*Flashback*
Lucius couldn't move and everything felt cold. While he was busy trying to figure out why, he realized that he couldn't see either. A cauldron bubbled in the lowest part of his abdomen, pushing the muscle wall forward in an excruciating way. Lucius had never felt anything like it. He was miserable in this state, and too weak to stretch his limbs to feel around, until he gave up from sheer frustration. He let his head hit the hard floor. Another surge of pain felt as if someone were sinking their fingers into his groin, grasping it at the root and twisting and pulling. Not just pulling, but stretching his skin and flesh in an impossible way, taking his intestines with it, until it strung half a meter out from his body. That's what it felt like, anyway.
For a week now, with no relief. When blurred light told him that his eyes were open and his vision had returned, he concluded that he'd passed out in his bedroom again. Where were his servants?
Arms shaking, he pushed himself off of his bedroom floor, into a sitting position. He shivered in his own sweat and wiped at something thick and viscous coating his mouth. On the floor, he saw a pool of vomit that made him wretch now. Looking at the state of his body, in pale blue pajamas that hung off of him and a robe, wet and clinging to him, he surmised that his body must've been wasting away since Harry's assault. Legs exposed at the calves looked thin with an unhealthy lack of muscle tone. They were hairless, pastey, and purple-veined, as if he'd aged drastically. That's when he realized that the dark wet spots saturating his groin and clothes wasn't sweat. It was urine. Fear awakened anew. Was he losing control of his body now? Unheard of. This was all those doctors' fault. Their magical treatments were only making things worse.
It took time for him to coordinate his movements and stand. That's how he knew the pain had induced seizures. He didn't remember Draco ever having seizures. But then, Draco hadn't been ingesting a series of experimental drugs and potions to try to fix his body. Nothing was working. The mediwizards treating him, were in fact making things worse. At this rate, he was going to have a stroke. As soon as he could speak and stand, he was going to fire them all. This wasn't working.
He thought of sending for the help of his servants, who were supposed to be at his beck and call. But he hesitated, not wanting to be seen in such a distasteful state. Even among elves of sworn loyalty, word of this threat to his dignity could seep through the cracks. He learned that with Dobby, that wretched meddling elf.
One week ago, he awoke from whatever hellish curse bound him in nightmarish sleep. Even though he slept, his body hurt and did not for one moment let him forget the beating he had suffered, as if someone were standing over his slumber and pouring every detail into his mind over and over again. He felt like Prometheus, the mythological figure who gets his liver eaten out by an eagle as punishment, only to have it grow back every night so that the process can repeat for an eternity. He kept being thrust back at the manor during the days his family were practically held hostage with Voldemort as their self-imposed guest.
Every time Harry had struck him, he was back there, doing his worst to Harry, until all of that chaotic violence blurred into indecipherable scenes of a woman coming between them. A witch with unkempt, wavy black hair. She seemed spiteful and vindictive as she spoke inches from his face. He couldn't tell what she was saying, she spoke very fast. In the dream he knew that she was telling him about a very elaborate spell. She looked familiar, very young, but older than most witches her age. She had laughed as she threatened him. He couldn't keep her in his focus. She didn't belong to the memory of him holding Harry to the ground, yet she was there, interrupting. She was wiry and quick. She pulled what looked like strands of magic from Harry's suffering form and wound them around Lucius.
One second she was kneeling by Harry, the next she was behind Lucius. She might've been an imp, a demon spirit haunting him because, apparently, he had made a name for himself where sinister things were concerned, if one were superstitious, and he was not. In the end, he told himself that she was the result of his inability to awaken. She was his mind's way of explaining why his body hurt so much, and why he could not escape it. She was his personal demon.
He awoke at last in his clean, luxurious bedroom, to sunlight, expensive sheets and rich creamy furnishings. His medical team proclaimed him cured of a curse cast by Severus Snape, of all people. They filled him in on everything that had taken place since Harry confronted him. He received the news of the trial with smug satisfaction, which only lasted a minute. It pleased him that the boy-hero was drug through the mud, but inexcusable that he had taken Draco with him. Those boys didn't know the first thing about taking care of each other. They called that a relationship? When were they going to realize that discretion was the key to their privacy and any sanctity they hoped to have? But no, Draco's blind love for Harry had him up on that stand humiliating himself again, as if the first time wasn't punishment enough.
From bed, a week ago, a drink in one hand and the Daily Prophet in the other, he read over the headlines that had covered the trial. Narcissa had collected them the way people once save photos for scrapbooks. There was a certain satisfaction in being able to show Lucius all that she had suffered to seek justice for him. She was rather proud of her performance in court, whether it got her the results she wanted or not. It was all too unfortunate that Draco could not be persuaded to bargain with her and allow her to visit with the child. "We'll get through to him, eventually. He can't possibly handle that child's magic on his own. Silly of him and Harry to think they can," she had chattered on.
Lucius tsked to himself as he read behind the paper, go ahead son, pursue your childish notions of love and loyalty. You'll learn just how unrealistic and costly that romantic martyrdom is. Sacrifice your future to Harry, like the pet he takes you for. When he has utterly disappointed you and destroyed any hope of returning to a proper life, perhaps you'll come to your senses and come home. With any luck, you'll bring your sister with you. Until then, keep banging your head against that rock that you call a husband because Harry always gets what Harry wants and as long as he wants a Malfoy in his bed, his only real way of causing me pain, you'll drop to your fucking knees for him, won't you my pitiful excuse for a son.
As for the part that Snape played, well, he shouldn't have been surprised by the lengths that wizard would go to on Harry's behalf. His and Snape's friendship had caved in under the strain of Voldemort's rise to power. Their war roles made them firm enemies, but Lucius never realized that a life on the run had unhinged Severus to the point that he'd reveal not only his skeletons, but everyone else's around him as well, and even make up some extra shit to escape the law with Harry tightly under his wing.
He'd read Snape's testimony twice. That was the biggest load of cockamamie cow shit, Lucius had ever heard. Some of it. Not all of it. The curse made sense as to why a wizard of Snape's physical and mental means, kept himself unmarried and uninterested in sex. Rumors of a cruel prank, from the very mouths of those responsible, had reached Lucius's ears decades ago, but it was all just rumors until the damned idiot confirmed it. The bit about a triad of parentage between James and Lily Potter, really put the breaks on in Lucius' head. Stop, stop, stop. What? His daughter was Severus Snape's granddaughter? The absurdity of that brought the first genuine laughing smile to his face, which could not be suppressed. Severus's brilliant mind had obviously suffered to the point of no return, while he served two opposing masters in his great scheme of deceiving everyone. Yes, he became a legendary wizard but lost his mind in the process. Helping Harry was still causing his sanity to slip, as this testimony demonstrated the clumsiest of choices.
Learn from this, Draco, Lucius muttered to himself. If Harry can bring down a wizard like Snape, that refined in method, calculation, and discretion, what effect is his caustic psyche going to have on your sensitive nature in the long run? That part was no laughing matter and he sobered as he flipped through the headlines.
He shook his head. Life had certainly devolved without him over the past few weeks. It was almost as satisfying to see as watching Harry suffer on the stand. Caught in a lie, were we? Lucius sneered while gazing at all the photos of Harry's misery on the stand.
Incensed, he spoke aloud, "It's all very well to let everyone think that Draco bore my child, but you Harry, the pristine saint of the wizarding world, can't let them know that it was really you."
Your pride, he continued in his mind, is somehow more important than everyone else's. Your ordeal serves you right. You don't deserve my child. Draco is the innocent one in all of this and he has done nothing but protect her and stand up for you, yet none of these articles reflect his bravery.
It wasn't okay that kidnappers had taken his child, this most recent development, but he had no doubt that if Severus didn't sniff them out and execute them in his slippery way, then his own methods and resources would see the offenders hunted down. And once she was rescued, Draco would have no choice but to show his father some respect. He wasn't worried about the child. If her kidnappers were smart enough to know her value and take her, they were smart enough not to hurt one hair on her head. Reputation damaged or no, people did not steal from Lucius. This must be an exceptionally arrogant organization, he thought. He'd deal with them, if Snape left anything for him to deal with.
With his mind fully saturated by all the dirt and gossip printed during his coma, he had felt refreshed enough to stroll the grounds. That morning, he'd put down the newspapers, stretching like a renewed man, and stood from breakfast in bed. He requested his little elf servant to open the curtains and windows. Apparently, his magic was still legally restricted, in spite of him clearly becoming a victim because he couldn't use it. No matter, they hadn't managed to kill him yet and he clung to his waking state with newfound interest. There were so many scandals running rampant, that had nothing to do with him, finally. It was nice to see someone else take the heat for once.
He felt like a stroll. Filling his lungs with fresh morning air, the sun hit him square on the face. He thought he felt his magic quicken a bit, enlivened. But just as suddenly, the temperature rose within him, like an abrupt flush and tiny jets of hot air seemed to release through millions of pours all over his body. It was a strange sensation and left him dripping sweat and shivering in his own steam. Just from the bed to the window, he was suddenly drenched in sweat. What was that? In the next instant, dizziness had him feeling for a solid surface to brace against. Instead of grabbing the breakfast tray that had been pushed against the wall, he only caught the cloth lining it and tumbled to the floor with it, taking all of the breakfast dishes, vase and flowers, with him.
Spikes of pain emanated from deep within his gut. With it, came flashes of a memory. A dream. He clutched at the area between navel and crotch, as his intestines inflamed against the intrusion. A crazed witch, smacking him and hitting him with some sort of magical string, played out as he curled on the spasms that made controlled movement impossible. Who was she? Her familiar face snarled at him and accused him, though he couldn't hear any words. He remembered her hatred of him. It must've been one of his many delirious nightmares endured from the coma.
Her vengeance was real. Her very intention cursed him. Was this still Snape's doing? Some sort of secret back door to his psyche that the Ministry could not detect? He knew an attack when he felt it. He tried to summon his elves, but an onslaught of tearing behind the muscle wall of his stomach sent his awareness into darkness. There she was, the witch, looking as harmless as a freckled farm girl, but exuding malicious glee. She stood over him. His surroundings told him he was back at the night of Harry's torture. He saw his guests and all of the ballroom as empty traces of the real things. He knew this wasn't real, this was someone getting back at him. Who could reach him like this? Every time the pain released him, he was back on the floor of his bedroom, covered in food, with his servant, Milli, bending over him.
The pain would snatch him back into the nightmare, and when it did, he heard the evil girl more and more clearly. She struck him again, then stepped forward and snatched the seam of his crotch viciously. She said, "I've got plans for you, beautiful. You won't be needing this." She twisted and pulled. His scream threw him back into reality, where Narcissa, and now two of the elf servants called his name.
When they got him up and seated again, a glass of water trembling in his hand, he forbid his wife to call a mediwizard. He'd had enough of those useless, fraudulent intruders. He had trouble catching his breath, so he had to raise his voice to get her to take him seriously. "No, I mean it. Not one word of this is to be mentioned to anyone. I've been on my back for weeks now, under Snape's and Harry's attacks, it's going to take more than a few days to get myself sorted again. The last thing I need is more talk of my inability to defend myself. I'm fine."
He was. Until that episode, he'd actually felt like going for a walk, such was his renewal. But a taste of that hateful girl, had him pulling his robe tighter around himself and grounding down into his seat to relieve a certain lingering pain. He ordered Milli to pour him a drink. Something felt off. Rather than dwell on it, he dismissed it and reminded himself that Snape had imprisoned him in a nightmare and what he was suffering now, was obviously residual effects. Nothing more. As he sipped, the elves cleaned up around him and Narcissa offered to prepare him a soothing bath.
"I'll have you feeling like yourself in no time." She bent over him and brushed his hair out of his face. "You've got some color back. How about I join you? We can make up for lost time." She laid her head on his shoulder and hugged him.
An odd sensation nagged at him, making her proximity and perfume suffocating. He felt annoyed by her touch, and though he could've untangled himself and bolted from her clawing codependency, his center of gravity, feeling off, kept him seated. Things simply weren't sitting right in the pooling numbness between his legs. His abdomen still pulsed, threatening to seize on him, but lingered between tolerable discomfort and gelatinous ruptures. Amid all the uneasiness, he realized that a certain pendulous weight could no longer be felt against the right side of his thigh and Narcissa's presence made him want to push her away.
Sickening panic gripped him. Perhaps his body was still trying to fight its way out of the influence of medicinal potions and his mind had created an evil witch to give the process not only a face, but something to blame as well. He insisted this was the case for a solid ten minutes, ignoring that his lower half was growing increasingly uncomfortable, increasingly gelatinous, as if sitting on it could somehow alter the shape of things that were in a delicate and swollen condition. Indeed, alternating currents of feverish heat, numbness, and pain seemed to be the dominant sensations rising and churning over, turning his pelvic wall into a cauldron of nauseating torment.
"Yes, my dear," he agreed absently, hoping to get rid of her. "A bath sounds lovely." Narcissa left to prepare it herself, throwing a playful glance over her shoulder.
"I'm going to make it very special for you," she enticed, removing her wand. Her eyes sparkled darkly with magical intrigue. When she returned ten minutes later, Lucius was sitting lower in the chair, leaning on one buttock, grunting through another muscle spasm, and wiping his forehead. He's caught a chill. He didn't know it, having no experience with muggle illnesses, but his body was having a reaction similar to that of an infection and the heated chills were its way of burning off the foreign influence sweeping through his veins.
Narcissa swept across to him, looking like a burgeoning vase of pink-white fluffiness in her most exquisite gown of ethereal lingerie. She floated like a gliding cotton ball, through the doorway. The tailored gown hoisted her bosom to maximum height, tastefully revealing two tawny-rose epicenters of nipples just beneath the flimsy fabric. Her hair had been let down and it spiraled silkily around the cosmetic perfection of her face.
"Darling," she said coquettishly. "I was thinking. You've been awake for a week now and it was so terribly difficult without you. Perhaps we can get you to feeling more like yourself if we enjoyed more of the things we used to do."
Her voice caused Lucius's head to throb. He closed his eyes, willing her to lose interest. Unaffected, she approached, allowing one slender hand to climb his chest. She walked her fingers up his robe lapel and around his neck. She angled herself behind him, bent low and spoke into his ear as her hand drifted across his chest and stole its way into his robe.
"The bath is ready, my love. Please don't upset yourself anymore. I've ordered Milli to prepare a lovely bottle of Chateau Margaux and I've spelled peach and rose aromatic bubbles to last extra thick and long for us." She leaned in to kiss his blanching lips. "There's even an herbal aphrodisiac, in our bath water." Her hand slipped to his thigh as she emphasized these words. "We have time before the masseuse arrives at three. It's all ready and so am I. It's so good to have you back in my arms. Let's not think of the trial or anyone else today."
He placed his hand over hers, gently removing it. "On second thought, it's a bit early and I may have spoken too soon."
She smiled, "That's the beauty of it. You don't have to do a thing." She slipped down the side of his chair, to her knees and knee-walked around to face him. "I want to take care of you," her voice lowered with her eyes. She squeezed herself between his legs and flashed him with amorous intention, "the way I used to."
He pushed her back just as she leaned forward. "Darling, as ravishing as you are at this moment, I must confess that my pride is suffering a bit right now. How can you present me with such a feast when you know, sweetheart, that only a few weeks ago, I… I couldn't even make love to you. Azkaban left me quite wounded in that respect. Don't you think it's a little premature for such dallying?"
She looked as though she had a secret. "I seem to recall that your spirit kindled at one point and you left no doubt as to your recovery. Don't you remember that wonderful night? And since then, the extra attention you've given me with that beautiful mouth of yours? Let me return the favor."
She leaned in again, licking her lips so subtly, that he hated himself for stopping her. "I'm afraid I've hit another setback. That was a fluke."
He knew what she was talking about. The night he found himself in an astral visitation to Harry, spurred by thoughts of getting back at him, he realized he could spiritually access his magic, though he didn't know how it worked. He only knew that when he wanted to see is daughter, he could travel unseen and undetected in the world of sleep, as if wide awake. And Harry was the one sleeping. Harry was the one who slumbered as Lucius stood over him and had free reign to do whatever he wanted to do. And did it, he did, causing Harry to make headlines, unconscious in his underwear the next day. That had been a satisfying night. Made even more so by the headlines that showed him splayed across his bathroom floor. So what if the papers reported rumors of some serial killer's attempt on Harry's life, to Lucius, he himself was the cause of that broken wizard and proud of it.
He was not in the mood and his lower half was beginning to feel squishy, as if he were wearing a diaper. Nothing sexy about it. Narcissa relented. Something in his grip, a little too much force perhaps, made her take him seriously. She stood, walked around his chair and began placing light kisses atop his head and along the side of his face. "Shhh, say no more. We'll proceed gently. It's just that I've missed you so much and have had to go through all of this alone, without even Draco. I looked forward to being in your arms again. I couldn't wait. Perhaps I am being a bit hasty."
Trembling annoyance had him counting to ten to negotiate the most civil tone he could manage as he replied to her. "I understand, my dear. It couldn't have been easy, and yet I must ask that you wait a little longer." His tone was gentle but decisive. "I couldn't possibly risk proceeding only to disappoint my love. Have patience with me. I assure you, I will make up for all that I've put you through."
They both remembered his inability to make love to her only months ago. It seems, after his attack on Harry, stealthily playing with the younger man's cursed body and finding that surprisingly amusing, his appetite for physical pleasure had returned that night. All he had to do was think of Harry's naked pale skin, his boyish torso and lean hips writhing under his control, suffering torment and pleasure, and he could make Narcissa believe that she was the one who inspired the blood beneath his skin to maximum firmness. She was still quite beautiful and desirable, and he appreciated her efforts, but he was the kind of predator who liked the thrill of the hunt. Food handed to him, was boring. The most unobtainable and rarest game, was his preferred choice, and he had already brought Harry down on one leg.
Of course, that night he had only stumbled upon Harry's astral form in the dream state, which retained the curse that his physical body hid so well. How was he to know that anything he did to that body, would have an effect on Harry's physical world? How delightful he found the sounds coming out of Harry's mouth. He remembered throwing the covers back in that dream reality and taking a moment to register that the sight of Harry sleeping in black shorts and a common white muggle t-shirt, held an effective sensuality that he was not expecting in that rare, quiet space. Ah, reliable youth. As his eyes traveled the length of Harry, he sneered at the luck of the young. So easy for them. Too easy, and too quickly taken away. But there was no harm in sampling what was before him, so he explored further. At first he had ignored the other's private parts, having no interest in typical, predictable perversions. But then he saw the female beneath the male, the superimposed realities, one on top of the other, and gave himself permission to touch.
His dream vision and sensation connected him to Harry and revealed that what pulsed behind the reality of this young wizard's penis, was just as valid and just as real. After running his hands over the intriguing planes and angles of Harry's perfectly flat chest and youthful stomach, just to appreciate the athletic grace lying before him, Lucius had been persuaded to cup the organ that held no interest for him before. That's when Harry had twitched but remained sleeping. In that astral state, magic and energy poured out of Harry at that slightest touch. Lucius practically saw it ripple outward, rolling into his own field of magic, energizing it, renewing it. Suddenly, it made sense to explore the curse further. What did those underlying female parts really feel like?
In his vision, Harry's male gender had its own separate state from his female curse. They appeared separate, but were part of one system. With a shift in preference, Lucius found that he could block out that rather handsome organ for the more curious female structures and the mystery it posed. He explored it all. Rolling Harry's tiny, spelled clitoris, between his fingers, between their fleshy envelopment, sent bursts of amazement through Lucius's mind. And the way Harry's spine undulated, as if Lucius's fingers were playing with some sort of control button, held him mesmerized. He caused Harry to feel pleasure under his hands, which was quite a different effect from the night he tortured Harry. He hadn't expected that Harry's body was a thing that could magnify pleasure and send it back to him tenfold in an array of magic. A twist of his thumb and forefinger, making Harry wince and jerk, was as effective as watching the blade of a knife sink into his firm pale skin, and just as satisfying.
Was this only possible in the astral-dream realm? He didn't know, but he did know that his appetite grew under such possibilities until it swelled beyond pleasure into even more exciting territory as he pushed Harry's body to its limits.
Just thinking about it, should've signaled an electric spark of interest, but Narcissa's clinging arms and the memory of what he'd done to Harry, signaled nothing but over heatedness and bile inching in festering rolls as his recent breakfast pushed everything in his intestines forward.
Narcissa rubbed her cheek against his. "Not to worry, we have all the time in the world. It's so good that you're awake, I'm going to take care of you myself. Shall I shave you, just for fun?"
He stopped her roaming hands from stroking his face. "My dear, let's simplify things for now. Hold off on the bath. I'll have a quick shower, set myself to rights, and we'll resume your romantic plans after dinner tonight. How about that?"
He said it with enough conviction that she blushed.
"Very well. I'm over doing it, like a new wife. So silly of me. It's just that, after almost losing you, having you back puts our lives into perspective. Harry and Draco are so troublesome, but we have each other, miraculously. We've been through so much. I want to make a new start with you, to honor our marriage anew. Let's forget about the children for a while and indulge in each other. I don't want to spend the rest of our time on this earth fighting when we could be enjoying the time that we have left."
She looked a little shy. "I botched things up so badly at the trial. The lawyers were fools and I was a fool for thinking Harry would cave. I caused so much more damage, it's caused me to look at us and be thankful that we're still as well as we are. So many people are gone or ruined. Our family has been nearly destroyed. As much as I want Harry to forgive us, I think I want peace for us even more. He's such a sensitive, dramatic thing. Maybe we should leave him alone and turn our attention to making the best of the time we have together."
So that's what this was. Her fear of losing him had inspired something akin to religious fervor and she needed to prove her appreciation by turning up the dial on her wifely devotion. Not only was he not up for the conversation, he tried to shut her up with a pat on her arm.
"Not now, dear. I'm so distracted by my physical disorder, I can't possibly hear a word until I've cleaned up a bit. You can understand that, can't you?"
Her smile reassured him, but as her lips began to speak, her eyes lit up with another idea. "Of course. We don't have to talk at all." Her arms tightened around his neck. "We can snuggle in bed all day and plan a wonderful holiday. Let's go where there's lots of sun. Grease or Egypt. Cairo would be lovely."
His mouth tightened. He couldn't take it anymore. He lifted her slender arms off of him. "Narcissa, my love, you must go. We'll sort it out later."
He could no longer trust the words that were going to come out of his mouth if she didn't. He couldn't have her touching him right now, and he strained to hide his annoyance.
She looked at him with concern. "You feel so warm. Are you sure I can't send for one of the doctors?"
"No. I need time to myself."
She stroked his hair. I can have Vanilli message your scalp."
He thought he was going to scream. Rather than do that, he pushed out of his chair and stumbled to the adjoining set of rooms that comprised his bathroom, separate shower and bathing rooms, a changing room, sauna and private lounge. He hadn't wanted her to see him walking oddly, but there was no hiding it.
"Darling, why are you walking that way?"
You're a grown woman, can't you just assume that I have to relieve my bowels? He almost growled under his breath.
"Are you sure you're all right?"
In answer, he slammed the door on the absurdity of her question. He'd already told her he wasn't feeling well, hadn't he?
The shower room was as spacious as the bedroom. A large walk-in shower with rose-veined marble, comprised a separate whole room entirely on the left and a sunken tub lay to the right of that compartment. The tub room was built with ascending steps that took one from the comfort of plush seating, a wet bar, and ambient panels that softened the light in the room, up to a black Romanesque bath that one had to step down into like a pool. He avoided the tub and went straight for the shower. Just standing in the doorway triggered multiple jets of his presence and steamy sprays filled those inner room.
Lucius flung his clothes aside carelessly, tearing through the layers. It wasn't like him, he hated sloppiness in any form. But he raked his fingers down the sides of his arms to rid himself of the strange prickly sensation creeping up his skin. He'd never experienced withdrawal, but he was absolutely crawling with weirdness running through his veins. He hadn't had to relieve himself, as he'd told Narcissa, but he did need to look, to see what was going on down there. There were simply sensations that he couldn't describe. All he needed was a quick reassurance, a quick glance that all was normal and his imagination was simply working against him. But when he looked, that hope shriveled at the sight of his loins. He let out a sound, as fear and disgust assailed him.
His penis was still there, half its usual size, but strangely bloated like a dead thing left in water for days. It appeared to have taken on girth, but retracted closer to his body and he could practically feel it sinking deeper inside, becoming something other than what it was. Where his testicles should've been, soft, sponge-like density had replaced them. Not only was the skin there mushy as deeply as he dared press, hoping this was only a dream, but they were covered in a wet, oily film that came away on his fingers. He gasped. His genitals were disappearing. Melting. Changing.
As soon as he understood, he made an effort to slow his heart rate and get a grip on himself. He had started to hyperventilate. This was someone's idea of revenge. That much was obvious. And they wanted him to panic like this and make an utter fool of himself, but he wasn't going to do it. No, no. No matter how distasteful, no matter how vulgar the assault to his body, he wasn't going to give his attacker the satisfaction of losing his mind.
He shook as he finished stepping out of the pile of clothes at his feet and ran for the shower. He swayed as his mind reeled from shock and his insistence that five-alarm fires hadn't broken out all over his nervous system as a part of himself went berserk at the craziness he'd just discovered and could feel all over him, changing him, even if he wasn't looking directly at it. The sense of no escape, of no possibility of detaching the thing eating him from the inside, eating him from his very DNA, forced liquid stress from his eyes. He wiped them away, along with the snot, and shoved his hysterics down, choking on them, as he thought frantically of what he could do. First, get clean. No one can know, not even Narcissa, but he'd have to get one of the servant elves to use magic to configure a concealment charm. He might be able to hide it indefinitely until he could figure this out. If this was Snape's doing, then fuck him.
Payback was a bitch, they say. Lucius got it. It was. So what. He wasn't going to cower in fear. He could take what he'd dished out and he could keep his head high. This is what he told himself as he scrubbed at himself under the spray. It felt cold, like the hot water wasn't even on. It was too uncomfortable on top of everything else and he said to hell with it, going against better judgment, and used his own magic to heat the water. He had gotten some level of ability back after the night he assaulted Harry, but it wasn't stable and wasn't reliable, so he remained dependent on his valet elf or Narcissa.
He didn't want either of him to see him like this at the moment. Whatever was happening, and yes, he knew by now, it only hinted of the chemical storm taking place on the level of his cells. The anxiety rippling through his muscles told him that what was taking place down there, was taking place as an upheaval and biological war, all over him. His genitals weren't the only things suffering from displacement, and that's why he couldn't feel the comfort of hot water. His body was generating its own heat, burning off the invasion of the curse, and attempting to regulate itself without success. He knew from Draco's experience that it would continue to do so indefinitely, until medical or spell intervention balanced it out. No way he was going to go crying to anyone. If Draco and Harry could bear this ridiculous curse, then he could surpass them both and render it relatively ineffective in upsetting his life too much. All he had to do was remain calm.
He kept telling himself that as he shivered, naked. He refused to be cold one second longer and increased the temperature of the water. He had no wand, so he directed raw magic at the shower head. He hugged himself and did this over and over again, simply unable to feel any heat. Frustrated, he fired an aggressive command for hot water, summoning every ounce of magic he could. The force of his will popped the multiple shower heads off and a torrent of scalding water dumped upon him from every side.
Pain took his breath, denying the release of a scream. He couldn't turn them off and dashed against the wall to escape the water's direct line of spray. He slipped, crashing down on the hard surface. A crack in his hip quickly replaced any thought of the scorching water and he literally lost his vision as he grunted through the worst of the pain. He insisted to his magic, that his hip wasn't broken and that he could just shower seated on a chair, for the desire to cleanse himself, to regain control and master this situation, eclipsed all reason. He pulled himself towards the shower exit with his arms and looked, amid thick clouds of steam hiding the floor, like a stringy-haired merman unsuccessfully attempting to use new legs. It was while crawling that his fingers happened to press on some wet strands of hair that lay drenched in his path, as he struggled forward. The hair floated strangely on water that quickly flowed towards the drain in the center of the compartment. Strands of it flowed right past his eyes. Disbelieving, he grabbed at it. When he held up his hand, clumps of long, pale-golden tresses entangled between his fingers and came completely away from his scalp.
That's when surreal horror took over. Now he was losing his hair? He stared in disbelief. Draco's hair had never fallen out. This was going too far.
He knew that he was in trouble and had to call on his servants. He looked around, frantic. He was afraid to use the least little bit of magic to call anyone. He already couldn't get the water turned off and couldn't make it out of the shower room so that it would shut off automatically. He couldn't allow Narcissa to see him like this, what with the condition of his body. He was in no mood to deal with her hysterics as well as his own. It took a moment for him to weigh his misery and decide to risk calling just one servant. Vanilli was good with secrets. That one could be trusted with this delicate matter. Get him in here. Command him to spell this mess clean and maybe even some glamours to conceal the whole disgusting affair.
He barely sent magical intention into summoning his elf. In the next instance, his eyes bulged to see some fifty individual elves standing around the shower staring at him. From his position on his stomach, he blinked, testing his reality. They all blinked back and his mouth hung open.
"You called at last, sir?" said a scratchy voice. It belonged to an elf who could not be seen. As Lucius, bewildered, scanned the crowd of little servants inching towards him, one of the oldest elves he'd ever seen, stepped forward.
"Hatchet is here, my Lord. And so grateful to be remembered at last."
The creature was even shorter than most elves, skinny to the extreme, with centuries of age defining the lines and wrinkles cutting deep into his face. He wore what looked like rotted burlap beneath layers of grime and filth that caked in a dense cloud around him. His makeshift clothing clung around his bony shoulders by sheer magic. His bushy white eyebrows knitted in heartfelt gratitude. When his toothless smile stretched, scraggles of stiff white hairs, which could be individually counted, jutted from his chin.
Lucius's humiliation, spread on his stomach as he was, was not enough to stop him from asking, "Who are you?" Who were all of them, indeed!
"The name is Hatchet, sir. I was willed to the Malfoy Estate by the Earl of Lockloy in the year 1236. When my master, Lord Wickerbond Afonze Malfoy III, passed away, I was ordered by his widow to guard his tomb from all the vengeful serfs he tortured and starved, until summoned by a rightful heir. It has been centuries since I've seen the light of day and Hatchet is overjoyed, sir. What shall I call thee?"
Stricken, Lucius looked around and realized that every elf in his employment, had appeared, whether he knew of their existence or not. There was an elf wrapped in beaver pelts with a pick axe and a layer of snow sticking to him. He waved when he saw Lucius staring at him, "Bimony at your service, Master!" To his other side, an elf with torn strips of cloth tied to hold her ears back, had already set about commanding a set of scrub brushes from the pail she carried, to start scrubbing at the steaming floor.
Lucius lifted a finger at her. "That's not necessary…" He trailed off. Her dogged attitude and the fact that she never looked up, never acknowledged him or the rest of them, but only hitched up her hem, a patched-work of colorful, but faded and unravelling doilies, scratched the moles on her chin, and kept going, told him that she might be deaf, senile, or both. For all he knew, her behavior could've been a work ethic. She was determined to scrub while the water was plenty and hot. He knew she was old. The younger generation of elves would've vanished rather than scrubbed. Her vigorous wobble scared him and she smelled of mildew.
He only knew of twenty-five elves that belonged to his family. The rest were long forgotten in the annals of generational history, apparently left to their own devices, still awaiting orders from someone of his bloodline, or left to decay and decline along with various properties and deceased masters. They were all standing there getting soaked.
Looking up at all of them, Lucius chose his words very carefully. "Now see here. I only want one of you. The rest of you must leave, and not a word of this to anyone or I'll cut out your tongues. Go back to your places. Only Vanilli. Vanilli is to stay."
He deliberately didn't look at Hatchet. One by one, through moans of disappointment, they all blinked out. All but Vanilli. He stood stoic, astute in his burlap sack, which was dyed black to denote a special kind of rank among the Malfoy house elves.
Before Lucius could speak to him, Narcissa's soft steps padded into his adjoining bedroom.
"Quick, don't let her in here!" he commanded Vanilli.
Since it was too late to keep her out of the bedroom, she ran into an invisible barrier when she tried to step into the shower room. "Ouch!"
Apparently, the abrupt halt was jarring. Her voice rang out, "Lucius, what on earth? Why can't I come in?"
He had to think fast. "Turn this blasted water off. Get me into my bath now."
The bath that Narcissa had already prepared for him, sat waiting on the other side of the wall. It was waiting with ambient candles spread all around the room. When he apparated into it, he closed his eyes in instant relief. The cooler water soothed his stinging skin and the bubbles were so thick, they hid his unrecognizable bits from his terrorized eyes. Good. He didn't want to look. He didn't want to see a thing. He just wanted to sit here and recover from whatever the curse was doing to him. Get the worst over with. Both Draco and Harry were up walking around like nothing had ever happened, except for all the public whining. This ridiculous curse wasn't going to destroy him, after all. As long as he could hide it.
He made an attempt to relax into the jets spraying warm bubbles beneath the surface. Vanilli offered to send for a masseuse earlier than Narcissa had planned, knowing that his bony fingers would only be reprimanded if he attempted to soothe his master himself.
"No, no," Lucius rejected. "Just wait by the door. I'm going to try to relax. I'll feel better if I can
just… "
Narcissa apparated into the room. She appeared standing over him with a tray of drinks and gave a little yelp of delight. "Oh, you've decided to use the bath I drew after all. I'm so glad you're making an effort. How is it?"
Lucius cringed at the sound of her voice. It's a fucking bath, woman! That's how it is.
What did she want from him? "It's fine," he grunted, and positioned his body self-consciously.
She sat the tray down, placing a tall two tall drinks beside him. "You're so tense and feverish. There's a little something in there to help you relax. I changed my mind about the Chateau Margaux. Limonista will sit on your stomach so much better."
Lucius heard that and grabbed the glass, gulping the cool mixture of lime, orange juice and Prossecco, all blended into a liquidy, slush-ice concoction.
Narcissa shuffled around to the opposite side of the tub and struck an inviting pose.
Ordinarily he enjoyed looking at his wife's body, but her nipples appeared flushed and infused behind the sheer fabric, swollen, like two engorged eyeballs staring him down. They were positively stalking him.
She took the opportunity to let her sheer gown fall around her shoulders and slipped into the bath, quickly covering her nudity with the soapy water. She smiled at seeing Lucius's eyebrow raise.
"I know you said you're not in the mood, and that's fine. It doesn't mean we can't simply enjoy one another's company. I promise to keep my hands to myself."
Lucius twitched. He shakily sat his glass down on the marble surrounding the tub and covered himself with his hands beneath the water. His fingers accidentally brushed against something spongy and unnerving, causing him to blink excessively. "Are you, are you sure you wouldn't rather be out shopping, or something?"
"I'm saving my shopping days for when you're well enough to escort me, darling. We shall make our appearances together, to show everyone how enduring our marriage is. We've withstood everything. Let them see us and envy our love."
Vanilli continued to wait in a corner. Lucius gave him a full eyeball bulge and expected the elf to know what it meant. Get rid of her!
The little elf looked back at him, How?
Figure it out, Lucius's glare demanded. In the next few seconds an ear shattering sound of high pitched wails rained down around them. Everyone jumped.
Narcissa laughed, startled. She toyed with a slender string of pearls at her throat, the only item she wore. "That would be the fire wards. Vanilli, do be a dear and go check on that for us, please. I'm sure it's nothing."
Fire wards were the wizarding equivalent of fire alarms.
"Fire wards?" Lucius feigned, "We haven't heard a fire ward in years. Don't you think it would be best if you supervised the elves in a full estate inspection? We can't be too careful, especially since I'm unable to assist at the moment."
Her forehead wrinkled at this nonsense. "Darling, the elves are quite capable of putting out fires and restoring anything damaged. Do try to relax. Don't let the noise bother you, it'll quiet in just a minute."
Vanilli was left with no choice but to fake pop out to fake check on his fake alarms. Lucius reeled, feeling a resurgence of nausea and pressure in his head. The Limonista was starting to kick in, but it didn't result in the lightness of being that muggles referred to as "buzzed," rather, it weighed him down and made his mood quite effortful. Pores all over his skin practically puckered with ill at ease tautness.
His one concern at the moment was that Narcissa remain ignorant of his condition. He was in no state to deal with her repulsion as well as his own. The only way he realized that he was shaking, was because of clumps of his wet hair hanging over his head. He kept it bowed, eyeing Narcissa's concerned expression.
"Oh dear," she said, "You really aren't feeling well. You look positively wretched." She sat her drink down and shot across the distance. Lucius panicked, shrinking against himself with no where to run.
"Don't! Don't come any closer," he insisted, just as her hand reached for him.
Narcissa, stunned, summoned her wand with a trick that wasn't taught at Hogwarts. "I was only going to check your temperature. Scan you. Your magic feels rather dense and compromised."
"Yes, quite right. I, I'm coming down with something. You mustn't get too close."
"You sound like a muggle. Don't be silly, we don't get colds. Which is why you're starting to worry me. Let me see what your magic is doing?" She held the wand up.
Lucius didn't know the extent of her ability to see his ailment, but he wasn't taking any chances. He knocked her arm away. "Leave it. You said you'd let me rest, so let me rest."
He sounded snappy and she steadied her own tone. "Why are you pushing me away? If you're not feeling well, then by your side is where I'm supposed to be. You're being awfully mean."
Since when did she care about such things as meanness?
"Yes, well that's what pain does to one. Especially when one has requested to be alone so that his wife's feelings could be spared."
"I'm not just your wife. I'm your sole companion in this life. If you're hurting, I'm hurting." She leaned forward to place her hand on his leg. Her intention was innocent enough, but Lucius jumped so hard, it caused her to look at him strangely. There eyes met in a psychological place where only married couples confront one another without words. And right then, she understood that he was afraid. Not just unwell, but truly spooked by something.
"You're awfully jumpy. What are you hiding from me?"
He replied, indignantly, "For God's sake, of course I'm jumpy."
She was on to him. Rather than tell her the truth he went haywire with details, anything he could throw at her to get her off his case. Anything but the core truth.
"I've been bedridden for weeks. I'm weak. I tell you that I require solitude and you drug me and prance around naked, harassing me, following me around the house with those things bouncing at me to perform some husbandly duties that you know I'm too weak to perform, and I just discover this morning that my hair is falling out." He grabbed fistfulls of it and shook it at her, "And you think I'm hiding something? Yes, I'm hiding the end of my wits, that's what I'm hiding, you selfish bitch. When I say I don't want you touching me, I don't want you touching me."
With a pointed face, Narcissa's stare went cold. She pretended to leap for him. He yelped, bending forward and turning a shoulder against her at the same time. Now she had him. They both knew he was sweating bullets, and not because of any illness. Her hand quickly shot below the bubbles and Lucius splashed to keep it from finding what it was looking for.
"What on earth are you hiding from me?" She could wrestle with him, even in this pathetic state, his hands were far too strong. As he pushed her right hand back, she dashed her wand over the water's surface. "Evanescere!"
All the bubbles vanished and Lucius's pale nudity wavered in the water below. Thighs clamped, hands cupping, he yelled past her, "Vanilli! Come at once and defend me!"
Vanilli was no where to be seen. Narcissa was astonished and insulted at the same time.
"Defend you? Why you... Annoyed beyond reason, just for that she banished the water as well. Now both of them were starkers and Lucius even more impotent as he shrivelled, crouching from her eyes.
"Goddamn you! All I ask for is privacy. If you insist on behaving like your cunt of a sister, you've no business calling yourself my wife."
She could've cursed him back, but instead she waited, summoning her gown and robe with an air of superiority while he slung every undignified slur he could think of at her. When he appeared to stutter, running out of insults, she said calmly, "Show me, Lucius."
It was to the tone of, 'We're done playing games here.'
He shook his head hard at her. He shivered in the absence of warm water and it only added to tremors that already made him look feeble. "For pity's sake, either put the bubbles back or dress me. I'm your husband and I need you to act with the strength of grace befitting the name I've given you."
She replied, "And I need you to do the same. There are many things I let you get away with, but lying to me is not one of them. That's for outsiders. We're still alive because we trust few the way we trust each other. I'm your equal, not your pet, so out with it. You have never hidden yourself like a wilted little girl. What have they done to you? Show me."
Her sober tone made him swallow the rest of his bitter tirade against her. She was right, but she had to understand how deep this attack went. She made him understand. This confrontation forced him to admit that the blow from this curse had indeed wounded him more than he could admit right away.
He pleaded with her. "Don't kick me when I'm down, Narcissa."
"How dare you feel threatened by a wife who's only trying to see the damage you're hiding. You're lucky I don't kick you for real."
He found himself gasping for a stronger argument. "Trust me. This is something I cannot let you see. I'm trying to protect you."
"You're trying to protect your ego. Severus Snape did something, didn't he?"
Shame burned up Lucius's body. He lowered his head. "You'll never look at me the same."
She rolled her eyes. "Are you serious? We put Draco through hell and you never expressed an ounce of regret and now that Severus has got himself a little payback, you want to sit there feeling sorry for yourself?"
"You cruel, venemous Medusa! I only found out moments ago. You could give me some time to adapt."
"Or you could let me send for one of Draco's old doctors"
Lucius yelled, "Why? None of them knew how to cure Draco an if any of them survived the war or Azkaban, I'm sure Severus has finished them off by now. Just let me deal with this, woman. I'm trying to think!"
Her hands went to her hips. "I've given you no reason to think I can't handle it. Just show me, maybe I can help you. I'm very good at cosmetic charms, you know."
"I don't need cosmetics." He needed a fucking cure.
"If you love me, you'll let me see. I'm your wife of twenty years. You can trust me with your deepest pain."
He groaned soundlessly, knowing she was right. "No. Even if I found a way to lift this, I'd lose the joy and approval in your eyes. Your respect for me would extinguish. Your light for me, would go out. You'd continue to love me out of pity, but you wouldn't see me as a man. I can't allow this temporary setback to scar your perfect loyalty to me. That's why I'm so upset, and treating you so unfairly. Once you see it, you cant unsee it. I want to spare you that."
The humility in his clogged voice convinced her of his sincerety. He could see that she itched to have a peek, and added, "Besides, whatever Snape has done to me, it's not done yet. It's not a quck transformation. It's disgusting and I don't even know myself what I'm looking at."
She softened. Her wand dropped to her side. "There was a time when I relied on your face and body, to compensate for your heart. But I was silly and young. We've spent a lifetime together, surely you know that I love you no matter what disfigurement you suffer. I'm not some trophy wife, I'm by your side to face everything that you face. I'm accustommed to being underestimated by the likes of Harry and others, but not by you. You know I'm not weak. Set that overgrown pride of yours aside and let me see your pain. Don't hide this from me, it'll only wedge us apart. Be strong and show me."
To him, strength lay in holding out and not showing her. But she had stuck by his side, through Voldemort, through prison, through all of life, and she never once threatened to leave or complained that it was too much to bear. Maybe she wanted to feel included in his suffering and not isolated from him. Maybe she deserved to see. He wavered, his resistence compromised.
"All I want," she reminded him, "is for you to turn to me and reach for me, when you're in need. Don't keep secrets from me. No matter how painful. If I can't walk with you through your most challenging ordeals, then what am I doing by your side? Convince me that you still trust me with anything. I promise it won't change anything between us. I don't love Draco any less. Show me."
She was going to beat the issue to death. He sat rigid, with involuntary movements causing twitches down the length of him. He was so uncomfortable under her stare, he'd almost forgotten how melted and squishy his private parts felt, as if his pelvis was becoming an artificial attachment. Slowly, he removed his hands and let his arms open wide, dropping to his sides.
See for yourself, he smirked silently. He steeled himself against any shrill screams that might come his way. His dignity slunk down, like a sinner amid saints, beneath her gaze.
"Is this what you wanted to see?"
He wanted her to maintain a brave face and cast aside his worry with one of her fake smiles. At least that would preserve the illusion that this was merely one more incident they'd effortlessly overcome. But she faltered. The beginnings of her beautiful smile, collapsed. Her alabaster face took on a grey cast as her eyes widened. The thing at his groin, could not be identified. He was so red and misshapen with swollen mounds of tissue, that his deformity could not be committed to any gender. What was too tiny to be male, was also too large to be female. It glistened unrecognizably, beneath his golden-blond pubic hair. It looked rupturous and painful to the touch. Instead of assuring him that it was nothing she couldn't handle, her courage abandoned her.
She listed, suddenly light headed. One hand went to her stomach, while the other went to her mouth.
"Oh," she said faintly. But her eyes said it better, Oh, I thought I was ready to see it, I was mistaken. Oh, I've never seen anything so ugly in my life. Oh, Draco never looked like that. Oh, I was wrong, I can't look. I can't take it. I'm sorry, Lucius. I'm sorry, I'm sorry!
She backed away with tears springing down her cheeks. "I can't. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She turned and ran from the bath. Her slender legs climbed out in panic, as she forgot that she could apparate. She left him alone, shivering in a waterless tub, staring after her.
He knew it. He knew this would be too much for his venomous flower of a wife. He shivered as her revulsion banished him to his isolation.
He spent all day replaying her disgust over and over again, for she disappeared for the rest of the day and gave him nothing better to replace it with.
Before sundown he was back in bed, sweating through his sheets and freezing simultaneously. The worst part was not the sensitivity and pain of his swollen, malformed organs, but the stretching of his inner tissues, like something trying to push its way through his abdomen wall. This kept him tossing in misery for hours. Vanilli's magic offered no relief, so he just kept drinking potions in hopes of sleeping. Finally, just before midnight, his muscles seemed to relax enough to let his body experience relief. With his head heavy on his pillow, his mind drifted and his body lightened. Sleep was just a breath away and he let it take him.
He started to dream of a young woman thrashing him with a whip. Not a whip, a curse borne on long trendrils of blistering magic. She laughed as she thrust the tendrils at him. They cut deep into his skin, tearing chunks of it out. He saw her mutilating him and gasped to see the gory wounds left behind.
His gasps woke him up. He sat straight up. The motion jarred him, bringing him back to his body and the sudden awareness of wetness springing out of him. Peculiar wetness. Too thick to be sweat sticking to his thighs. Shit. Now he was wetting his bed too? But it was in the wrong spot to be urine. He nervously switched on a lamp. Cautiously, he reached inside his pajamas to inspect, careful not to feel more than he was ready to feel. He brought his hand out with a touch of moisture on it and switched on the bedside lamp.
What met him in the light, were fingers smeared with blood. In that moment, his soul separated from his body, shringking away from those bright red smudges as far as he could go. His body sat in bed, frozen, but his mind backed away. In their connection, a violent shaking emerged and took over the whole bed. In his mind, that girl of a witch, laughed and laughed.
That was a week ago, at the time of his awakening and release from Snape's hold. He'd had a week to get used to the foreign sensations claiming his body. It wasn't enough. At present, he picked himself up off of his bedroom floor, where he'd passed out. It seems his symptoms were getting worse, not improving. Now he really was losing control of his bladder and the seizures were too much. He recalled that Draco had a host of wizards to keep his body in balance during the worst of the curse, but he had none. Perhaps it was time to relent and seek the help of any dark wizard who knew anything about taiming the curse if it could not be cured. He'd even be willing to talk to his son about it, if he thought it would help him survive the ordeal.
With Vanilli's help, he cleaned up and stayed close to his bed like an invalid. How long had it taken Draco to get through the worst of it? He couldn't exist like this for months, let alone years. He needed to call his son, but every time the thought occurred to him, something shriveled and weak told him not to bother, not to burden Draco any more. He had no right to seek Draco's comfort, when he had allowed this to be done to him. So he lay there in the dark, day after day, and spent hours spitting in Voldemort's face for what he'd made him do to his son, but he was still unworthy to ask anything of Draco.
Vanilli had secured a black market elixir that dulled most of the pain, but also his thinking. When he took it, he lay there in a stupor, unable to dream, so the witch couldn't get him. But also unable to feel anything worth feeling. He waited for sleep and knew that if this continued, he might as well be waiting on death. Narcissa had begun making appearances again, but only for minutes at a time, reassuring him that she was searching for the best medical and magical help. There was nothing he could say to her through his stupor.
After she left, he sank deep into self-medication, blankets up to his chin. After hours of miserable listlessness and pain, the twilight of sleep came upon him. It was that magical moment that he waited for, night and day now. The moment when sleep opened its arms and welcomed him in as his body relaxed, or seemed to, as his awareness transferred from wake to nothingness. He leapt into that chasm freely. But as he went, something grabbed him and snatched him back.
His head slammed into his headbaord as if there were no pillows there. A heated, rhaspy voice hissed in his face. "Wake up! You pathetic excuse for a wizard and father, you will not escape your punishment through drugs. Those boys have lived with this for over two years. You can't take it for one week? Wake up!"
Even in the dark, he knew that drawl, that sneer, that authority of disgust, cloaked and raining judgement down upon him. It was Severus. Severus pulling him up and slamming him back against the headboard, to be exact.
"You finally have a part to play in fixing this mess. I will not let you enjoy the luxury of wasting away unused."
"What... Severus..." Lucius sounded like he had cotton in his mouth, to even his own ears.
Snape, being the Potions Master that he is, was ready for him. He fished into his robe and came out with a small bottle, forcing the bitterest drops onto Lucius's lips. So bitter it stung. Fumes alone seemed to be enough to drag Lucius back from the edge of sleep, kicking and screaming into coherency.
"What the bloody hell are you... ?"
Snape covered his mouth. "You knew this day was coming, the minute you hurt him. Don't waste my time asking how I got in here. I'm not here to catch you up on things or to make sure you understand what's going on. I'm here to put you to use, whether you like it or not."
Lucius drew back, but there was no where to go. His body went rigid and he realized he was under the influence of Snape's spell. "Severus, this is rash. Think about this. You and I have been through a lot together. You must know that I did everything I did to save my family. You yourself watched people die, to save your neck. I didn't mean to take it that far with Harry. You can't imagine what Voldemort put us through, you have no family..."
Snape struck him. The uncharacteristic act of using his hands to hit, was enough to stun Lucius into silence. Wizards like Snape considered it beneath themselves to use their fists. So provoked into doing so, let Lucius know that he was dealing with a very unstable Snape right now. He bit down any words he wanted to say.
"You will come with me and you will not say a word."
A spell against speaking immediately paralyzed Lucius's tongue and vocal chords. He wasn't going to talk, not out of obedience, but because he lost the use of those mechanism and the second he tried, the dead weight in his mouth and lack of control in his throat, felt so uncomfortable, that he forgot at once about the drama taking place below his waste. Sweat sprung out of his skin as every internal alarm in his body sounded. Fear errupted from his glands like a gas and he stunk the air around them.
Snape leaned in very close, blowing whisps of breath into Lucius's face as he threatened him. "Harry is in trouble and your presense is required. I'm telling you this much, so that you know how important it is to me to have your full cooperation. If I don't have it, I won't be happy. And if I'm not happy, you won't survive."
He took hold of Lucius's throat. "I lack the compassion that prevented Harry from using any of the unforgivable curses on you. You probably think that you're immortal or so strong that Harry couldn't hurt you. You're too foolish to see that he is the very essence of decency and goodness. In his innocence, he still thought so much of you, that he thought you were capable of regret, of being sorry, of having sense enough to be ashamed of what you've done."
Snape's mouth twisted. "The boy in him, still assigned you authority that you do not deserve. After you butchered him, raped him, and did all you could to kill him. And as for the child you forced on him, I'm afraid that if I mention her name, I won't be able to keep my hands from squeezing your puny neck until breath is incapable of passing through it. So we won't mention her. You've no right to let her name spill off of your tongue."
Lucius, constricted as he was, felt himself struggling to breathe. Snape's hands weren't even squeezing that much, but his words were hypnotic and Lucius could not escape their effect.
Snapes pace picked up. "I'm not Harry, you pose no challenge for me. If I wanted to be rid of you, I could do so reletively quickly. The only reason I've kept you alive, is because I thought you were the key to undoing the curse for Draco and Harry. I know differently now. Where I'm taking you, I actually have no idea whether you'll survive or not. Nor do I care. It's time to repay Harry everything that you owe him. Your miserable life isn't enough to cover the bill. But it's a start."
With that, he snatched Lucius forward out of the bed. They landed, not on the bedroom floor, but into an apparation portal, blinking out of sight.
