, and somehow he found the strength to raise his hands and embrace Lucius, running his fingers through Lucius' silky hair. Then, all at once, he remembered where he was, what was happening, and he jerked backwards, shocked. "Lucius!"
"Poor boy," Lucius said, one finger tracing the curve of Severus' jaw. He settled for a quick kiss before rising. "Shall I fetch you some clothes?"