If you were following this story before, know that it was taken down and is being reposted so you might want to re-read the first chapter cause there's a whole thing added and a bunch removed! It's just, what I wrote before wasn't going anywhere so we're skipping a bunch of boring parts and getting to what I wanted to write in the first place.
Look guys, I creeped myself out with this chapter, it came out of nowhere. TRIGGER WARNING for violence, sexual nuances, torture, vague voyeurism, mentions of murder, mentions of inappropriate sexual relations involving a minor and probably other fucked up shit. I've never had to do trigger warnings before so please take my inexperience into account before jumping in to this story.
Like, enjoy, I guess?
Milfa is with Harry in the darkness. Lighting a candle as her charge struggles with the loopy letters, it's his third parchment and he's chubby hands are being extra careful, but he's worried he might ruin it again. He really wants to send his brother a letter, Harry has never received a letter before today. Nut now that he's 7, his little brother has sent him one – though considering Charlie should be 4, Harry thinks someone else wrote it for him. Milfa offered to write it for him too, but Harry's 7, he needs to be a big boy or his other caretakers will keep getting angry with him. So he's trying to copy down Milfa's handwriting, because Harry doesn't actually know how to read or write.
His other caretakers don't like Milfa at all, but Harry couldn't bare it if she left. Who would take care of Harry then? It's always been just the two of them, and Harry would be lonely without her. The young boy is so distracted in his worry that the ink splotches again, tears of frustration gather on his eyes. A tiny hand lands on the crown of his head, bony fingers brushing soothingly through unruly locks.
"Don't you worry, Master Harry." Says the kind voice. "You'll get it in a jiffy. I'll go fetch you some more parchment." And with a soft pop, the elf is gone.
"If you mistreat that house elf one more time we're going to have a problem, Malfoy." Killing-curse green eyes, Lucius notes, bore holes into him. Lucius ignores the stare with practiced ease. The pair stand deep in the guts of the Dark Lord's stronghold, and Lucius knows better than to rise to the child's bait. Hadrian Potter is an absolute devil, and he takes keen pleasure in dragging down loyal servants of the Dark Lord into the dirt. Lucius isn't even going to ask why the teenager isn't at Hogwarts.
Next to them, carrying a series of tomes that pile past his head, Lucius' house elf struggles under the weight, shuffling again. Lucius holds himself from kicking it again. He's not afraid of Hadrian, but in the art of war, picking your battles is a necessity.
"These… creatures only live to serve." He says neutrally.
"Kind of like you then, yes?"
The smile that greets him is that of the cat who ate the canary, eyes glowing and for a moment chilling laughter rings in his ears. Lucius' eyes widen a fraction; his hand touches his wand –concealed in his cane– before a dark chuckle travels from beyond the darkness of the room.
"Harry." The Dark Lord chides in monotone, eyes dancing in mirth, but mouth set in a thin line. "Don't antagonize my guests."
"As you wish, My Lord." There's something in the inflection Hadrian uses, since the first time that Lucius ever heard the title cross his lips, that is inherently infuriating. Maybe because Lucius knows he doesn't mean it, maybe because the little demon manages to infuse the name with mocking, maybe it's because he makes it sound too casual, more amusement and pet name than title. Now that Lucius thinks about it, it's probably all three.
Lucius watches the dance, keeping an eye on his Master's mood, he's not here to deliver good news after all. Though Hadrian's presence might work as a buffer somewhat… Lucius can hope so.
"Hadrian," the Dark Lord begins settling down in his arm chair, "Barty Crouch Jr. is dead." Lucius almost sags in relief, so the Dark Lord already knows. He's taken it rather well, Lucius muses, considering Barty is not only dead, but was quiet clearly savagely murdered. Missing both eyes and his heart.
"I know." Hadrian moves from the corner of the study, where he'd been whispering to the books there to sprawl on the couch, his dark red shirt rides up slightly as he stretches and Lucius doesn't miss how the Dark Lord follows the movement, drinking in the pale skin. The boy pops his shoulder joint in two hollow sounds before making himself comfortable, resting his jaw on his palm to keep his head raised. "I ripped his heart out just to be sure." The temperature drops. Lucius has the sudden urge to leave, being caught up between these two is the last thing he wants.
"I don't find it amusing, Harry." The Dark Lord intones, toying with his wand, Lucius didn't even catch him drawing it. The threat of the cruciatus is clear, but Hadrian remains unmoved. Whether it is because the Dark Lord doesn't really use it on him as the rumor goes, or because of being too used to it as some others whisper, Lucius is unsure. He's heard the least intelligent of his comrades say that Hadrian Potter lost the ability to feel pain long ago, trained to share the bed of the most powerful Dark Wizard Britain has ever seen. A dizzying thought that makes Lucius feel immediately dirty, though he knows better than to question his Master and there's no evidence of anything except that feeling in the air.
"I'm just making sure none of your little dogs get any ideas beyond what their little minds can handle. I saw my little brother fight a dragon today, that's dangerous." There it is again, the ability to inflict subtlety in a way that Lucius scrambles to interpret. He knows Hadrian holds Charlus Potter in esteem, Draco has confided as much, but Lucius knows there's something more here. "Charlus Potter is mine. Barty forgot that. I'm just making sure no one's going to forget again." His eyes are alight in death; and it's like watching a beast pace a cage behind his eyes. The bars between them and you, paper thin. "My Lord." He adds.
"Barty was undercover at Hogwarts, working for me." The tone doesn't rise into anger, and the youthful face of the Dark Lord –unchanged since he'd acquired the Elixir of Life– is haunting and twisted. It's hard to remember that regardless of appearances, Lord Voldemort is not a child.
"Whatever he was doing, I can do better. It will not endanger your scheming, My Lord."
"That's very conceited of you, arrogant." The Dark Lord's mood is changing and Lucius wonders if he's even truly angry that one of his most loyal followers is dead. His frantic mind wonders if Barty really had been acting independently, out of uncontrollable need to serve, when he'd signed up Charlus Potter as part of the Triwizard Tournament or if he was just a stepping to create this moment between two men who worship the Dark and all her sweet promises. "What makes you think you can fill in for him?"
"You already know that, My Lord." Harry is crossing the short distance, getting on his feet with all the grace of a big cat and the silence of someone who doesn't really exist. The teen leans in, eye level with the dark wizard, and his palm touches upon the Dark Lord's cheek in the mockery of a sweet gesture encumbered by threats from the past. Lucius knows who stole the Philosopher's Stone after all, this message he understands, that Harry has done what'd been deemed impossible before.
"Did you enjoy it?" The Dark Lord asks, unfazed with the proximity.
"I only did what had to be done." Hadrian answers neutrally, eyes giving nothing away. "To keep our promise." The Dark Lord narrows his eyes, and Lucius catches the moment the playful mood lowers, soured by the reminder of a promise Lucius has heard of, but has never understood. It'd been a heavily debated topic amongst the Inner Circle.
"Is that what helps you sleep at night, child?" The comment doesn't make Hadrian flinch, but some of the magic in the room shifts. "Either way, this transgression cannot be ignored. Poor Barty suffered quiet a lot as he died from what I hear." A grin stretches in the face of Hadrian as he straddles the Dark Lord. For a moment they're a painting, trapped in a singular moment, and Lucius wonders, what would those unknowing of the depth in this scene think?
What would they see? Two young men, black haired. One with eyes the color of freshly cut grass, another the color of coffee. Tanned against pale. Thin and broad. Opposites and reflections in the same breath. Powerful. Cunning. Dangerous.
Would they be fooled into thinking the cupping of a jaw or the sharing of space betrays some deeper emotion? Would they think these two monsters capable of feeling? Lucius thinks that no one could ever make such a grievous mistake. Even if he didn't know better, the hair in his arm raises under his long sleeves, his magic stirs withing him pushing for a survival response –flight.
"Are you going to pluck out my eyes, Tom?" Hadrian purrs, as if he's offering forbidden fruit and it's all a game. He rolls his shoulder blades and arches his back in a move so sensual it's almost obscene and Lucius thinks they've definitely forgotten him. The Dark Lord raises a single hand to the other's face, and Lucius cannot look into Hadrian's eyes because he's not sure if he can keep himself from vomiting if they look eager. He cannot look away as the Dark Lord's palm takes a hold of Hadrian's face, though he doesn't squeeze, his index finger cocked back as if ready to pierce right through the eyeball.
"I don't know. You seem a little exited at the prospect." The Dark Lord comments amused and nonchalant.
"Think about it, you might finally be able to see inside my head after all." Hadrian sticks out his tongue, and the gesture could be interpreted as playful, but Lucius knows he's taunting the Dark Lord with the rune tattooed into the muscle, forever keeping Hadrian's mind out of reach for even the most skillful legilimens. The Dark Lord's fingers slips into the skin between the eyeball and the waterline, pushing slowly. By reflex Hadrian's eyes starts rolling back but he remains stiff, hands firmly grasping out to the other man's shoulders. Revulsion coils around his esophagus and Lucius really hopes he's not about to witness some kind of passive torture.
Harry's head is pushed towards the ceiling, his unbothered eye only opened a sliver, unable to make eye contact through the haze of what's occurring. His neck is pull taut, tendons jumping out of the skin to escape the pain.
"Maybe it's your tongue I should remove." But even though the Dark Lord says so, his finger is still pushing into the eye socket, far enough that the first finger joint has disappeared and there's a trail of tears down Hadrian's face. The younger man's knuckles are white where he's holding on to the Dark Lord and he's biting his lip, risking cutting right through it, (Lucius has see it happen before) as he lets out a moan of absolute pain. In the end his house elf cannot take the scene and it's the pop he makes as he leaves that catches the Dark Lord's attention. Lucius is terrified of interrupting whatever's taking place but also feeling too lightheaded to ignore. "I'll meet with you later, Lucius." He takes the dismissal gladly, original motive of his presence long forgotten.
"As you wish, My Lord." He exits the study and tries to convince himself that Hadrian and the Dark Lord's foreplay didn't involve crippling injuries, but not a minute later as he's walking down the hall the screaming starts. Lucius hurries along, longing for home and Narcissa and praying to every god he knows to never ever understand what happens in that room.
Too much?