scarletladyy (scarletladyy) wrote in hp_prisonerfest, @ 2012-02-14 23:45:00 |
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Entry tags: | !fic, character: harry, character: lucius, exchange: 2011/2012, pairing: lucius/harry |
Cadence (Second Movement, Part II of II) - A gift for secretsalex!
Title: Cadence (Second Movement)
Author: daiseechain
Recipient: secretsalex
Pairing(s): Lucius/Harry
Word Count: 11,278
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Dub-con, Slavery, D/s, BDSM, Verbal humiliation
Summary: He'd been locked in a cupboard and kept as a slave for eleven years. He'd outlived that. He was patient. He would outlive this.
Author's Notes: Hope you enjoy this, Secretsalex!
Disclaimer: HP, all the characters from HP, all the rights to HP belong to those they belong to (I'm not going to set them all out because that's incredibly complicated and you know who you all are and none of you are me). This is a work of fiction, being distinguishable from real life by the fact that nothing in this story or the source material happened in the real world. Any lawyers tempted to sue because there might be damage to real people should get themselves a real life.
The game was the same for a while after that. Lucius would return, thrash him to within an inch of Harry's endurance but stop just in time, and Harry would then pass out on the bed. But as the visits wore on Harry noticed his stamina was gradually returning and the time between Lucius' departure and his own embrace of sleep took longer, which should have given him some comfort but only increased his irritation as it seemed his cock was in disagreement with him over what to do about the situation. He felt strongly that the best approach was to lie low, waiting as long as it took to get information and the chance to break out. His cock refused to acknowledge this plan and was making increasingly desperate pleas to take the matter in hand. It was like the dorm all over again, only this time without bed curtains and silencing spells.
The day he woke up so hard that brushing against the mattress turned him on he admitted he was going to have do something about the problem, so he set to work methodically, intent on just getting it over with for now but the odd tock and chimes from the clock put him off his pace, making it difficult to keep rhythm so that in the end it was an effort more than an excitement. The idea that he should be in a position where having a wank actually seemed like a chore pissed him off so much that in the end he came angry, becoming even angrier when Lucius' face flashed into his fantasy just as he finished as the chiming stopped. Tears of frustration weren't usually part of the proceedings but he couldn't hold them back, punching the mattress. He couldn't remember feeling this helpless since Dudley used to beat the crap out of him when they were children.
He wasn't sure how long he lay there seething before he became aware that Lucius was in the room. Long enough for his anger to cool alongside the sticky splatter he'd covered himself with. He thought he ought to feel revulsion or rage at this latest invasion of his privacy, but that seemed like more effort than he could give right now, so he settled on resignation.
"We are what we are, Harry. It does no good to fight our natures." Lucius said nothing more before leaving, although he did stand by the bed, scrutinising Harry's post-wank state and wrinkle his nose at the odour that assaulted his nostrils.
Some weeks later, just as he'd given up expecting any more changes the chime on the clock changed. Harry looked sharply at it but the timepiece had nothing to say to him so he watched the door instead waiting for the inevitable. Lucius arrived carrying something Harry had hoped wouldn't turn up, but in his heart known was going to make an appearance sooner or later. He eyed the length of chain dangling from Lucius' hand and backed up so fast the back of his knees connected with the metal bed frame, knocking his legs out from under him so that he sat unexpectedly. In the split-second it took him to open his mouth to object Lucius was across the room and attaching the chain to the collar.
"Speaking when spoken to. I do hope you have remembered that lesson."
Harry snapped his mouth shut, uncomfortably aware of just how close he was right now to Lucius; of looking up at him as Lucius fussed with the collar and chain, of looking up past the bulge in his trousers, of how he must look to Lucius when he was that close with his mouth open in a little O shape. He grimaced, partly to convey his disgust, but mostly because he was disgusted with himself. Something deep down in him kind of liked the idea if the twitching he felt was any indication.
Lucius' gaze flicked momentarily downward, and when it returned to the clip on the collar there was a trace of a smile, and Harry's hands curled into fists as he fought the urge to swing upward with an arm and punch him where it'd do most damage.
"Oh very good," Lucius said as he stepped back slightly and Harry thought he was referring to the way he looked in the ridiculous bondage gear. "It would seem you do have some self-restraint after all."
A glare seemed the only appropriate response, so Harry directed one at Lucius, who only smiled and tugged on the chain. "Up."
Harry breathed deeply a few times, repeating his silent mantra. "This is easy. Snape's homework was worse. This is easy. Snape's homework was worse." It didn't seem to convince his legs though - Lucius resorted to pulling sharply on the chain and Harry was forced to stand up and follow or risk damaging his neck. Only once he was standing did it occur to him how ludicrous the situation was. They were in a tiny cell. It wasn't as if Lucius could exactly take him very far, unless... perhaps this was in preparation for going further afield?
But a few short steps and they were at the bath. Lucius nodded curtly at it, and Harry grumpily took the hint and got in. Lucius perched on the edge watching as Harry washed, frowning if it seemed the water might get too close to his robes. "Be careful, my filthy little whore."
Harry froze, one hand partway up his own leg with the sponge, his breathing suddenly jagged, head ticking involuntarily to the beat of his own pulse. He stared rigidly at the wall ahead of him, willing himself to be just like it; cold and made of stone. The tug of the chain on the collar indicated Lucius was growing impatient. He resumed washing with deliberate care, making sure the water around him barely moved. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lucius' smile become a snarl, his tongue flick out to swipe his lip, his gaze move deliberately lower with the same care and patience with which Harry was bathing.
"What's the matter? Surely a slut like you already knows exactly what you are and what you're worth? Don't tell me you're going to feign modesty along with ignorance."
Harry's jaw clenched and he felt the leather of the collar tighten against his throat making the chain clink softly.
Lucius laughed. "You think I don't know your price? It was in here almost from the beginning, Harry." He reached out and touched a fingertip to Harry's temple causing Harry to jerk away. "You would have done well to pay more attention in those Occlumency lessons with Severus. He took away with him far more than he taught. Part of the price of being a double agent I suppose." Lucius shifted along the edge of the bath, reaching out again for Harry's head and when Harry reached the limit to which he could shy, Lucius ran his fingers through Harry's hair until he had a handful of it and pulled Harry back toward him. He leaned over so that his mouth was against Harry's ear. "It is of no surprise really that a worthless little cock-sucker like you would find comfort in his own degradation. They kept you in that cupboard for a reason; you weren't fit even for Muggles to tread on. You knew that didn't you?"
"No." Harry ground the word out as if he were grinding glass with his teeth. "That's not true."
"Really?" Lucius was whispering now. "Then why are you so hard for me already, you pathetic slut?" His hand left Harry's hair, trailed down Harry's shoulder and torso, dipped beneath the waterline moved directly down to grip Harry's cock.
It was all Harry could do not to explode there and then because Lucius was right about everything and how stupid was he that he hadn't even seen this coming? Lucius' gloved hand gripped tightly and with a few swift moves Harry was undone, shuddering with release. Lucius let go, and nipped Harry's earlobe between his teeth. "You will find nowhere to hide your lies in here, Harry, least of all from yourself."
As Lucius stood, dried his sleeves with a charm and departed, Harry stared ahead, willing himself to become part of the stone wall but the wishing didn't work and the outlines of the room, already fuzzy, became blurry as the tears merged with the steam and bathwater.
Two weeks later, when the chiming stopped again, Harry gave up pretending he didn't want what Lucius was offering. He was tired of fighting this, tired of being cold and lonely and jerking himself off, tired of pretending to be an ordinary guy with ordinary cravings, and if he couldn't get what he wanted here of all places where the hell else could he possibly go? Might as well make best use of the opportunity while it existed. After all he had no idea how long this would last.
The chain was a permanent feature now. When not in use by Lucius it tethered Harry to the bed, allowing enough leeway to reach the toilet and the bath, but no further. The chair was out of bounds unless Lucius was in attendance, but Harry had no desire to sit there so that didn't bother him. He found he began to look forward to Lucius' visits, now that it was possible to do more than simply endure. Each encounter took on an the illicit thrill of the forbidden. Lucius asked more of him each time and Harry was only too willing to oblige until his strategy of patience and tactics began to blur at the boundaries of pleasing Lucius. The day Lucius stood behind him and rammed into him he didn't even bother trying to fight him off. He was too busy concentrating on every stroke as Lucius pounded him and called him a useless catamite, and when it was over and Lucius slumped on his back and told him to do better next time, Harry, slick with sweat and come, didn't even question that he no longer felt lost.
Lucius seemed pleased with his new attitude. At least, Harry could think of no other reason for the wardrobe that appeared out of nowhere one day. Cautiously he opened the door, half-expecting it to be full of whips and paddles and weird sex toys. Instead he found sets of silk pyjamas, some green, some red. He reached out and felt the fabric of a red pair, marvelling in the sensation as material slid through his fingers like water.
"Gryffindor red. For they days you are brave enough to confront who you really are." Lucius's robe scratched at the skin on Harry's back as he stood behind him and stroked Harry's hair. "Green for the days your inner Slytherin decides discretion is the better part of survival."
"The opposite of a traffic signal," Harry murmured unthinking.
Lucius' hand stilled in his hair, and Harry thought he was about to be reprimanded for speaking out of turn. His cock twitched at the thought.
"What is a traffic signal?"
Harry thought about the possible answers. "Something from a dream I remembered," he answered and was absurdly pleased when Lucius ruffled his hair.
A tug on the chain indicated the time for contemplation was over. "Perhaps we can create some other dreams." The room fell silent as the chimes ended. "Choose a colour."
Harry picked out the red pyjamas he was fondling.
It was Tuesday when the world ended. At least, it should have been a Tuesday because that had always been his worst day of the week, and if the world was ending then based on past experience it was probably a Tuesday.
He could hear something going on outside the suite; something noisy and far too reminiscent of the battle in the graveyard and the attack on the school. There was booming, crashing, thundering, and screaming - a lot of screaming. He listened with a detached curiosity. Nothing ever came through the door except Lucius, so he'd wait until Lucius chose to tell him what was happening out there. Something shook the room causing the clock to fall off its shelf and when it hit the flagstones with a crash both the chiming and the ticking stopped. Harry went to the wardrobe, picked out a pair of red silk pyjamas, and was in the middle of putting them on when the door to the suite blew off it's hinges, billowing a trail of smoke and debris in it's wake and causing Harry to jump back out of the way, so that when Hermione and Neville charged in, wands at the ready, Harry was staring at the door which was now lying on the floor while a pyjama jacket hung from his hand. There was a new ringing in his ears from the blast.
It wasn't until Hermione waved a hand in front of his face that he realised they'd been talking to him and he hadn't heard them. He blinked at her. She looked older than he remembered, her face slumped sightly as if she'd been stretching it down with her hands. He looked at Neville, but there was no new information there. Neville's face had always slumped. He looked back at the door and then at the hole in the wall where the door had been. There was a corridor outside. Somewhere out there was Lucius. Lucius hadn't made it here to tell him what was going on, which meant that Lucius was out there somewhere, injured. "Where is he?"
Hermione flinched back, and Harry realised he'd shouted at her. He shook his head. "Sorry, can't hear at the moment," he said, lowering his volume to what he hoped was a less offensive level. "Where is he?"
He watched her face carefully and when it looked as if she'd said, "Who, Harry?" answered, "Lucius." The look on her face told him everything he needed to know and he raced for the former door, only to slam to a halt at the perimeter of the room. This was his home. There might be anything outside that door. Something out there might hurt him. Something out there had hurt Lucius. Lucius was outside the door. He had to help Lucius. He needed to help Lucius. But... the door... He shook his head, but it only set off the ringing again.
When Neville reached out and touched his shoulder he tried to shake him off but Neville had always been the stronger of the two of them and he held on with the tenacity that only a man who had lived with his grandmother could possess. Neville waved his wand and said something that Harry missed and then suddenly the ringing stopped.
"-should be alright with a bit of help from the nurse," Neville was saying but he stopped when Harry began taking his trousers off. "What the-"
"Harry!"
Hermione's screech stopped him mid-struggle and he realised he was wasting valuable time. The ringing had stopped. Lucius should be here now. Where the hell was he? If Lucius wasn't coming here then obviously he was going to have to go find Lucius. Throat closed, shoulders up around his ears, Harry wrenched free of Neville's grip and bolted from the room and down the corridor, cursing as his feet seemed to find every plaster sherd and piece of smashed statuary fallen to the floor. Stumbling along he paused every now and then to check the rooms behind the doors he'd never known were there. The back of his mind catalogued incredible treasures, sumptuous decorations, and one room that seemed to serve a similar purpose to Aunt Marge's kitchen drawer, in that every item the Malfoys didn't know where else to put seemed to have been stashed there, but still no sign of Lucius. He was vaguely aware of Hermione and Neville following him, calling his name, and occasionally firing off spells they hoped would stop him in his tracks or at least slow him down, but he ignored them. There was only one thing that mattered now, and they'd have to kill him to prevent him from reaching his quarry.
The end of the corridor split off and he hared off down the right branch at random, while his pursuers dodged left. He was halfway down this new corridor and had checked two rooms, flinging doors open, glancing in, and moving on in a frenzy before they corrected themselves. Sweat slowed him down turning door handles, so when he came across a body in the corridor he Accioed the man's wand and hurried on, Confrigo-ing doors as he went, staying only long enough to make sure there was no response to his calls. And then he stumbled out through the dust and found himself in an open hall and there were... people. So many people. He hadn't been around that many people since... Never mind that. Concentrate. Here and there through the skirmishes he could see bodies and although it was obvious the fight was winding down both sides were still trying to pull away their own fallen to safety. One movement caught the corner of his eye, and he looked over to see someone in a cloak pulling a tall, thin man into a nook. Shouldering his way through the remaining combatants, and scrambling over piles of broken furniture and fallen masonry, he bared down on them, hitting the rescuer with a spell that made him keel over clutching his groin. Uncaring if the man was seriously injured he pushed him aside and found himself finally leaning over a bruised and battered Lucius. White hair was matted with dark, sticky liquid, some of which had run down Lucius face where it was smeared with ash, plaster dust, and sweat, the patterns eerily echoing Lucius' Death Eater mask. Harry paused, then reached up and started scrubbing the mess away, but when Lucius started and groaned he eased up and tried gently wiping it away. Lucius opened an eye and peered groggily at him. Harry stopped cleaning.
"Your friends are here for you."
"So I noticed."
"They seem quite determined to have you back." Lucius coughed and twitched a hand in what Harry supposed was intended as a gesture at the damage they'd done to the Manor.
"Screw them. I'm staying here with you."
The look Lucius gave him could have been pity. "Somehow I do not believe that will be an option now." Then he closed his eyes.
It was the holes in the side of the fortress, Harry supposed, that were letting in that freezing air that was making him shiver. He wished someone would fix them. Lucius might die here if he got too cold. He reached up and felt Lucius' forehead. He wasn't really sure what that was supposed to tell him but he'd seen Hermione and Poppy do it and it seemed to mean something when people were sick or injured. Lucius' forehead was hot which he took as a good sign. In his experience the dead rarely had hot skin, but just in case he also took the man's pulse; it was weak and erratic, but it was still there. Someone pulled on his shoulder and he shook them off.
"Harry."
Harry concentrated on Lucius, pulling the collar of his cloak up around his neck. It wasn't much protection from the damn draft but it was about all he had right now. There was probably a spell but he couldn't think of what that might be. Head bobbing, he looked around for something to use as a pillow to make Lucius more comfortable.
"Harry."
When he couldn't find anything useful he shuffled up on his knees and leant over to manoeuvre into a position where he could cradle Lucius' head in his lap, but someone pulling on his shoulder again stopped him.
"Harry!"
"Get off me!" He whipped around to face Neville down only to find himself staring at Hermione.
She stared at him stoney-faced and he'd never seen her like that before. There wasn't even a trace of compassion for what he was going through. The contempt shone through her eyes so he pushed her away and she stumbled and fell back into Neville who caught her and made sure she was okay before stalking over to Harry. Before he could get there Harry had turned back to Lucius to find he'd been watching the exchange. His lips were moving slightly but Harry couldn't hear him so he clambered into an uncomfortable stretch, plastering himself as close as he could to Lucius' side. Lucius watched his progress through groggy eyes and when Harry finally bent his head close enough to Lucius' lips to be able to hear him all he said was, "Go with them. I can't take care of you now."
Harry started. He watched Lucius carefully for some sign that this was a joke but Lucius just shut his eyes and passed out.
It took Hermione and Neville's' combined strength and spells to pry Harry away from Lucius and keep him away as the medics carried Lucius off in a manacled medicart. This time the ringing in his ears was from his own screaming.
They'd tried to put him away in another sort of prison. They called it therapy of course, but failed to see that at least Lucius had been kind enough to provide soft furnishings and good food. It was Hermione who rescued him this time, haranguing the Ministry until they gave in and handed Harry over to the care of herself and Neville. They came and took him back to their place which was less sumptuous than the Manor but at least didn't have pistachio-green walls and cold tile floors, and of course the only person screaming in the night here was him. When he finally understood how much that was disrupting their sleep he felt a slight stab of guilt but got over it whenever he remembered the way they'd kept him from going with Lucius.
He was vaguely aware there was a trial happening in the background, which both Hermione and Neville were required to attend, and which caused even more hushed arguing in the kitchen that would stop whenever he wandered in. It seemed to be putting some strain on their relationship and that gave him a perverse glee and a corresponding sorrow that this was where his old friendships had ended up. It was some months before he even thought to ask about Ron and the hushed glance they shared told him the answer. Well. At least Lucius hadn't lied about that.
The arguments between Hermione and Neville got worse day by day until the afternoon he woke up and staggered down the stairs to hear them screaming at each other, all pretence forgotten and any attempt to spare Harry lost in the fires that raged in them. Harry stopped half-way down the stairs and waited, listening. Vernon and Marge had never argued like this. They'd never argued at all. Marge would just purse her lips and provide extra criticism on his cleaning skills and Vernon would huff and puff his way through another two helpings of dinner. Molly and Arthur argued, but never vehemently, and always hugged afterward and sometimes he and Ron had caught them giggling like children when they'd come into the kitchen later which caused no end of embarrassment all around. This - this had an edge to it, like Hermione and Neville had been running through a forest and suddenly found themselves teetering on the edge of a ravine, clinging to each other for safety; desperately clutching for any hand-holds they could find. At length, Neville threw open the kitchen door and stormed down the hallway, stopping suddenly when he came level with where Harry was sitting behind the bannister. "It's your decision, Harry. No one else's. Whatever you decide, we'll still be here for you." And with that he continued down the hall, pausing only to grab his coat and scarf from the cloakroom before leaving the house.
When Harry peered through the bannisters around at the kitchen door, Hermione was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded. She sighed. "I'm sorry, Harry. It's not even really about you you know."
"I know." He meant it. He was a lightening rod. None of the arguments, attacks or wars had ever really been about him. He was just the thing they happened around.
She nodded in the direction of the kitchen. "Come through. We'll have a cup of tea while we talk."
"And if I don't want either?"
Hermione paused before replying. "That's your choice of course. But I really think this is something you need to know. And the tea is really quite good. I made a trip to TeaSmiths for it."
He waited until he heard the water in the kettle roiling before making his mind up, standing, and following her into the kitchen. Hermione had her back to him as she poured water into the teapot. There were two mugs on either side of the wooden table, and between them a device he hadn't seen in a good long time.
Hermione picked up the pot, nodded at him to sit, and moved to the table, plonking the pot carelessly down beside the pensieve before hooking her chair out with her foot and throwing herself onto it. She poured tea out for both of them, a little of it slopping outside of their mugs, and it was so casual and so unlike her that he raised an eyebrow.
She put down the pot then scrubbed her face with the palms of her hands and rubbing her eyes. Once she'd finished and had her mug of tea firmly wrapped in both hands again, she sighed. "I'm tired, Harry. We all are. It's been a long and bloody war and we all just want it over with. And none of us really knows what to do from here on. We were so busy concentrating on winning and finding you that we never considered what might come after that."
Harry said nothing, only glancing at Neville's place at the table.
"Oh he'll be back. He's not really unhappy with me, just at this... situation that's developed. We, none of us, were really expecting this particular wrinkle. Neville thinks it's a mistake to tell you. I believe you have a right to know. I remember how strong you were back at school, and I don't believe you've changed that much since then, even if you are a bit confused at the moment." She looked at him. "I've never hated you. You do know that right?"
"Yeah. I know." He'd been so angry that day at The Manor that he'd seen only what he wanted to see. Even before they'd begun deprogramming him he'd been ashamed of his reaction.
"We both want what's best for you. We disagree on how to get there. And every day we come home exhausted from fighting the Ministry. It's getting harder to keep them out of your business."
His eyes widened as he took in her meaning. "Will they take me away?"
"Over our dead bodies."
He knew she meant that literally.
"You won't be going anywhere you don't want to until you're ready to." She took a sip of tea.
Harry gulped his own tea down, instantly regretting it as the strong green liquid scalded a path down his throat. He'd never really enjoyed green tea. He grimaced, coughed, and nodded toward the pensieve. "Why's this here then?"
"You know he's on trial, right?"
Harry nodded, eyes narrowed. He'd known. It kept him awake at night. But he couldn't bring himself to read the tabloids because experience had taught him they'd print any damn thing they wanted to if they thought it would sell copies. There was no telling the truth from the lies for the reading.
"There was some information that came out during the process that you need to witness. That might help you make some sense of things."
"Such as?"
She nodded at the pensieve. "I'm not going to prejudice you. You'll have to make up your own mind."
"Then why the battle of wills with Neville?"
She stared fixedly at her mug of tea as if it might provide a barrier between them. "Neville... Neville is afraid that this will set back your progress."
He glared at her. "He thinks I'll go rushing off to rescue Lucius."
She nodded. "And I don't. And we're both at odds with the Ministry."
When she stopped, he cocked his head, urging her to continue.
"They want to put you in protective custody."
"Meaning they want to use me to their own ends and claim they're doing it to protect me." He sat back, tilting his chair on its hind legs. He stopped when he noticed her frowning at him. "Well, bugger the Ministry."
That got a smile out of her. "On that," she said, raising her mug in a salute, "The three of us are agreed."
He sat forward again, set his mug down, stood up and leant against the table. "Let's get this over with then."
Hermione said nothing but clutched her mug tighter.
"You're afraid."
"Yes."
"You're scared you're sending me off into the deep end."
"Yes."
He regarded her for a minute, then reached out his hand to her. "Then come with me, and keep an eye on me. There were only three people who were ever able to talk sense into me, and you're the only one that can come with me at the moment."
She lifted her chin, thought for a minute, set down the mug, stood and took his hand. Twenty seconds later they had floated through currents of memories and arrived at the one Hermione needed him to see.
The place stank of faeces and urine, of sulphur and fear. Slime climbed the walls while musty water trickled down them. The sound of waves thundered outside and set off unpleasant memories of attacks on school walls and Manor halls.
"Watch your step." The guard indicated a broken stone on the stairwell. "Don't get many visitors here, as you'd expect, so repairs aren't high on the agenda."
"Where are the Dementors?"
The guard glanced back at him as he shoved a massive key in a rusty lock and struggled to turn it. "Where you been then? Got rid of them all, didn't they? Destroyed 'em after that incident at Hogwarts."
Harry knew he'd been out of touch for a long time, but it still caught him by surprise every now and then. He tapped his foot impatiently.
"Surprised me. You asking to see him."
"Life is full of surprises," Harry said curtly and stepped through the gate, effectively cutting off any further attempt at chat. He strode off.
"Don't take any stupid risks!" The guard called after him. "I don't want to have to Confringo you!"
Harry waved a hand impatiently to indicate he'd heard the warning but didn't slow his pace. When he got to the stone wall at the end of the corridor he gave it the password and it dissolved into a doorway leading through to the anti-chamber of the cell which itself was bounded by metal bars into which was set a door. He walked in, waited till the doorway had disappeared behind him, then used the key he'd been given on the cell door. Lucius was standing, watching him curiously. He was ragged and filthy, his beautiful hair long and greasy, more yellow from the filth than white. He blinked at Harry.
"Good afternoon, Harry."
"Hello, Lucius."
The pause in the conversation extended until it seemed there might never be words again, while Lucius looked Harry up and down. Harry waited patiently. He had thought he might lose his temper once he got here and was finally faced with Lucius after six months without him, but now he knew he'd made the right decision.
Lucius cleared his throat but Harry cut off whatever he'd been about to say with a curt gesture. "I don't have long. The Ministry are unhappy enough about granting me this visit in the first place. They're monitoring how long I spend here so it's not possible for me to stay."
Understanding settled on Lucius' face and Harry recalled the memory in the pensieve.
"Mr Malfoy, you will answer the question set to you by the court. What exactly was the purpose behind the abduction of Mr Potter?"
Malfoy stared blankly at the walls of the Wizengamot. "To break Mr Potter. To bring him over to the side of the D-" Malfoy stopped and corrected himself, "of L-" he shook his head and muttered something then continued, "Of Tom Riddle."
"But the attempt failed."
"You may say that."
"Then the attempt succeeded."
"You may say that."
The Interrogator thumped a fist down on a pile of books and half the occupants of the room jumped. "Well which is it, Mr Malfoy? Either you succeeded or you did not!"
"Oh, it succeeded."
The entire court sucked in a collective breath. Potter? Turned to the Death Eaters?
Malfoy continued. "Just not in the manner we had envisaged."
The Interrogator walked up to Malfoy and leaned over him until Malfoy had to lean back to get some space. "You talk nonsense, Mr Malfoy and it will not stand with this court. Might I remind you that your life depends on your decision to provide us with clear and correct answers."
At that Malfoy looked sharply up at the prosector. "As you have already decided which are the correct answers there would seem to be little necessity to question me."
"That's enough!" The Interrogator looked up at the Chief Warlock's rebuke. "Mr Malfoy, cooperate with the court or I will find you in contempt and your testimony will no longer be required." There was a hush as the Chief Warlock's meaning sunk in around the gathered crowd. "Now answer the Interrogator's question."
"It worked-" Malfoy held up manacled hands in a plea to allow him to finish, "but not in the way we had intended."
"What had been the original intention?"
"It had been simply that I should seduce Mr Potter and that he should become dependant on me. But it rather backfired."
The Interrogator looked as though he would like to spit on Malfoy, but managed to get himself under control. "So what happened instead?"
"The situation reversed itself."
The Interrogator reared back and glared at Malfoy. "Are you saying that-"
"Mr Potter seduced me. And I am rather afraid that I became so dependant on his company that I let down my guard."
Silence descended on the court room. No one dared breathe for fear of missing the next words.
"Then, when the opportunity came, I let the wards down on the Manor so that Mr Potter could be rescued."
Several seconds of silence elapsed before the Interrogator shook himself out of his stupor and recommenced his attack. "Are you seriously expecting this court to believe you allowed your family, friends, and home to suffer a devastating attack in order to protect Mr Potter."
"Your belief or lack thereof is none of my concern, however you asked me what happened and I have provided you with the information you require to make your case."
"You allowed yourself to be captured in order to release Mr Potter?"
"Yes."
"Why not simply let him go?"
Malfoy cracked a smile but it was unsettling and completely without mirth. "We were all prisoners by then. I could no more have let him go than I could have escaped for myself."
"So you risked death to set him free?"
Malfoy looked up at the Interrogator but barely saw him there. "I was already dead without him."
Hermione stood suddenly from inside the memory-shape of herself so that for a split-second Harry saw double.
He looked up at her. "He might... He might have been lying."
She shook her head. "No. I administered the Veritaserum myself before his trial began." She looked sadly at Malfoy. "He was telling the truth." She looked at Harry again. "You... That is to say... It would be understandable..."
"Yes," Harry replied to the question she couldn't bring herself to voice, "I really did."
"But why?"
"Because fighting back any other way didn't work."
Her mouth formed a little 'o' of understanding and she looked at him in a way he hadn't seen her do since she'd realised he'd dragged Ron back to save her from the troll a lifetime ago.
He held out a hand again. "Come on. You have to take me to this afternoon's deprogramming session so they can tweezer him out of my head."
She raised an eyebrow at that. "I'm beginning to think they've applied the therapy to the wrong person."
His mouth spit into a conspiratorial smile and he winked at her then grabbed for her hand and they left the morose shadow of a broken Malfoy behind them.
"I brought you a gift." He took out the wrapped parcel from where he had stowed it underneath his cloak and put it on the sole chair in the spartan room. "Don't unwrap it until I'm gone."
Lucius' gaze searched his eyes for some sort of message but finding nothing useful he flicked it to the misshapen lump of glittery paper adorned with clumped-up sticky tape.
"I never was very good at wrapping."
"So I see."
"Clean yourself up before I come back. You're a mess."
At the mention of a return visit Lucius straightened slightly and he licked his bottom lip thoughtfully.
Harry wrenched his gaze from Lucius' lips before he was noticed and turned on his heels. "Remember what I said, Lucius," he called over his shoulder as he left and the locks reset themselves behind him. "I don't want to have to repeat myself."
He was halfway down the slimy stone corridor when he heard the soft chiming of an erratic clock that refused to correctly keep time, and a few seconds later hysterical laughter that might have been relief or might have been panic. He'd find out on his next visit.