New Depths

Summary: Lucius Malfoy is bored. Remus Lupin is pretty. There's a lot of money resting on the outcome of this dangerous combination.

Notes: This is my first attempt at an R-rated fic. Even if it doesn't end up R-rated, I tried. This was first written on paper (A4 narrow lined, 4 holes, with margin) over six hours in St Bartholomew's Church, Brighton, while listening to the Sussex Symphony Orchestra rehearse. Incidentally, St Bartholomew's apparently has the same dimensions as Noah's Ark. This led to my Animal Stacking theory which I tried out on a couple of people this week; no one found it funny. St Bart's is very impressive and very shiny, as is the Sussex Symphony Orchestra, but this fic was begging to be written.

Rating: Er, see above. Aiming for R but we'll see.

Pairings: My new interest, Remus/Lucius.

Disclaimer: I blame great acoustics and too much coffee. Play spot-the- Discworld-reference. Fun for all the family.

"Checkmate," sighed Lucius Malfoy, flicking absently at his opponent's remaining Rook and sitting a black Bishop firmly in front of the white Queen. "Again," he added.

The Slytherin boy opposite him looked hopelessly at the board. "But – "he began.

"What?" mutter Lucius. "Your knight was in a very highly thought out tactical position? Of course it was, but it makes no difference because I'm infinitely better at this than you and everyone else in this poor excuse for a school."

"But – "Said the boy again."

"What?" sighed Lucius.

"How did you DO that?"

"It's this rare, amazing thing I have called talent."

"You shouldn't have won!"

"No, you're right. You were set to win the game more often than I, but perhaps you shouldn't have assumed this meant you had it in the bag. And now you've learned an important rule of life. Go away please."

The boy snarled angrily, got to his feet and stomped off. Lucius leaned back in the enormous leather armchair which sat in the corner of the Slytherin common room and had been claimed long ago as his own. He had taken no pride or even a little satisfaction in his victory; it was no longer a challenge. He could beat any student and most of the staff at Chess. It was only old Dumbledore who beat him every time, and Lucius was convinced the headmaster used some kind of trickery.

Lucius had also achieved top grades in all his classes, which to be fair wasn't a difficult task for him. He was head boy. He had been in the duelling club until he'd been politely asked to leave so that some of the other students had a chance to win occasionally. He was so popular that he spent most of his time alone, because there was no one who came close to being as interesting and clever as him, and therefore almost no one he felt was worthy of his time. Amazingly no one held this against him, and respected him for it: he was, after all, the very ideal of a Slytherin student. He could – and frequently did – have any girl in his year who he liked. Any boy too. And in the year below. In fact, life for Lucius Malfoy had become not only incredibly easy, but unbelievably boring too.

Lucius stared coldly at the Chess board for a while. It was Saturday evening and he'd already run out of interesting things to do. He was beginning to consider going to bed and spending all weekend doing absolutely nothing and avoiding contact with the rest of humanity when a familiar figure appeared at his elbow. He knew without glancing sideways who it was.

"Hello, Wolf. Fancy a game?"

The small boy at his side chuckled. "When I lose all my senses, maybe. Done your Potions homework?"

"Naturally; I did it in class while Professor Schmidt was rambling on about our exams."

"You swine. Let me see it."

Lucius picked up his schoolbag and threw it at his friend. The smaller boy caught it and fished out the roll of parchment. Wolfgang Faust was small, red-haired and rat-like. He was, for want of a more appropriate term, Lucius' best friend. This basically meant that he was the only person Lucius didn't find boring most of the time, and could bare to be in the presence of for more than an hour a day without grinding his teeth in frustration with humanity at large. Wolfgang was almost completely without loyalty, which was one of his more endearing features. He was quick, clever and cruel. However he genuinely liked Lucius, which was why he hadn't made an arch-enemy out of him. He was one of the few people who could have survived his teenage years and into adulthood with Lucius as an arch-enemy. Lucius knew this, and it was the main reason why he liked Wolfgang. Their friendship - which had nothing going for it except an odd mutual admiration yet was ultimately a successful one – was almost unique amongst Slytherins.

Wolfgang had started selectively copying Lucius' essay, adding in ideas of his own so as not to get caught out. He glanced up to see the blond boy still staring listlessly at the chess board. He flicked some ink at Lucius, who fixed him with a blood-boiling glare.

"Oi, why the long face? It's even worse than the one you were born with."

"Shut up, Wolf," muttered Lucius, "unless you can actually help me out."

"Why, what's up?"

"I'm so bored, Wolf."

"Oh. Is that all?" Wolfgang explored the contents of his right ear.

Lucius sat up straight and scowled at him. "All!? Wolf, this is a catastrophe."

The smaller boy hesitated. "It's . . . some kind of punctuation mark?"


"Like an apostrophe?"

Lucius, surprisingly, looked impressed. "That's a very big word. Well done."

"I know," said Wolfgang proudly.

"Alas," said Lucius finally, slumping back in his chair, "a catastrophe isn't much like an apostrophe. Rather it's the end of existence as we know it."

"Oh, is that all?"

"What is that, phrase of the fortnight? No, it's not all. I need you to tell me - What am I going to do?"

Wolfgang chewed the end of his quill and regarded the Head Boy thoughtfully. He had known Lucius for seven years, and never before had he seen him completely devoid of motivation or inspiration. This really was serious, and he had to find a way to deal with it. Now.

"I have it."

Lucius raised a lazy, enquiring eyebrow at him. "Oh you do? Just like that?"

"Yes. My dear Mr Malfoy, I have for you a challenge."

Lucius sighed. "My last challenge was five months ago because we ran out of victims."

"Contestants, Lucius, contestants. And we ran out of obvious ones."

"We ran out of desirable ones."

"Almost. We never ventured as low as the fifth year."

Lucius shook his head. "There's nothing whatsoever interesting about any person under sixteen."

"You're correct, and five months ago most of the fifth years were indeed under sixteen. But now a lot of them are of that essential age. And one in particular has come to my attention."

Lucius looked rather more interested. "Oh yes?"

"You will of course be familiar with James Potter."

"Fuck off, Wolf, James Potter is a jumped-up little turd. I wouldn't shag him if he paid me."

"I wasn't asking you to; I was stating that you're familiar with him. Which your outburst rather confirms."

"Yes, yes. I know of him. What is your point?"

"Let me finish. You might also have heard of Sirius Black?"

Lucius hesitated before saying rather cautiously, "now we're getting somewhere."

"No we're not, because you keep interrupting. Keep your gob shut and listen." Wolf shifted in his seat, then pressed his fingertips together, peering at Lucius. "They're right little buggers, those two. James Potter and Sirius Black, kings of the fifth year. An interesting little duet, you may think, but in fact they are not a duet. They are a . . .quad. One of the four isn't worth our attention, but the other, the quiet one; he is more interesting than the rest combined."

"Other one. What the hell are you on about?"

"Remus Lupin. Do you know the name?"

"Should I?"

"No. That's why he is so interesting. He is not a prominent figure, despite being Black and Potter's closest friend. He is quiet, reclusive, shy, intelligent, modest –"

"Exactly like me then."

Wolfgang had to pretend to choke to cover his laughter, but Lucius wasn't fooled.

"Am I amusing?"

"Unremittingly, Lucius. But back to the challenge. Seduce Remus Lupin."

Lucius snorted in the most genteel way. He stared down his nose at Wolfgang as if the little red-head were mad for even suggesting it. "Why should I? What makes him so special?"

Wolfgang shuffled closer. "This information is classified."


"Remus J. Lupin. . .Now you mustn't ask how I know this. . .Lucius, he's. . ." Wolfgang lowered his voice to a whisper. "A werewolf." Wolfgang sat back and tried to look exactly like nothing had happened.

"Really? Oh. What's the J stand for?"

Wolfgang's eyes widened. "Lucius, he's a werewolf! A monster! A complete freak! My dad works with his dad, and I know it for a fact. Doesn't that interest you at all?"

"Not as much as the mysterious J. Nothing like an anonymous middle name to arouse curiosity and really piss everybody off."

"I don't know what it stands for, and I couldn't care less," snapped Wolf. "I know you, Lucius Malfoy, and I can see all the shiny little cogs going round and round in that mind of yours. You're interested. The challenge stands, with fifty Galleons resting on it."

"Make it a hundred and fifty, and you're on."

"A hundred and fifty?!"

"I'm being generous. If you'd shagged a werewolf before you'd have started at a hundred and ninety."

Wolfgang narrowed his eyes. "You bloody haven't, you liar."

A grin spread across Lucius' face. "No; but I've read things. They bite."

"Icky. Shut up." Wolfgang wrinkled his nose. "I'm all for hunting down vi. . .ah, contestants to keep you occupied, but I've told you, I don't want details." He looked sideways at Lucius. "Since you're such a bloody liar and we both know who's going to win, let us say ninety galleons."

Lucius spat on his hand and held it out. Wolfgang gave him a disgusted glare, shook, then wiped his hand franticly on the couch.

"You were supposed to spit too, Wolf."

"Piss off. Pervert."

"Shut up and go count your pocket money, then put it in a fat envelope with my address on." Lucius grinned as he watched Wolfgang go back to his essay. The challenge was set, and it was time to start planning his first strike.