Fic: All Because of You (LM/HP)
Title: All Because of You Author: stonegrad Pairing: Lucius/Harry Rating: NC-17 Warnings: First time, hints of parselsmut and blood Summary: Harry is certain he's going to die, but Lucius Malfoy has other plans... Prompt: #87 - Yule time coming of age ritual for young wizards. Author Note: Somewhat crazily AU, because I ignored the fact that Harry didn't know for sure that Lucius was a prominent Death Eater when he was 14. Thanks to melfinatheblue for the beta (you're a wonder, you really are!)
All Because of You
“Everything's fine today, that is our illusion.”
After four years, Harry Potter thought he would have stopped being shocked by coming face to face with obscure wizarding traditions, but that really wasn’t the case.
It was Dumbledore who broke the news, after summoning him from the Great Hall with a scribbled note, and his blue eyes were very grave indeed as they peered at Harry from over the rims of his half-moon spectacles; which totally annihilated the young wizard's thought that this was just some sort of eccentric joke he would never, ever understand.
"What?" he croaked. Merlin, when had he swallowed the bucketful of sawdust?
A small smile, forced... well, that really didn't help with the sick, rolling feeling assaulting his stomach.
"The Coming of Age," Dumbledore repeated, voice every so slightly strained. "When a pureblood wizard or exceptionally strong half-blood - in this case, you, Harry - comes into their full powers."
Frown, cough, a little sideways shuffle in the Headmaster's plush chair - Harry wondered how long he could go without blinking before his eyes dried up.
"And you're telling me this now!" he demanded, outraged and, yes, pole axed... which really was rather appropriate, considering that he'd just been told that his nonexistent sex life was now a matter of serious importance to the Ministry of Magic, and that it's inactiveness needed to be rectified incredibly soon - this very Yule, this very DAY, nonetheless…
"We thought we'd have more time," the Headmaster conceded, brow furrowing. "Usually wizards mature at age 16, not 14... there have been cases, but usually only in the old families that still utilize blood-bindings at birth; the Malfoys, most notably."
He tapped a long finger against the sheaf of parchments sitting on the desk before him, pursing his lips. “Usually, the ritual doesn’t inspire such fuss - the parents are trusted to handle the issue… unfortunately, your case is a rather special one.”
‘Because my parents are dead’, Harry thought numbly, ‘and I’m the Boy Who Lived’.
Damn, damn, damn!
“It is imperative that you complete the ritual if you are ever to defeat Voldemort;” a flitter of unease in those normally sparkling blue eyes, like a curl of dark smoke just behind the lenses, translucent but still so unavoidably there. “You must be aware of this; without the release of your full powers, there is no chance at all.”
A sharp, piercing glance - Harry shifted uneasily in his chair, but did nothing to relax the angry set of his shoulders or the way his fists clenched in his lap, nails biting into his palms hard enough to draw blood.
“The other matter, and the one the Ministry is most worried about, is that neither James nor Lily are here to guide you through it.” There it was, the customary flash of sympathy, of sadness… Harry was really starting to get quite sick of it.
“What are they doing about it?” he asked grudgingly, wishing there was some way he could go back in time, Incendio the bloody note, and keep eating his breakfast - a meal which seemed to be in the process of climbing right back up his throat.
“Finding a suitable replacement,” Dumbledore answered immediately, fingering the parchments; his tone left something to be desired, and Harry picked up on it instantly.
“Who did they decide on?” he asked, sudden nervousness overcoming his anger… what kind of disgusting old hag had the Ministry set him up with?
Clearing of the throat - stalling tactic, not good, not good at all.
‘Odd,’ Harry thought, ‘I thought he just said Lucius Malfoy.’
Blink, steady gaze, hands rising into the air in a calming gesture…
Calming gesture? Fuck!
“Lucius Malfoy,” Harry echoed blankly. “As in the Death Eater, right-hand-man of Voldemort, Lucius Malfoy?” Strange… the shock seemed to have short-circuited his brain - shouldn’t he be in a towering rage right about now? Or breaking some of the small, expensive little knick-knacks cluttering the office and shouting at the top of the lungs?
Yes… definitely should be breaking things and screaming.
He took a deep breath, then another… odd how calm he suddenly felt; now he knew how his life was going to end.
“He’s going to kill me,” Harry stated bluntly. “He’s going to do something terrible, I’m going to die, and Voldemort is going to take over the wizarding world.”
Damnation in a nutshell.
“Now Harry,” Dumbledore soothed, placating hands moving through the air - his eyes were still hard and glacier-cold. “He only received the news a few moments ago, and is, at this very moment, terrorizing a few of our house elves only a floor above; we can keep tabs on him, so long as you remain within Hogwarts. No harm will come to you.”
“Except,” Harry said in monotone. “The fact that you want me to have sex with Lucius Malfoy.” He took a breath, kept his fists clenched - this was unreal. “Seems a bit like insulting a Hippogriff, don’t you think, Sir? Harmful, I’d say…”
Those eyes hardened still further, the Headmaster’s lips pinched into a thin line. “It is not what we wanted,” he said slowly. “But it is all we are going to get - Yule is tonight, and you must undergo the Coming of Age. There is no choice.”
Which summed it up nicely, Harry thought… wasn’t his whole damn life dictated by someone else? Since when had he ever had one of those elusive things people like to call a ‘choice’?
‘The Boy Who Lived… it’s insane, isn’t it? It’s all just fucking insane.’
Head in his hands - couldn’t his life just be normal, for once?
“Well, I guess I’d better… get on with it, then,” he said faintly, talking to his kneecaps. Oh Merlin, he thought he was going to be sick!
‘Old Ministry hag,’ Harry thought scathingly. ‘At least Malfoy is good looking, even if he is going to serve me to Voldemort tied up on a pretty silver platter.’
“Of course, of course,” Dumbledore said - nice of him to agree so quickly… “I’ll just take you to him, shall I?”
‘Yes, walk me to the gallows, why don’t you?’
“Ermmm… no, that’s okay. Just tell me where he is; I’ll go find him and, ummm, you know…” Harry couldn’t have said why, but that felt like a very, very good thing to say - the time alone might allow the shock to finally let go of his brain, or something like that.
The Headmaster frowned, seeming to weigh the request carefully before deciding on an answer. “The floor above us, behind that picture of the sphinx. The password is ‘cockroach clusters.’” A sudden twinkle in his eyes, coming too late to offer any semblance of comfort - “don’t worry, Harry. Everything will be okay.”
Which was probably the biggest lie Harry had ever had the pleasure of hearing in the entire 14 years of his life.
He lurched from his chair, feeling strangely detached as he half-stumbled down the winding staircase and out into the wide hallway; his thoughts seemed to be somehow trapped behind walls of glass, until the only one he could decipher was the gibbering voice repeating ‘I’m going to have sex with Lucius Malfoy’ - and, really, that wasn’t very helpful at all.
A sharp sliver of disappointment knifed through him; it was never supposed to be like this, never meant to include things like this, these private things that should belong to him - but did anything belong to him, when he was the Boy Who Lived?
Certainly not his life, he was sure of that.
The silence encroached, heavy, and his body was numb even where his arm connected with the banister, the pain blurred by the cold like paint in the rain, bleeding away. The anger lay flat, untended, in the realm of his chest - he wondered why he felt so dead…
‘They don’t love you… look at them, giving you away to a murderer.’
He never bothered to quash the thought, only strode on - and he wasn’t giving in, but he wasn’t feeling either, and maybe that was even worse in the circumstances.
“Cockroach clusters,” he said, and the painting swung to one side to reveal the entrance; Harry pulled himself through it without hesitation, pausing briefly to take in the cluttered furniture before his eyes were drawn to the hooded figure standing beside the cold fireplace.
“Mr. Malfoy;” was that really his voice? Merlin, it wasn’t a bucket of sawdust, it was bloody bathtub full of sandpaper!
That hooded head tipped ever so slightly in his direction, a lock of blond hair escaping from within it, shockingly pale against the rich black fabric of the robes - a flash of silver as the snake-headed cane switched hands, before the empty one was extended towards Harry, clothed in dark leather like a second skin.
“Mr. Potter,” in that smooth, soft baritone; no inflection, no emotion.
Harry hesitated a moment, eyeing the hand warily before taking the necessary steps forwards and reaching out to grasp it, the leather comfortingly cool - he felt, more than saw, Lucius smile at the contact, and his heart plummeted into his stomach as the long fingers twisted, dropping a heavy signet ring into the center of his palm.
‘So bloody dead…’
His stomach lurched as the Portkey took effect, that familiar hook just below his navel, a swirling vortex that opened up under his feet and swallowed him down - and all he could see was Lucius Malfoy’s hooded face and their intertwined fingers, black gloves, tanned skin…
And he knew he was going to die…
“In the long run, we are all dead.”
-- John Maynard Keynes
Harry stumbled when they landed, reeling backwards until his shoulders hit the wall and his hands splayed across the marble, cushioning the collision.
Lucius Malfoy seemed to study him for a moment, sliding the ring back onto his finger as he did so - it gleamed in the broad bands of sunlight streaming through the tall, arched windows, painting the tiled floor beneath them a bright, molten gold.
“I’m surprised, Harry,” Lucius said after a second, slipping back the cowl of his robes - his features were as sharp as they had always been; strong jaw, pronounced cheekbones, flawless alabaster, grey eyes, narrowed, calculating…
‘Definitely not an old hag,’ Harry thought, still in a rather pleasant amount of shock. ‘The complete opposite, in fact.’
“So am I;” enough to bring a small, thin smile to those gossamer lips… strange how nice that made him feel, when he was out of his mind with astonishment.
A quick, cursory glance at the surroundings - high ceiling, high windows, polished to a shine… a ballroom?
“Where…” he began, only to swallow when the word stuck uncomfortably in his throat. “Where are we?”
One thin, pale eyebrow was arched; the smile took on a predatory edge. “Malfoy Manor” - as if it was the most obvious thing in the entire world, and he was a complete idiot for not knowing.
‘Oh… oh shit.’
Still, no anger - it lay curled up in his stomach, sleeping; but his Gryffindor courage at least had not deserted him… he wasn’t laying on the floor screaming in terror yet, was he?
“What do you want with me?” Easier that time, more confident, and he didn’t even flinch when Lucius’ (‘not Malfoy, because Malfoy means Draco and Lucius is far more dangerous than he will ever be’) hand closed over his wrist, pulling him forwards until they stood chest to chest; his head could fit under the man’s chin if he just stood on his toes and leant forwards a bit…
This, of course, was a very, very bad thing to do - Harry resisted.
‘As long as you remain in Hogwarts, we can keep tabs on him… not in Hogwarts now, am I Sir? Not anywhere near it…’
“I would have thought that was obvious,” Lucius drawled, twirling the cane through his fingers absently as he looked down at Harry - this close, his body radiated a stunted sort of heat, strangely comforting… which was just so damn wrong it was actually rather funny.
Green eyes - and how calm they were, how bright - peering up through dark lashes; no fear, no anger… no emotion but a slight flash of curiosity, smoke in the whirlwind. “You’re going to kill me?” as if it wasn’t his life he was talking about… but if Lucius took him to Voldemort, then he might have a chance to kill the bastard after all.
As long as he did it after the ritual, of course.
Another smile - “No.”
“You’re going to take me to Vol- your Lord?” Still, how odd that he felt nothing at the thought - how very dangerously unusual…
Tripwire tongue, honey, that lower lip wetted silver before he spoke - Harry’s eyes followed it, hypnotized… “No;” and he saw the form of it more than he heard the perfect drawl, the way Lucius’ lips slid around the single syllable, impassive.
It took perhaps six seconds for the word to sink in; Harry frowned, his anger finally flaring into a brief flickering of life.
“Then what am I here for!” he demanded, grabbing a fistful of Lucius’ robes… ‘Very nice fabric,’ Harry thought dazedly, forgetting the danger in his situation because he was just so confused, because this was just so insane.
“I believe,” Lucius said, raising one hand - cane dangling between two fingers - to pry at the fist crushing his robes; it released immediately. “That you are aware of the fact that the Ministry has chosen me to guide you through your Coming of Age.”
‘But you’re meant to kill me, not fuck me! You’re a bloody Death Eater!’
“You’re going to help me?” Harry asked blankly, hand falling limp at his side - this was some sort of weird dream, wasn’t it?
“No;” Lucius sounded faintly incensed at the repetition, grey eyes hard - landmines just waiting for someone to stumble and trigger the explosion. “You’re going to help me.”
Harry blinked, opened his mouth, closed it, and blinked again - “Why?” he asked, incredulous… oh, if only this was just some sort of terrible joke! But even the Weasley twins wouldn’t go so far as this.
“Because, Harry;” and didn’t his name just sound perfect falling off that tongue, between those lips - which was, he thought, even weirder than his state of shock-induced apathy. After all, he’d never even looked at another guy like that, never even thought about swinging that way…
That, of course, didn’t help to explain why Lucius’ voice made him so hard.
‘A purely hormonal response to the situation, right?’
“You have something I want, and I have something you need,” the man continued, twining one arm around Harry’s slender waist - green eyes widened, but he did not pull away.
“Which is?” in a kind of breathy challenge, not so subtly demanding an explanation - Lucius’ lips curled up in the corners.
“You are the only one who can defeat the Dark Lord;” and when, exactly, had Lucius moved so that his breath fluttered across Harry’s ear, startlingly warm… winter wasn’t warm, right? “I am the only one who can unleash that power.”
A mouth on his neck, just touching - voice as smooth as honey, that tongue flittering against his skin with every word; Harry’s pulse raced. “And I don’t work for free.”
‘So, in other words, you want me to kill Voldemort so you can be top dog…’
Shouldn’t that be a bad thought?
“Mmmm,” Harry agreed, tilting his head to one side to allow Lucius better access to his neck - the man’s soft chuckle sent a shockwave of sensation down to pool in his groin, such glorious, wondrous heat… when had his eyes started falling closed?
And when did Lucius start glowing with that soft, pulsing light?
“You’re glowing,” he stated blankly, and watched in fascination the way those broad shoulders hitched, as if restraining laughter - it really was quite a beautiful glow; like liquid silver, flowing and moving in the air around them, laced through with thin spider webs of black… expanding lines of darkness in the light, and the contrast was so mesmerizing that Harry couldn’t take his eyes off it.
Black, eating the white, satin-sleek, hungry wolves devouring the kill - and it wasn’t bad, per say, but it wasn’t normal either.
“Just like magic,” Lucius whispered, pulling him closer; the darkness was faintly cool on his skin, but other than that, it simply felt like air…
“It’s you, isn’t it?” Harry murmured dreamily, raising a hand to twine through the shadows - his fingers caught in the ribbon holding back Lucius’ hair, pulling it loose and letting it flutter down to the ground; the blond was outrageously bright against the black. “It’s the ritual showing me your aura…”
Another movement, and he could feel Lucius’ chest against his own, the strong, steady heartbeat; his hands had somehow linked around the back of the man’s neck - it should have been wrong, but it wasn’t.
“It’s very dark;” the soft puff of his air against his neck sounded amused at his boldness, and Harry smiled as the arms tightened around him, watching the darkness twist, iridescent smoke - it surged, thickened… Lucius was doing something.
Apparating them somewhere.
It was quick, so quick; the sensation of constriction had barely taken hold before he felt the floor under his feet again, the sudden dimming of light - a room with the thick curtains drawn…
The aura faded into the shadows, but it still glistened as if wet in the faint lamplight, a sheen of oil clinging to air; it felt so good against his skin, his lips, in his mouth, down his throat, lacing his lungs with magic, magic.
Harry sighed, tilting his head to watch as Lucius settled his cane, and the ornate ring, on the nightstand - arms still hooked around Harry’s back, the fingers of his left hand circled the wrist of his right, slipping under the lip of his glove and peeling it off his palm; a pleasant thrill raced down Harry’s spine at the baring of his pale, flawless skin.
Green eyes still locked on those slender, graceful hands, he leant up to kiss the smooth flesh on the underside of Lucius’ jaw, tongue swirling first tentatively and then with more audacity when the pulse under his lips sped up - a soft sigh; he didn’t know whose, and it didn’t really matter anyway.
The gloves hit the nightstand, and Harry felt Lucius’ fingers tracing down the curve of his lower back, completely shameless as they settled on his arse and pulled him forwards against the elder man - and what did it matter that he was married, or that he was old enough to be Harry’s father…
Or that he was the sworn enemy.
There was only his hair brushing Harry’s cheek, his eyes, laughing, as he traced a path up that slender neck with his mouth; his lips smothering those of the Boy Who Lived, glorious and deadly, intoxicating, as his tongue pressed forwards and in, slick as a snake.
Heat, engulfing - the velvet slide of his tongue across the roof of Harry’s mouth; and he kissed as if his entire world was made up of those lips, that mouth, a battlefield ready to be plundered…
And Harry surrendered.
Maybe it was the magic, the darkness lacing his veins like morphine, addictive; he knew it was wrong, he knew that he should belong to Light, to not fall for the taste of power behind the rich, vintage wine that lingered on Lucius’ lips… but it was like a parasite, like some sort of disease, and he wanted it, he wanted more.
He wished he could have said so, but in the end, he knew it didn’t matter; hands undid his robes, pushed them from his shoulders, drew his fingers to the white silk of Lucius’ shirt, the line of small silver buttons nestled there - and maybe he fumbled, but the frustration never appeared, the awkward air of apology refused to rise; he could feel thumbs in the waistband of his trousers, tugging them down, and it was good.
Harry wanted to give permission, to say ‘annihilate me’; but there were only kisses and air, and not enough space between the two for speech.
The side of the bed collided with the back of his legs, sending him sprawling across the black silk, breathless, dazed - Lucius studied him for a moment, his grey eyes heavy; weighing Harry down as if it was his body that was pressed upon him, and not just his hard, iron gaze.
A soft whisper of movement; his trousers pooled to the floor at Lucius’ feet, those slender hands gliding up his calves, and Harry didn’t care that he was naked, or hard, or terribly vulnerable - not when pale fingers traced the up the inside of his thighs until a thumb could brush, so lightly, against the base of his cock.
What did it matter, then, that Lucius smiled like a shark scenting blood in the water - what did anything matter?
“Do it,” he gasped, and he couldn’t have said why except that the magic was setting his blood on fire and he wanted to feel it, he wanted it to hurt, he wanted to drown in the dark because it would feel so good once it clogged his lungs and plastered his heart; beating, thumping, burning…
More movement, and the hands retreated for a moment before the bed dipped and Lucius was there above him, clothed in inch upon inch of hot human skin and pale hair that trailed over Harry’s chest; soft, intangible.
“Do what?” as those thighs fell either side of his waist, and his green eyes were full to the brim with the sight of that taunt, pale body - the broad shoulders and the dark, otherworldly glow of the Mark on Lucius’ forearm; and he wondered, briefly, if he should have been able to taste death on those lips.
‘Death Eater; drive me to the grave and back.’
“Take me” - and he couldn’t discern whether it was the Dark that he wanted to devour him, or Lucius himself; in his mind, they were one and the same, a cocktail of damnation that he couldn’t help but swallow.
Lips on his throat, against his pulse, soft and sweet and dangerous… the low vibration of words he couldn’t hear, wasn’t meant to hear - his skin began to glow, and the darkness around them thickened, oppressive, hungry.
He couldn’t have stopped it if he had wanted to.
In that strange, white light, his hands clutched at Lucius’ shoulders like a lifeline, legs wrapped around him, pulling him closer until their erections rubbed and the man above him hissed like a snake; Harry echoed it, snarling “take me” in that vipers tongue, incomprehensible.
Lucius’ eyes burned at the sound, his fingers skittering down the curve of Harry’s stomach, avoiding his cock in favour of brushing down behind his balls, and further yet, to creep between the cheeks of his arse - and it felt odd when one entered in time to the whispered lubrication charm, but it wasn’t wrong, so Harry only moaned wetly and arched up to grind their hips together, tight heat flooding him and the sweetness of Dark magic layering his tongue with poison.
It was an infection, he was sure; Lucius was the carrier who delivered it to him, into him - how could he not love the sight of that aristocratic face above him, barely tinged with colour, the eyes so dreadfully intent as they flickered from his face to the hand moving between their intertwined bodies… how could he not?
“Luciussss,” he breathed, and saw again that small, feral smile - white teeth flashing, and the darkness was everywhere; his own skin glowed a waxy grey in the face of it, his magic reaching for it… Harry didn’t know what would happen when they touched, but he wanted to.
How badly he wanted to.
The fingers in him - and he couldn’t have said how many there were, only that it hurt, and that the pain was so good - twisted, brushed something, and wet heat trickled down his chin as he sliced into his bottom lip with his own teeth at the sudden, shocking feel of it; Lucius’ eyes darkened as he leant in, lips closing over the wound, sucking it into his own mouth as if starved of the taste.
That hurt, too… but Harry didn’t care.
One last, violent crook of those fingers - his groan was muffled, his body writhing in the sheets and against the man kneeling over him - and then… nothing. Gone without a trace, and the darkness was oppressive, the light of his own magic waning - or being swallowed.
Did it matter? Did anyone even care?
Lucius shifted, something blunt pressing forwards and in; and that was new, and strange, and it burned, just a little - but the discomfort made it real, and the magic thriving through Harry helped to ease his sudden rush of nerves, his sudden, inexplicable anxiety… who ever thought his first time would be like this?
“Hush,” Lucius whispered, almost fondly, against the curve of his neck - his body was strung like a bow, a tight, deadly heat; Harry’s nails dug into his shoulders hard enough to draw blood as he pulled out slowly, then pushed in again, measured, calm - the air around him was seething, demonic wings spread out, all-encompassing.
Distantly, Harry knew he shouldn’t like the feeling of being filled so completely by such a man; yet, he couldn’t figure out exactly why.
He didn’t want it to end, he knew that, as he tightened his legs around Lucius and arched up into the collision of their bodies, half-screaming into the darkness… and the shadows listened, breathed, slunk down his throat like some vile creature - and it tasted so good, so good, and he couldn’t help but wonder why no one had ever really told him about the Dark before.
‘Because it’s addictive, and powerful, and I might start to want it.’
Harry gasped, feeling moisture well up over his fingertips, dripping onto his chest - the red looked shockingly dark against his flushed skin, and Lucius’ eyes followed it, his lips so warm as he hunted it down.
‘Because I already do…’
Lucius shivered, raising his head - there was a single drop clinging to the corner of his lips, and Harry blindly pulled him down again, slipping his tongue in the velvet heat of the man’s mouth; it tasted like blood, like wine… it tasted so good he half-wished he could drown in it, if only drowning wouldn’t mean giving up the brilliant, all-consuming ecstasy building inside of him.
It couldn’t last, he couldn’t - Lucius kissed back, the darkness devoured him; he came…
His screams were smothered even as the liquid dripped down between his thighs, and there was a kind of gentle violence to the way Lucius’ hands gripped his waist, pulled him up, slamming into him until he, too, lost his voice within the union of their lips as orgasm bloomed and the magic swallowed them both.
‘I died after all…’
And it didn’t matter.
“Convictions are more dangerous foes of truth than lies.”
-- Friedrich Nietzsche
A shrill, piercing yell - Harry’s head swung up, the heavy hood of his robe pulled back off his forehead with the movement; his green eyes seemed strangely bright against the backdrop of rich fabric trimmed with ornate silver snakes... too bright.
His hands, gloved in fur-lined leather against the bitter morning cold, rose uncertainly, as if he could not decide if he really wanted to catch the pair bounding down the massive stairwell in Hogwarts’ Entrance Hall, running for him with all the exuberance of young puppies released from the cage.
Ron stumbled to a halt, his face going ashen as Lucius’ fingers brushed down the length of Harry’s spine, small shivers trailing in their wake like ripples in the water - cast half in shadow and with his blond hair neatly concealed by his hood, he cut a formidable figure in the misty dawn… Ron could not have known who he was, but he could surely have guessed exactly what he was there for.
‘I’m going to have some explaining to do…’
Movement, behind him - something brushed Harry’s side, and he had the briefest sensation of weight falling into the right pocket of his robes, pulled fresh from the extensive Malfoy wardrobes not two hours before; Lucius’ chin tucked easily into the curve of his neck, his voice low.
Once, Harry might have minded the way those arms fit so snugly around his waist - but that was before the sex, the darkness, the heat… the power.
“You and I, my Harry,” Lucius breathed, and Harry could feel the length of his body pressed up against his back as Hermione and Ron hovered just out of reach, torn between shock and anger so evenly they didn’t seem capable of speech.
“You and I;” and there was faintest whisper of lips pressed to the top of his head and the rich fabric there - he smiled, nodded, and mourned the loss as Lucius disentangled himself and turned to sweep out through the open doors.
When Harry’s eyes finally left his retreating form, Hermione had regained some measure of composure.