Title: A White Coat for My Blond
Rating: SLASH Mature readers only
Disclaimer: No, I do not own. -sigh- All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Harry and Lucius discover that not all magic can be learned and that sometimes it just happens to you.
Pairings: Harry/Lucius, Draco/Ron, Remus/Sirius, Severus/Bill
Author's Note: Okay, I confess that I love the veela! stories that are becoming as cliché as mind melds. They're as guilty as chocolate and as fun, so I wanted to write my own. I actually wrote a couple of veela stories before I was happy to carry through with this one, my indulgence between Riley and Whitney, my usual rent boys.
A White Coat for My Blond
After the boy Harry Potter defeated Voldemort the remains of his deatheaters were summarily arrested. Lucius Malfoy had gone quietly to every one's surprise, but he was a father first and foremost. Once he had Dumbledore and the Ministry's promise not to involve Draco in any way he had calmly surrendered himself into the dingy cell that was most likely the last place he would ever see. He refused to answer questions and arched a disdainful eyebrow at their threats of torture, reminding them of whom he had served. Though that did not prevent them at trying to see if their barely sanctioned methods would prove any more effective. He refused any visitors. His good-byes he had tendered to his son on that final night of confrontation before sending him to the relative safety of the Weasleys. Besides Draco, there was no one he had any measurable words to say.
Dumbledore came anyway, despite his stated wish to be left alone. The old man entered the cold cell with the same solemn walk with which he progressed everywhere, the twinkle in his eyes undimmed by his surroundings or the closed face of the man who awaited him. He stopped near the center of the closet-sized room, calmly taking in the lack of furnishings. There was no bed, nor chairs, or any furnishings at all. Just a privy hole in one corner and Lucius in the other. If nothing else, the silver-haired veela could laud the Ministry for their interpretation of a sparse prison cell. After ten days of beatings, no food, fouled water, and the incessant attentions of Fudge, Lucius was ready for the dementor's kiss.
"Lucius," the Headmaster of Hogwarts began, "I know you have refused to speak to any of the Ministry's officials, but seeing this state of affairs, I can see why not. However, I would give you one more chance to speak before you are judged."
"Do not think your part was small in putting me here," Lucius spat, once silken voice rough from thirst and screaming. "The Ministry act by your sanction. Yours and the Order. You judge us deatheaters so harshly in comparison to what paragons of goodness and mercy? This? I will not lower myself to beg for my life from such hypocrites as yourself and your Ministry."
The old wizard stared at him for a long moment. Perhaps remembering the brightness of the boy Malfoy had once been. Sadness crept across his wizened face then, and he turned to leave. "Very well, Lucius. I bid you farewell."
They came for him that night. By their determined expressions he knew his judgment had been passed, yet no dementors accompanied them. With harsh efficiency they hauled him from his corner and to his feet, binding his wrists behind him with a length of magically strengthened flax. Was it to be a public execution, Lucius wondered as an auror each took an arm and apparated them from the cell.
Re-appearing in darkness and the veela was shoved forward and yanked into something. At the slamming of doors he realized it was an automobile.
"Where are you taking me?" Lucius demanded, twisting about between his jailers until he was subdued by an elbow to his cheek. The pain exploded into an array of colors and the blond slumped forward to put forehead to knees. No one made move to haul him upright so he stayed as he was, hanks of hair of an indeterminably brown shade hiding his face. His only consolation was the uncomfortable shifting of his escort. After so long in a cell that had never been cleaned of its numerous occupants' leavings, and numerous it was as Azkaban had stood for centuries, Lucius knew he reeked. Locks that had once shimmered silver now clumped and stuck together by means he refused to think about. He hoped his kit would not be given opportunity to see his father thus.
Time tracked itself, but Lucius drifted. At one point, one of his seatmates cracked a window, but a harsh voice from the front told him to close it. It sounded like a woman. Lights from outside occasionally strobed into the car, but eventually even those ceased. The rumble and wind of the car surrounded them, and for his first ride in a muggle conveyance, Lucius found it oddly soothing.
The vehicle stopped with a rocking motion. Doors opened and hands hauled the veela out into a pre-dawn courtyard. Glancing up as he was hustled along Lucius beheld a mansion of monstrous proportions. It even sported a few towers, giving the impression of an elegant castle. He had never seen the place before.
Through the double doors easily the height of three men and they were in a white tiled marble foyer. A cuff to the back of the head sent him to his knees, growling as a boot to his nape forced him further until his forehead grimed the pristine floor. Somebody chuckled and a foot kicked his bunched thigh, hard enough to add another bruise to the motley assortment adorning his translucent skin. He took the hint though and quieted himself. He had learned obedience to violence a long time ago.
"Hello." The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but it was difficult to hear nuances over the blood roaring through his ears. "You made good time."
"Thank you, sir. Headmaster Dumbledore said you wanted delivery by morning." One of his jailers, he thought to his left. Dumbledore had wanted him brought here?
"Yes. You may go now. Do give Mr. Fudge my regards, won't you?"
"Sir, are you certain? The deatheater still has some fight left. He's still dangerous."
"I would imagine so, but he is of no threat to me. Gentlemen, Lady, please let me show you out." The tramp of feet then, Lucius' neck and shoulders aching at the sudden release of pressure, and the doors opened. Muffled words and the doors closed. Lucius thought of breathing, of forcing air to swell protesting ribs and release. The feathery caress to the tread imprint on his nape made him start.
"Gentle, my silver fox. Sleep. I will care for all of this."
And surprisingly, he did.
With a sharp inhale of breath Lucius woke. When pale blue eyes opened they first took note of the hand lying near his face. The long, slim fingers fair glowed, the nails neat and trimmed. Clean. Not a stain of dirt or abraded flesh. The attached wrist was equally free of rope burn. Sitting up, he fought down a wave of dizziness and took in the rest of his form.
Someone had stripped him of the tatters of his clothing, cleaned him and healed the insults done to his flesh. Dizziness plagued him still, but he pulled himself from the luxurious trappings of the great bed and tumbled to the floor. The room he'd woken to was as resplendent as the bed that dominated it, but he paid no mind to his gilded surroundings. He wanted out of here. He remembered well his holiday with the aurors and being brought to a mansion. Was this still the place? No matter. The Ministry had brought him here so it was no place he intended to linger.
The door took some looking for, sculpted to blend itself with the bracing walls, but find it he did. To no avail. There was no knob, nor did it budge to pushing. Neatly trapped and he cursed as he cast about for another means of escape.
A curtained window opposite the bed caught his attention, but proved as frustrating. Curtains, glass, but no view beyond but white marble. What new prison had he been delivered to?
"Wake at last, are we?" Soft amusement and Lucius looked slowly to see his newest gaoler.
Tall, impossibly so, but blatant evidence of the magicked cuisine of Hogwarts to produce such a strapping hero after formative years of malnourishment and neglect. Somewhat broad of shoulder and lean of hip, the attractive lines of his figure drew the eye, and lusts, to the entire length of him. The green eyes, however, could ensnare an admirer's soul, haunted and yet promising eternal hope.
"Potter?" Incredulous, for certain. The last time he had seen the young man he'd been rushing headlong towards his destiny, wand raised and voice strong as he faced down the greatest evil that had assaulted the wizard world in centuries. To see him here, dressed in muggle pants and shirt shocked the veela. Was Potter so determined to rid the world of his ilk that he would see to Lucius' death personally?
The full mouth quirked. "Yes, Lucius, Harry Potter. How are you feeling?"
Lucius shook his head. "What's going on?"
"Well enough to start testing your tethers? Very well." Potter stepped further into the room and the door closed behind him. "Do you know what I've been doing since I graduated Hogwarts, Lucius?" He didn't wait for a response. "Preparing to face Voldemort, certainly, there's no surprise there, destiny and all, but it's not all I've done. Old Voldy did not rise to power alone, so I also studied his confirmed deatheaters. A vicious, petty lot for the most part. Except for you. Why is that, Lucius?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, Potter. And besides, what does it matter? Voldemort and his deatheaters are no more."
"It mattered to me. It still does." The younger man came ever closer, forcing Lucius to retreat with little room to maneuver. "Through my study I formed a very interesting opinion about you. On that final day, did you think no one was watching? Albus and I were not the only ones who noted you never cast a killing curse, or even anything permanently maiming. Not a single confirmed use of any of the deadlier curses in all your service to Voldemort. Severus verified it and so I returned to Voldemort's last bolt hole to find my proof."
Backed up against the bed Lucius was startled when the heavy bed curtains billowed up around him. A clever distraction for he never saw Potter move, hands on his naked flesh lifting and throwing him back onto the firm mattress. The lithe veela bounced and scrambled for the headboard. Standing there framed by curtains of red velvet Potter's verdant gaze swept him in an all too intimate manner.
"I heard rumors of your parentage, but I'd never understood what a veela truly was. Beautiful creatures, more given to mischief than anything. Vulnerable to the lusts of men. There is little history of your mother, Lucius. What happened to her?"
"Leave my mother out of this, Potter," Lucius snarled.
With typical Gryffindor arrogance, Potter plowed forward. "Did she escape not knowing she left behind a son more veela than human? Did she even tell you what being veela meant? That you would most likely go through two puberties, and that the second would force changes?"
No, his mother had never said a word to his heritage, but he couldn't hold her to blame. All he remembered of her was a delicate smell, an exotic perfume of flowers that permeated her rooms. She had been a ghost in his life, fleeing from his father's voice. 'Her human stone' she called her babe, always leaving him to cry in his crib until the house elves would come for him, her maternal instincts crushed by his father's brutality. "She didn't know," he softly replied.
"It must have made you very easy prey for Voldemort. A frightened teenager with no idea to the changes his body was forcing him to, of the cautions he should have taken. If your father had found out, or the other Slytherins? You knew the wizard world's opinion about supernatural creatures. Not human. Not entitled to basic rights. Stupid when most wizard families can trace their ancestry back to some magical creature or other, but that's prejudice for you."
Lucius shuddered, Potter's words tearing down the walls he'd placed about old fears and memories. It had been easy for Voldemort to capture him, foolish kit who hadn't realized his danger until he was forced to kneel before his new master and swear allegiance. He mindlessly clawed at the inside of his arm, remembered pain and humiliation on that fated night and the years to come focused on the hated brand. For most deatheaters it had been a badge of honor, an acknowledgment of their cunning and viciousness. For Lucius all it had ever been was a slave's mark.
"No, Lucius, don't." Potter's breath in his ear, strong arms wrapping around him as his wrists were caught, forcing him to stop. He started at the youth's proximity and struggled anew, but Potter held him firm, letting him twist and buck, growl and mew until he exhausted what little energy he had. Then, with the veela panting sharply into his neck Potter held out his arm to show him the bloodied scratches he'd left. "There's no mark, Lucius. You are free of him."
The young man spoke truth, but the silvery blond numbly shook his head. "I am never free." Not since his mother had left him, dry eyed and smiling as she finally mastered the wards on Malfoy Manor, never once looking back on the toddler who watched her leave.
"You are free of him. The rest will come." Soft dry lips pressed to his temple, but Lucius barely noticed.
"No. Never, not ever. He took it and who knows where that bastard buried it. I'll never be free, not -"
"Shhh, Lucius. Did I not say I would care for everything?" Hands swept back his hair and caressed the length of his spine. "You are more precious to me than all the gold in Gringotts. I know Voldemort stole your veela coat and that's how he forced you to accept his mark. I know he's kept it all these years. I know everything there is to know about you, Lucius Potter-Malfoy."
"Potter-Malfoy?" The blond dumbly repeated. "You've taken me to spouse?"
"Yes," the younger man cautiously answered. "It was the only way to get you out of that hole. Fudge and his cronies didn't care that there was no evidence of you ever killing anyone. And I couldn't tell them how you'd been forced without revealing you are a veela. I'm sure you know that would have only made things worse. So I used my name to get you out."
Lucius looked at his fist clenched in the front of Potter's shirt, the hard flesh beneath warming his chilled fingers. "My consent to marriage was not required?" he hoarsely whispered. Potter felt so warm about him, safe, but he knew the trap for what it was. No filth infested cell, no kiss, but a cage nonetheless and Potter his new master.
"No." The young man almost sounded apologetic. "The Ministry wanted to brand you, or at least a collar, to register you as a possession, like a house elf or something. Albus went ballistic. I have never seen him lose his temper like that." Potter carded his waist length hair, his other hand spreading heat from the small of his back. "I insisted on the marriage though it's pretty much a secret," he continued quietly. "The Ministry would not dare pursue the husband of Harry Potter. It was the best protection I could think to give you."
Was that how he was to think of this? Rather a well fortified nest than a cage? Potter was not done speaking, however, and Lucius unconsciously focused on his mesmerizing voice. "There were conditions to your release, from both sides. You were a deatheater, and while the Ministry agreed to never disclose that to the press, they did insist on a trial of good behavior. Six months to be spent under house arrest here at the Potter Estate. Everyone else believes you are in Azkaban."
"We are in the muggle world," Lucius whispered in detached wonder. "I have never been. It makes me feel . . . sick. Dirty. How can they trust me not to kill their precious hero in his sleep, vile deatheater that I am?"
"Yes, we're outside muggle London. I bought this place after I graduated from Hogwarts. You feel dizzy?" Lucius nodded. "That's partly from all the healing that was done on you, but also because you are a veela. Magical creatures are not meant to long reside in the muggle world. Albus assured me you'll adjust though, that your human side will let you adapt.
"As for trusting you, they don't. When I took over this place, I got special dispensation from the Ministry to perform some rather heavy magic. With the exception of myself and a select few, no magic will work within the estate grounds. That's a five mile radius. Being they don't know you're a veela, and that they're wizards, they think you are harmless without your wand."
"And so I am to what?" Lucius sneered. "Learn to be a proper husband to Harry Potter? Service your ne-" The rest was muffled by Potter's hand.
"You are my husband," Potter ground out, forcing Lucius to lift his head and meet his angered green eyes. "Not my pet or servant, and I will accept whatever you can give. I expect you to use this time to heal and to learn of what you are."
His mouth was released, but before he could retort he was dragged from the bed and shoved to his hands and knees before a small chest tucked against the wall, plain and simply adorned with the Hogwart's crest. A whispered word from Potter and the chest clicked open, the lid slowly rising until it thumped into the wall.
"Severus had to use a restorative potion or two on it, but it should be good as it ever was. Go on, Lucius," the man commanded, "it is yours after all."
Was it his? The silver haired man had not seen his veela coat since before his new husband was born. Sometimes he'd thought it destroyed or the purity of his veela blood a childish dream. Wishes only, of course, because the pain never faded, the ache of being only half of what he was never left. To see the silver gleam of his fur folded in the chest caught his breath and he closed his eyes to the sight.
"Lucius?" He'd stared at it too long without moving, arousing Potter's suspicions. The black haired man knelt alongside him, perceptive gaze seeing too well all of his fears. "My fox, did we do this too soon? You don't have to take it up. If you want to wait, that's fine. It's not going anywhere."
"I-" Oh, how he wanted his coat, his beautiful coat, but he couldn't move, was afraid to breathe too deeply, as though the smallest twitch would wake him back in that cell, or worse, back at Voldemort's side. Too long had he been without and he trembled violently at the enormity of what lay before him.
"Curse me a thrice damned fool," Potter muttered, roping out a long arm to pull Lucius up and into his side. "We can do this tomorrow or the next day. It doesn't matter. Whenever you're ready, fox."
"No!" Lucius wrenched free, refusing to leave his coat, afraid to lose sight lest it somehow be snatched away. As before, Potter's efforts to restrain him were minuscule and the veela cursed the muggle world and the Ministry that exiled him to it.
"Shhh, Lucius, don't fight me." Large calloused hands all over his person, possessive in their lingering, and the blond squeezed his eyes shut. "You will have your coat."
Potter freed one hand then, only to return it clutching a fistful of bluish white fur. He draped Lucius' veela skin about his shoulders and the foreign feel of it broke the man's last thread of control. He sobbed, uncaring of the arms that lifted him back into the bed and hugged him close. He cried into Potter's flesh until he ran dry of tears, fingers tearing at the man's clothing with a mindless need to scratch and claw. Potter held him throughout, crooning nonsense and petting him through the weight of his coat. Eventually Lucius quieted, his unseemly hiccuping and whimpering muffled by Potter's shoulder.
Lucius never took note of once more falling asleep.
"Harry, my dear boy, how are things going?" Albus' head appeared in his fireplace, a disconcerting yet familiar sight after these last few years. The Headmaster visited him in his study and Harry took a moment to glance into the mirror at his elbow before responding. The glass showed not himself but Lucius, curled safely asleep on his bed, wrapped in his veela coat so only his pale slim legs and curtain of hair could be seen.
"As well as to be expected, Albus," Harry replied. "Lucius woke up today."
"Ah," the old wizard chuckled, "things must have gone fairly well since you look in one piece."
"I told him most everything he needed to know. Including our marriage. I'm not sure if I made a mistake, but I gave him his veela coat."
"Hmmm, I'm sure you did what you felt was right, my boy. Did he change?"
"No. I think our big achievement was not having a nervous breakdown." Harry shook his head, doubt assailing him anew. "He's been hurting for so long, sir, I don't see how he's going to be able to trust me enough to make this work. The Ministry never made a dent in his armor, yet I undid him in a few minutes with honest kindness!"
"Because he has rarely known kindness, Harry. Remember that. Your childhoods were not so different and among wizard kind, your ages are barely apart."
"Yes, but my mother died protecting me. His abandoned him!"
"She was a desperate woman. Your gentleness will disarm Lucius, but remember what he is. If you do not control the situation, he will, and Lucius is not stable enough for that responsibility."
Harry frowned, but nodded in understanding. He'd read every thing he could lay hands on about veelas, from their history and physiology, to the dynamics of their relationships. He probably knew more about veelas than Lucius did. Regardless of the sex of the mated couple, or even the species of the mate, for a veela there had to be a clear alpha and beta. For all their capriciousness, or maybe because of it, veela needed structure.
"I understand, sir. Could you warn Sirius off for a week or two?" While Harry loved his godfather he was also familiar with his many flaws and weaknesses. A deep seated dislike for Slytherins was one of those. A personal hate for Lucius was another. Harry imagined it was going to be challenge enough to win Lucius heart without Sirius spewing venom about. He hadn't even told his godfather of his plans to rescue the veela and seduce him. Like everyone else, Sirius believed Lucius was still in prison, awaiting his final sentencing.
"Of course, my boy, of course. Young love needs time to its own." A knowing chuckle and a wink, and Albus was gone.
"It needs more than time," Harry said to himself, troubled gaze returning to the mirror. Six months seemed an exorbitant amount of time to consummate a marriage, but after today he wished he had asked for more. Oh, how he loved his soul scarred veela and wished for nothing more than his love returned, but he knew to confess his feelings now would only earn Lucius' derision.
Stroking his fingers down the mirror's cool surface he watched the blond arch into the invisible touch, even asleep greedy for any affection. When Harry had first met Lucius Malfoy he'd been too young to understand the rush of heat that had made his head swim. The ensuing years and his various confrontations with the arrogant deatheater, however, had made him realize his lust. The man exuded sensuality. Harry now knew it was his veela pheromones, but at the time all the hormonal teenager had wanted to do was push him over the nearest surface and shag him senseless. In all honesty, he still did. Though he would never tell his husband, he had first begun investigating with the suspicion that the man was exercising some spell on him.
There was no spell, or if there was, it was a very powerful and subtle one, because the deeper Harry delved into the exotic deatheater's life, the more enamored he became. The more obsessed. Discovering Lucius' veela heritage had vindicated his desires and nebulous theories. When he had brought his ideas to Albus, the Headmaster had been understandably doubtful, but Harry's attention had been caught by the other man in the office. Severus Snape, deatheater turned spy, had not looked the least surprised. In fact, he'd looked blank. Harry's hard stare had drawn Albus' attention and more than the young auror's words, Snape's lack of expression had convinced him. Lucius Malfoy was serving Voldemort against his will.
Of course, that didn't mean they could count on Lucius' aid. So long as Voldemort possessed the blond veela's coat Lucius was bound to serve him. But for Harry it gave him back his life. After Hogwarts all he had done was train to defeat Voldemort, with no thought given to what was to come after. It was his destiny, but no one ever told him what came after his destiny. So quite on his own he decided what came after was Lucius. It occupied his time, thinking of the future and what would need to be done to see to Lucius' happiness. Most of all he found it gave him hope and the courage to face the enemy he'd run from for years, knowing there was a life of his own choosing waiting for him.
The house and more he purchased with his inheritance. Lucius would want for nothing if it was in Harry's power to give it to him. And as The Boy Who Defeated Voldemort, there was little outside his power.
Giving Lucius his freedom was not one of those, however, but with time and trust, Harry prayed it could be exchanged for love.