Author: Cairo )
Summary: Lucius has taken over Wizarding Britain and has give Harry a... place of honor. One shot or not? What do you guys think?
Category: bit of angst/general
The room was big enough to fit a large house in. Its walls were a white in color, the floor of the best green and white marble. The pillars holding the ceiling up at intervals were so wide that one could not wrap his or her arms around it. Magnificent chandeliers lit the room, the light reflecting off the highly polished floor and the high windows. A band was situated in a corner, playing classical tunes. Men and women in robes of different colors swirled around the floor. Strange enough, not one single person was wearing red or yellow.
Couples inclined their heads to the platform as they passed. On the platform was a large, high-backed chair decorated in silver and the richest green velevet. Sitting on this chair was a man not more than thirty-six or thiry-seven years of age. His almost white hair was pulled back in a low pontytail tied with a leather strip. He wore robes of blue that made his grey eyes seem a light shade of blue. His features and thin, aristocratic nose told of his careful breeding.
He regarded the people in the room with a superior look, his eyes taking in every man and woman. Some women, and even men, gave him wistful looks. He did not give them a second glance, his interest not even piqued. Everyone in the room knew that there was only one that this ice cold man burned for. They hoped that this one would turn up soon or their leader would lose his temper.
They all shuddered at the memory of the last time that had happened. Some unfortunate people had left with missing limbs, their wails of agony permeating into the memories of the lucky ones that escaped unscathed.
And the reason for their Lord's anger was the same person that had not shown up yet.
The music suddenly stopped. The crowd's attention was drawn to the stairs leading up to the main floor. At the top stood a boy of seventeen, his unusually bright green eyes were focused straight ahead. He descended the stairs, the hem of his red and gold robes trailing behind him. He walked with a determined, yet hesitant air, his hands resting at his sides and swallowed slightly by the voluminous sleeves of his robes.
All was silent as the whole room watched him reach the bottom of the stairs and begin walking to the platform across the room, the clicks of his boots on the marble the only sound. The crowd parted for him, as if he was an object repelling other objects. They bowed their heads as he passed, murmuring, "Happy Birthday, my Lord," to him. He gave no indication of hearing them, his attention never wavering from the path straight ahead of him.
He ascended the few stairs to the platform, stopping in front of the man who gave him a pleased look. He glared at the man.
"Good evening, Harry," he said, the phrase seeming polite, but there was a dangerous gleam in the grey depths. "Are you not going to show your respect to your Lord?"
Harry reluctantly sank to one knee, but refused to bow his head. "My Lord Lucius," he said through clenched teeth.
Lucius gave him a smile that spoke of warnings. He beckoned Harry to rise, standing up as well so that he stood beside the shorter boy. "We have come here to honor Lord Potter's seventeenth birthday this evening. He thanks those who brought him gifts. Continue the celebration."
The music immediately began again and couples danced. Lucius sat back down. Harry took his place to the right of Lucius, sitting on the white fur that had been laid on the floor for him. He hated it. He despised sitting on the floor and Lucius knew it, too. Harry knew that was why Lucius insisted that he sit there in the first place.
"What took so long, pet?"
Harry shivered as the cold voice swept over him. "I didn't want to come here sooner than necessary."
A slap, not hard but hard enough to make his cheek burn, made him glare and set his mouth in a thin line.
"Watch your mouth. Your insolence will not be tolerated tonight."
"I may spread my legs for you and let you fuck me into your mattress, but I will not listen to you." He gasped as a hand suddenly fisted in his hair, bringing tears to his eyes.
"Enough," Lucius hissed. "I have allowed you many privileges today, because it was your birthday. But do not make me angry. You wouldn't want to go to that place again, would you?"
Harry kept silent.
"Would you?" Lucius shook the fist in Harry's hair.
"No, master," Harry said. He hated that place. It resided in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor and was dark, smelly, and wet. Many torture devices hung on the cell wall. Harry had experienced every single one of them, though he didn't have any marks on his body to prove it. Lucius always healed them after he was done, wanting to keep Harry's skin flawless.
The last time he was there was only about a week ago. Harry had thrown his plate of food at the insufferable man for saying that all the Weasleys were dead. Lucius had dragged a kicking and screaming Harry to the dungeons and punished him for nearly two hours, then left him in the dark cell. He came back later that day to heal Harry's wounds while he was unconscious. Three days later Lucius came back to collect him to clean him up. Harry's face flushed in shame as he remembered how he had clung desperately to Lucius, whispering apologies and sobbing into the man's ear. He had been dizzy with the blood loss and starved for company. There was just something about that cell that made him live through his worst fears. Like his fear of being completely alone. He was positive that it was Dark Magic.
He had been to that place a total of six times since he came here a year ago. The first couple of months that he been brought here he had been in the cell every two weeks for his defiance. Though he still retained his defiance, he did not practice it as much. After the three days it was always the same. Holding onto his captor like he was Harry's only hope, begging Lucius to never do this again, and promising that he would behave. He feared the vulnerability that he showed in front of Lucius rather than the pain that he was subjected to for hours at a time.
Lucius loosened his hold, petting Harry's head instead. His fingers brushed through the shoulder length black hair. He loved the feeling of his pet's hair. Soft and silky. That was one of the reasons that he liked Harry to sit on the floor where his hand had easy access to the boy's hair. He enjoyed watching the rage in the jade eyes as well.
Lucius looked up to see Draco. He was standing confidently at the foot of the platform, his not quite long enough hair hanging loosely around his face. Lucius was proud that he had raised his son so well. He was like an exact copy of Lucius. The man was planning to make Draco his successor or his second in command.
"I was just wondering if I could have a dance with Potter."
Lucius could feel Harry tense. He smiled in amusement when he turned pleading eyes to Lucius that clearly said, "Please say no."
"Of course. It is his birthday after all."
Harry rose stiffly and went down the stairs. Draco grasped his hand and swept him off into the dance floor.
The blond man knew of the hate that Harry harbored for Draco and vice versa. He had adamantly refused, even when threatened with punishment, when Lucius had said that Draco wanted Harry to come with him to spend a day at their villa in Switzerland. Lucius didn't punish him, though. He was pleased that the boy would choose to stay at Malfoy Manor rather than go with Draco.
Harry was trying very hard not to break out of Draco's arms and run. He hated the offspring of Lucius for betraying him to his father more than a year ago. While Harry had been tied to a chair, Lucius had poisoned Voldemort and killed him. He then had brought Harry to Malfoy Manor and soon declared himself the new Dark Lord. With Voldemort and Dumbledore dead, he could not be stopped. The Wizarding World had no hope since the only wizard capable of defeating the new Dark Lord was sharing his bed.
Harry cursed Dumbledore silently for the thousandth and one time for daring to step in front of the curse intended for him and getting killed.
"My dear Lord Consort," Draco smirked at him, his eyes held a triumphant glint. "Happy birthday. Seventeen, am I correct?"
"You would know," Harry snapped back.
"My father still hasn't broken you, yet?"
"He cannot break me."
He chuckled. "My father is capable of breaking anyone. I think he just likes your spirit too much to do so."
"I am so glad to hear that," Harry scoffed. "Is that why he brings me to the dungeons?"
Draco leaned in close to whisper in his ear, "He likes seeing blood on your face. He says it compliments your eyes."
Harry felt sick. How did Draco know? Did Lucius tell him? Did Lucius share how he liked to fuck him at night or any time he wanted to? It was wrong how his school enemy knew. It was shaming and made Harry's gut twist and he could taste the bile in his throat. He swallowed in a futile attempt to get rid of the taste.
Harry jerked his head away from him, stumbling back from the suffocating hold of the pale arms encased in robes of black. Mercury eyes mocked him, holding the amusement that Lucius always had in his eyes when Harry was forced to do something. He turned and ran up the stairs and out the doors leading into the garden. He leaned over the banister and retched, noting wryly how the moonlight made his dinner glisten on the grass below. He leaned his sweaty head on the cold stone, breathing deeply. He needed something to drink to drown out the mix of bile and acid.
It made him want to vomit again.
He straightened up and went down into the garden, the sweet smell of roses only causing his stomach to turn. The garden of Malfoy Manor was huge and filled with so many varieties of flowers and plants. Harry had tried once to try to identify all of them out of boredom, but had given up after covering only barely a fourth of the garden after a week of nothing but research. Lucius had thrown him into the bathtub every time he came back from the garden and scrubbed him until Harry was sure he had removed a layer of skin everyday. Seven days of this kind of treatment was enough to make every inch of his body so sensitive to everything that he couldn't bring himself to wear anything except a very loose pair of boxers for nearly two weeks. It drove Lucius mad since he couldn't fuck Harry or touch him without him screaming in pain. It wouldn't bother him normally, but Harry knew that Lucius liked to see him come and Harry just was too focused on his pain rather than his climax.
The air was warm. He remembered exactly a year ago on his birthday. The Durselys, of course, never even acknowledged the day. It was the usual treatment. Aunt Petunia making him clean the whole house, Dudley knocking him around a bit, and Uncle Vernon attempting to break his eardrums. Harry hadn't minded, though. The previous night he had received presents from the Weasleys and Hermione. Hermione sent the latest book of Quidditch moves, Ron gave him loads of sweets, and Mrs. Weasley baked him the most delicious birthday cake.
Never again would he get another sweater with a big 'H' on the front. Ron couldn't beat him at chess anymore. There would be no more Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Mr. Weasley's eager questions about Muggles were silenced. No more teasing among the Weasley family. They were dead. Long gone, but never forgotten by him.
Once he passed through the garden and began walking on the lawn, he felt the lump in his throat that was always there whenever he thought of the Weasleys. A hundred metres later he stopped before he ran into the wards set around the Manor. He knew that if he touched them he would be violently sick and start choking. His attempts at escape and breaching the wards were still fresh on his mind. Leaving the Manor without direct permission from Lucius was impossible. The man was too paranoid. There was not a nook nor cranny in the castle that didn't have a ward on it.
A cool hand touched the back of his neck and he gave a startled cry. He spun around. It was Lucius. Relief didn't flood his body. There was nothing to be relieved about when you realize that the person who just snuck up on you didn't want to kill you, especially if you knew that nobody would dare try to kill you since that person was so scared of your master.
"Dreaming again, love?" he asked.
Harry hated when he called him 'love', but did not say anything as that would only make the bastard laugh. "No. I'm just thinking of how you killed the Weasleys."
"Don't dwell too much on it. I gave them a quick death. No torture, rape, or anything of the sort. Just a few quick Avada Kedavras."
"You expect me to be happy about that? They never did anything to you! They didn't deserve to die, just like you don't deserve to live." Harry snapped his mouth shut. He had said too much and had gone much too far.
Lucius backhanded him, the force sending Harry back a few steps. "How dare you speak to me like that. Those fools did deserve to die. They shamed the pure-blooded lines with their talk of peace between muggles and wizards and witches. We do not wish to mix with muggles."
Harry touched his cheek and turned away, staring out at the vast expanse of grass that he was not allowed to tread through. Being imprisoned sucks, the totally unexpected thought popped into his mind, and he wanted to laugh at the irony of how he felt so old yet some of his thoughts were that of a teenager.
"Careful Harry, I may break you of your insolence," Lucius said.
"No," Harry said confidently, "you won't. You love my spirit too much to break me. Afterall, isn't that what you told Draco?"
There was silence and Harry looked up at the half-moon. Would Lucius admit to it or would he deny it? Harry absolutely doubted the latter. If Harry was right Lucius would more or less admit it.
"Is that what he told you in the ballroom?"
Harry nodded, clutching his robes closer to his body at the suddenly cold air.
"What else did my son tell you?"
Harry didn't want to tell. For some childish reason he felt that it would be like tattle-taling. But Lucius didn't like it when Harry didn't tell the truth. "He said that you liked to see blood on my face." Harry left the accusation unvoiced.
Lucius laughed and Harry seethed. "Haven't I taught you anything, Harry? You let Draco in so easily. The guests thought that you were running from Death Eaters."
Harry ignored the smirk that crossed Lucius' face. "I don't bloody care about the guests."
"Power in allies," Lucius said.
Harry snorted. "Yes, there's so much power in mindless allies." He knew that it wasn't true. Lucius had plenty of very intelligent people on his side. They would have to be intelligent to take over the whole of Wizarding Britain.
Lucius pulled Harry against his chest and wrapped his arms around the smaller boy. "You think so?" he asked, nuzzling his nose in the crook of the tanned neck.
Harry swallowed the moan that threatened to escape as Lucius kissed his neck. "No."
"What do you really think of them?" Lucius punctuated each word with a kiss, starting from the crook of his neck and pausing at his lips.
"I hate them," Harry was ashamed to find that his voice trembled.
"Why is that?"
"Killing little children and innocent people are hardly good qualities to convince someone to like you."
"I hardly agree," Lucius whispered against Harry's lips.
Harry pushed away from him, the full truth of what Lucius said crashing over him like ice cold water. He reminded himself of what a cold hearted bastard Lucius was. It was times like these when Lucius tried to seduce Harry that he forgot of the roles each one played in the world. He hated it when it happened.
"You don't have much of a heart to feel anything anymore. You never had one," Harry said.
A glint of amusement flickered into the silver eyes. "Gryffindors never change. What is it with Gryffindors and love and feelings?"
"It proves to us that we're still alive."
Lucius reached up and touched a finger to Harry's lips. "No, love. Feelings are nothing. Power is everything. It courses through your veins and inside you and makes your heart beat. What do you feel when a house elf rushes off to do what you command it to? Or when you make Draco so angry, but you know that he cannot touch you? What do you call that?"
In small voice, surrendering the battle, Harry whispered, "Power."