Despoiling Harry
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not my property. They are the property of J.K. Rowling, Warner
Brothers, and others, and are used without permission; challenge to
copyright is not intended and should not be construed. No profit is
being made from the use of these characters and situations; these
written-down imaginings are only presented in an internet forum for the
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authorized materials of these owners.
Droit Du Seigneur
by Amanuensis
Summary: Harry and Draco's wedding day. The wedding night will not
be what they expected.
Pairings: Lucius/Harry
(implied Harry/Draco)
Categories: Non-con,
Violence
Notes:
I do so enjoy writing CompleteAndUtterBastard!Lucius Malfoy. This
is
in response to a challenge from Wiccachic, who needed to say nothing
more
than "Anybody want to do anything with the idea of Droit Du Seigneur?"
on
the Harry/Lucius group--and I was off and running. Warnings for a
wedding
(I dunno, I figure that needs a sap warning), non-con, and... eh,
that'd
be giving it away.
.....
"Draco-- somebody might see--"
"And if they did?" Draco pushed his husband
back against the side of the fountain and this time, when he kissed
him, pushed his hips into Harry's quite deliberately. Harry's response
was to groan,
but there was a notable absence of resistance.
Finally Draco broke the kiss, though he
didn't move away at all. Again, there was a lack of protest on Harry's
part. Draco so loved to see him flushed and panting like that.
Nuzzling the side of Harry's face, Draco
said, "I've got something to tell you, Mr. Potter, hyphen, Malfoy..."
"Oh, what's that, Mr. Malfoy, hyphen,
Potter?"
"Why, it's just this: that hyphenation
thing has got to go."
Harry snorted. "God, yes. When they
introduced us that way walking into the ballroom I almost had to stop
to gag. Who ever thought that was a good idea?"
"Obviously someone rather brainless. Did
they ever stop to think that it only works for one generation?"
"So if one of our children married, say,
Justin Finch-Fletchley, we'd have..."
"Ugh. We'd have nothing. No children of
mine would be allowed to date that prat."
Harry gave him a mock-disapproving glare.
"Children of yours? I don't get a say in this?"
Draco deliberately chose a rather Slytherin
tactic to get Harry to drop it. "Harry--" He leaned in and licked the
spot just under Harry's ear, still staying closely pressed in order to
feel the shiver that ran through his husband's body. "Between the idea
of us having children and worrying about whether Finch-Fletchley would
marry them, this conversation has taken a decidedly weird turn."
"Draco. You're the one who dragged me out
of our own reception to snog behind the creeping phlox. Let's not have
a
'who's weirder' contest just now."
Draco pulled his face back to a distance
where he could look Harry full in the face. "Creeping phlox? You just
made that up."
"Did not. We're standing right next to
it."
"Don't believe you."
"You could turn and look at the display
placard, you moron."
"And why should I want to do that?" He
leaned in slightly. "Why should I want to look at the Malfoy gardens
when
you're here..." He brought his mouth closer to Harry's, but stopped
just
shy of the kiss, and then grinned. "...and can look at them for me?"
Harry's mouth twisted. "Git. They're your
family's gardens."
"No, they're not," Draco almost singsonged.
"They're our family's."
He saw how Harry's _expression changed.
Just a bit, but it did. "Hey, " Draco said, deliberately trying to
lighten it. "No one likes their in-laws. Why should you be any more
privileged?"
A sigh. "You're right about that."
"Good. You married me, not my father."
"According to you, I married all of you.
I'm family now, yes?" Harry said family like Draco had
said creeping phlox.
"No." Draco brought his face close again.
"You're mine."
"Your family, or--"
"You know exactly what the hell I mean,
Potter." Draco kissed him like that was the sum of arguments he had to
offer. Which was fair; it was the most convincing of them.
When the kiss ended-- and Harry was looking
thoroughly convinced, and Draco wasn't able to keep from grinning, just
a little-- Harry looked back in the direction of the ballroom and said,
"We really should be getting back."
"Ah, stop worrying. It's traditional for
the happy couple to sneak away as soon as they can."
"Yes, well, that's my point. If it's
traditional, that means every one who knows that will see we're gone
and come looking
for us. Trying to catch us in the act."
"So?"
"Well, it could be Justin Finch-Fletchley
who finds us, for one thing."
"Ugh," Draco said for the second time,
pretending to shudder. You're right. We'd better go back in. Put your
glasses
back on."
"Oh, like that's going to hide anything.
It's my mouth that's going to give us away, you git."
"You keep calling me that and I'll do you
right here by the fountain. And Finch-Fletchley and the rest can take
bloody pictures if they want."
"I think you'd like that."
"I think you would too, you
deviant."
"Not wrong," Harry said cheerfully.
*****
"Malfoy."
"Weasel."
"Bastard."
"Wanker."
Weasley took one hand out of his pocket,
held it out, and Draco took it. The grip was firm, nearly hurting in
fact, but neither was actually trying to crush any bones. Mirabile
visu.
"You hurt him and I'll have your guts for
garters."
"See, that's just like you, Weasel, no
creativity. What about, You hurt him and I'll be marketing a new
breakfast
cereal called Mangled Malfoys, Free Fingerbone In Every Box?"
"Yeah, well. What can I say, I'll be in too
much of a blind rage for anything that elaborate."
They were interrupted by Hermione. Draco
bit back the reply he had ready. Granger, he had agreed to be civil to.
And Harry had warned him that didn't mean
just avoiding the word mudblood.
Not that he would have used it anyway.
He might find himself still thinking it once in a while, but at least
it
was no longer in his spoken vocabulary.
People could change.
"Congratulations, Draco." She kissed him on
the cheek. "You don't deserve him, but then, no one does."
"Don't you have that a little backwards? I
think it's Harry you should be saying that to." For a gibe like that,
he
was being quite civil indeed.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Another rich
blond who thinks he owns the world."
"No, just a Slytherin who knows it's owed
him. Thanks, Granger. Where's my paragon of a husband got to, anyway?"
"I think he's over there, with Fred and
George."
More Weasleys. And Harry bitches about
MY family. Yes, there he was, surrounded by more of the red-headed
plague.
"Ron," said Hermione, "I think we should
get over there now. Fred and George are probably trying to feed him
something ghastly and telling him it'll increase his stamina or
something like that."
"I'm on it." The Weasel headed off, a man
with a mission.
Hermione was lingering, however. Draco
looked at her. "Any threats you feel the need to make, Granger?"
She shook her head. "No. Believe it or
not, I do think you've changed. And I know you're what Harry wants. Try
to make each other happy."
Draco gave a grunt which was the closest he
could come to Hey, thanks for understanding. Hermione seemed to
get it. She nodded, and headed after Ron.
Draco focused on Harry. Even at this
distance the freshly snogged look seemed obvious to him. Damn, he was
delicious.
Draco came to the conclusion that subtlety could go whistle; he was
going
to take Harry off to bed now if he had to pick him up and carry him
over
his shoulder.
He suspected Harry would enjoy that.
However much he'd protest.
"Draco."
He turned at the voice. Looked up the
requisite three inches to meet the speaker's eyes. "Father."
His father, immaculate as always, not a
hair out of place, smiled down at him. "You have that look. You're
getting impatient to leave, aren't you?"
Draco smiled back. It was notable that
they both had the same amount of warmth in their smiles, which was not
a
lot. Like father, like son. "Can't fool you."
"A blind man could see it. Not that I blame
you. Wedding receptions are more for the guests than the couple: a
chance to eat and drink and dance at the host's expense and yet feel
supremely
altruistic about it, since you're there to make the couple happy. I'd
like
to speak to you before you slip away."
Oh, what now? There was no point in
asking if it could wait. "I'll get Harry."
"I wish to discuss this alone with you."
"Why?" Draco was careful to keep any hint
of challenge out of his voice. His father always managed to make him
feel a rebellious child if he detected that. "Anything you want to say
to me,
you can say to Harry. He's my husband now."
He was aware that there was no way to
interpret the last part of that as anything but a challenge,
but his father only smiled. "Yes, I once said that about your mother as
well. Draco, do
not be so naive as to think that marriage is an end to secrets. I wish
to
speak with you alone."
Draco hated that he'd developed such a
low threshold, over the years, for
let-my-father-have-his-way-it's-faster.
"Fine. Where?"
"In my study. Send Harry to your suite
to wait for you, why don't you, it won't take long."
That was an idea that made sense.
"All right."
Cheered by the prospect that he'd soon
be making sweaty room-trashing love with his spouse, Draco walked--
stalked, actually, back across the room to Harry and the cluster of
well-wishers,
setting his hand on Harry's shoulder.
"All right, all of you," he announced,
"I've decided that there's only one way to get my new husband away from
this reception. I am about to give him the longest, sloppiest kiss
imaginable,
with lots of tongue, until all of you are yelling 'Get a room!'
at
us, whereupon that is exactly what we will do, and you will only have
yourselves
to blame."
Sounds of gagging met this announcement,
and Harry was actually blushing through his grin. Adorable.
"Ugh, just go!" said Fred-- or George.
"No, wait, I want to see this!" said
George-- or Fred.
Granger was smiling, gave Harry a little
push on the shoulder. "Just go if you're so determined. But
remember we're going to be talking about nothing but you when
you're gone!"
"Does this mean I don't get the kiss?"
Harry said plaintively as he was pushed.
Draco put his hand under Harry's chin and
pulled him into a kiss, and amusingly, it was Harry who was initiating
the sloppy tongue. The twins cheered; the Weasel faked being ill. Draco
broke the kiss and seized Harry's arm wishing that, instead of the
bowties they were wearing, there'd been a necktie he could pretend to
drag Harry by.
"Come on or I'll tell them all how my current pet name for you is Boy
Who
Lived To Have His Toes Sucked."
"Would you stop DOING that!" Harry said
over the catcalls that met that remark. "They all sound like bad Native
American names, for god's sake!"
"Too much information!" said Ron, who
didn't look like he was joking.
Leaving the jeers behind them, Harry and
Draco escaped the ballroom together. But when Harry tried to kiss him
just outside the doors, Draco reluctantly held him off. "I have to go
speak with my father first. He wants to talk to me."
"Now? Can't it wait?"
Draco just looked at him. After a moment
Harry sighed. "I'm starting to learn. No, nothing your father wants can
wait.
Is it always going to be like this, Draco?"
"This is a small thing. Please let me pick
my battles, okay?"
Harry sighed again. "I'm not going to start
on this now, anyway. Wouldn't be fair. Fine."
Draco gave him a quick kiss on the mouth.
"Go up to our suite and make yourself pretty for me, hot stuff. I'll be
there in a minute."
"Oh, I know you will be. Because I've got
two words for you." He put his mouth next to his Draco's ear. "Sable
bedspread."
"Whoa. Good words. I'll be there."
*****
"You are OUT of your FUCKING mind."
Distantly, feeling how his hands were
trembling, Draco was realizing that it was true. One did shake with
rage.
"Why?" said his father. "Because I would
want your husband? Hardly. One doesn't have to be blond to possess an
ethereal sort of beauty, Draco. He's quite delicious, you know."
Draco turned and headed towards the door.
"Don't even think it, " his father said
coolly.
Draco turned back. "I wanted to be able to
stay here, you know that? It wasn't just for you and Mother. I honestly
wanted to stay under this roof because I wanted to give Harry
everything. It wasn't just for me. He said he didn't care if the two of
us were living on our own salaries in some lower middle-class part of
muggle Britain if it meant we wouldn't have to worry about the two of
you controlling our lives,
but what I didn't tell him is that I wanted that even more. But I
didn't
tell him. I shut up because I thought about how he'd grown up with
those
hateful relatives of his, and how much I wanted to show him some
luxury, and
stay in your good graces so that I could do that. Do you know what a
hateful
piece of shite you are, Father? Driving us out like this now? Fuck you
and
everything you ever stood for. We're leaving. And I'm going to take
Harry's
last name for GOOD. WITHOUT the fucking hyphenation."
The doorknob wouldn't turn. He pulled out
his wand. "Alohomora!"
Nothing happened. The door still wouldn't
open.
He turned back to his father. "Open the
goddamn door!" He was furious at having to beg. Damn the
anti-apparation wards
on the manor.
"Draco... I know you know I wasn't asking
for your permission. Or even your approval."
"This is SO not going to happen! I will not
let you pretend that some out-of-date law--"
"It's been evoked every generation."
That stopped him. No fucking way.
His father was nodding. "Your grandfather
and your mother, Draco."
Draco hadn't thought he could feel sicker.
Surprise.
"It's more than tradition. It is the right
of the lord of the manor."
"I can fucking well translate French!"
Draco screamed.
Droit du Seigneur.
His father was going to invoke Droit du
Seigneur on his spouse. On Harry.
"But you do not seem to have grasped yet
that ranting will not change things. I brought you here to make you
aware of it. And give you the choice of informing Harry yourself, if
you wish."
"Tell him what? That my father is a
fucking pervert like all the rest of my ancestors? Who the hell else
has a rule like this? All the wizarding families?
"All the best ones." His father had a smirk
on his face.
"You are not going to touch him,"
Draco spat.
"Don't you think you should ask him first?
He might not be quite so averse to the idea as you seem to think."
"You fucker."
"Stop speaking that way to me. Right
now." His father's voice was steely. "I am the master of this house,
and your father, and I will be obeyed."
"Not his time you won't. Open the goddamn door."
"You are a Malfoy." Before Draco
could say anything to the effect of how sorry he was that was true, his
father went on: "You will do your duty. And so will your husband."
"The hell we will."
His father had his wand in hand. "I was
hoping it would not come to this."
*****
Harry decided not to wait for Draco when he
found the champagne in their suite. He broke it open and drank a glass
while he looked around the bedroom. Yes, the sable blanket had been
laid out
over the bed, as he'd requested.
He hoped Draco wouldn't be long. He hadn't
had much opportunity to eat at the reception, and the champagne was
going to go right to his head.
Not that that was a bad thing.
Now, should he surprise Draco by being
naked on the fur bedspread when he got there, or should he wait and
give
him the full effect of a formal-wear striptease?
He fingered the bowtie and decided to wait.
He liked the idea of looping it around the back of Draco's neck after
he
took it off, pulling him in for a kiss.
He was on his second glass of champagne
when the door clicked open.
"There you are," he said as he turned to
the door.
And stopped. It wasn't Draco.
Good thing he hadn't gotten undressed,
then.
"Lucius. Where's Draco?"
Lucius Malfoy, no longer in his formal
robes, didn't answer right away. But he had a look on his face that
Harry
didn't like.
One of faint amusement.
There wasn't much, truth be told, that
Harry did like about his new father-in-law. Being a former
Death
Eater who'd bought his way free of prosecution after Voldemort's death
was
just the most formal of the reasons. The man was a snob, and a liar,
and
very very dangerous, and those were his good points.
There was one thing only that came to mind
when Harry tried to think of something he liked about Lucius Malfoy.
That was the idea that if Draco was going
to look like that in twenty years, Harry was going to be the utter envy
of the wizarding world. He'd have to get a walking stick like Lucius's
to
beat the homewreckers away from his husband. It was bad enough as it
was
now.
He had plenty of time to drop hints, over
the next few years, about how he thought Draco would look intensely hot
with long hair.
But this was the father, not the son that
he was talking to right now. He wasn't going to let himself get
distracted that way.
"Where's Draco, Lucius?" he repeated, not
liking Lucius's silence one bit.
"Draco and I have had a bit of a
disagreement."
Stay calm.
He waited, refusing to play Lucius's game.
"May I have some of that champagne?"
"There's only two glasses."
"That won't be a problem."
Harry felt the fire rising in him despite
his attempts to stay in control. He made himself unclench his fists as
he watched Lucius pour himself champagne.
"Draco and I had something to discuss,
but it didn't go as well as I'd hoped. I'd like to have a similar
conversation with you, which I hope will have a pleasanter outcome."
Harry folded his arms. Why, oh why hadn't
he obeyed his instincts when they'd told him to push Draco to spend
their wedding night somewhere outside of the manor? "There won't be
anything pleasant about a discussion with me if you don't tell me where
Draco's gone, Lucius."
"Gone?" Lucius sipped from the flute. "He's
not gone anywhere, Harry. Is that what you're afraid of, that he's
abandoned you? Hardly. He's a Malfoy. So are you, now. Malfoys always
do their duty to the family."
He'd said all this without any pause, so
that Harry couldn't interrupt any one part of it. Harry suspected he'd
just heard... a segue.
He couldn't help it. He suddenly did want
to know where this was going. "Do they now."
"Yes. Of course... Draco's having a little
difficulty with this one. So it's my duty to remind him of his."
"Where is he, you--" Harry bit it
back. He didn't want to call his father-in-law a bastard to his face on
the same day he'd become that. (An in-law, not a bastard. The latter
was hardly new.) Clearly there was a verbal sparring that was expected
of him. Maybe it was even a test. "What conversation about duty
did you need to have with me that can't involve Draco?"
Lucius gave him a smile that raised both
his eyebrows very slightly. Harry got the impression he'd just scored a
point.
"Do you speak any French, Harry?"
Harry made himself shrug casually. "Crepes
Suzette. Laissez-faire. Chat, chapeau. Someone once told me dandelion
is actually French, but I didn't know whether to believe them." Where
the fuck is Draco, you piece of merde? he thought but
didn't say.
"That's true, from dent-de-lion,
tooth of the lion. Godric Gryffindor used to wear a dandelion upon his
breast, did you know that?"
"No, I didn't." Stay. Calm.
"Yes, well, that's a small bit of history.
But then, so is what we're discussing. Are you familiar with the term,
'Droit du Seigneur,' Harry?
"No, but I'm sure you'd love to tell me."
He was even smiling as he said it.
"It's a very old custom of the aristocracy.
Dates back to the times when a feudal lord had vassals who worked his
lands, and he had complete power over them."
"Oh, yes. 'Vassals.' 'Serfs.' They had
a great way of getting around that nasty term slave back then,
didn't they?"
Lucius's smile was even more appreciative.
Harry didn't like the idea of himself being good at this. "You have it
exactly. The lord of the manor was all-powerful over those under him.
He had so many privileges that 'Droit du Seigneur' is actually rather
vague, since all it
means is right of the lord. It was couched in that nice vaguery
to
keep modest sensibilities away from its specific indication."
Don't let him lead you. Make him say it
without a set-up. "Ah. Well, now I know a little more French,
courtesy of you. Thank you, Lucius. Did you want to tell me where Draco
is, now?"
Lucius clicked his tongue. "My, you do
learn quickly, don't you, Harry?" Harry knew he wasn't talking about
French.
"'Droit du Seigneur' was the right of the lord of the manor to have the
wedding night with the bride of any of his vassals who were marrying. I
believe it started back with the priesthood, since any children
conceived
by priests could be said to be directly a divine miracle. Yet over the
years
people admitted to themselves it had nothing to do with children, or
divinity,
and was all a part of that great lascivious mystery of using whatever
rules
you could to make sure the privileged got whatever sex they wanted."
"Lucius." Some cold place that Harry
thought had left him entirely after Voldemort's death had just
reopened, and it
was from there his words were emerging. "Where. The fuck. Is Draco?"
Lucius turned towards him in a way that
should have had an audible snapping sound. "Draco... is being punished
for refusing to acknowledge Malfoy duty, Harry."
Harry'd left his wand next to the
champagne. Having wanted not to lose it in the pile of discarded
clothing he'd anticipated.
He took a step closer to Lucius. "Lucius.
Tell me where he is right now. Now. You've seen me use Unforgivable
Curses. You know I won't hesitate to use them again."
Lucius acted as if he hadn't heard. "It
hasn't ceased being a custom among the oldest wizarding families. Of
course, there are no longer vassals to impose it upon. So over the
years it has become limited to the children of the lord of the manor.
Draco was... very put out, tonight, when I told him he couldn't use the
argument of "that's ancient history"
to excuse it away.
Harry was taken off-guard momentarily.
"Are you telling me... that you let your father sleep with your wife
when
you got married?" He didn't try to hide one ounce of his disgust. Made
a
point of heaping it on, actually.
"Really, Harry, you make it sound so base.
It wasn't anything so tawdry as adultery. 'Sleep with,' indeed. I
should call you out for insulting Draco's mother that way."
"But it's not a duel you want with
me, is it, you fucking bastard?" Harry spat.
"Ah. Good. I was concerned you were still
missing the gist of things."
"WHERE'S DRACO?!"
Lucius smiled. Malevolently. "My son,
the heir of the Malfoy line, is learning why it would have been better
for him to come here, himself, and explain to you why the events of
this evening were going to proceed differently from the way the two of
you had expected."
Harry lunged towards the table with the
champagne.
The wand wasn't there.
He turned on Lucius with a snarl.
Lucius didn't even bother to show Harry
where he'd concealed the thing. "I trust you're not going to require
any similar lessoning, Harry?"
"The HELL I-- Goddammit, Lucius, what have
you DONE with him?"
Lucius gave an amused chuckle. "Harry,
he's my son. Don't make noises like you think I've killed him and
stuffed
him in the boot of his prized Porsche. He's quite safe. He's just-- not
enjoying himself, very much at the moment. Or rather, he-- well, I
suppose
that would be a bit troublesome to explain. Just let me say that he'll
be
very grateful when it's over." As Harry took a step forward, one that
was
as menacing as he could make it, Lucius continued, "Grateful to you."
Harry stopped.
"Oh. You. BASTARD," he hissed.
"Since that seems to be your favorite
choice of insult, and not meant as a slander on my parentage, I'll let
that go," Lucius said, dry as a desert. "But yes, you did interpret
that correctly. The sooner you acquiesce to your side of Malfoy family
duty, the sooner I
will consider Draco's punishment sufficient. We can dance about here as
long
as you like, but it will be Draco who will suffer for the delay. That
is
clear enough, yes?"
The dungeons. Lucius had to have put his
son in the dungeons. Goddammit.
How was he going to bypass the wards down
there without his wand?
"You sick son of a BITCH. What the hell
happens when I don't just lie down for you and cut your
fucking heart out instead?"
"Oh, you can try. I can show you."
Harry lunged.
It occurred to him that Lucius probably had
his wand in an inner pocket of his vest-- or might have had his own
there-- but Harry couldn't waste time struggling over that. He had to
overpower the older man first.
It took him only a moment to discover that
that was not going to be nearly as easy as he'd hoped.
Lucius hadn't even gone for his wand. When
Harry lunged at him, he'd brought his hands up to meet his attacker.
And suddenly Harry found himself forced
backwards, and up against the bedroom wall. With his wrists held pinned
on either side of his head.
He couldn't move.
He was half Lucius's age, and had been
playing competitive Quidditch since he was eleven-- had been playing at
almost that level as recently as that summer. And he couldn't move.
And Lucius wasn't even breathing hard.
And he'd used no magic.
Harry kicked out. Lucius was prepared for
it, and avoided being hurt, though it gave Harry the opportunity to
push
Lucius away from the wall. He followed, intending to break Lucius's
grip
and hit him hard, in-law niceties be fucking damned.
But he didn't get that far.
Lucius didn't let him break his grip.
Instead, Harry found his steps tripped
up quite quickly, so that he went to his knees, and then was pushed
backwards, Lucius still gripping his forearms so that now he was in
effectively the
same position he'd been against the wall... except that now it had been
recreated against the carpeted floor, Harry's hands on either side of
his head, with Lucius Malfoy now over him.
Momentarily stunned by the suddenness of
having his head banged against the carpet, Harry was staring up at
Lucius's face, and again the thought crossed his mind, Draco, in
twenty years...
and he even felt a betraying thrill go through him because Draco had
often given him a look just like that, just prior to giving him some of
their
hungriest kisses together... but as he recovered himself, Harry gave
himself
a furious mental kick of NOT Draco! and wrenched at his
wrists--
unsuccessfully, and tried to bring up a knee to do some damage, and he
could
at least move that much, but couldn't seem to connect with anything
that
hurt enough to get Lucius off of him.
Lucius was gripping his wrists so tightly
Harry could feel his fingers going numb.
Harry was, yes, an athlete. But not a
trained physical combatant, in any way beyond the obvious roughhousing
fisticuffs seven years of boarding school guaranteed-- less so, having
been a wizarding school, where so much had been settled at the end of a
wand.
Lucius Malfoy had obviously had no such
deficiencies in his education.
Harry, trying to ignore the voice of doubt
that was creeping through his brain-- he absolutely refused to label it
fear-- and hissed, "You sick bastard, how do you think you're
going
to get away with this?"
"I still haven't seen that you can possibly
stop me, Harry, " Lucius said, only a little strain in his voice
betraying the effort it was taking to keep Harry pinned. "Oh, you mean
the legal aspect of things, don't you, dear boy. I'm afraid, as
I told you, this is not merely some marital tradition, like throwing
rice. It is still wizarding law, under families who can claim
an aristocratic bloodline. Neither you nor Draco will have any legal
recourse. In fact, I will have
the law on my side if you take any retribution as a result. Do you
really
want to start your married life as a fugitive? Is that what you'd have
for
Draco?"
Draco. Always Draco. God damn
the man, he knew exactly what buttons to push. "What are you doing
to him, dammit?" Harry snarled, not caring the least for any of the
other threats.
"No, I don't think so. I think it's more
satisfying to leave you imagining it. Rest assured, it's not very nice.
And oh yes, it's time-dependent. The sooner you concede and we conclude
this to
our mutual satisfaction--"
Mutual!
"--the sooner I'll let Draco out of...
his uncomfortable situation."
"He's your son." Harry's voice
cracked on the last word.
"And who better than his father to decide
what punishment befits him for this. Now, granted, it is the boy's
wedding night; I didn't want him to have his expectations completely
dashed... so let's just say he won't be completely missing out on that
aspect of things."
"What the hell does THAT mean!" Harry knew
Lucius wouldn't answer. Harry also suspected he had a better idea than
his outburst had indicated. "You sick BASTARD!"
"Yes, yes, you said that. Harry, let me
make this clear: I am not particularly interested in tying you down and
raping
you. The tying you down aspect sounds delicious but I actually prefer
my
partners willing when they're in that position. However, I will
do
it, if only to show you that I will not be defied... and because I will
have
you that way rather than not at all." Something about the way he said
that
sapped something in Harry: that touch of honeyed lust underlying his
threat,
again, so like the tone Draco had when he murmured Harry's name. Harry
tried
to tell himself it was because of the way it brought the sheer
inevitability
of all this home to him, and not because Lucius affected him in the
same
way that his son did.
Draco's nothing like you, he almost
said aloud.
But Lucius was continuing: "Also, your
behavior tonight will affect how quickly I release Draco from his
punishment.
I am quite capable of leaving you restrained here for a day or two, and
Draco in the position he is in for the same amount of time, as payment
for
making me take by force what you should have dutifully given. Have you
ever
been in a full body-bind, Harry? It's not pleasant, even less so the
longer
one's in it."
Harry didn't know if Lucius was threatening
him or describing part of what was happening to Draco. Not that it
mattered.
Deep inside, it was painfully sweet to
know that Draco had refused to go along with this-- refused to the
point
that Lucius was doing something dreadful to him as punishment. Yet that
also
meant that the last thing Harry wanted was to give in, because...
because
then Draco would have gone through whatever-it-was for nothing, and...
and
he'd so hated the idea of this that he wouldn't want Harry to give in,
either.
Damn you for putting this on me, Draco!
Oh, and you'd have liked it better if
he'd come to you and said you had to go along with it? Don't put this
on Draco, it's all Lucius, you stupid fucker!
"Shall I take your silence as
acquiescence?" Lucius said, arching an eyebrow.
"The HELL."
"Ah. So it is to be the body-bind after
all. Very well."
"No!" There-- Harry felt the pressure on
his wrists slacken just that little bit, Lucius preparing to draw his
wand; Harry pushed with all this strength--
--No. No, he hadn't been that incautious. A
ruse. Harry still hadn't been able to move. Dammit.
"Think about how terribly unpleasant rape
would be under those circumstances, Harry. Conversely, I invite you to
think how pleasant this night could be. You're no virgin; you know
precisely what to expect. And I can be very generous to a cooperative
lover." He brought his face closer. "In fact I can confidently say you
won't find the night wanting at all. And I won't mind at all if you
scream my son's name when you
come."
Harry could have ripped that smile right
off Lucius's face. "You are such a bastard."
"If your definition of bastard is,
person who gets what he wants, then I happily answer to that epithet.
What is it to be, Harry?"
"Go fuck yourself."
"Not one of your options. Will you submit?
You will not be able to get Draco out of the situation he is in by
yourself, I promise you that. You think overpowering me would be the
solution, but
I assure you it would not."
Harry doubted Lucius should be so smug. He
was nothing if not resourceful. But Lucius was apparently ready to
render him completely helpless if he did not answer.
He licked his lips, trying to not make
it look lascivious. "Don't... don't hex me, goddamn you." He would try
to
buy time while he thought.
"I should take that as a yes, then?"
Harry tried to remember which one yes was. Will
you submit.
He couldn't bring himself to say it, even
if it was just to buy time. He nodded, feeling his hair crackle with
static against the carpet.
"You don't mind if I make sure, do you?"
Before Harry could question what he meant,
Lucius bent and seized his mouth with his own.
Harry went rigid.
Oh...my...god.
It was everything and nothing like being
kissed by Draco. The taste... the taste of him was almost the same,
wine on his lips tasting the same way it tasted on Draco's, melding
with the essential salt-and-honey flavor that clearly was common to the
male side of the Malfoy family mouths. But when Draco kissed him, his
hunger for Harry's mouth always felt like a dare, a laughing demand of Answer
me, Potter, and Harry always wanted to, always did, tongues
duelling as if their kisses were
a competition of tell-me-you-don't-want-me-just-as-much, where
both
of them were certain to win.
But Lucius...Lucius kissed him like he
didn't care if Harry responded or not, kissing him to show that he could,
paying no attention to cues or suggestions that might occur, devouring
his mouth with the attitude one would devour a meal: without caring if
the meal consented to be eaten.
Lucius kissed him like he was the victim of
the kiss.
It was overwhelming and ruthless and... not
altogether a terrible experience.
It was just too much to process, for Harry
to realize he'd just been kissed breathless.
By his father-in-law.
Harry was dimly aware that he was breathing
again, which meant that the kiss must have stopped. In fact, he was
starting to get some feeling back into his hands. Which meant...
Oh.
Harry found Lucius's face above his own had
receded some distance, and the closest thing to his face right now was
the business end of a wand. "Get up slowly," said Lucius.
Harry used his at-last-free hands to push
himself up into a sitting position as Lucius moved from kneeling to
standing, keeping the wand on him as he did. Buy time, Harry
thought to himself as he rose, noting how Lucius held his wand: elbow
bent, ready to move into any position necessary at the first movement
of his opponent.
Lucius gestured with his free hand. "Come
here."
Harry took a step forward; that was where
he wanted to go, in any case.
"Close enough. Hold out both your hands,
palm up."
"Why?"
"Because I shall body-bind you if you
don't."
Bastard. Slowly Harry lifted his
hands, rotated them palm up, wondering if he should make his move now.
"Magus Vovere." Harry had not been
prepared for that abrupt pronouncement; he tried to jerk away, but
light had shot from the end of Lucius's wand and circled his wrists
like the coils of a snake. He couldn't even turn his hands, much less
pull them away.
"Commencus. These are the terms
of this oath, Harry James Potter..."
Oh, no. Wizard's Vow.
Harry had never learned this one, but some
memory of its mention was returning to him. Fuck. He should
have
moved, he should have moved...
"...You will submit to me, here in these
rooms, for the duration of the hours of darkness, and in the context of
whatever sexual pleasure I desire, including those that require your
active participation. No action or inaction of yours may occur that is
designed to result in your flight from this room, any harm to be done
to me, or an attempt to break
the vow. Failure to abide will automatically invoke the spell set upon
this
oath."
And that is? Harry tried to say. But
he couldn't. It was as if his choice of spoken vocabulary had been
reduced to two possibilities; he could feel the words Accepted
and Denied
in his mouth like pebbles, his mouth able to accommodate the shape of
either, yet too full with those to create any other word.
"I, the caster, decree that spell will
be Petrificus Totalis. Terms of the vow are now set. What say
you?"
He couldn't pull away. The spell held him;
he could say Denied and it would all break, he knew it, but
Lucius wasn't going to give him another chance. This was it.
No.
Draco undergoing who knew what perverted
torture in the dungeons.
No.
Because he hadn't wanted Harry to do this.
No.
...To have to do this.
NO.
Rape under a full body-bind.
Fuck.
By Draco's father.
FUCK.
"Accepted." FuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK.
The light faded; the grip about his wrists
was gone. Harry looked up at Lucius.
"Why are--"
Harry stopped himself. He'd been going
to ask, why are you doing this to us, ask if Lucius so hated
the
idea of his son marrying-- god, where to start, a non-pureblood, a man,
a Gryffindor, an enemy of those Lucius had once served, Harry knew
every
one of those had come up between Draco and his father, despite the fact
that Draco had carefully told him none of it, and Lucius himself had
kept
up a pretend facade of indifference-- no point in discussing it with
the
peasant half-mudblood.
Did he hate this so much that he would
try to drive them apart this way?
But he'd stopped himself from completing
the question because he knew the truth. It was the same thing with the
kiss.
Lucius was doing this because he could.
Lucius smiled at Harry, as though he could
hear every bit of his internal monologue. He could probably guess at
it,
at any rate.
"That's much better. We'll make a Malfoy
out of you yet, Harry. Such a strong sense of duty you have."
"Stop calling it that."
"Mm. If it bothers you, I suppose I can
concede that one." Suddenly he'd extended a hand, taken Harry's arm.
Harry was pulled forward two steps, putting him directly in front of
Lucius. "I trust you gathered the complete gist of that vow?"
"I got it," Harry said tightly. "Now let
Draco go. From whatever you're doing to him."
Lucius arched an eyebrow again. "I'm sorry,
were you under the impression that was it? No, Harry, I thought I made
it rather clear. Draco's punishment will end when I'm satisfied that
you've
kept up your part of the bargain. If this ends with you in Petrificus
after all, I'll leave him-- and you-- there in petulant retribution,
long
enough to make both of you quite sorry. Fucking the equivalent of a
warm
corpse actually isn't one of my fantasies, and you'll make me very
unhappy
if that's how this ends." He reached out and drew Harry's glasses off
his
face.
Harry's hands itched for his wand, for
a weapon, for Lucius's throat. He actually had to grip the edge of his
jacket to still them. "You fucking bastard."
The set of Lucius's mouth grew a little
colder. "Right, we can start with that. No more of those epithets. If
they're not uttered in physical pain or passion from this moment, I
shall not be happy." He smiled, and it was still cold. "As I said, I
shall show you that this can be quite a pleasant evening for both of
us, now that I have your cooperation."
He took the last step toward Harry that
closed the distance between them. "A little more of this, I think, to
begin with, yes?"
He put two fingers under Harry's chin to
draw his face up before he kissed him. That was a move Draco had never
done; he and Harry were of a height.
Good, thought Harry. He didn't want
to be thinking of Draco during this. It wouldn't be right.
Except... except that there were still
too many similarities, more than just the taste. Draco had been the
only
man he'd kissed for the past two years; he'd forgotten this essential
sameness
that was there in being kissed passionately, the instinct to listen to
sheer
physical cues, even beyond the skill of the kiss. The way Lucius slid
his
hand to the back of Harry's neck, pressed his body into Harry's,
worried
at his lower lip with his mouth... all of these things would have, should
have moved him not at all, unless there was something of a physical
nature
there to begin with, and there was, dammit; Lucius was beauty
and
animal hunger personified, Harry had long admitted it to himself, and
again
as recently as minutes ago, and at the time, had not been at all
ashamed
of it-- wasn't it the same fallen-angel mien that took his breath away
when
he looked at Draco?
And that thing about the skill of the
kiss...
Lucius was quite determined to sweep him
away with it. Nothing nice about this kiss, nothing sweet about it;
just like before, the kiss was inflicted on him. Instead of
demanding to be answered, like Draco's, it demanded surrender. And
everything about the situation had already been concluded with a bloody
proverbial white flag; what the hell could Harry do?
You could find it not so cock-stirring
to be snogging your son-of-a-bitch father-in-law.
Ah, hell, he couldn't be... goddammit,
he was, he was already hardening in his pants; it wasn't
goddamn
fair, the bastard was having something appalling done to Draco
and
taking over their goddamn wedding night and all Harry could do was respond:
"Well, he IS rather dishy, just like his son... "
Fuck!
He pulled away from Lucius. Too late. He
saw the look on Lucius's face and realized that Lucius knew exactly why
he'd had to pull away just then.
"No, I don't think so. Come back here."
This time, Lucius's obvious enjoyment of
Harry's distress at his own physical betrayal left enough of an angry
spark in him that Harry was able to keep a hold of that spark and keep
his body from simply moulding into Lucius's while Lucius kissed him,
folded his arms around him-- though Harry knew the feel of his
stiffening organ was not going
to be missed.
Particularly as he could feel the same
thing on Lucius.
An indeterminate number of minutes had
passed when Lucius released him and gave him a little push backwards.
"Sit."
On the edge of the bed, obviously; it was
just a few feet behind him.
This was not easy. It seemed that to do it
would scream of complacency, even more than staying still for the kiss
had been.
Harry backed up, sat upon the edge of the
bed with his hands not quite gripping the edge on either side of him.
Looking up at Lucius this way was equally difficult for him.
The sable blanket was cool under his palms.
The last thing Harry wanted was to share that with Lucius, and not his
husband. He thought about dragging it off the bed.
He thought about how stupid he would look.
Lucius stepped forward, reached to Harry's
neck and in two movements had the bowtie undone and pulled off. Harry
remembered his intentions regarding that tie and Draco.
"Take off your jacket, " Lucius said.
Harry shrugged his way free of it; Lucius
was doing the same with his vest. While Harry and Draco had eschewed
wizard's formal wear for the event, most of the generation above them
had preferred it, and Lucius had been wearing robes over shirt and vest.
Removing the vest put the two of them at
the same level of undress. Lucius gave Harry a look that could only be
described as appreciative and sat down next to him on the edge of the
bed. Harry found it impossible not to flinch away, but Lucius took a
hold of one of his hands and brought the palm to his mouth in a way
that made Harry think he would bite.
But it was only a kiss-- a wet kiss, on the
center of his palm. Harry felt that, and watched the way Lucius's eyes
closed as he did it, and shuddered.
As he kissed, Lucius removed the cuff link
at Harry's wrist, then took Harry's other hand and repeated the action,
from the center-of-the-palm kiss to the removal of the cuff link. Harry
waited until it appeared that Lucius was done with the kiss and said,
"Give
me those..." Lucius conceded, handed the cuff links to Harry, who
shoved
them into the pocket of his discarded jacket. They'd been a present
from
Hermione and he didn't want to lose them.
And no, his concern over them seemed
neither absurd nor petty. When this night was over, he was going to
have to continue his life. The fewer anguishes he had to deal with on
this night the better.
Draco.
Goddammit, they were going to get past
this somehow.
Lucius moved his hands to Harry's throat
and began releasing the studs on the shirt, one at a time. When he had
most of Harry's chest bared he leaned in and this time it was Harry's
turn to shut his eyes as he felt Lucius's lips on his sternum, then his
breast. His throat started to tighten.
I'm in love with your son, he wanted
to say, wanted to plead. I'm in love with your son. Don't
do this to us.
He didn't say it.
Lucius had his shirt open the rest of the
way, was kissing his way down to Harry's stomach, and now put one hand
on Harry's shoulder, pushing him back to the surface of the bed. When
he felt Lucius's mouth at his navel, felt him pulling the tails of his
shirt free from his trousers, he bit his lips. It was either that or
curse the bastard.
He heard Lucius sigh as he sat up again.
"You look perfectly edible in this position, dear Harry. I think I need
to kiss you again." And he did, crawling over him until he could angle
his head just so, kiss Harry's mouth in that same controlling way, suck
at his lower lip, over and over again, bite at it until Harry thought
it must have be swelling
to twice its size, as if in an allergic reaction to some particularly
savory
forbidden fruit.
Again, breathless. Again, not an altogether
bad feeling.
Damn the man.
The kissing had only made him harder. Harry
hated that, and telling himself that he was only human helped not at
all.
As if reading his mind, Lucius's hand moved
purposefully over the front of Harry's trousers, and Harry's hips
jerked against his hand. He groaned, unable to prevent himself.
The sound Lucius made in return was one of
satisfaction without being a taunt. He kissed Harry more delicately. "I
think I'd like you to remove the rest of your clothing while I watch."
He
squeezed Harry's erection through the cloth. "I want to see if this is
as
lovely as it feels."
Face on fire as Lucius got off of him,
Harry forced himself to sit up, and then, Lucius's expectant eyes on
him,
he stood. Trying to judge just how fast would be too fast-- he didn't
want
to hear Lucius tell him to slow it down, make more of a show for him--
he
pulled the open shirt off at a speed just under what he supposed would
be
the upper limits of acceptable.
Lucius made another appreciative noise. He
was leaning back slightly, one hand behind him on the bed as he watched
Harry disrobe. Harry saw how the black fur cover on the bed set off the
whiteness
of his shirt, his hair. It was so like he'd imagined Draco that it made
him
pause, bitter longing welling up from his very center.
He bent and spent a few moments untying his
shoes, then sliding them off, pushing them off to one side. As he
removed his socks, he couldn't keep from glancing up at Lucius, and
again wanted
to hex that faint smile right off his hateful face. Where had
the
bastard put his wand?
Doesn't matter, now. He didn't want
to endure this under Petrificus, and he definitely didn't want
to
be blamed for Draco suffering anything more than he had to.
He undid his trousers, pushed them down,
and stepped out of them, tossing them onto a chair. His shorts were
hiding nothing; Harry glared as he pulled them off as well, stood there
in nothing but that glare and his hard-on. Fucking satisfied?
Of course he was, and of course he wasn't.
"Very nice. Turn a bit..." Harry's fingers curled into fists as he made
himself
obey, determined not to pose for him, and yet aware that the scrutiny
was
causing him to become even harder still.
"Quite, quite beautiful. You know that,
don't you?... Come here." Lucius's voice was soft, and that gentleness
was worse than the threatening tones; Harry had to swallow past a
tightness in his throat as he stepped back to the bed. Lucius touched,
not his cock, but his shoulders, reaching up to put his hands on them
lightly, making him bend into another kiss, again, light, yet no less
commanding, and Harry nearly stumbled while standing.
I don't want him.
True, but Lucius wanted him, in
a way that was more than finding somewhere convenient to bury his cock,
and that was very difficult to ignore.
And now Lucius's hands were on his
cock, or more specifically, under it, cupping underneath his scrotum
and
lifting it, all the way up to the rigid underside of his cock, forcing
a
gasp out of him, and one hand held him there while the other took his
arm
to draw him down again, this time directly into Lucius's lap, despite
the
fact that he was no featherweight, and still kissing him, the hand on
his
arm now moving behind his shoulders, and up to slide into the hair at
the
back of his neck, and the contact at those places on his body was
overwhelming,
and Harry didn't know if it was worse, Lucius still completely clothed
while
he was naked like this-- the alternative being for both of them to be
naked,
and that was hardly an unintimidating thought.
Lucius's hand was squeezing more firmly
around the twin package of his balls and his cock, and Harry tried not
to moan so, which was fucking difficult, thank you very much,
Lucius. He could feel Lucius's answering hum of satisfaction
against his own mouth, which was another startlingly interesting
moment, and tried to move his hips-- though whether that movement was
directed away from Lucius's lap, or into his hand, Harry didn't
even want to think.
Lucius stopped kissing him just long enough
to murmur, "Delicious. All of you. As if I could possibly have passed
on
this." His hand on Harry's swollen genitals wasn't letting up at
all,
in fact he was working him both harder and faster, and Harry was left
with
the dilemma of what to do with his own hands in the middle of all this
impossible
sensation. He found himself unable to put them anywhere but on Lucius's
shoulders,
loath though he was to even touch the man voluntarily-- otherwise he
was
going to fall backwards, and that was just too vulnerable a display for
him
to present at this point.
There was a wetness on Lucius's hand, and
Harry knew it had come from his own cock, beginning to leak despite any
will he might have had to make things happen otherwise. Harry knew it
would
do no good to try to think of something else; too many things about
this
were working against him: the conditions of the Wizard's Vow, to which
he
did not want to fall victim, the skill of both Lucius's hands, and his
mouth,
coaxing response out of him (and eventually, he wouldn't doubt, orgasm,
the
evil bastard)...
...not to mention Lucius himself.
Dammit, he hated that it kept coming back
to that. Lucius was unbearably sexy, even clothed-- maybe even
especially clothed, with the immaculate taste and grooming that he
always had. The
rational part of Harry was never going to forget how much he hated this
man for doing this to him, but the part that was directing the response
of his cock, and his breathing, and the impression that his blood was
trying
to flow in reverse directions all at once... that part didn't remotely
care.
That part spoke in guttural grunts and was letting Harry know that he
wasn't running this show, not at all.
Lucius let Harry slide from his lap back to
the surface of the bed, where he immediately was over him, kissing him,
trapping his hard cock between their bodies, where Harry could feel it
rubbing against the wool of Lucius's trousers, hot and prickling,
making him squirm in a way he couldn't control. Lucius chuckled. "Yes,
that's it, Harry," he said, pressing his own cloth-covered erection
harder into Harry's pelvis, making him tighten his grip on Lucius's
arms as he moaned. "Tell me how you like it. Do you like it hard and
fast? Would you prefer to be teased?"
Oh, no, Harry thought. Please
make him stop talking. I don't want to hear him say this. But
Lucius went
on relentlessly: "Is it all mouth action, between you and Draco? I can
hardly believe that, given the sweet shape of your arse; he must be
desperate to
have that under him, squirming as he impales it. Or perhaps you're the
one
on top. I suspect Draco could be quite the slut, when he's in love, or
thinks
he's in love... Does he call your name? Get on his hands and knees and
beg
you to fuck him, looking at you over that shoulder so enticingly that
you
can't wait to bury yourself inside his arse or mouth, and maybe it
seems
like the cruelest thing, that you can't do both at once? When he's on
his
knees sucking you, does he look up at your eyes, and do you look down
at
his, so that you can see every lash of his eyelids against his skin
like petals on a flower? Do you almost come from looking at him like
that alone?"
Harry managed to stay quiet for all of
it, but knew his _expression was beyond fury. Lucius chuckled again,
lightly
running his fingers over Harry's face in a way that made him shudder.
"I
would give much to see that. You are both such beautiful young men." He
kissed
Harry once more, and then rose. Harry watched as Lucius began to
disrobe,
his curiosity bordering on the morbid, wanting to know if his rapist
was
as well put together as the cut of his clothing implied.
-fin
.....
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