FIC: THE STABLES (LM/HP)
Mar. 1st, 2012 01:44 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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hpkinkfestTitle: The Stables–Part Two
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
carolinelamb
Prompt Number: #337 (submitted byarenee1999)
(Post-war. Harry has secretly lusted after Lucius for years. Lucius can't seem to face himself/get back to what he was after having been humiliated/degraded by Voldemort. Harry can't stand to see Lucius such a mess. I'll leave it to the author to decide if Narcissa has left Lucius or if she's the one that asks Harry to help or some other scenario... If Narcissa is still in the picture I'd prefer her being ok with the whole thing)
Kink Showcased: Redemption
Rating: NC17
Pairing(s): Lucius/Harry, Lucius/Greyback, Lucius/Draco (sort of), Harry/OMC, Lucius/OMC
Summary: Lucius is broken after the war and has no desire to be pieced together again.
Warnings: Dub-con, Non-con, Humiliation, Incest, Het;
Word Count: 15.620
Author's Notes: I apologise for the lateness of this! Thank you, dear mods for being patient with me. Also, I apologise for the length.
Many, many thanks to my betasalbalark and verdeckt! I'd be LOST without you, drowning in a sea of commas!
Part One
Part Two
The next time he attended the Stables he did not go looking for the Death Eater but instead indulged himself in playing with a young man who craved to be dominated. Like himself, the young man, who called himself Eric, was inexperienced but that made it more relaxing for the both of them.
Unfortunately, it turned out that he could not stop thinking about the Death Eater, and throughout the game Harry remained distant and disconnected.
Soon enough, only a few days later, Harry found himself in the Stables again, welcomed by a smirking Alain. It was a quiet day.
He found the Death Eater sitting on a mattress in the corner.
Upon hearing Harry's steps he raised his head and nodded faintly, but gave no other sign of recognising him.
"When did you become a Death Eater?" Harry asked quietly.
The man closed his eyes again and Harry thought he had lost consciousness again. Harry was about to leave him when the man answered so quietly he was barely audible.
"I received my mark when I was twenty-one, but at that time I'd been a Death Eater for at least two years." The man did not look at Harry.
"You are the first Death Eater I've seen who wishes to atone," Harry said after a while.
"I lost everything," the man said. "I lost my beliefs, my family, my only child. It wasn't fate or death that took him away. It was my own foolishness and pride."
Harry immediately filed the information about the man's family away. The way he formed his words increased the feeling of familiarity.
For a short while they both remained silent.
Then Harry came to a decision and in a changed tone he said: "Stand up."
He tilted his head and showed him the riding crop he had hidden behind his back before.
The man nearly smiled and slowly got to his feet.
"Can you stand?" Harry asked.
The man nodded.
"Good," said Harry. "I want you to receive your punishment for your crimes standing–like a man, not an animal."
The man nodded silently.
"Put your hands up on the wall," Harry commanded. Something cold and hot at once ran up and down his spine while he spoke. The man obeyed, placing his hands up against the wall. Harry was nearly overwhelmed by his physical beauty. There were disfiguring scars on his back of course, but the skin was golden, stretched over an elegant, long spine. He had broad shoulders and despite his skeletal frame, his buttocks were firm if a bit small. The legs were muscular like the legs of a fencer.
"Spread your legs a little," Harry instructed him. "You may rest your forehead against the wall, but you may not take your hands off."
The man moved to obey like a horse who recognised his owner and seemed to be overcome with tranquil stillness. It all was falling into place. Harry felt a peace creeping over him that he hadn't felt since years.
"Tell me your crimes, Death Eater," Harry said, "tell me what you did."
The man nodded, then said, barely audible, "Yes, sir."
"I will count to three," said Harry, "at the count of three I will begin the punishment."
The man nodded once, sharply. His back muscles tensed, and the pale buttocks twitched.
"One," said Harry, observing the ripple of anticipation going through the man, the tensing of the muscles.
"Two."
The man inhaled.
"Three," Harry swung the riding crop and it hit the man's buttocks.
The Death Eater gasped, but did not flinch.
"Tell me," Harry commanded, his voice louder.
"I killed," said the man, hesitating as if he didn't trust his own voice. The second strike fell. This time he didn't gasp.
"How many did you kill?" Harry asked.
"So many I lost count."
Another strike.
"The first time I killed I was seventeen," the man said, interrupting himself only when the next lash fell.
Harry never lost his rhythm. He listened to the man's account: the men and women he had tortured, maimed, raped, killed. Blow after blow landed on the man's buttocks, then the back. Red, angry welts rose out of the pale skin, blood seeped out where the force of the crop had torn the skin. He listened to the grief the Death Eater had caused and the monstrosities he had committed.
"Tell me," he demanded again and again. "Confess."
And the man did confess. First haltingly, then faster and faster, more and more. Only when his breathing became too laboured, and he began to cry out when the crop hit him, did Harry finally stop.
All the while the man had steadied himself at the wall, but when the lashing ceased, he slumped a little. Trembling he attempted to right himself.
Harry was behind him the same instant and helped him to lower himself to the ground.
"You have done very well," he said. The man took a big gulp of air then nodded.
"I will heal you now," Harry said. The man shook his head, but Harry only said, "I measure your punishment."
The Death Eater let himself be laid down onto the ground so that Harry could heal the lashes on the back.
Finally Harry turned him around and gave him a flask of water.
When the man had emptied the flask, he took a parcel out of his pocket and un-shrunk it: It was food–a loaf of bread, strips of dried meat, an apple.
"You will eat," Harry said. "It's an order. You are not permitted to starve yourself in order to punish yourself."
The Death Eater looked at him curiously but then slowly broke off a piece of bread and began to eat. Harry observed the movements, and again was filled with an uneasy notion of familiarity. The man had, despite the lack of cutlery and tableware … exquisite table manners; he broke the bread into bite-sized pieces and chewed silently with his mouth closed. When the man had finished his meal, Harry took him into his arms.
"You did very well," he said. "I'm very impressed by your discipline."
The man relaxed in his arms. Then after a while he lifted his arms and wound them around Harry's waist, and that simple gesture of trust warmed Harry's heart.
Before he left he asked if he could put him to sleep again.
"I want you to rest," Harry said. With something akin to relief, he noticed that the man's nod of agreement was a littler sharper, a little more determined than before.
***
At work in the ministry Harry began looking through the files of Death Eaters, feeling guilty for being so curious… but looking all the same. How strange that the man had told him about his family. If he truly wanted to remain anonymous, why would he tell Harry such an important detail?
Harry's niggling suspicion confirmed itself when it turned out that Lucius Malfoy was the only Death Eater with a family who was still free.
The same instant Harry read his name a memory flashed before his inner eye: The sight of Lucius Malfoy ripping open his sleeve to call Voldemort when they had been caught by the Snatchers. Even then he had, underneath all his hatred and helpless fear, felt this spike of red hot lust, a sudden urge, a hatred-filled greed for this man. At that time he had not known what it was, where it had come from, and he had pushed that notion back into the deepest corners of his mind.
Later though, after the war had ended, and he had read Lucius Malfoy's name in the papers, he had felt that little spike of lust or interest or curiosity again, and this time he had allowed it to surface, had prodded at it and observed it.
Sometimes when he fucked others, Lucius' face had flashed before his inner eye. In the beginning he had panicked and swiftly sought to replace it with someone else's face. With time and sexual experience, he had lost his interest in his narrow-minded insecurities and given Lucius more space in his fantasies. It was a sexual interest he had kept secret even from Ron and Hermione, who knew that he liked men and had never ever judged him. To acknowledge that he was attracted to men was one thing. To lust after Lucius was entirely another.
Harry traced the name absentmindedly with his index finger, again and again, then silently mouthed the name.
Lucius.
From all men and women Harry had met in his life, he would have never thought that it would be Lucius who would succumb to depression and self loathing. ('The Peacock' he had occasionally been called, his vanity surpassed only by Lockhart.)
He had heard stories about Lucius Malfoy's fall from grace of course, Voldemort's anger, heard the rumours about separation, alcohol, even drug abuse, but a part of him had always refused to believe that a man as proud and self-confident as Lucius Malfoy could ever be truly affected by anything.
As a poor, lonely child Harry had felt a curious interest for this self-absorbed man, who had walked around with such a sense of entitlement and that cold, cruel smile. He remembered seeing him the first time in the bookshop, Flourish & Blotts and that ridiculous kerfuffle with Arthur Weasley. Naturally he had felt an instant dislike, but at the same time also a certain wonder. The perfect beauty of this man had stunned him. He had never seen a man as beautiful before. Not merely handsome or good looking.
Lucius Malfoy had been truly beautiful, like a piece of art.
The few times he had encountered Lucius Malfoy after that, he had noticed how his grey eyes could either turn green or blue depending on what he was wearing. He came to associate this trait with Lucius' character in general: someone who could cloak himself with polite words, deceptive smiles and a seductive manner, but deep down inside was void of any feeling.
The first time he had him ever seen show emotion had been that time when the Snatchers had gotten hold of him, Hermione and Ron and dragged them to the Manor. Despite the terror he had felt, there had been something else–a certain triumph, perhaps, at the sight of Lucius' dishevelled, unkempt look, the wine glass in his trembling hand, the sound of his excited pleading voice. A physical spark of excitement had ignited inside his chest at the sight of this Lucius–defeated, scared, desperate.
On the day of the Battle of Hogwarts, the sight of Lucius Malfoy, beaten, bruised, his left eye purple and swollen, his upper lip bleeding had done something strange to his guts, had somehow twisted them into a curious knot of hate, grim satisfaction … but confusingly, also a sort of tender pity.
How broken he had sounded when he tried to persuade Voldemort to end the battle just to save his son. At least, Harry had thought briefly, he loved his child.
Months later, when he had spoken on the Malfoy's family behalf at the trial before the Wizengamot, it had been this glimpse of Lucius Malfoy's love for his son, aside from the life debt he had owed Narcissa, that had motivated him to persuade Kingsley and Arthur Weasley to pull their strings and spare him the prison sentence awaiting him.
When he had visited Malfoy Manor a year ago he had found it deserted. Draco and Narcissa Malfoy had moved to Amalfi in Italy and both had refused to tell him where Lucius Malfoy had gone, but more than that Harry had gotten the impression that they themselves didn't know where he was–and that they had no desire to know of his whereabouts.
***
The next time the strange young man came again, Lucius was awake.
Behind him was Alain, the secretary of the Stables, as he liked to call himself, wearing an absurd Victorian frock coat and an indian sarong instead of trousers.
At the entrance Alain bowed slightly.
Lucius frowned and did not react to Alain's greeting. He did get up though looking from one to the other not sure if he liked what was going on.
"This gentleman would like to purchase the contract," Alain said glibly. His jet-black eyes glittered sardonically.
The young man approached Lucius. "I apologise that I took the liberty of asking Alain first but I wanted to ensure it would be possible."
Lucius felt a rising uneasiness. For months he had lived in this cage and finally found a semblance of peace–bitterly paid for with his blood and very body, but peace at last. And now this alluring young man had to barge in and upset everything.
When Lucius didn't say anything, Alain continued, "Of course I would guarantee that your new contractual partner accepts every clause and every term of the existing agreement."
"Why should I agree?" Lucius asked. "I understand that you will receive a fee that will make up for any inconveniences on your side and that will additionally relieve you from certain duties–but what do I gain from this transfer.
"That was exactly my question as well," Alain said jovially. "Which is why this young man insisted upon speak–"
"–Thank you, Alain," the young man interrupted. "Please be so kind as to step outside for a moment and erect a ward so your client and I are able to discuss the contract in private."
His eyes never left Lucius' face as he spoke.
If Alain was displeased at being treated like a servant, he didn't show. With a somewhat oily smile, he bowed and murmured: "Avec plaisir!" The moment he shut the cage door behind him, Alain drew his wand and a black, impenetrable granite wall rose out of the ground.
For a long time they both simply stared at each other.
Finally Lucius said, "I have no desire to be saved."
"I am not saving you," the man said. "I am saving myself."
Lucius tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.
"May I reveal my identity to you?" the young man asked.
"The Stables doesn't permit you to abandon your glamour," Lucius replied.
"I know," the young man said evenly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of old, round spectacles that Lucius recognised immediately. His heart nearly stopped for a moment. This couldn't be. It was impossible that out of all people Harry Potter had found him here.
"Where did you get those from?" he asked sharply, but in lieu of an answer the man drew something else out of his pocket, something silvery and fluid-looking, a thin fabric. As the man draped it over his right arm, the arm vanished.
"The Invisibility Cloak," Lucius whispered, feeling that sublime magic on his fingertips as he touched it.
"The first time I ever laid eyes on you was at Gilderoy Lockhart's book signing at Flourish & Blotts," the man said. "You slipped Tom Riddle's diary into Ginny's bag and nearly killed her."
Lucius didn't move.
"Then we met, again, when you came to Dumbledore's office. I lost you your elf, Dobby." A strange, painful grimace distorted the man's face. "Your sister-in-law Bellatrix threw a knife at him and killed him!"
He seemed to wait for a reaction, and when none came, he continued.
"We met again at the Quidditch World Cup. You were Fudge's guests, if I remember correctly, due to your generous support for the St. Mungo's hospital. You, your beautiful wife Narcissa and Draco were there. I watched you, you know. I was fourteen then, and had begun having dreams. You were there, at the grave-yard when Cedric Diggory died."
He laid a hot hand on Lucius' cheek.
One part of Lucius was in a panic. His heart was beating, and he felt clammy sweat on his forehead. He had been recognised. Harry Potter was standing in front of him and accusing him of all the crimes he had committed. He had been foolish to trust the Stables' magic; Harry Potter's magic abilities were legend. He had vanquished the Dark Lord, after all.
This was the end. Tomorrow, or maybe even today everyone would know of his shame. The Daily Prophet, the Quibbler, it would be in every newspaper. Oh god, and Draco and Narcissa! As if they hadn't suffered enough, as if he hadn't done enough to them, they would have to endure this, too!
He suppressed the urge to fall down to his knees and beg.
Another part though, whispered in a conspiratory manner. Isn't this what you secretly wanted all along? For someone to come and rip this mask off of your face? To expose you and what you did to the world for everyone to see? Were you not tired of the games, of the useless punishments that did nothing to truly relieve your guilt?
He had known that one day this moment would arrive.
Lucius closed his eyes, trying to will these traitorous thoughts away.
"Isn't this what you really wanted? To really be seen? Because you knew all along that only then you could truly atone?"
Lucius looked up and the man before him smiled.
"What is you want from me, then?" he asked softly, carefully schooling his face into a disinterested mask.
"You, of course," said Harry Potter, suddenly unsmiling, his face white and the eyes burning. "I want you with all your remorse and regret."
Lucius looked away.
"We can absolve each other," Potter offered. He stepped closer, and caressing Lucius' sharp cheekbone, kissed him.
"Come with me," he whispered against his lips. "If we cannot help each other, we can destroy each other. We can rid the world of two monsters."
Lucius opened his lips and allowed the kiss, and Potter, with the passion of the young, gripped his head, twisted his fingers into his hair and invaded his mouth with his tongue, demanding, seeking.
When they finally let go of each other, Potter stepped back, breathless and flushed.
"Will you protect my privacy?" Lucius asked. "Will you agree not to publicise my identity? It would hurt Narcissa and Draco a great deal."
Potter snarled. "I have no interest whatsoever in exposing you. I want you for myself."
"Yes," said Lucius then. "I give you my consent."
***
Lucius had expected Grimmauld Place but this house was considerably newer and brighter.
Harry Potter led him into a large bedroom. The bed was big, but looked almost ascetic with its simple, white sheets. Enormous canvasses hung on the white walls with paintings Lucius recognised as landscapes by Gerhard Richter.
The fire place was tiled, a Floo powder bowl made from crystal on the mantle.
Aside from the ticking of a clock it was very quiet. When Lucius looked at Harry again, the glamour was gone. He did control himself and showed no sign of shock, though he certainly felt it.
Harry Potter had grown up.
The features were much sharper now and his eyes looked darker, murkier. His jaw had become broader too, and his hair a little longer.
When Harry swallowed, Lucius could not help but look at the movement of his Adam's apple. Harry touched him, and a by the cool magic that washed over him, he felt that his glamour had been undone too. He felt a moment of self-consciousness but then straightened his back.
Harry had always been a pretty boy, with his mesmerising eyes and black lashes, his delicate bone structure, but now he was a truly stunning man. The innocence of his boyhood had gone, though, and Lucius could feel physically that something was not right with his magic, something not right with him.
Thoughtfully Harry bent down and pushed the fabric of the half open robe aside, mouthed his nipple while pinching the other one. Lucius exhaled softly and allowed himself to feel.
Harry led him towards the bed, and Lucius gracefully lowered himself onto it. He noticed Harry's chest heaving, and the wild expression in his eyes. Then Harry shook his head and tried to pull away but Lucius pulled him back.
"I understand, Harry," he said, carefully using his name to anchor him in the present. "Unleash your demons. With me there is no need for pretence."
Strong fingers curled around his wrist, pinning him to the bed. They rocked against each other like this, and the feel of Harry's hard cock against his was ecstasy. Impatiently, Harry began to tug and to pull at his robes until he was naked.
A frisson of jealousy went through him as he looked at Harry's body. It was athletic, and the skin was so elastic and smooth, everything so firm, so hard.
Harry was rough and Lucius relished it, pushed back, clenched tightly and Harry moaned. After a while he took hold of Lucius' hair with his other hand and twisted it while entering him.
Lucius hissed. Oh, it was painful. The pain brought him to life. Harry gave a final push and Lucius let out a strangled cry: Harry's cock was the thickest at the base and he had to breathe shallowly to accommodate his girth.
Harry pushed again, insistently, impatient like all young men, and every thrust was so forceful Lucius had to hold on to the bed and press back. He put his legs over Harry's shoulders, and soon felt something hot and warm blossoming in his groins, something wonderful while the pain vanished slowly.
Suddenly the lazy heat ignited into a spark so intense he could only warn Harry by grasping his arms and pulling him down before he felt himself convulsing around him.
It was like diving into warm, soft water, like floating into blinding whiteness, indescribable bliss, and here and now Lucius didn't give a damn about betraying himself. He arched up, felt Harry's weight, the strain on the back of his legs, and for a glorious moment Lucius finally felt after more than twenty years what it was like to allow himself to only feel and to be happy.
Through a haze he heard someone calling his name, and felt how Harry thrust erratically into him, then cried out and pushed hard, as if he wanted to burrow into Lucius body, going into rictus. Sensitive as he was he could feel Harry's cock pulse and twitch.
Slowly Harry's breathing and wheezing slowed down. With heavy-lidded eyes he gently eased down Lucius legs, curled around Lucius and fell asleep.
***
The mudblood girl was crying and sniffling as they dragged her in.
"You can redeem yourself," Greyback told him. "Show us how to treat a Mudblood whore. Only you have this talent with mudbloods."
"Fuck her," said Bella eagerly, her voice hoarse with lust and stroke the girl's blond mane.
"Your favourite type," Greyback said. "Fourteen, a virgin mudblood."
Lucius had seen her some days before, when she and her family together with other prisoners had been herded together in the Forest. Only then the girl had worn a long woolen dress, and a coat.
Bella liked to dress up her victims. Lucius had to admit that it sometimes affected him too. The mudblood's hair was done up in two pigtails. Someone had smeared pink lipstick over her lips, and rimmed her eyes with black eyeliner. Her pink nipples peeked out of a white blouse that had been knotted to show off her slim waist and she wore a short pleated skirt so short it did not cover the butt plug she was wearing. She was in high heels she obviously didn't know how to walk in. It was endearing, the way she tottered around in them, clumsily with long, coltish legs.
Oh, she'll do, Lucius thought warily. His prick was still aching and leaking, the potion in his system far from having run its course.
Bella decided they had to perform on the large dinner table in the hall where the girl was laid out like a virgin sacrifice.
He felt nothing but a grim, sharp pain that he immediately suppressed as he fed her the exact same potion that had been fed to him. The girl's blue eyes pleaded with him.
He waited, while lazily pinching and rolling her nipples and soon enough her pupils dilated and turned dark, almost black. She licked her lips and arched into his touch.
She was sobbing and humiliated by her potion-induced lust.
When he began to stroke her between the legs, she spread them readily, to Bella's amusement, and squeezed her eyes shut as if she couldn't face herself.
He pressed his thumb against her clit, rubbing and circling it, and she moved her hips.
"Fuck her," Bella ordered, and Lucius had no choice. Without his doing the girl lifted her legs and spread them wider. She was nicely swollen and red down there. Lucius slid his cock inside her. There was resistance and she wailed, when he pushed through, tore the thin skin.
Oh, she was tight. She was so hot and wet and tight inside, Lucius mind went blank for a while. Then he immediately began to thrust, first gently, while pressing one hand against her clit. With the other hand he rolled one stiff, erect nipple between his fingers.
Bella was circling them, like a hungry cat. "Fuck the little mudblood slut," she hissed. She was breathing heavily. "Fuck her harder."
Rodolphus and Rabastan, both smoking long, slim cigarettes, laughed. "You're mad, Bella!" Rabastan said and Rodolphus leant forward.
Lucius could feel his orgasm approach. The girl underneath him arched up, then shuddered. Her orgasm seemed to last for minutes and finally her legs fell down, onto the table. Her hair was covering half of her face.
Lucius finally took her legs, and fucked her hard and fast until he too came inside her.
Bella guided the girl onto her knees, turned her around, so she faced Lucius cock, glistening and dripping wet.
"You made a mess, you slut," she said. "Clean it up."
Obediently, the girl opened her mouth and swallowed Lucius' cock. She didn't know what to do, obviously, but it still felt heavenly. With the potion raging in his system his cock hadn't gone soft but remained painfully hard.
Just when Lucius was about to come again, Bella interrupted again.
"Come on her face," she said in a little girl voice. "Come on, I know you want to! Mark your slut!"
The girl only stared ahead with dead eyes. She was already broken, Lucius thought. He did as Bella wished and aimed his cock at her.
"Open your mouth wide!" Bella crooned, and pulled the girl's face up. For one insane, brief moment Lucius nearly reached out and touched her, nearly bent down to whisper in her ear, that soon it would be over.
He came violently, pumped his heavy cock and covered her pretty face with his come, then wiped it demonstratively on her cheeks and her hair. Globs of his spunk were mixing with mascara, pearl white come dripped from the corner of her mouth, and egged on by Bella she darted out a pink tongue and licked it.
Now she really did look like a Knockturn Alley whore.
"Lie on your back!" Bella commanded the girl, and the girl obeyed. She had retreated into herself. Lucius knew this stage, had seen it with victims he had tortured.
Then Bella pulled out the butt plug and threw it onto the floor. The girl whimpered.
"We all know that you like a tight arse better than a cunt," Dolohov called from behind, and again the gathered crowd laughed. Lucius registered female voices, Alecto, of course and Bella, but surprisingly there were more, albeit hidden behind their masks.
Lucius tried to sneer, to appear unfazed.
The girl held up her knees, pressed them against her chest. With her eyes scrunched shut she was snivelling and sobbing, but still her fingers were spreading her arse cheeks, and her red, gaping hole was winking at him.
Lucius was fascinated by a drop of come sliding down her plump cheek. Then he bent further and examined her arse, the well-fucked cunt. Come was seeping out of it and running down her cleft.
When he began licking her hole, pushing as much spit as he could into her with his tongue, Greyback came close.
"How does she taste, hm?" His grin was vile but Lucius controlled himself.
"Like a mudblood whore," he remarked as casually as possible, as if he didn't care about her suffering, the dull dead look of her eyes. He used the come that was seeping out of her cunt as lube, opening her further up, fingering her. It had to suffice.
He pushed another finger into the welcoming hole that clenched tightly around him. Then he positioned his cock and pushed slowly in. She groaned, undoubtedly in pain, but she never let go of her legs, folding herself into half. The skin of the back of her thighs was so smooth.
"Good, yes?" Greyback was behind him, crooning into his ear, holding him, then shoving him. Lucius slid in further. The girl screamed again, squeezing her eyes shut.
If this was simply painful for her it'd be more merciful, Lucius thought, moving slowly. Pain would anchor her, would remind her that she was a victim, not a participant. Her arousal, her lust, even if potion-induced would take this away from her, would crush her with guilt and shame.
He knew.
Greyback guided his movements. "Don't hurry, we still have a bit of time," he whispered.
After some minutes of disciplined, slow fucking, Lucius felt he couldn't hold back. It was too much, too fucking good. He felt that hot, searing wave of lust tugging at his cock, his balls, tingling in his arse hole, felt the heat creeping up his spine, and spreading over his chest. His arms began to tremble, and oh God it was so fucking tight and tense and sweet and she was clenching around him, and she even wrapped her legs around him again, trying to pull him closer, whimpering and moaning.
Bella or Greyback had apparently untied her arms, because she was now squeezing and pinching her nipples herself, caressing her own small tits with something akin to wonder, as if she had never realised they were there.
His balls were drawing up and pumping, and he threw his head back and couldn't hold back his cry. In a haze he felt Greyback pulling him out, and saw Bella bringing the girl's face near to his crotch so the last two or three spurts of his come landed in her face.
Bella said something but he couldn't hear her.
In front of him the girl's face morphed and changed. The plump, lovely cheeks formed into sharp cheekbones, the golden hair turned short, the colour a whitish blond. The small, lovely tits melted away and a flat plane was left, a thin ribcage, the soft arms turned into the wiry arms of a sixteen year old boy. The vibrant blue of her eyes dimmed into a familiar grey.
Lucius screamed.
***
At first Harry had no idea what had woken him up.
It was still dark. He sat up and saw that he was alone. He looked around, then took his wand and cast a silent Lumos. Lucius sat in the armchair, naked, staring out of the window.
His face was a blank mask, his posture so rigid and regal he looked like a tragic king on his throne.
"The trouble with you is that you act without thinking," Lucius said coldly. "You are a silly boy masquerading as a grown man. You think you can make me forget, can erase the past, but the past … is always there, lurking in every shadow."
"Lucius?" Harry got up and padded barefoot to Lucius. He took the linen with him and draped it over Lucius' cold shoulders. Lucius didn't move.
"What is it?" Harry knelt between Lucius' legs and looked up. The silvery moonlight and the weak Lumos lent the face above him a ghostly translucency. And maybe Lucius Malfoy was a ghost. The man Harry had known so many years ago was surely dead and had only left this broken shell.
Carefully Harry reached up and stroke Lucius' cheek, rough with stubble.
This is why I allow myself to be in love with him, he thought. It's the only way it can be.
"Some things cannot be forgiven," Lucius said, "some things are not meant to be survived."
"Maybe not." Harry was confused. "But we have to go on living somehow. I mean, we have to cope in order to be able to go on."
"Is this why I'm here?" Lucius finally looked into his eyes. "Because I am to help you cope with something? I am the past and as long as you have me you can avoid looking at the present. No need for facing the reality of a life without wars and battles and dark lords? Is that it?"
Harry thought about that. "Alain suggested something like this when I entered the Stables, and I think you're both right to an extent.
"I feel angry, most of the time," he confessed. "I can't help it. I thought that with Voldemort dead, it would be over, but sometimes I can still feel him inside me, hear his voice, feel what he felt. I can't forget. Ginny knew what I felt. She also had dreams about Voldemort sometimes."
Lucius looked away, his face still unreadable, but Harry noticed the white knuckles as he gripped the armrests harder.
Harry took a deep breath. "Then I saw you, and … somehow you're the first person to make me feel something else."
Lucius reached out and ran his hand through Harry's hair and Harry pushed into his hand like a cat seeking to be petted. They both smiled.
"I tried others. Playing with them," Harry said, "but it never felt right. Not the way it feels with you."
"The way it feels with me," Lucius echoed.
Harry pressed his forehead onto Lucius' knee.
"In my dreams I hurt others. I revel in their pain … It's in my head. Inside me. I touch people and all I want is to tear them apart. Nothing else will make me feel again. It feels the way Voldemort felt inside my head when I was a boy. It's like in these dreams."
Harry was not sure Lucius understood what he was talking about.
"It's a pressure from inside and it gets stronger and stronger, until I burst," Harry looked up. "I feel like I'm burning up from inside. And then I go and … play. And afterward I feel even more thirsty and wanting. I bathe in blood and pain and I still crave more."
He clutched Lucius' hand. Lucius' face betrayed nothing. He looked so cold and serene, so beautiful. It occurred to him that it was strange that someone so beautiful was so broken inside.
"That's why you came to the Stables," Lucius said evenly.
Harry nodded. "Yes," he whispered, "yes."
His face felt hot and flushed.
"I wanted to purge this craving, to do something. I was afraid that I might lose control. And I heard that the Stables provide … everything. That every desire could be fulfilled."
Harry fell silent for a while, playing with Lucius fingers, twining them.
"And well … I found you." He tried to smile but felt that his features only twisted into a strange grimace. "I was at peace for the first time. It was so perfect. So incredibly, fucking beautiful."
Lucius didn't move but something in his eyes made Harry hope that he understood.
"That moment when the only thing I feel is peace and quiet inside me … I felt that with you, last time."
Harry decided to follow his instincts and scrambled onto Lucius lap and enveloped him into an embrace, and although Lucius first resisted Harry felt him soon losing the tension, his rigidness. They sat for a while holding each other.
"Once, I had absolute faith in the knowledge that everything I did was necessary for the greater good, a great cause," said Lucius. "I believed with every fibre of my heart that I was doing what had to be done."
Harry felt Lucius' chest rising and falling.
"It was a beautiful thing, this clarity … to have faith. As long as you have it, it seems impossible that anyone can take it away from you."
Lucius looked at him.
"And then, suddenly, it's gone, just like that."
***
He had not expected to be put together by Harry.
When Harry tossed and turned in the middle of the night, breathing hard, caught in the web of his violent, dark dreams, Lucius got the riding crop from the little locked closet and gently put it into Harry's hand.
Sometimes Harry was lucid enough to speak to him, but sometimes he only hissed, like a snake and grabbed Lucius at his throat, pushing him against the wall.
It was a game, it was always a game, and at the same time it wasn't. Harry was beautiful when his body seemed taut and tense like a bowstring and he held the riding crop upraised. He was wild, unhinged in that moment, but Lucius was not afraid. Even though he felt that Harry wasn't really there in these moments and that someone else had taken his place, he felt no fear.
In the end Harry would always come back.
Harry made Lucius say things. Such as that he wanted to feel him, wanted to feel pain, or needed to be punished, needed to be fucked, needed to be consoled. Lucius realised that voicing his needs made them not only real, but also less consuming. In learning to ask for what he wanted he could control that what had possessed him before.
When he refused to give Harry a safe word he only asked why. Lucius explained: "Because we are not playing a game. I don't wish to play a game. Everything you and I do, has consequences. If one of these consequences is my death … then so be it."
"I could kill you," Harry said.
"Yes," breathed Lucius.
Harry raised the riding crop.
"I won't let you go," Harry told him at the end when Lucius was lying on the floor, hardly conscious. He knelt beside him, and began healing him. "You belong to me now."
Lucius knew that he should refuse. He should not let Harry just take him, but in the end he craved the peace that submitting gave him. It was better than putting his faith into Voldemort.
Harry insisted on talking about everything, laying everything open, something Lucius had yet to learn. Or maybe he would never learn.
He would never be able to tell Harry things like "What you just said to me, made me feel uncomfortable because …" or analyse himself or others quite in the way Harry did, peeling layer for layer away and staring at the naked truth.
Mostly Harry acknowledged Lucius' wishes. He accepted that Lucius wanted to be fucked, and that he felt uncomfortable fucking Harry. Sometimes they spoke about it, and Harry listened to Lucius' explanations.
When Lucius finally told him about Draco, Harry said nothing, but this night they were lying together in bed, doing nothing but silently caressing each other, until they both fell asleep.
One night, a few weeks later Lucius was tied to the bed. Harry used a leather whip on him, laying stroke after stroke, mercilessly and smiling in an unsettling manner. When Lucius' body was covered with fine, criss-crossed red marks, Harry threw the whip away and settled between Lucius' trembling legs without undressing.
Lucius was floating in a haze of pain and bliss. Every breath he took seemed to burn him in a delicious way. He registered that Harry looked more forbidding in his robes, taller, broader.
Harry grinned and took his cock, coaxing him into hardness, all the while talking to him, sometimes slipping into Parseltongue mid-sentence. Lucius was not sure how deliberate this was, but Harry seemed to enjoy himself, smiling up at him with heavy lidded eyes.
He talked a lot. He praised Lucius' cock, called him a whore, a pervert, depraved, but also magnificent and beautiful.
He knelt over Lucius and showed him how he prepared himself, lube-slicked fingers circling and fucking his hole. Before Lucius could protest, he teased himself with Lucius' cock, still smiling but also moaning and when he finally slid down on it, Lucius thought he might pass out.
"No," Lucius managed to say, but in an instant Harry's hand was at his throat.
"Are you disobeying me?" he asked sternly. With his hand still on Lucius' throat he slowly began sliding up and down.
"Oh, yes," Harry hissed, almost triumphantly.
Carefully Lucius began pushing back, and it felt so perfect and tight and slick. Harry clenched greedily around him.
"Put your back into it!" he hissed and yanked Lucius' hair, increasing his speed.
Lucius pushed upwards, seeking more heat. Harry let go of him and leant backwards, arching into Lucius' thrusts, fucking himself. Sweat was gleaming on his chest. Lucius' eyes were riveted on Harry's hard cock, his pink, taut balls. Suddenly Harry clenched so hard, Lucius cried out.
"Oh fuck, I'm coming," Harry said, and Lucius' felt him convulsing. Frantically Harry stroked his hard prick, and Lucius could see the balls drawing up and twitching and then hot, thick come sprayed Lucius' chest and his face. Still breathing hard Harry smeared his come onto Lucius' nipples and then fed him his slick fingers.
Lucius tumbled over the edge, sucking Harry's come from his fingers.
***
Although Harry had far more to lose than Lucius, it was he who initiated an outing together–in London, in an area where men were allowed to hold hands and show affection–and of course the next day a picture of them two strolling through a crowded street was snapped.
Lucius was looking regal and proud, Harry beside him with windswept hair as if he had just climbed off a broom.
The camera was a little too far away to catch the expression on the men's faces and passing Muggles obscured the view before they both turned and vanished, but if one looked very closely, a light smile around Lucius' mouth was visible when he looked at Harry.
Fin
Author:
carolinelambPrompt Number: #337 (submitted by
arenee1999) (Post-war. Harry has secretly lusted after Lucius for years. Lucius can't seem to face himself/get back to what he was after having been humiliated/degraded by Voldemort. Harry can't stand to see Lucius such a mess. I'll leave it to the author to decide if Narcissa has left Lucius or if she's the one that asks Harry to help or some other scenario... If Narcissa is still in the picture I'd prefer her being ok with the whole thing)
Kink Showcased: Redemption
Rating: NC17
Pairing(s): Lucius/Harry, Lucius/Greyback, Lucius/Draco (sort of), Harry/OMC, Lucius/OMC
Summary: Lucius is broken after the war and has no desire to be pieced together again.
Warnings: Dub-con, Non-con, Humiliation, Incest, Het;
Word Count: 15.620
Author's Notes: I apologise for the lateness of this! Thank you, dear mods for being patient with me. Also, I apologise for the length.
Many, many thanks to my betas
albalark and verdeckt! I'd be LOST without you, drowning in a sea of commas!Part One
The next time he attended the Stables he did not go looking for the Death Eater but instead indulged himself in playing with a young man who craved to be dominated. Like himself, the young man, who called himself Eric, was inexperienced but that made it more relaxing for the both of them.
Unfortunately, it turned out that he could not stop thinking about the Death Eater, and throughout the game Harry remained distant and disconnected.
Soon enough, only a few days later, Harry found himself in the Stables again, welcomed by a smirking Alain. It was a quiet day.
He found the Death Eater sitting on a mattress in the corner.
Upon hearing Harry's steps he raised his head and nodded faintly, but gave no other sign of recognising him.
"When did you become a Death Eater?" Harry asked quietly.
The man closed his eyes again and Harry thought he had lost consciousness again. Harry was about to leave him when the man answered so quietly he was barely audible.
"I received my mark when I was twenty-one, but at that time I'd been a Death Eater for at least two years." The man did not look at Harry.
"You are the first Death Eater I've seen who wishes to atone," Harry said after a while.
"I lost everything," the man said. "I lost my beliefs, my family, my only child. It wasn't fate or death that took him away. It was my own foolishness and pride."
Harry immediately filed the information about the man's family away. The way he formed his words increased the feeling of familiarity.
For a short while they both remained silent.
Then Harry came to a decision and in a changed tone he said: "Stand up."
He tilted his head and showed him the riding crop he had hidden behind his back before.
The man nearly smiled and slowly got to his feet.
"Can you stand?" Harry asked.
The man nodded.
"Good," said Harry. "I want you to receive your punishment for your crimes standing–like a man, not an animal."
The man nodded silently.
"Put your hands up on the wall," Harry commanded. Something cold and hot at once ran up and down his spine while he spoke. The man obeyed, placing his hands up against the wall. Harry was nearly overwhelmed by his physical beauty. There were disfiguring scars on his back of course, but the skin was golden, stretched over an elegant, long spine. He had broad shoulders and despite his skeletal frame, his buttocks were firm if a bit small. The legs were muscular like the legs of a fencer.
"Spread your legs a little," Harry instructed him. "You may rest your forehead against the wall, but you may not take your hands off."
The man moved to obey like a horse who recognised his owner and seemed to be overcome with tranquil stillness. It all was falling into place. Harry felt a peace creeping over him that he hadn't felt since years.
"Tell me your crimes, Death Eater," Harry said, "tell me what you did."
The man nodded, then said, barely audible, "Yes, sir."
"I will count to three," said Harry, "at the count of three I will begin the punishment."
The man nodded once, sharply. His back muscles tensed, and the pale buttocks twitched.
"One," said Harry, observing the ripple of anticipation going through the man, the tensing of the muscles.
"Two."
The man inhaled.
"Three," Harry swung the riding crop and it hit the man's buttocks.
The Death Eater gasped, but did not flinch.
"Tell me," Harry commanded, his voice louder.
"I killed," said the man, hesitating as if he didn't trust his own voice. The second strike fell. This time he didn't gasp.
"How many did you kill?" Harry asked.
"So many I lost count."
Another strike.
"The first time I killed I was seventeen," the man said, interrupting himself only when the next lash fell.
Harry never lost his rhythm. He listened to the man's account: the men and women he had tortured, maimed, raped, killed. Blow after blow landed on the man's buttocks, then the back. Red, angry welts rose out of the pale skin, blood seeped out where the force of the crop had torn the skin. He listened to the grief the Death Eater had caused and the monstrosities he had committed.
"Tell me," he demanded again and again. "Confess."
And the man did confess. First haltingly, then faster and faster, more and more. Only when his breathing became too laboured, and he began to cry out when the crop hit him, did Harry finally stop.
All the while the man had steadied himself at the wall, but when the lashing ceased, he slumped a little. Trembling he attempted to right himself.
Harry was behind him the same instant and helped him to lower himself to the ground.
"You have done very well," he said. The man took a big gulp of air then nodded.
"I will heal you now," Harry said. The man shook his head, but Harry only said, "I measure your punishment."
The Death Eater let himself be laid down onto the ground so that Harry could heal the lashes on the back.
Finally Harry turned him around and gave him a flask of water.
When the man had emptied the flask, he took a parcel out of his pocket and un-shrunk it: It was food–a loaf of bread, strips of dried meat, an apple.
"You will eat," Harry said. "It's an order. You are not permitted to starve yourself in order to punish yourself."
The Death Eater looked at him curiously but then slowly broke off a piece of bread and began to eat. Harry observed the movements, and again was filled with an uneasy notion of familiarity. The man had, despite the lack of cutlery and tableware … exquisite table manners; he broke the bread into bite-sized pieces and chewed silently with his mouth closed. When the man had finished his meal, Harry took him into his arms.
"You did very well," he said. "I'm very impressed by your discipline."
The man relaxed in his arms. Then after a while he lifted his arms and wound them around Harry's waist, and that simple gesture of trust warmed Harry's heart.
Before he left he asked if he could put him to sleep again.
"I want you to rest," Harry said. With something akin to relief, he noticed that the man's nod of agreement was a littler sharper, a little more determined than before.
At work in the ministry Harry began looking through the files of Death Eaters, feeling guilty for being so curious… but looking all the same. How strange that the man had told him about his family. If he truly wanted to remain anonymous, why would he tell Harry such an important detail?
Harry's niggling suspicion confirmed itself when it turned out that Lucius Malfoy was the only Death Eater with a family who was still free.
The same instant Harry read his name a memory flashed before his inner eye: The sight of Lucius Malfoy ripping open his sleeve to call Voldemort when they had been caught by the Snatchers. Even then he had, underneath all his hatred and helpless fear, felt this spike of red hot lust, a sudden urge, a hatred-filled greed for this man. At that time he had not known what it was, where it had come from, and he had pushed that notion back into the deepest corners of his mind.
Later though, after the war had ended, and he had read Lucius Malfoy's name in the papers, he had felt that little spike of lust or interest or curiosity again, and this time he had allowed it to surface, had prodded at it and observed it.
Sometimes when he fucked others, Lucius' face had flashed before his inner eye. In the beginning he had panicked and swiftly sought to replace it with someone else's face. With time and sexual experience, he had lost his interest in his narrow-minded insecurities and given Lucius more space in his fantasies. It was a sexual interest he had kept secret even from Ron and Hermione, who knew that he liked men and had never ever judged him. To acknowledge that he was attracted to men was one thing. To lust after Lucius was entirely another.
Harry traced the name absentmindedly with his index finger, again and again, then silently mouthed the name.
Lucius.
From all men and women Harry had met in his life, he would have never thought that it would be Lucius who would succumb to depression and self loathing. ('The Peacock' he had occasionally been called, his vanity surpassed only by Lockhart.)
He had heard stories about Lucius Malfoy's fall from grace of course, Voldemort's anger, heard the rumours about separation, alcohol, even drug abuse, but a part of him had always refused to believe that a man as proud and self-confident as Lucius Malfoy could ever be truly affected by anything.
As a poor, lonely child Harry had felt a curious interest for this self-absorbed man, who had walked around with such a sense of entitlement and that cold, cruel smile. He remembered seeing him the first time in the bookshop, Flourish & Blotts and that ridiculous kerfuffle with Arthur Weasley. Naturally he had felt an instant dislike, but at the same time also a certain wonder. The perfect beauty of this man had stunned him. He had never seen a man as beautiful before. Not merely handsome or good looking.
Lucius Malfoy had been truly beautiful, like a piece of art.
The few times he had encountered Lucius Malfoy after that, he had noticed how his grey eyes could either turn green or blue depending on what he was wearing. He came to associate this trait with Lucius' character in general: someone who could cloak himself with polite words, deceptive smiles and a seductive manner, but deep down inside was void of any feeling.
The first time he had him ever seen show emotion had been that time when the Snatchers had gotten hold of him, Hermione and Ron and dragged them to the Manor. Despite the terror he had felt, there had been something else–a certain triumph, perhaps, at the sight of Lucius' dishevelled, unkempt look, the wine glass in his trembling hand, the sound of his excited pleading voice. A physical spark of excitement had ignited inside his chest at the sight of this Lucius–defeated, scared, desperate.
On the day of the Battle of Hogwarts, the sight of Lucius Malfoy, beaten, bruised, his left eye purple and swollen, his upper lip bleeding had done something strange to his guts, had somehow twisted them into a curious knot of hate, grim satisfaction … but confusingly, also a sort of tender pity.
How broken he had sounded when he tried to persuade Voldemort to end the battle just to save his son. At least, Harry had thought briefly, he loved his child.
Months later, when he had spoken on the Malfoy's family behalf at the trial before the Wizengamot, it had been this glimpse of Lucius Malfoy's love for his son, aside from the life debt he had owed Narcissa, that had motivated him to persuade Kingsley and Arthur Weasley to pull their strings and spare him the prison sentence awaiting him.
When he had visited Malfoy Manor a year ago he had found it deserted. Draco and Narcissa Malfoy had moved to Amalfi in Italy and both had refused to tell him where Lucius Malfoy had gone, but more than that Harry had gotten the impression that they themselves didn't know where he was–and that they had no desire to know of his whereabouts.
The next time the strange young man came again, Lucius was awake.
Behind him was Alain, the secretary of the Stables, as he liked to call himself, wearing an absurd Victorian frock coat and an indian sarong instead of trousers.
At the entrance Alain bowed slightly.
Lucius frowned and did not react to Alain's greeting. He did get up though looking from one to the other not sure if he liked what was going on.
"This gentleman would like to purchase the contract," Alain said glibly. His jet-black eyes glittered sardonically.
The young man approached Lucius. "I apologise that I took the liberty of asking Alain first but I wanted to ensure it would be possible."
Lucius felt a rising uneasiness. For months he had lived in this cage and finally found a semblance of peace–bitterly paid for with his blood and very body, but peace at last. And now this alluring young man had to barge in and upset everything.
When Lucius didn't say anything, Alain continued, "Of course I would guarantee that your new contractual partner accepts every clause and every term of the existing agreement."
"Why should I agree?" Lucius asked. "I understand that you will receive a fee that will make up for any inconveniences on your side and that will additionally relieve you from certain duties–but what do I gain from this transfer.
"That was exactly my question as well," Alain said jovially. "Which is why this young man insisted upon speak–"
"–Thank you, Alain," the young man interrupted. "Please be so kind as to step outside for a moment and erect a ward so your client and I are able to discuss the contract in private."
His eyes never left Lucius' face as he spoke.
If Alain was displeased at being treated like a servant, he didn't show. With a somewhat oily smile, he bowed and murmured: "Avec plaisir!" The moment he shut the cage door behind him, Alain drew his wand and a black, impenetrable granite wall rose out of the ground.
For a long time they both simply stared at each other.
Finally Lucius said, "I have no desire to be saved."
"I am not saving you," the man said. "I am saving myself."
Lucius tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.
"May I reveal my identity to you?" the young man asked.
"The Stables doesn't permit you to abandon your glamour," Lucius replied.
"I know," the young man said evenly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of old, round spectacles that Lucius recognised immediately. His heart nearly stopped for a moment. This couldn't be. It was impossible that out of all people Harry Potter had found him here.
"Where did you get those from?" he asked sharply, but in lieu of an answer the man drew something else out of his pocket, something silvery and fluid-looking, a thin fabric. As the man draped it over his right arm, the arm vanished.
"The Invisibility Cloak," Lucius whispered, feeling that sublime magic on his fingertips as he touched it.
"The first time I ever laid eyes on you was at Gilderoy Lockhart's book signing at Flourish & Blotts," the man said. "You slipped Tom Riddle's diary into Ginny's bag and nearly killed her."
Lucius didn't move.
"Then we met, again, when you came to Dumbledore's office. I lost you your elf, Dobby." A strange, painful grimace distorted the man's face. "Your sister-in-law Bellatrix threw a knife at him and killed him!"
He seemed to wait for a reaction, and when none came, he continued.
"We met again at the Quidditch World Cup. You were Fudge's guests, if I remember correctly, due to your generous support for the St. Mungo's hospital. You, your beautiful wife Narcissa and Draco were there. I watched you, you know. I was fourteen then, and had begun having dreams. You were there, at the grave-yard when Cedric Diggory died."
He laid a hot hand on Lucius' cheek.
One part of Lucius was in a panic. His heart was beating, and he felt clammy sweat on his forehead. He had been recognised. Harry Potter was standing in front of him and accusing him of all the crimes he had committed. He had been foolish to trust the Stables' magic; Harry Potter's magic abilities were legend. He had vanquished the Dark Lord, after all.
This was the end. Tomorrow, or maybe even today everyone would know of his shame. The Daily Prophet, the Quibbler, it would be in every newspaper. Oh god, and Draco and Narcissa! As if they hadn't suffered enough, as if he hadn't done enough to them, they would have to endure this, too!
He suppressed the urge to fall down to his knees and beg.
Another part though, whispered in a conspiratory manner. Isn't this what you secretly wanted all along? For someone to come and rip this mask off of your face? To expose you and what you did to the world for everyone to see? Were you not tired of the games, of the useless punishments that did nothing to truly relieve your guilt?
He had known that one day this moment would arrive.
Lucius closed his eyes, trying to will these traitorous thoughts away.
"Isn't this what you really wanted? To really be seen? Because you knew all along that only then you could truly atone?"
Lucius looked up and the man before him smiled.
"What is you want from me, then?" he asked softly, carefully schooling his face into a disinterested mask.
"You, of course," said Harry Potter, suddenly unsmiling, his face white and the eyes burning. "I want you with all your remorse and regret."
Lucius looked away.
"We can absolve each other," Potter offered. He stepped closer, and caressing Lucius' sharp cheekbone, kissed him.
"Come with me," he whispered against his lips. "If we cannot help each other, we can destroy each other. We can rid the world of two monsters."
Lucius opened his lips and allowed the kiss, and Potter, with the passion of the young, gripped his head, twisted his fingers into his hair and invaded his mouth with his tongue, demanding, seeking.
When they finally let go of each other, Potter stepped back, breathless and flushed.
"Will you protect my privacy?" Lucius asked. "Will you agree not to publicise my identity? It would hurt Narcissa and Draco a great deal."
Potter snarled. "I have no interest whatsoever in exposing you. I want you for myself."
"Yes," said Lucius then. "I give you my consent."
Lucius had expected Grimmauld Place but this house was considerably newer and brighter.
Harry Potter led him into a large bedroom. The bed was big, but looked almost ascetic with its simple, white sheets. Enormous canvasses hung on the white walls with paintings Lucius recognised as landscapes by Gerhard Richter.
The fire place was tiled, a Floo powder bowl made from crystal on the mantle.
Aside from the ticking of a clock it was very quiet. When Lucius looked at Harry again, the glamour was gone. He did control himself and showed no sign of shock, though he certainly felt it.
Harry Potter had grown up.
The features were much sharper now and his eyes looked darker, murkier. His jaw had become broader too, and his hair a little longer.
When Harry swallowed, Lucius could not help but look at the movement of his Adam's apple. Harry touched him, and a by the cool magic that washed over him, he felt that his glamour had been undone too. He felt a moment of self-consciousness but then straightened his back.
Harry had always been a pretty boy, with his mesmerising eyes and black lashes, his delicate bone structure, but now he was a truly stunning man. The innocence of his boyhood had gone, though, and Lucius could feel physically that something was not right with his magic, something not right with him.
Thoughtfully Harry bent down and pushed the fabric of the half open robe aside, mouthed his nipple while pinching the other one. Lucius exhaled softly and allowed himself to feel.
Harry led him towards the bed, and Lucius gracefully lowered himself onto it. He noticed Harry's chest heaving, and the wild expression in his eyes. Then Harry shook his head and tried to pull away but Lucius pulled him back.
"I understand, Harry," he said, carefully using his name to anchor him in the present. "Unleash your demons. With me there is no need for pretence."
Strong fingers curled around his wrist, pinning him to the bed. They rocked against each other like this, and the feel of Harry's hard cock against his was ecstasy. Impatiently, Harry began to tug and to pull at his robes until he was naked.
A frisson of jealousy went through him as he looked at Harry's body. It was athletic, and the skin was so elastic and smooth, everything so firm, so hard.
Harry was rough and Lucius relished it, pushed back, clenched tightly and Harry moaned. After a while he took hold of Lucius' hair with his other hand and twisted it while entering him.
Lucius hissed. Oh, it was painful. The pain brought him to life. Harry gave a final push and Lucius let out a strangled cry: Harry's cock was the thickest at the base and he had to breathe shallowly to accommodate his girth.
Harry pushed again, insistently, impatient like all young men, and every thrust was so forceful Lucius had to hold on to the bed and press back. He put his legs over Harry's shoulders, and soon felt something hot and warm blossoming in his groins, something wonderful while the pain vanished slowly.
Suddenly the lazy heat ignited into a spark so intense he could only warn Harry by grasping his arms and pulling him down before he felt himself convulsing around him.
It was like diving into warm, soft water, like floating into blinding whiteness, indescribable bliss, and here and now Lucius didn't give a damn about betraying himself. He arched up, felt Harry's weight, the strain on the back of his legs, and for a glorious moment Lucius finally felt after more than twenty years what it was like to allow himself to only feel and to be happy.
Through a haze he heard someone calling his name, and felt how Harry thrust erratically into him, then cried out and pushed hard, as if he wanted to burrow into Lucius body, going into rictus. Sensitive as he was he could feel Harry's cock pulse and twitch.
Slowly Harry's breathing and wheezing slowed down. With heavy-lidded eyes he gently eased down Lucius legs, curled around Lucius and fell asleep.
The mudblood girl was crying and sniffling as they dragged her in.
"You can redeem yourself," Greyback told him. "Show us how to treat a Mudblood whore. Only you have this talent with mudbloods."
"Fuck her," said Bella eagerly, her voice hoarse with lust and stroke the girl's blond mane.
"Your favourite type," Greyback said. "Fourteen, a virgin mudblood."
Lucius had seen her some days before, when she and her family together with other prisoners had been herded together in the Forest. Only then the girl had worn a long woolen dress, and a coat.
Bella liked to dress up her victims. Lucius had to admit that it sometimes affected him too. The mudblood's hair was done up in two pigtails. Someone had smeared pink lipstick over her lips, and rimmed her eyes with black eyeliner. Her pink nipples peeked out of a white blouse that had been knotted to show off her slim waist and she wore a short pleated skirt so short it did not cover the butt plug she was wearing. She was in high heels she obviously didn't know how to walk in. It was endearing, the way she tottered around in them, clumsily with long, coltish legs.
Oh, she'll do, Lucius thought warily. His prick was still aching and leaking, the potion in his system far from having run its course.
Bella decided they had to perform on the large dinner table in the hall where the girl was laid out like a virgin sacrifice.
He felt nothing but a grim, sharp pain that he immediately suppressed as he fed her the exact same potion that had been fed to him. The girl's blue eyes pleaded with him.
He waited, while lazily pinching and rolling her nipples and soon enough her pupils dilated and turned dark, almost black. She licked her lips and arched into his touch.
She was sobbing and humiliated by her potion-induced lust.
When he began to stroke her between the legs, she spread them readily, to Bella's amusement, and squeezed her eyes shut as if she couldn't face herself.
He pressed his thumb against her clit, rubbing and circling it, and she moved her hips.
"Fuck her," Bella ordered, and Lucius had no choice. Without his doing the girl lifted her legs and spread them wider. She was nicely swollen and red down there. Lucius slid his cock inside her. There was resistance and she wailed, when he pushed through, tore the thin skin.
Oh, she was tight. She was so hot and wet and tight inside, Lucius mind went blank for a while. Then he immediately began to thrust, first gently, while pressing one hand against her clit. With the other hand he rolled one stiff, erect nipple between his fingers.
Bella was circling them, like a hungry cat. "Fuck the little mudblood slut," she hissed. She was breathing heavily. "Fuck her harder."
Rodolphus and Rabastan, both smoking long, slim cigarettes, laughed. "You're mad, Bella!" Rabastan said and Rodolphus leant forward.
Lucius could feel his orgasm approach. The girl underneath him arched up, then shuddered. Her orgasm seemed to last for minutes and finally her legs fell down, onto the table. Her hair was covering half of her face.
Lucius finally took her legs, and fucked her hard and fast until he too came inside her.
Bella guided the girl onto her knees, turned her around, so she faced Lucius cock, glistening and dripping wet.
"You made a mess, you slut," she said. "Clean it up."
Obediently, the girl opened her mouth and swallowed Lucius' cock. She didn't know what to do, obviously, but it still felt heavenly. With the potion raging in his system his cock hadn't gone soft but remained painfully hard.
Just when Lucius was about to come again, Bella interrupted again.
"Come on her face," she said in a little girl voice. "Come on, I know you want to! Mark your slut!"
The girl only stared ahead with dead eyes. She was already broken, Lucius thought. He did as Bella wished and aimed his cock at her.
"Open your mouth wide!" Bella crooned, and pulled the girl's face up. For one insane, brief moment Lucius nearly reached out and touched her, nearly bent down to whisper in her ear, that soon it would be over.
He came violently, pumped his heavy cock and covered her pretty face with his come, then wiped it demonstratively on her cheeks and her hair. Globs of his spunk were mixing with mascara, pearl white come dripped from the corner of her mouth, and egged on by Bella she darted out a pink tongue and licked it.
Now she really did look like a Knockturn Alley whore.
"Lie on your back!" Bella commanded the girl, and the girl obeyed. She had retreated into herself. Lucius knew this stage, had seen it with victims he had tortured.
Then Bella pulled out the butt plug and threw it onto the floor. The girl whimpered.
"We all know that you like a tight arse better than a cunt," Dolohov called from behind, and again the gathered crowd laughed. Lucius registered female voices, Alecto, of course and Bella, but surprisingly there were more, albeit hidden behind their masks.
Lucius tried to sneer, to appear unfazed.
The girl held up her knees, pressed them against her chest. With her eyes scrunched shut she was snivelling and sobbing, but still her fingers were spreading her arse cheeks, and her red, gaping hole was winking at him.
Lucius was fascinated by a drop of come sliding down her plump cheek. Then he bent further and examined her arse, the well-fucked cunt. Come was seeping out of it and running down her cleft.
When he began licking her hole, pushing as much spit as he could into her with his tongue, Greyback came close.
"How does she taste, hm?" His grin was vile but Lucius controlled himself.
"Like a mudblood whore," he remarked as casually as possible, as if he didn't care about her suffering, the dull dead look of her eyes. He used the come that was seeping out of her cunt as lube, opening her further up, fingering her. It had to suffice.
He pushed another finger into the welcoming hole that clenched tightly around him. Then he positioned his cock and pushed slowly in. She groaned, undoubtedly in pain, but she never let go of her legs, folding herself into half. The skin of the back of her thighs was so smooth.
"Good, yes?" Greyback was behind him, crooning into his ear, holding him, then shoving him. Lucius slid in further. The girl screamed again, squeezing her eyes shut.
If this was simply painful for her it'd be more merciful, Lucius thought, moving slowly. Pain would anchor her, would remind her that she was a victim, not a participant. Her arousal, her lust, even if potion-induced would take this away from her, would crush her with guilt and shame.
He knew.
Greyback guided his movements. "Don't hurry, we still have a bit of time," he whispered.
After some minutes of disciplined, slow fucking, Lucius felt he couldn't hold back. It was too much, too fucking good. He felt that hot, searing wave of lust tugging at his cock, his balls, tingling in his arse hole, felt the heat creeping up his spine, and spreading over his chest. His arms began to tremble, and oh God it was so fucking tight and tense and sweet and she was clenching around him, and she even wrapped her legs around him again, trying to pull him closer, whimpering and moaning.
Bella or Greyback had apparently untied her arms, because she was now squeezing and pinching her nipples herself, caressing her own small tits with something akin to wonder, as if she had never realised they were there.
His balls were drawing up and pumping, and he threw his head back and couldn't hold back his cry. In a haze he felt Greyback pulling him out, and saw Bella bringing the girl's face near to his crotch so the last two or three spurts of his come landed in her face.
Bella said something but he couldn't hear her.
In front of him the girl's face morphed and changed. The plump, lovely cheeks formed into sharp cheekbones, the golden hair turned short, the colour a whitish blond. The small, lovely tits melted away and a flat plane was left, a thin ribcage, the soft arms turned into the wiry arms of a sixteen year old boy. The vibrant blue of her eyes dimmed into a familiar grey.
Lucius screamed.
At first Harry had no idea what had woken him up.
It was still dark. He sat up and saw that he was alone. He looked around, then took his wand and cast a silent Lumos. Lucius sat in the armchair, naked, staring out of the window.
His face was a blank mask, his posture so rigid and regal he looked like a tragic king on his throne.
"The trouble with you is that you act without thinking," Lucius said coldly. "You are a silly boy masquerading as a grown man. You think you can make me forget, can erase the past, but the past … is always there, lurking in every shadow."
"Lucius?" Harry got up and padded barefoot to Lucius. He took the linen with him and draped it over Lucius' cold shoulders. Lucius didn't move.
"What is it?" Harry knelt between Lucius' legs and looked up. The silvery moonlight and the weak Lumos lent the face above him a ghostly translucency. And maybe Lucius Malfoy was a ghost. The man Harry had known so many years ago was surely dead and had only left this broken shell.
Carefully Harry reached up and stroke Lucius' cheek, rough with stubble.
This is why I allow myself to be in love with him, he thought. It's the only way it can be.
"Some things cannot be forgiven," Lucius said, "some things are not meant to be survived."
"Maybe not." Harry was confused. "But we have to go on living somehow. I mean, we have to cope in order to be able to go on."
"Is this why I'm here?" Lucius finally looked into his eyes. "Because I am to help you cope with something? I am the past and as long as you have me you can avoid looking at the present. No need for facing the reality of a life without wars and battles and dark lords? Is that it?"
Harry thought about that. "Alain suggested something like this when I entered the Stables, and I think you're both right to an extent.
"I feel angry, most of the time," he confessed. "I can't help it. I thought that with Voldemort dead, it would be over, but sometimes I can still feel him inside me, hear his voice, feel what he felt. I can't forget. Ginny knew what I felt. She also had dreams about Voldemort sometimes."
Lucius looked away, his face still unreadable, but Harry noticed the white knuckles as he gripped the armrests harder.
Harry took a deep breath. "Then I saw you, and … somehow you're the first person to make me feel something else."
Lucius reached out and ran his hand through Harry's hair and Harry pushed into his hand like a cat seeking to be petted. They both smiled.
"I tried others. Playing with them," Harry said, "but it never felt right. Not the way it feels with you."
"The way it feels with me," Lucius echoed.
Harry pressed his forehead onto Lucius' knee.
"In my dreams I hurt others. I revel in their pain … It's in my head. Inside me. I touch people and all I want is to tear them apart. Nothing else will make me feel again. It feels the way Voldemort felt inside my head when I was a boy. It's like in these dreams."
Harry was not sure Lucius understood what he was talking about.
"It's a pressure from inside and it gets stronger and stronger, until I burst," Harry looked up. "I feel like I'm burning up from inside. And then I go and … play. And afterward I feel even more thirsty and wanting. I bathe in blood and pain and I still crave more."
He clutched Lucius' hand. Lucius' face betrayed nothing. He looked so cold and serene, so beautiful. It occurred to him that it was strange that someone so beautiful was so broken inside.
"That's why you came to the Stables," Lucius said evenly.
Harry nodded. "Yes," he whispered, "yes."
His face felt hot and flushed.
"I wanted to purge this craving, to do something. I was afraid that I might lose control. And I heard that the Stables provide … everything. That every desire could be fulfilled."
Harry fell silent for a while, playing with Lucius fingers, twining them.
"And well … I found you." He tried to smile but felt that his features only twisted into a strange grimace. "I was at peace for the first time. It was so perfect. So incredibly, fucking beautiful."
Lucius didn't move but something in his eyes made Harry hope that he understood.
"That moment when the only thing I feel is peace and quiet inside me … I felt that with you, last time."
Harry decided to follow his instincts and scrambled onto Lucius lap and enveloped him into an embrace, and although Lucius first resisted Harry felt him soon losing the tension, his rigidness. They sat for a while holding each other.
"Once, I had absolute faith in the knowledge that everything I did was necessary for the greater good, a great cause," said Lucius. "I believed with every fibre of my heart that I was doing what had to be done."
Harry felt Lucius' chest rising and falling.
"It was a beautiful thing, this clarity … to have faith. As long as you have it, it seems impossible that anyone can take it away from you."
Lucius looked at him.
"And then, suddenly, it's gone, just like that."
He had not expected to be put together by Harry.
When Harry tossed and turned in the middle of the night, breathing hard, caught in the web of his violent, dark dreams, Lucius got the riding crop from the little locked closet and gently put it into Harry's hand.
Sometimes Harry was lucid enough to speak to him, but sometimes he only hissed, like a snake and grabbed Lucius at his throat, pushing him against the wall.
It was a game, it was always a game, and at the same time it wasn't. Harry was beautiful when his body seemed taut and tense like a bowstring and he held the riding crop upraised. He was wild, unhinged in that moment, but Lucius was not afraid. Even though he felt that Harry wasn't really there in these moments and that someone else had taken his place, he felt no fear.
In the end Harry would always come back.
Harry made Lucius say things. Such as that he wanted to feel him, wanted to feel pain, or needed to be punished, needed to be fucked, needed to be consoled. Lucius realised that voicing his needs made them not only real, but also less consuming. In learning to ask for what he wanted he could control that what had possessed him before.
When he refused to give Harry a safe word he only asked why. Lucius explained: "Because we are not playing a game. I don't wish to play a game. Everything you and I do, has consequences. If one of these consequences is my death … then so be it."
"I could kill you," Harry said.
"Yes," breathed Lucius.
Harry raised the riding crop.
"I won't let you go," Harry told him at the end when Lucius was lying on the floor, hardly conscious. He knelt beside him, and began healing him. "You belong to me now."
Lucius knew that he should refuse. He should not let Harry just take him, but in the end he craved the peace that submitting gave him. It was better than putting his faith into Voldemort.
Harry insisted on talking about everything, laying everything open, something Lucius had yet to learn. Or maybe he would never learn.
He would never be able to tell Harry things like "What you just said to me, made me feel uncomfortable because …" or analyse himself or others quite in the way Harry did, peeling layer for layer away and staring at the naked truth.
Mostly Harry acknowledged Lucius' wishes. He accepted that Lucius wanted to be fucked, and that he felt uncomfortable fucking Harry. Sometimes they spoke about it, and Harry listened to Lucius' explanations.
When Lucius finally told him about Draco, Harry said nothing, but this night they were lying together in bed, doing nothing but silently caressing each other, until they both fell asleep.
One night, a few weeks later Lucius was tied to the bed. Harry used a leather whip on him, laying stroke after stroke, mercilessly and smiling in an unsettling manner. When Lucius' body was covered with fine, criss-crossed red marks, Harry threw the whip away and settled between Lucius' trembling legs without undressing.
Lucius was floating in a haze of pain and bliss. Every breath he took seemed to burn him in a delicious way. He registered that Harry looked more forbidding in his robes, taller, broader.
Harry grinned and took his cock, coaxing him into hardness, all the while talking to him, sometimes slipping into Parseltongue mid-sentence. Lucius was not sure how deliberate this was, but Harry seemed to enjoy himself, smiling up at him with heavy lidded eyes.
He talked a lot. He praised Lucius' cock, called him a whore, a pervert, depraved, but also magnificent and beautiful.
He knelt over Lucius and showed him how he prepared himself, lube-slicked fingers circling and fucking his hole. Before Lucius could protest, he teased himself with Lucius' cock, still smiling but also moaning and when he finally slid down on it, Lucius thought he might pass out.
"No," Lucius managed to say, but in an instant Harry's hand was at his throat.
"Are you disobeying me?" he asked sternly. With his hand still on Lucius' throat he slowly began sliding up and down.
"Oh, yes," Harry hissed, almost triumphantly.
Carefully Lucius began pushing back, and it felt so perfect and tight and slick. Harry clenched greedily around him.
"Put your back into it!" he hissed and yanked Lucius' hair, increasing his speed.
Lucius pushed upwards, seeking more heat. Harry let go of him and leant backwards, arching into Lucius' thrusts, fucking himself. Sweat was gleaming on his chest. Lucius' eyes were riveted on Harry's hard cock, his pink, taut balls. Suddenly Harry clenched so hard, Lucius cried out.
"Oh fuck, I'm coming," Harry said, and Lucius' felt him convulsing. Frantically Harry stroked his hard prick, and Lucius could see the balls drawing up and twitching and then hot, thick come sprayed Lucius' chest and his face. Still breathing hard Harry smeared his come onto Lucius' nipples and then fed him his slick fingers.
Lucius tumbled over the edge, sucking Harry's come from his fingers.
Although Harry had far more to lose than Lucius, it was he who initiated an outing together–in London, in an area where men were allowed to hold hands and show affection–and of course the next day a picture of them two strolling through a crowded street was snapped.
Lucius was looking regal and proud, Harry beside him with windswept hair as if he had just climbed off a broom.
The camera was a little too far away to catch the expression on the men's faces and passing Muggles obscured the view before they both turned and vanished, but if one looked very closely, a light smile around Lucius' mouth was visible when he looked at Harry.
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Date: 2012-03-02 02:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-03 11:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-03 02:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-03 11:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-01 10:04 am (UTC)I enjoyed certain turn of phrase very much - 'bone coloured quill', 'cruel porcelain doll', 'settled into the reality of his battered body'
'That even for creatures like him there was a place to go.'
'"You stupid mudblood," he hissed. "I gave the orders."'
loved these phrases for the pity they evoked, yet remained quintessentially the grim post-war and defeated Lucius.
I actually liked that Harry didnt play such a big part, I liked his silence and his solid, patient confidence that he had conquered all and would go on to conquer this. He seems to have accepted at last who he is, darkness and all, and was at peace with it.
Well done to the author :)
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Date: 2012-04-02 08:36 am (UTC)I know there are many versions of post-war Lucius and mine isn't popular at all but I find a very broken Lucius after the war plausible.
Thank you very much for your lovely words–you made my day!
:)