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Why was he even considering something like this? It was a question Harry asked himself constantly, over and over like a broken track on repeat, and the only answer he could come up with was, because it’s the only way.
It was as good an answer as any, wasn’t it? Lots of people did things in times of war that they felt they had no choice but to do. Things they really didn’t want to do, but they did anyways because it served a purpose larger than themselves. Isn’t that what Dumbledore had always said?
Would Dumbledore have condoned something like this? The thought rankled and made Harry’s insides roil until hot, stinging bile crept up his throat.
Lucius Malfoy was a right bastard and he’d finally got his claws into Harry where they sank. Where he perceived weakness, a soft spot, a place that would give.
*
When he had shown up at the safe house, he wasn’t wearing the Death Eater robes. He wore rich green velvet, a handsome cravat, and shining dragon skin boots. A harking back to the days from before the war when Lucius Malfoy paraded around like he was a big man. But Harry had seen him at the Manor, had seen through Voldemort’s eyes how low Lucius had sunk, and he was frankly surprised that the man had the gall to show up like this. Or maybe it had less to do with gall and more to do with desperation.
“Lucius?” Harry demanded, marching to the edge of the property’s wards, ignoring Hermione and Molly’s calls from the distance. “How did you find this place?”
It was in the middle of fucking nowhere, an old farmstead by a man who was slaughtered like one of his cattle. They figured since the Death Eaters had already been here, they wouldn’t come back. Not for a while, at least.
Lucius might have dressed smartly for the occasion, but his face was as tired as Harry had seen it a few months ago. The lines around Lucius’s eyes were pronounced, but a menacing hunger in his stare said he was planning something. And Harry, though he had hoards of other things on his mind at the moment—Horcruxes to find—didn’t want to ignore his instincts: a close, watchful eye on the snake in the grass that was clearly poised to strike.
“It was easy,” Lucius said. “Don’t you realize you’re in Wiltshire?”
Harry felt a prickle of annoyance, realizing more than ever that this had to serve only as a very temporary residence for the Weasley's. “Of course I do,” he said, even as his mind raced through other possibilities. “What do you want?” he demanded, deciding his patience with Lucius was already on its final thread.
“I want to make a deal, Potter,” Lucius drawled.
“Deal?” Harry narrowed his eyes. “What kind of deal could we possibly make together?”
Lucius straightened up, his hands clasped behind his back regally. He looked past Harry’s shoulder at those who had followed Harry out of the house, coming toward them now.
Harry barked, “I don’t have all day, out with it.”
If Lucius could have hexed him then, Harry believed he would. But he needed something. And besides, there was a very strong ward between them.
Lucius cleared his throat. “Draco told me that, on the night of Dumbledore’s death, he offered Draco something.”
Harry blinked, wondering for a moment if he had misheard. Of course, he knew exactly what Lucius was referring to, and his heart skipped as he recalled, as vivid as day, the way Dumbledore’s soft, soothing voice sounded when he addressed Draco that night. Was it possible this was what Lucius had come here to ask for? To swallow his pride so immensely? Perhaps this meant he didn’t have any pride left.
“I believe he offered him...” Lucius paused, pressing his lips together. It looked like it was taking all the effort he had to hold Harry’s gaze. “...asylum.”
Harry let the word sink in. He licked his lips, trying to sort out his racing thoughts and even speedier pulse. Strangely, his voice betrayed none of this and came out almost eerily calm. “Are you telling me you’ve come here to ask for my help? After you tortured Hermione in your house and killed my godfather? Not to mention everything else you’ve done?” Harry dug his fingernails into his palms like he sometimes did to ground himself.
“Both of those things were Bellatrix Lestrange’s doing, as you well know,” Lucius said.
“AS IF IT FUCKING MATTERS.”
“Harry?” It was Arthur’s voice. He and the rest of the family had reached Harry on the Burrow’s border, he could sense them and hear their shuffling behind him, but he couldn’t take his eyes away from Lucius’ stone cold ones.
“Malfoy is asking for our help,” Harry said.
Arthur frowned. “Really? What do you want?”
“I’ve already explained to Potter what I am here for,” Lucius said, his chin raised defiantly now that he was speaking to Arthur.
“You will not speak to him that way,” Harry said, “if you want me to even consider letting you into his home.”
Ever the self preservationist, Lucius held his tongue; he knew Harry was in charge here and if he had any hope of getting what he wanted, it was Harry he’d have to appeal to.
“Not me,” Lucius said, then added softly, his voice traveling on a breath: “Draco.”
Harry swallowed, his jaw clenching so hard his teeth hurt.
“I can offer you something in return,” Lucius said, his eyes gleaming with purpose.
Harry huffed. “And what is that?” He couldn’t imagine wanting anything that Lucius could give him, or that Lucius Malfoy even had anything left to give.
“There were rumours going around on our end that Snape was a spy. Whether or not that’s the truth doesn’t matter to me, but the fact is, Snape’s dead.”
Harry considered him carefully. “Yes… Voldemort had him slaughtered just before we left Hogwarts. Really loyal to his followers, isn’t he, Malfoy? Does he treat you that well, too?”
Lucius sneered and admitted, almost inaudibly, “Not particularly.”
“So what is it you are offering, then?”
“A continuation of Snape’s services.”
Harry turned to look at Arthur whose mouth was slightly gaping, and then the laughter that bubbled up inside Harry’s chest was impossible to contain. He threw his head back and let out a genuine, throaty laugh, and even Arthur chuckled and grinned.
“You must think we’re complete idiots,” Harry said, then put his hand up. “Don’t answer that. You’re barking up the wrong tree here, Lucius. You can go back to your master now and tell him his little plan didn’t work. We aren’t going to fall for that.”
“He’s not the one who sent me, I came here of my own accord…” Lucius frowned. “And rather quite at my own risk.”
“Yeah, well, even if that’s true, it’s still too bad.”
“You won’t even consider it?”
“No.” Harry made to turn around.
“I could be very valuable to you, Potter,” Lucius said hastily. “You want to defeat the Dark Lord, you will need a spy in his ranks. I can give that to you.”
“We’ve been operating without one for a while now anyway,” Harry said, thinking about Snape’s derelict silence.
“And how have you fared?”
Even though he was extremely loathe to admit it, Harry realized that Lucius did have a point. After Snape fled the night of Dumbledore’s death, when they thought their spy had turned on them, the Order had fallen completely apart. Harry attributed it mostly to Dumbledore’s death and to his own disappearance into the forest, and with nothing left to hold them together… But a spy might be useful again. If nothing else, it might give the others a renewed sense of hope.
“If you don’t get away from here,” Molly said, having reached them, “I will hex you to the other side of England.” She raised her wand in Lucius’s face.
Harry held up his hand. “Wait…”
“You’re not seriously considering this?” Arthur asked him.
“Of course he’s not,” Molly said, grabbing Harry’s arm. “Come on, dear.”
“No,” Harry said, shaking her off, keeping his eyes trained on Lucius. “How will we know we can trust you?”
At this, a smile grew on Lucius’s thin lips, as if this was the part he’d been waiting for. “I can give you my son to hold onto. That way, you’ll know you have collateral.”
Harry’s stomach did a flip, and he scowled. “You can so easily give up your son as a hostage?”
“No,” Lucius said, “I’m securing my promise. And I would never let anything happen to Draco,” he said with such ferocity, Harry actually believed him. “I wouldn’t make this offer unless I knew they’d be safe with you.”
“You believe in us that much?”
Lucius smiled again. “Would you harm him, Potter?”
Harry knew he would not, but that wasn’t the point. He was transparent. It annoyed him. His mouth twitched and he said, “And where will Voldemort think Draco is?”
A shadow crossed Lucius’s face. “Leave the Dark Lord to me.”
“No, you listen to me, Malfoy,” Harry said, taking a step forward, halfway through the wards. He felt Molly’s hands on him but he ignored her. “If we’re going to do this, you hold nothing back from me. Do you understand? Nothing. And it starts right now.”
Lucius exhaled hard, his nostrils flaring. “I suspected as much. Fine, Potter, you want to know what I will tell him? I will say he’s securing forces abroad. Draco’s been… less than useful to the Dark Lord, and I’m sure he would prefer him out of the way.”
“As much as I want to believe you, Malfoy, I still don’t see what you’re getting from this.”
Lucius smiled again. “Besides gaining security for my family?”
Harry snorted. “Yes, you’re such a caring father,” he said sarcastically.
Lucius clasped his hands behind his back. “Regardless of the fact that you know nothing about me, Potter, this is exactly what your precious Dumbledore wanted.”
Harry inhaled sharply. Lucius wasn’t wrong. And bringing up Dumbledore in this moment was just the kind of manipulative thing he’d do. Problem was, it almost worked.
“I’ll think about it.”
Lucius raised his eyebrows.
“Did you think I was going to give you an answer tonight?” Harry said. “No, I will talk it over with my friends. And if I see so much as a single masked figure hanging around, I will know you’re a lying sack of shit and have given away my position. Any possibility of this deal will be off and you and your family can go to hell.”
“You won’t be disappointed,” Lucius said. “I won’t betray your position here.”
“Fine. We’ll see.” Harry turned around, walking back to the house. He called over his shoulder. “Come back tomorrow night, same time, and you’ll have your answer.”
*
“I don’t know what there is to even think about, Harry.” Ron stood with his arms crossed. “I wouldn’t trust Lucius Malfoy as far as I could throw him.”
Hermione sat silently at the farmhouse’s long kitchen table, copper pots and pans dangling overhead; she hadn’t voiced an opinion one way or another, just sat contemplatively and making Harry feel even more unnerved as a result. Hermione always had an opinion.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?” Harry demanded.
She shrugged. “Everyone’s said it all. To be honest, Harry… I just don’t know what to do.”
Molly and Arthur had advised strongly against it. Ron thought it was a stupid idea. So what was making Harry seriously consider going through with it?
“Don’t you think it would be better to have Draco stay here?” he asked. “Dumbledore wanted to protect him.”
Ron scowled. “I don’t want Malfoy sleeping under the same roof as us,” he said. “He made his choice, and he chose You-Know-Who. Now he has to live with the consequences.”
Harry couldn’t say he disagreed with Ron’s sentiment, but something poked at his gut and told him to reconsider. Hadn’t Draco hesitated when he had confronted Dumbledore on the Astronomy Tower? Hadn’t he been about to accept his offer of protection? Harry thought about the prophecy and about how much fate played a role in his life, in the outcome of the war. It was his destiny to confront Voldemort and... to die, he thought, his throat constricting. He couldn’t help but think it might not be a coincidence that Draco was so close to coming to the side of Light for a second time. Maybe fate was forcing Harry to face this, shaking him and screaming at him, this is what is meant to happen! Bring the Malfoys into the Light!
“Maybe another spy in the ranks of the Death Eaters wouldn’t be such a bad idea,” Harry offered. He looked them all in the eyes, even though their stares were hard and disbelieving. “I know it’s a lot to ask of you. To take Draco Malfoy in, to let him live here, after all the stuff that’s happened between his family and yours. I wouldn’t ask it of you unless I thought it was the right thing to do.”
Molly was the first to soften, and Harry felt his heart swell for her. She tried to smile. “We know that, Harry. You always try to do the right thing. I… I don’t mind having the boy here.”
“Mum!” Ron turned on her. “He’s a monster, he would never appreciate it. He’d… he’d…” His cheeks and tips of his ears turned bright red. Harry felt horrible putting him through this. His sense of loyalty was screaming at him to choose Ron over Malfoy, and then he prickled at the idea that it was even about that.
“He’s just a child,” Molly said, “like you three. He deserves a safe place in this war.”
“He’s a bloody Death Eater!” Ron shouted.
Hermione’s bottom lip was sticking out and Harry really hoped she wasn’t about to cry. He already felt like he’d caused enough trouble here. The kitchen was suddenly too stuffy and hot and Harry wanted fresh air; he left them while they were still arguing over Draco, and he hated that he was making them fight about someone so incredibly not worth it. (“Well he can’t have my room!” Ron whined.)
Harry made sure to stay well within the barrier of the wards, walking on the dewy yellow grass. The fence on the east side of the property was broken, is top rungs twisting down into the mud, like they had succumbed to a stampede. They mocked him: this place he had chosen was too derelict to keep everyone safe, and his was too broken and gaping open to guard them. He was letting the Malfoy's in.
He imagined what Sirius would say if he were here. It was their fault he wasn’t, and for that reason Harry wanted to tell Lucius to fuck off. He smiled fondly as he pictured Sirius’s laughing face and what advice he would have for Harry in this regard. There was no one Sirius hated more than stuck up Pureblood elitists. He would probably tell Lucius to stick it up his arse—that if he had wanted his family to be safe, he wouldn’t have joined Voldemort in the first place. Harry grinned and his heart felt sore in that special place Sirius occupied.
Lupin was still away with the werewolf clans, so Harry couldn’t ask him either, but he knew what he would say. Lupin would have pinned Harry with a grave look and said they should do what Dumbledore would have wanted; they should forgive those who tried to atone. They should give second chances. They should use Lucius’s desire for safety to their advantage and help a lost soul find his way to the Light as a result.
But none of them were here. Dumbledore and Sirius were dead, and Lupin was unreachable, so essentially, it didn’t matter anymore what they would have done. It was up to Harry now. He was the leader. He had to decide.
*
Draco arrived with a trunk in hand and a scowl on his face. His eyes widened when he saw all of them gathered around in the kitchen, staring at him. Harry almost wanted to laugh.
Draco quickly composed himself, but Harry noticed the way his shoulders stiffened. Arthur came up behind Draco, startling him all over again, and they both stepped into the kitchen. Arthur shut the door behind them, blocking out the windy, grey morning.
Draco’s eyes flicked to Harry, then his frown deepened and his ears turned pink as he looked quickly away. Harry didn’t take his gaze off him and he knew Draco could feel it, and that it was making him even more nervous and twitchy.
He looked out of place in the warm, cluttered, and homey kitchen of the Burrow. He wore fitted black robes, crushed velvet with silver trim, and his white blond hair was slick and polished. Only the dark circles under his eyes marred his pristine appearance.
Molly stepped forward. “Hello… Draco, is it?” His expression was unyielding as he looked at her. Harry wanted to punch him, because Molly was trying to smile and Draco should make an effort to appear grateful. “We have a room for your things,” she said, indicating the trunk. “Hermione can show you upstairs.”
“No, I’ll do it,” Harry said.
Draco avoided his gaze.
He turned and walked through the kitchen, not bothering to help Draco with his trunk. He heard him cast the levitation charm on it and follow along.
When they got up two flights of stairs and down the hall, Harry finally stopped by an open door and turned. “This is your room.”
Draco didn’t say a word, only stepped forward to peer into the room. Harry stepped aside as the trunk floated into the room behind him.
Harry’s pulse raced as he entered the bedroom and closed the door. The click made Draco turn around, lips parted but silent.
Harry tried to breathe evenly. “I wanted to have a word with you.”
Draco flicked his wand and made his trunk settle gently on the floor by one of the twin beds. Then he turned and faced Harry. “Yes?” he said, barely a hiss through clenched teeth.
Harry firmed his resolve, determined to make himself hard and unyielding, to give Malfoy no option but compliance. “Let’s get something straight before this goes any further. You are here on the Weasley’s mercy. I have no qualms about sending you back, if things don’t… work out. I don’t need you causing any problems for them.”
Draco narrowed his eyes. “I don’t need you to tell me how to behave, Potter.”
“I think you need reminding,” Harry said.
Draco scowled. He opened his mouth but Harry didn’t let him speak.
“I personally tried very hard to convince them to let you come here” he said in a lower voice, walking up to Draco, “so you’d better not make me regret it.”
“Is that a threat, Potter?” Draco whispered, his resentment coming off him in waves. Harry felt almost unsteady.
“It is.”
He expected Draco to possibly try and hit him, or to at least raise his wand. Harry’s hand was on his in his pocket, poised to whip it out the instant Draco moved. But after a blink, Draco huffed a dry laugh and took a step back.
“Whatever you say.” He proceeded to look around the room, taking in his surroundings. “Don’t worry, I’ll be a good little boy while I’m here and I won’t make any trouble for your precious Weasleys.”
“I’m not asking you,” Harry continued, wanting to impress this point as clearly as possible just in case Draco didn’t get it. “I’m telling you. Do not insult them, do not make asshole comments, and do not for fuck’s sake be rude about anything Molly cooks for you.”
Draco blushed but luckily that was the extent of his expression of discontent. He didn’t say a word. He did, however, turn toward the bed and studied it quietly for a long moment. It struck Harry that Draco might be scared. Not scared of the bed, of course, or of this farmhouse, haunted by the Muggles that were killed in their own home, but scared of what might happen to him. To his mother and father.
He remembered Draco’s reflection in the mirror of the girl’s toilet, his flushed cheeks streaked with tears. He remembered the stiffness of Draco’s shoulders as he sat in an armchair at the Manor, steadily looking away from them even though he recognized Ron and Hermione.
Harry knew what it meant to be scared.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose as he took a step toward Draco. Draco eyed him critically, that same tension returning to his shoulders.
“Look, I know it’s shit for you to be here…” Perhaps that wasn’t the best way to start. “I know you’d rather be home…” No, that couldn’t be right either, Voldemort had commandeered Draco’s home.
Draco’s lips twitched, almost like he was going to smile, but then they became a hard line again. “It’s okay, Potter, you don’t have to try and make me feel better.”
He had no idea what else to say, so Harry nodded curtly, slightly embarrassed, and turned to the door. It would probably be best to leave Draco alone for now so he could get settled. He wondered if they would see Draco downstairs later or if he would take his dinner in his room. Most likely the latter, Harry thought as he took the stairs down two at a time. He’d probably sit in his room moping and cursing his fate.
It was with these thoughts swirling in his head that met Molly in her trek upstairs.
“Don’t bring him anything,” Harry said. “Let him come down and get it if he’s hungry.”
“Harry,” she admonished, giving him a look. “The boy’s probably too nervous.”
“Or just too stubborn,” Harry said. He ignored how Molly tutted. “If you start catering to him now, he’ll expect royal treatment all the time. Trust me, I know him.”
Molly looked torn, and Harry could see the battle waging behind her eyes. “Oh, you’re being silly,” she said, and then began muttering something about the “poor thing” as she proceeded to climb.
Ron sighed, meeting Harry at the base of the stairs. “It’s a lost cause. Mum’s joy in life is feeding people. She’d probably feed You-Know-Who a roast chicken dinner if she found out he was hungry.”
Harry snorted. Ron was right, Molly was going to Malfoy because she enjoyed doing it. As long as she was doing it for herself and not for him, Harry supposed he could deal with it.
But he didn’t have to like it.
Especially when Malfoy didn’t come down to dinner for the third day in a row.
“Why is it bothering you so much that you haven’t seen Malfoy?” Hermione asked as she turned the page in her book.
She was perched in a squishy chair by the massive cooking hearth pouring through a stack of books that reached from the floor to the armrest. The current one was all about the Hogwarts’ founders; they’d been trying to deduce what other objects belonging to the founders could possibly be more Horcruxes.
“It’s not bothering me that I haven’t seen him,” Harry said, annoyed that this wasn’t obvious to her, or that she’d even imply he wanted to see Malfoy. “It’s that he thinks he’s better than us, Hermione. He has hardly come downstairs in three whole days.”
Ron shrugged. “I, for one, am glad he’s locked up in his room, I’d rather not have him trying to mingle about.”
Harry shot him a glare, since he was being unhelpful. “Well, I think he’s being a snob.”
“Which is expected,” Hermione said.
“So it doesn’t bother either of you?”
“No,” they both said.
Harry huffed and slumped back on the sofa. He looked around the room at the routine they had fallen into: Hermione reading; Ron sitting quietly in a chair with his eyes closed, trying to have a post-meal snooze; Molly humming in the distance as she did something in the kitchen. His eyes landed on the stairs. He wondered what Malfoy’s routine had become since coming here.
*
Lucius returned multiple times per week—sporadically so that none of the Death Eaters would suspect him—with a plethora of new information. Even Snape had not been so forthcoming with news. It would have been impressive… if any of it were even moderately useful. Harry began to wonder if he was making things up simply to have something to say.
“It’s not like he’s telling us anything important,” Harry said for the hundredth time. His patience with Lucius was rapidly waning. “I don’t give a damn what time they hold their meetings or which room Bellatrix Lestrange sleeps in. He hasn’t told us a single thing that might help us find the Horcrux.”
Ron and Hermione stared at him silently from across the kitchen table. Harry knew they had no answers either.
Hermione finally gave a frustrated sigh, wrapping a knit shawl around herself, its tassels getting caught in her hair. “Lucius doesn’t know he’s looking for a Horcrux, so maybe he’s overlooking important details.”
Harry snorted. “Are you suggesting we tell Lucius about the Horcruxes now?”
“No,” she said with a frown, “of course not.”
“What’s a Horcrux?” At that moment, Draco sauntered into the kitchen the way he used to walk through the halls of Hogwarts.
Harry’s pulse spiked, surprised to see him. “None of your business.”
Draco smiled indulgently at him. “If I am forced to be polite, Potter, then I think so should you.”
“Yeah, well that’s just too bad, isn’t it?.” Harry smiled just as indulgently back.
Draco shot him a withering look before proceeding to pace around the kitchen.
“We’re having a private conversation, Malfoy,” Ron said.
“Oh, really?” Draco said. “Because I could hear you all the way down the hall.”
Ron raised two fingers at him.
Draco ignored him, continuing toward the stovetop and eyeing it precariously. “Molly said to wait for her here so she could make me tea.”
The force with which Ron shot up from his chair, causing an ear-shattering screech, made all three of them jump.
“She’s not a bloody house elf, Malfoy.” Ron’s fists were clenched. “And she’s not your maid, either.”
Draco scowled, his hands clasped behind his back in a way that reminded Harry rather sickly of Lucius. “I didn’t say anything of the sort, Weasley.”
“Don’t you know how to make a cup of tea? Are you that bloody useless?”
Draco’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly. It seemed he was about to say something scathing, and his eyes dared to Harry, clearly torn.
“Oh for god’s sake,” Hermione said, getting up, “I’ll make it.”
“No.” Ron grabbed her arm pulled quite forcefully back into her seat. “You’re not his maid, either.”
A muscle was pulsing in Draco’s throat, and Harry could see he was a bomb ticking precariously close to its end. His struggle between speaking and following Harry’s orders was painted beautifully across his face.
Everything was too still in the room; even the air held its breath.
“I’ll do it,” Harry said, rising and walking toward the cupboard where the tea was kept. He took down the little tin, unscrewed the cap, breathed in the earthy aroma of English Breakfast.
He didn’t fail to notice that Ron didn’t speak out against him acting as Draco’s maid. Harry was the one responsible for bringing him here, so he must be responsible for Draco. Harry didn’t know how to name the odd feelings dancing in his stomach as he put the kettle on to boil.
*
He sat with Draco at the kitchen table chopping vegetables for Molly. She was going to make enough beef stew to feed the Order, before their meeting tonight. Truth be told, they were much fewer members than originally. But it was still a lot of stew.
Harry tossed the last of the carrots into a plastic yellow bowl and pushed it aside to make room for the potatoes, already washed and ready for peeling. Draco sat across from him, working on the large white onions.
“It’s a lot easier if you cut the end off first,” Harry said, as Draco peeled the skin off bit by bit.
Draco paused, looking up at him through his lashes. Tentatively, he took up the knife beside him and sliced off the rough end bits. He dug his finger beneath the flaky outer skin, mashing an indent into the flesh beneath.
“What are you doing? Then you have to slice it from end to end.”
“Why don’t you do it, then, if you know so much about onions?”
“I’m doing the potatoes.” Harry made a ribbon of potato skin flutter onto the tabletop. Draco’s eyes were watching his hands. “Besides, if you’ve never cut an onion before, you certainly haven’t peeled a potato.”
“I never needed to.” Draco made an incision across the length of the onion. “And I’m not going to apologize about that.”
A smile tugged on Harry’s lips. “I didn’t expect you to.”
Draco looked up at him again, catching his eye. “And am I behaving better than you expected?” His own lips curled into the ghost of a smirk.
“Surprisingly… yes.” He chopped the newly peeled potato into eight pieces and tossed it into the bowl.
“Why does that surprise you?”
Harry raised an eyebrow, and Draco grinned.
“You’ve been better to Molly than I thought you’d be,” Harry admitted softly, looking away.
“She’s been good to me. One of the few who has. Besides, we made a deal, didn’t we?”
“Yes, we did. A deal that you haven’t broken... so far.” Harry wondered if the same could be said for Lucius, and he wondered again if he could trust him. Could he trust Draco?
“Don’t worry, Potter,” Draco said eerily, as though he was reading Harry’s mind. “I always keep my promises when they suit me.”
Harry grinned. “So are you saying I can trust you as long as you remain happy?”
Draco shot him a matching grin.
“But you’ll only remain happy if you can stay here… which I will only allow if I can trust you. In which case, it’s hard to know who actually has the upper hand.”
“Yes… it’s all rather unclear, isn’t it?”
Harry shook his head in disbelief. He wanted to tell Draco he was the most annoying person he had ever met, but it struck him he didn’t actually feel that way. Which was another thing he did not expect.
“What do you mean she’s the only one who’s been good to you?” Harry asked suddenly.
“Hmm?”
“Molly. You said she’s the only one.”
Draco looked at him with narrow, scrutinizing eyes. Harry got the distinct impression that Draco was seeing him all too clearly—peeling away his skin, like the onion, and seeing the flesh and bone and beating heart underneath.
His attention was stolen by the glistening light on Draco’s cheek, and it took him a second to understand that it was caused by the trail of a single tear.
“Are you crying?” Harry asked.
Draco’s brow furrowed, and brought his hand to his face and wiped at the tear, studying it on his finger like he had never seen a tear before in his life. A slow grin spread across his face.
“It’s this blasted onion.”
Molly swept in through the kitchen door, and Harry immediately started peeling a potato as though she had been about to catch him doing something wrong. In a way, he was.
The members of the Order arrived at six in the evening to the smell of meat stewing. The twins had managed to pilfer ale from somewhere—whole crates of it—and Arthur clapped them on the back as Molly asked where they had got it from, but even she didn’t expect to receive any straight answers.
The meal was simple but good: large bowls of stew and crusty hunks of bread, with stolen ale to wash it all down.
Draco had taken the seat next to him, which Harry was oddly pleased about. In a room full of people he didn’t know too well and almost certainly despised him, Draco had chosen Harry as the least scary. Or maybe he was just sidling up to the one in charge. Draco’s words from earlier echoed through Harry’s mind and settled heavily in his chest: everything was startlingly unclear.
Draco’s elbow bumped into Harry’s arm as he took a sip of his stew, jostling him from his thoughts. Harry poked him in the side, and Draco kicked him under the table. He wasn’t looking at Harry, barely even fidgeting, his face betraying nothing at all but a healthy interest in his food. He was a good actor and Harry wondered where he’d learned it. Probably at Voldemort’s dinner table.
“This is good, Mum,” George said.
“The boys helped me.” Molly smiled up at Harry and Draco.
“I didn’t know you knew how to cook, Malfoy,” said Fred.
“All I did was chop up an onion, and barely that,” Draco said. “Molly is the real cook.” He smiled at Molly, all charm and grace. It was disarming to see him turn it on so easily.
Not that any level of charm got Draco into the meeting afterward. Not that he tried to stay for it. As soon as the plates were cleared, Draco rose and took his leave, silently and unassumingly, like a ghost. Harry watched after him as he climbed the stairs.
Still, he put a silencing charm on the door to the kitchen, and the meeting commenced.
*
The days went by uneventfully, with research on Horcruxes and useless reports from Lucius. Draco often helped Molly make dinner, and Harry found himself hanging around, painting himself to the doorway to the kitchen like he was waiting for a gust of wind to push him inside. Sometimes Molly insisted he join them, sometimes she didn’t, and Harry wouldn’t go in on his own. He was spending too much time with Draco already; it was abundantly clear to everyone. Ron and Hermione were already being weird with him, making strange comments. But Harry was not doing anything wrong; although it always felt like somehow he was.
That’s why he never went into the kitchen.
It was about time he spent more time thinking about the Horcruxes again. He sat with Hermione in the main room that looked out over the bleak landscape, all grey hills, the crop rotted and dead. She was curled up a book about ancient relics with significance to magic and wizardkind. He sat on the loveseat with his book—the subject of which he had completely forgotten—perched on his knee and open to the same page for the last half hour.
“Are you going to actually read that?” Hermione said without looking up.
Harry heaved a sigh. “I’m so sick of reading. We aren’t getting anywhere, and anyway, I’m just so sick of being stuck inside. I think some fresh air would do us all good.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Hermione said, licking her finger and flipping her page.
Ron wasn’t even pretending to be reading, he had been snoring on the sofa for the last fifteen minutes. He let out a particularly nasally one and then drifted back to silence.
Harry stared at the sky, bleached white beneath a sheet of cloud that suffocated the sun, and yearned regardless for his broom, imagining the cold air stinging his cheeks as it whipped across his face.
“I think flying is a grand idea.”
Harry nearly fell out of his seat as he startled, turning to see Draco strolling in with his hands in his pockets.
“No one’s going outside!” Hermione said.
Ron was woken up, blinking and rubbing his eyes. When he spotted Draco he frowned. “Malfoy, don’t you know this is the Gryffindor common room? You’re not allowed in here.”
“What?”
“Go away.”
Harry grinned because he could never help it, but he shook his head. “He’s joking, Draco.”
“If you say so,” said Ron, opening a random book to lay across his eyes and fall back to sleep.
“Ha ha…” Draco said dryly as he walked to the loveseat and plopped down next to Harry. It barely had room for two people— which was probably the point— and Draco's arm pressed up against his.
Harry swallowed and looked down at his book, the words blurring into one large mass on the page.
“What are you three always doing?”
“As if we would tell you that,” Harry said.
“Maybe I can help.”
“I doubt it.”
Draco stared at him with his lips pressed together, displeasure written on his face. Harry stared back, lips pressed together in an effort not to smile.
“Aw, don't be cross,” Harry said, voice dripping with condescension. He placed a reassuring hand on Draco’s thigh. Immediately wished he hadn't.
That had been a very bad idea. He was flooded with heat he had never known, and Draco's eyes were searing. He was so close, pressed right up against Harry, his body, his face...
Harry took his hand away, resting it in his own lap.
“What's a Horcrux?. “ Draco said.
“None of your business.”
“Tell me what it looks like and maybe I can help you find it.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “If we knew what it looked like we wouldn't be—nevermind.”
Ron abandoning all attempts at sleep and sat up. “Leave it Malfoy. Its too much for you.”
Draco frowned. “No it isn't”
“Trust me. You're little mind couldn't handle it.”
“Oh please, I can handle more Dark Magic than you can. Which Im assuming is what this is about.”
“I wouldn't bet on it. You'd get too scared.” Ron grinned.
Draco's cheeks reddened. “My family is—I was raised on the Dark Arts!”
“And yet you still don't know.”
He turned deliberately to Harry. “Tell me what it is”
“Figure it out yourself.”
“Fine, I’ll just ask Granger.”
Harry snorted. “Good luck with that.”
“Maybe I’m a Legilimens and I’m already reading her mind.”
Harry flinched and spun around to look at Hermione, but Malfoy sank into the loveseat and started laughing, and Harry sighed in frustration. “Stop taking the piss, Malfoy.”
“It’s just so easy to rattle you, Potter. I’ve never seen anyone so wound up.”
“Wow, I wonder why that could be…”
“Don’t worry, my father will sort everything out.”
Harry let out a burst of dry laughter. “Yes, well, now I feel much better. I can sleep soundly knowing Lucius Malfoy is watching my back.”
“He’s already given you loads of information and he’s risking his neck doing it, so yes, he’s watching your back.”
“Watching his own, more like.”
Malfoy shrugged. “Well if you finally get some sleep at night, maybe the rest of us will be able to as well.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That you wake me up with your girly yelling.”
“I have nightmares!”
“Yes, exactly. And why should we all have to suffer along with you?”
“You’re such a fucking prick!” Harry realized he was yelling now. He couldn’t help it that everytime Malfoy opened his mouth, it caused Harry’s heart rate to spike. “Sorry my mind’s linked with bloody You-Know-Who’s. Sorry I see him in my sleep every night.”
“Then why can’t you find out what the Horcrux is?” Draco asked accusingly.
“Because it doesn’t work that way.” Harry huffed. “God, Malfoy, you’re so stupid.”
“You’re stupid.”
“No, you are.”
They finally fell into silence, Harry fuming, and it was then Harry noticed Ron and Hermione exchanging covert glances.
It wasn’t until much later, however, that Harry remembered he had never mentioned flying out loud.
*
That evening, Lucius made a surprise visit before dinner. Molly never asked him to stay like she used to ask Snape at Grimmauld Place. She hadn’t come around to Lucius, not like she had taken easily to Draco.
The seat next to him was unoccupied, and Harry eyed it with a flutter in his stomach. He wondered why no one else ever took that seat. It had sort of become Draco’s seat by default—or did no one ever take it because they knew Draco always sat there? Nevertheless, Draco was late coming back downstairs so the chair was empty, waiting for him.
Harry forced himself to turn to Lucius instead, who stood by the door with his hands clasped in front of him, rigid and uncomfortable. “What do you have today?” Harry asked. “Let’s hope this time it’s something we can use,” he couldn’t resist adding.
Lucius smiled indulgently. Draco also did that when he knew Harry was being cheeky. They were so fucking similar, Harry thought as something roared in his ears and clawed at his chest.
“Everything I tell you is valuable information, Potter.”
Harry hummed in supposed agreement because he didn’t have the patience to argue at that moment. He was starving and every minute Lucius stayed was another moment he delayed dinner. “Well, what is it, then?”
Lucius drew in a breath. “The Dark Lord is becoming suspicious of your position here and he plans to send Ministry officials to investigate.”
“What?” This was definitely important news, but he regarded Lucius carefully. “How could he possibly be suspicious? We chose this place because your people had already raided it; or are you so desperate to find me that you’re doubling up over places?”
“I,” Lucius said, emphasizing the word, “have already found you.”
Harry swallowed, his skin prickling where Lucius’ gaze touched it. “How did you do that, again?” he whispered.
“I already told you. I know Wiltshire like the back of my hand.”
Lucius was lying. It couldn’t be he just noticed this property because it was in Wiltshire. What the bloody hell did that matter? Wiltshire was massive, the Manor’s lands covering such little ground comparatively. Harry’s heart pulsed rapidly, and then he realized it was just his fingers drumming on the table. He stilled them, clenching his fist over the tabletop.
Twice, Draco had known what was going on in Harry’s head. He had even admitted to being a Legilimens. Harry filed that knowledge as deeply into his mind as he could, lest Lucius shared the skill… and until he knew exactly what to do with it.
“When are they coming?” Harry asked.
“Tomorrow afternoon, but I am not clear on the exact time. I… know of an empty place—”
“No way.” Harry wasn’t stupid enough to agree to that.
Arthur, who was sitting at the head of the table, addressed Lucius. “You’re supposed to be working for us, Malfoy. Unless we are mistaken about your loyalties.”
“Certainly not,” Lucius said with a sneer.
“Then why can’t you distract them from this place?”
Harry nodded. “That’s a very good point. Think about it this way, Lucius: we can’t tell you where we’re going next, couldn’t risk it. How can you be sure when you will see Draco again?”
Lucius’ shoulders stiffened.
“I suggest you try and dissuade them from searching here.”
“I will do what I can,” Lucius said tightly.
A sound of footfalls came from the stairs and a moment later, Draco appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. He made immediately for his chair beside Harry, and then he spotted Lucius by the back door.
“Oh, hello, Father,” he said, not hesitating to drag the chair out and sit down. “How is mother?”
“She’s well, don’t worry about her,” Lucius said quietly.
Draco nodded and turned to Harry. “I told you my father was taking care of everything. We should win this war in no time.”
Harry was smiling before he realized he was doing it and then rolled his eyes at Draco. Who had said “we should win”. Harry found himself wishing there weren’t so many people in the kitchen, all eyes on them.
“Shut up, Draco,” Harry mumbled, shoving him good naturedly on the arm. Draco flicked him on the cheek and Harry yelped and waved him off.
Lucius’ gaze was the hottest, like the sharp sting of a Crucio. Harry met his stare and was determined not to look away first, but Lucius didn’t look away for quite a long time.
Before Lucius left, he pulled Harry aside.
“Potter, a private word, if you please.”
Harry was about to tell him that anything he wanted to say, he could say in front of the Weasley family, as Harry had no secrets from them.
But then Lucius leaned in and said, “It’s about what you’re hunting.”
Harry caught his and saw something knowing there, so he nodded and led Lucius out of the kitchen. Hermione and Ron eyes them but Harry shook his head for them not to follow him.
Harry took Lucius to an empty bedroom on the ground floor and shut the door.
He sucked in a breath. “How do you know about the Horcruxes?”
Lucius’ smile was feral, and Harry couldn’t help but be reminded of a snake about to strike. “Draco informed me that you are hunting them.”
Of course. Harry’s face must have betrayed his distress, because Lucius looked positively gleeful.
“Likely Draco just wanted to help. He is always trying to help you now.” His smile fell into an ugly sneer. “But I’m sure you know that.”
Harry swallowed. So many feelings were rushing through him that he thought he might throw up.
“‘Find him the Horcrux, father,’” Lucius mimicked Draco’s voice. “Do you know how sick it makes me that he ---” he cut off, his cheeks paling. He straightened up, regaining his composure. “Well, I did find out what the Horcrux is.”
A spike of hope ran through him. “You did?” Harry’s voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat.
“Yes, I did. And I can tell you what it is right now.”
Harry stared at him, trying to control his breathing. If he gripped his wand any tighter he might snap it, so he forced himself to relax as best he could. But Lucius wasn’t saying anything. “Well what is it?” Harry snapped.
Then Lucius’ lips drew up again, and it was his worst smile yet. “I can’t just tell you something like that without getting something in return.”
The furniture rattled, and Harry realized it was his doing. Lucius looked around rapidly only for a moment when he didn’t know what it was, but then his smiled returned full force. He must have realized Harry was losing control.
Harry thought if he could ever perform the Crucio on anyone, it would be at this moment on Lucius fucking Malfoy. “Tell me what it is, or I swear to god, Malfoy…” He twirled his wand between his thumb and forefinger, itching to hex the bastard.
“I want something from you, Potter.”
Harry sighed, not bothering to hide his frustration. He ran a hand through his hair— a habit he had in irritation. “We’ve already played this game, Lucius. I have given you something: I have taken Draco in.”
“He who has the leverage has the power, Potter. And since I currently hold the leverage…” Lucius licked his lips. “There is something else I want.”
“What is it?” Harry demanded.
Lucius stepped closer, his boots clicking ominously. His eyes roamed Harry’s face and down his chest, and Harry felt like a prime cut of meat being assessed. Lucius was taller than him, and when he stopped only inches away, Harry had to look up slightly to meet his eyes.
“I want something you will never be able to take back.”
Harry scoffed. “What are you talking about?”
Lucius reached up a gloved hand, and Harry flinched. For a split second he thought Lucius was going to hit him, but the moment passed when Lucius’s leather-covered palm rested softly against his cheek. He held his breath as Lucius traced his fingers over Harry’s jawline slowly, from ear to chin. He held Harry’s chin lightly for a moment before letting go.
“I want you to give yourself to me, Potter.”
Harry thought he might have misheard him. But Lucius continued to leer at him in a way that made the hair on Harry’s neck rise and shiver run down his arms. A shiver of disgust.
“You can’t be serious,” Harry said, his voice quiet.
“Oh, I am very serious. You will let me fuck you, and then I will tell you what you want to know.”
Harry stopped breathing for a moment as he processed what Lucius was saying. The word fuck stood out sharply in his mind. Lucius wanted to fuck him. An image of himself naked in bed, face down, while an equally-naked Lucius Malfoy knelt behind him assaulted Harry’s imagination and made his stomach churn.
“Why?” was all he could manage.
He really did want to know why. Did Lucius actually… want him? Did he find Harry attractive? Had he always found him attractive? Had he been lusting after Harry this whole time?
Harry closed his eyes and saw Draco’s face.
No was the next thing he felt, reverberating through his bones, its meaning sharp and angry. He knew more fiercely than he knew anything else that having sex with Lucius was going to break something… or someone, and it wasn’t only going to be him. Not only did the thought revolted him, it made his chest ache like he had never felt before.
“Why?” Lucius echoed him, and Harry opened his eyes and glared at him. Lucius looked like he had tasted something that had spoiled. “Because I want to destroy you, Potter. Like you have destroyed everything.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Draco thinks you’re the sodding saviour of the sodding world,” Lucius spat, “and you know it. I won’t have my son worship you.”
“You’re angry that Draco likes me, so you’re going to blackmail me into fucking you?” Harry laughed dryly. “You’re more deranged than I thought.”
“He doesn’t just like you, Potter!”
The words hit him like a Bludger. “What do you mean?” Harry asked, and he couldn’t deny the hope that bloomed in a secret place inside him.
“You know exactly what I mean.”
The air seemed to have thinned, because suddenly Harry found it hard to breathe.
“And I find that, frankly,” Lucius sneered, “disgusting.”
“I find what you’re doing disgusting.”
“Ah, but that doesn’t matter to me, Potter. Besides, I have a feeling I’m going to get my way. As usual.”
Harry swallowed. “If I … If I sleep with you…” his tongue rolled thickly over the words, “you’ll tell me what the last Horcrux is?”
“You have my word.”
“As if your word means anything to me now.”
“I have not lied to you yet, Potter, so I don’t see why it shouldn’t.”
“I want you to make an Unbreakable Vow.”
Lucius’ lips curled upward. “So that means you will do it?” He reached out for Harry’s cheek again, and Harry slapped his hand away and pulled out his wand. It didn’t wipe the smile off Lucius’ face; if anything, his smile grew larger. “You’re considering it.”
Harry wanted to say he would rather die than let Lucius fuck him, but even as he thought the words he knew they weren’t true. The fact was, he likely would die anyways if he didn’t let Lucius fuck him. They all would. What other chance did he have at finding out the last Horcrux… if it even was the last?
How far would Harry go to keep everyone he loved safe?
What was one fuck with Lucius? It was nothing. A small price to pay.
“Will you make the vow?” he demanded.
Lucius nodded. “I will.”
Then he must actually have the information he promised. He wouldn’t make such a vow if he were lying and risk the magical consequences of breaking it. This meant Lucius actually knew what the Horcrux was, and he was going to tell Harry as soon as…
Harry swallowed. “Okay.”
“Okay, what, Potter?”
Harry wanted to punch him. Lucius was taunting him. He wanted Harry to say it out loud.
Harry grit his teeth. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
“You’ll let me fuck you?”
The words rattled him, like a physical assault. He exhaled hard. “Yes.”
“Then let’s take the vow. Who will serve as witness? Shall I call for Draco?”
Harry didn’t realize he had grabbed Lucius by the collar until Lucius was pressed against the wall and his eyes shined with something like fear. The cowardly bastard.
“You will never tell Draco about this,” Harry said through clenched teeth.
“Unhand me, Potter,” Lucius whispered.
Harry noticed Lucius had lost his wand when Harry pushed him into the wall.
He could stop this whole thing now if he wanted to. Harry could torture the information from Lucius. He didn’t have to barter with the Devil, he could force Lucius to talk. He wished he were a Legilimens so that he could enter Lucius’ mind and find out what he knew. So that he didn’t have to give into Lucius’ sick demands.
Someone pounded on the door. “Harry? Are you okay in there? We heard a noise.”
It was Ron. Harry let Lucius go, and Lucius quickly stood and smoothed out the front of his robes.
“Harry, if you don’t open up, we’ll blast the door down.”
“I’m—I’m okay,” he shouted, before turning back to Lucius. “I will find someone to act as witness.” Before Lucius could respond, he grabbed the door handle and opened it to find Ron, Hermione, and Molly standing there. They looked like a trio of owls.
“Witness what, Harry?” Hermione asked.
He would have to tell them, he realized, as heat seared his cheeks. His mind then raced with possibilities for who would act as witness to the vow. Harry didn’t want anyone to witness such a thing and the idea of anyone finding out what he was going to do made him inwardly wince. But it had to be someone. He wished Remus were here, he would have been a perfect witness. He imagined the set in Remus’ jaw, the quiet acceptance of what had to be done and the total lack of judgement.
Hermione wouldn’t let it go. “Witness what?” she asked for the thirteenth time after dinner.
With a sigh, Harry resolved to tell her and Ron tonight. He knew she wouldn’t leave him alone until he did. “Get Ron and meet me in my room in ten minutes.” He was going to lock his door and set a Muffliato charm; this time, Draco wasn’t going to catch a whiff of their conversation.
*
“Why are you letting Lucius manipulate you like this?” Hermione asked, all twittery and unable to sit still. The new events had set her nerves on edge. He had not seen her so manic in a long time.
“What other choice do I have?”
“We could keep looking.”
“Hermione, you have read every book ever published in England at this rate.”
“And some Italian,” Ron offered dully. It was like an instinct to make some sort of joke, but his voice was hollow.
“We are running out of time,” Harry said, feeling a small vine of mania start to curl within him, too. “He’s getting closer and closer to us. I can feel him… honing in.” He clenched the arm of his chair to keep from rubbing at his scar.
“There has to be another way,” Ron said.
Harry wished there was. But even if there was, how much longer would it take them to find it? “If Lucius is willing to go through with an Unbreakable Vow, it means he must actually have something. Which would, in all honesty, truly help. We haven’t had a lead in months.” An image of Lucius looming over his pale, naked body made Harry shiver—why did he look at white as a corpse? “I just need one of you to act as witness.”
“To the…” Ron blanched.
“To the oath, not the fucking!” Harry growled.
“Right… of course.”
“I can do it,” Hermione said. “But the terms need to be death.”
They told this to Lucius the next time he came over, and he grinned like a toothy snake. They had told everyone else that Lucius had some private information for Harry— which was not completely untrue— which is why they had to have their own meeting in private.
“Not in there,” Harry said as Lucius turned toward one of the doors, gripping the the handle.
“Why? What is this room?”
“That’s Draco’s.”
Lucius’s voice became low and amused. “Oh, is it?”
Harry would rather throttle Lucius with his bare hands than fuck him in the bed Draco slept in.
Hermione was quicker on her feet. “The bed is just a single,” she told Lucius. “Harry’s will be much more comfortable.”
“But it won’t be as much fun, will it?” He turned the handle and swung the door open.
Harry clenched his fists at his sides, trying to keep a cool head. Hermione looked at him pityingly but just shrugged. ‘Horcrux,’ she mouthed, and Harry set his jaw and nodded.
They followed Lucius and shut the door.
There was barely enough room for all three of them and the bed, which loomed like a fourth person. The sheets were still crumpled from this morning, where Draco had been.
“You understand the terms,” Hermione said, less a question than a statement.
“I do,” said Lucius.
“Then both of you please grasp hands.”
Harry extended his right arm as Lucius gracefully brought up his own, and their hands clasped between them. A handshake that let out a shriek in Harry’s head.
Hermione drew her wand and pointed it at their joined hands. Thin threads of light encircled both their wrists, handcuffing them to one another, their ominous glow already making Harry feel sick.
“Do you, Lucius Malfoy, swear to divulge any knowledge you possess of the Horcrux—“
“That’s not enough,” Harry interrupted.
Lucius stared at him with an unfaltering smile.
Hermione cleared her throat delicately. “Do you, Lucius Abraxus Malfoy, swear to tell us what the Horcrux is, on fear of death?”
“I do.”
“And do you, Harry James Potter, swear to fulfill your end of the bargain… on fear of death?”
“Not enough!” Lucius said, squeezing Harry’s hand in a vice grip.
Harry scowled at him. “I’ll follow through with it— dont make her say it, you sick prick.”
Lucius pulled on Harry’s hand, surprising him into losing his footing, and Harry fell against Lucius’ chest. Lucius’ other hand snaked behind his back and held him. “As long as you swear it, Potter.”
Harry swallowed. “I do.”
The threads of magic tying them together snapped apart and then faded away, and Harry wriggled out of Lucius’ grip.
“It is done,” Lucius said. “Now, if Miss Granger could step outside, you may begin fulfilling your end of the bargain.”
Hermione looked at Harry with apologetic eyes. “Harry…”
“I’m fine,” he said, still holding Lucius’ gaze. “Go.”
She walked hesitatingly out of the room, until the door clicked behind her. As soon as it did, Lucius’ grin turned feral.
“Now it is just us, Potter.”
Harry swallowed, unable to move a muscle. Every breath he took rolled thickly down his throat. He couldn’t quite believe this was going to happen.
It was going to happen.
He was going to get naked now and Lucius was going to fuck him.
“I suppose I should…” He cleared his throat as his hands hovered over the button of his jeans.
Lucius raised an eyebrows at him. “Continue.”
Harry imagined what it would be like to wrap his hands around Lucius’ throat. As he pulled down his zip, he pictured pressing his thumbs against Lucius’ Adams apple, applying so much pressure that he’d sputter and gasp for breath, his face turning slowly red.
He pushed his jeans down his thighs, his skin prickling from Lucius’ gaze. He toed off his trainers and slipped his jeans off entirely. He didn’t want this to be a slow seduction; he wanted to get it over with. It had to be quick, like ripping off a bandaid.
So he pulled off his t-shirt as quickly as possible, tossing it onto the floor somewhere. The only thing left was his boxers and he shoved them down, his face burning. He kept his head up, not willing to show Lucius any modicum of embarrassment. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. This was merely a trade off, an exchange of goods. Lucius had something he wanted and Harry was simply bartering.
Lucius remained silent as his eyes became transfixed on Harry’s cock.
Harry wanted him to stop staring. He wanted to bring his hands in front of it and cover himself, but he was determined not to show any weakness; so when Lucius took a step forward, Harry held his ground.
Lucius reached out a hand and tentatively slid a finger along the length of Harry’s cock.
Harry sucked in a breath. The touch felt foreign and wrong, and he wanted to pull away from it. He grit his jaw and breathed hard through his nose, trying to keep from having any… reactions. One finger had turned into a whole palm, which proceeded to squeeze and rub along the full length of Harry’s cock.
Even knowing who it was who was touching him, it became more difficult to resist the heat pooling in his gut. The longer his cock was being handled, the harder he became. He closed his eyes, but that only made it worse. It only served to help him forget—to imagine someone else.
“Why don’t we just get this over with?” he snapped, opening his eyes to glare at Lucius.
“But Potter, I want you to enjoy it.”
“Well, I won’t.”
“Are you absolutely certain? Because you’re already stiffening.”
Heat seared Harry’s cheeks and he fumed at Lucius. “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t mean… anything.”
“If you say so.”
Lucius pulled Harry by the cock, making him yelp and jump forward, and led him to the bed. He pushed Harry onto the mattress, and Harry landed on his back among the rough cotton sheets and woven blanket.
Lucius was still clothed, even wearing his outer robes. He took care of those now, unclasping them at the neck and shucking them off his shoulders, laying them over the wooden footboard. But he made no move to remove his quilted tunic or his trousers. He was wholly focused on Harry, and Harry was severely aware of his nakedness.
Lucius ran a hand up Harry’s calf, his thumb running over the dusting of hair on his leg. It was like he was savoring him, slowly and deliberately, the way one would a mouth-watering meal. Completely opposed to what Harry was hoping for: fast and to the point. Lucius was going to drag this out as long as he could—so much was clear now. To lick his fingers afterward.
“Are you going to fuck me or make love to me?” Harry spat.
Lucius smirked, letting a growl rumble from the back of his throat. “Oh, you’re going to feel well and truly fucked, Potter. I’m going to make sure of that.”
With that, he grabbed Harry behind the knees and pulled him forward roughly, making Harry grunt in surprise. Taking him by the hips, Lucius flipped him over so that his arse was facing him and Harry was on his elbows and knees on the bed. Harry’s face fell into the pillows stacked by the headboard.
It was the scent that hit him first—the warm, familiar scent of Draco. Harry nearly choked. He inhaled deeply despite himself, and a rush of hot, painful anguish pooled in his chest. He shoved the pillows onto the floor in one sweep, steadying himself for what was going to come. He didn’t have time to dwell on his feelings, which betrayed him as it were; because he shouldn’t care that this was Draco’s bed, where Draco put his head down at night, where he dreamed.
Lucius’ hands spread Harry’s arse and brought him abruptly back to the present. This was it. Harry clenched his teeth together, bracing himself.
Something pressed against his arsehole but it didn’t feel big enough to be a cock. Harry realized it was Lucius’ finger, and then another one, pushing at his entrance and prying him open. Lucius cast a spell that made his advancement easier and made Harry’s arse feel strange and slick. He clenched tightly, but Lucius didn’t seem to like that.
“Ah-ah,” he breathed softly, and whipped a light spank against Harry’s hole.
Harry jumped, rage soaring through his insides. He hung his head and said through gritted teeth, “Just bloody do it, Malfoy! Stop playing games and just do it.”
“Are you sure you’re ready? Because I am not by any means a small man.”
“God damn it, I don’t care!” He had prepared himself as well as he was ever going to be able to, and now he just needed it to happen so that it could be done.
“Well,” Lucius said languidly, “I was going to prepare you some more—open you up nice and loose so that you could take me comfortably. I am a kind man, after all.”
Harry snorted.
“But if you insist on taking it now…”
Lucius shifted so that he was half on top of Harry, his clothing rubbing against Harry’s bare skin, and that’s when Harry felt it.
It was a lot bigger than he had expected. He thought that even if he had never done this before, he knew was to expect; it was only a cock, and he had explored this area of his body before. He knew it was tight and that it stung when his fingers breached his arse, but a cock couldn’t be much different.
Until now, when Lucius pressed into him with what felt like a battering ram. There was no way Harry could take this. He would rip in half.
“Wait.”
Lucius paused. “I’m sorry, I thought this was what you wanted.”
Harry breathed rapidly, feeling lightheaded. “I…” He did not want to ask for more preparation. He couldn’t now; Lucius would most certainly make him beg for it. He would relish in hearing Harry request more of his fingers. Harry couldn’t bring himself to do it. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice breaking. “Keep… keep going.”
“Are you sure?” Lucius purred. “This is your last chance. I could stretch you open a bit more… if you ask me nicely for it.”
“No.”
“Otherwise, it’ll hurt.”
Harry looked back over his shoulder. “I don’t care if it hurts!”
“Oh, Potter, don’t tempt me.”
He slid his hand down Harry’s spine, making Harry cringe, and settled both hands on Harry’s hips. He made tightened his grip, steadying Harry in position. And then— Harry couldn’t help but cry out.
The first thrust seemed to rip him open. Harry was sure he had been torn completely apart. He shoved his fist into his mouth to muffle his cry, biting down on his flesh, feeling the new blossom of pain there. It still didn’t distract from the pain of Lucius’ cock sliding inside him, making room for itself in Harry’s passage. He forced his way in with more thrust from his hips, pushing deeper and deeper.
He couldn’t believe he was filled with Lucius Malfoy’s cock. The sheer knowledge of it angered and horrified him.
Tears welled in Harry’s eyes and he blinked them away; he had never felt anything like this before, and Lucius hadn’t been kidding when he said it would hurt. It was a stinging and a burning and a stretching all at once that had Harry gasping for air.
But it was even worse when Lucius started moving. He pulled out, dragging his cock against Harry’s insides, and Harry fought to remain perfectly silent. He bit even harder into his fist, almost sure he was going to draw blood anytime now. The movement behind him rough and painful, and he was already wondering when it would be over. He tried not to count the seconds but it was difficult to clear his mind, because the alternative was just to feel every bit of pressure against his insides.
Harry couldn’t hold back the groan of pain in his throat and he let it out, hating himself for it. Most of all, he hated Lucius Malfoy with every fiber of his being. He began thrusting in and out of Harry’s arse more easily now, having paved the way. It burned more than Harry had ever felt.
After a while, something changed. The pain almost completely vanished into a dull ache that was incredibly easy to ignore. It seemed the stretching had been the worst part, and now that his body had adjusted to Lucius’ girth, there was only slickness and the sensation of being filled over and over again.
Harry gasped at the way his body reacted.
His cock, which had been lying limp and soft against his thigh, was starting to come alive again. No, no, no, Harry thought frantically, but it was no use as he had as little control over his cock as he had over the pace of the pounding inside of him. He was growing thicker with every passing second, as much as he tried to resist.
It seemed to last forever, with Lucius fucking him at a ravishing pace and Harry breathing hard and trying to fight his erection with every fiber of his being. However, it suddenly became impossible.
Harry yelped as Lucius’ cock slid against something blindingly good inside of him. Lucius’ chuckle was breathy with exertion.
“Your arse is sweet, Potter,” he grunted. “I knew I would love to fuck you, but I didn’t know how good you would be.”
“Fuck… you…” Harry gritted out.
His breaths were so heavy and panting, and the slapping of Lucius’ body against his own filled the room so completely, that Harry didn’t even notice what came next, until he heard the voice.
“What—?”
Harry lifted his head with blind panic, and what he saw made his stomach drop so quickly, he wanted to be sick right there on the spot.
In the doorway, Draco stood with his mouth gaping and his eyes wide. A pink flush covered his cheeks as he took in the scene, eyes darting between the two if them on his bed.
Harry felt weak.
Lucius continued as though nothing happened. The bastard tightened his grip on Harry’s hips and kept pounding him, even as he spoke.
“My goodness, it seems we have forgotten the locking charm.”
Harry’s mind reeled, trying to remember Hermione leaving. Hadn’t she done the charm? No, perhaps not. Why had he assumed she would do it—he should have made absolutely certain it was done, and done it himself. He felt the stinging suspicion that Lucius had known it wasn’t on the whole time, even wanted it that way.
Draco scowled deeply. “And a silencing charm.”
Oh god. Harry wanted to die.
“Stop!” he said to Lucius, swinging his hand back to reach him, but to no avail.
Lucius grabbed hold of Harry’s hair and pulled his head back, and Harry let out a gasp. He continued to fuck him as though he was enjoying it now more than ever.
“Remember your vow, Potter—upon fear of death. And I haven’t had my fill of you yet.” Then he addressed Draco. “You’re free to watch, if you like, Draco. See how your hero takes it. Only shut the door if you do stay, as I wouldn’t want an even larger audience.”
The look Draco shot him was one of raw, unconcealed hatred. Harry had never seen Draco look at Lucius like that.
“How could you?” Draco hissed, before exiting and slamming the door.
Harry hung his head, feeling suddenly drained. He crossed his forearms in front of him and laid his head in their circle, resigning himself to the misery he felt. There was no danger of enjoying it now, nothing to fight against. He sagged against the mattress like a deflated balloon, closing his eyes and letting Lucius have his way with him and simply waiting it out. There was simply nothing left to do.
He didn’t even try to resist the image of Draco’s pale face painted starkly against the back of his eyelids.
Alternately, Lucius seemed spurred by the event. It got him off that Draco had caught them, that Harry had been disgraced, because it didn’t take much longer for him to reach his peak.
Only a few thrusts later, Lucius was slowing down and pushing more deeply into Harry’s body, milking his way through it. He grunted, a signal of his climax, and Harry then felt the hot ejection that spewed its way through his arse.
Lucius grunted his way out of him, too, pleasure and self-satisfaction dripping from every sound he emitted. Harry winced when his cock fully exited him, and his hole clenched around nothing. It was sticky, he could feel it. Everything about him was sticky and slimy now.
Harry was in a daze the whole time Lucius brushed himself off and took up his robes. He didn’t move from his position on the bed.
“Thank you, Potter, that was lovely.” His boots clicked as he made his way to the door. “I only wish we could do it regularly.”
“What is the Horcrux?” Harry said, finally lifting his head.
Lucius regarded him silently. If he didn’t tell him, Harry knew for a fact that he would rise from this bed and kill him with his bare hands.
But Lucius sighed as though this was the most ineffectual thing in the world–and perhaps for him it was. “It’s a diadem.”
Harry frowned, his brain working with the new information. “Who’s?”
“One of the founders of Hogwarts, I’m not sure which.”
He raised himself onto his elbows. “Where is it?”
“How would I know?”
“Lucius, you said—”
“I said I would tell you what the Horcrux was. Those were the exact words of the vow I took. You insisted on them.”
A flurry of emotions whirled through Harry, mainly panic and frustration. “You must know something else! I thought you knew where to find it.”
“Why would you think that? Did I ever tell you I could locate it for you? No, I said I know what the Horcrux is. Other than that, Potter, you’re on your own.”
The world was like one large spiraling vortex that Harry was tumbling through it. He had allowed Lucius to… to… do that, and for such little information, it was barely worth it. The diadem could be anywhere—anywhere at all. His brain told him the first place to look was Hogwarts, but there was no guarantee they’d even find it there.
“I’ll be on my way now, Potter.” Lucius opened the bedroom door. “I do have places to be.”
*
There was a light on downstairs. The rest of the house was dark and quiet with sleep, but from the sitting room, a yellow glow emitted into the hallway. Harry followed it like a moth.
On the sofa by the lit hearth, Draco was lying down underneath a woolen blanket. At first Harry thought he was asleep, but then Draco shifted, looking back at his intruder, and when he saw it was Harry he faced forward again without a word.
Harry carefully made his way over, like he was approaching a deer that might get scared by sudden movements.
The firelight illuminated the angles of Draco’s face, the curve of his lip, and the blond hair that was swept back from his forehead. Harry’s heart hurt just looking at him. He looked nothing like Lucius in that moment, all layers that were his father’s peeled away. He was somebody else entirely. Someone only Harry knew.
“Leave me alone, Potter.”
“Why are you down here?”
“I can’t very well sleep in my bed now, can I?”
Harry said nothing as the fire crackled.
Draco looked at him again, his lips pulled into a frown. “Really, Potter, go to sleep.”
“I can’t.”
Draco snorted. “Yeah, well…” It was obvious that neither could he.
Harry heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry, Draco.”
Draco’s face twisted into something fierce and angry. “What do you have to be sorry about? I know it wasn’t your doing. If anything, it’s really I who should be sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Wasn’t it?” Draco raised an eyebrow.
Harry tried to work out his meaning, but he couldn’t come up with anything that made sense. It was Harry who had made a deal with the Devil, knowing full well what he was giving up. Draco had nothing to do with it. Unless—
Lucius’ words from the other day came back to him, echoing in his mind like the ring of a bell: ‘He doesn’t just like you, Potter.’
Something swelled in Harry’s chest, like it did when he had first heard it.
“Draco,” he said, kneeling down beside him. “How did you find us?”
Draco flinched away from him, and Harry grabbed his arm, holding him still. Everything was so still all around them, except the fire and the dancing light, and looking into Draco’s eyes, so close he could see each eyelash, Harry wondered if this was a dream.
“Tell me,” Harry insisted. “It’s okay.” Maybe Draco was afraid to tell. Maybe his father had forbidden it. “You have said things to me you could only have known if you had read my mind. I know there’s something more going on, I… I just don’t know what.”
Draco drew in a breath, and then, barely above a whisper, he said, “I can feel you, Potter.”
Harry shook his head. “What do you mean?
“I can’t explain it. But it’s like you’re everywhere at once.” His expression softened, and he looked away shyly. “Sometimes I feel as though I just know what you’re thinking.”
“Like Legilimency?”
Draco shook his head. “I was never a good Legilimens. Occlumency is easy, I can shield my mind with barely any effort. But Legilimency always eludes me… until I’m near you.”
Harry’s heart thumped against the inside of his chest. “Can you hear my thoughts now?”
“It’s less like I can hear them and more like I can feel them. ”
“So tell me what I’m feeling now.” His voice gruffer than he intended. He knew what he was feeling and it scared him.
Draco’s eyes darkened. “I don’t want to say.”
Harry tightened his grip on his arm. “Draco…”
“Don’t, Potter—really, don’t. There’s no use.”
“Why not?”
“Because he won’t stop.”
Harry hesitated, his embarrassment about earlier returning. “Are you talking about your father?”
“Yes.”
“He already got what he wanted,” Harry said, with a renewed spike of anger. He wondered if Draco could feel that.
“Don’t you understand?” Draco sat up on his elbow, bringing his face even closer. It was for Harry to keep from leaning forward and closing the inch of distance between them. “My magic yearns for yours,” Draco said.
Harry blinked, finding it hard to comprehend the weight of such a declaration.
“And he hates that. He will never stop, not until he’s eradicated this… thing. He wants to ruin you for me.”
Harry opened his mouth but found it hard to speak. His throat was dry and his head was spinning.
“But he can’t,” Draco continued.
“I’m never going to do that again,” Harry vowed.
“Yes, you will. Because he will find more information on the Horcruxes.”
Harry grimaced.
“He will do whatever he has to do. I should have known telling him about your hunt for Horcruxes was not a good idea. So you see, it is all my fault.”
Harry felt like his heart would tear a hole in his chest. “I don’t care.”
He leaned in, bridging the gap between them. When his lips collided with Draco’s, it was like something broke within him. They kissed for a long time, until the embers in the grate died and Harry tore himself away to clamber up the stairs to his own room.
He finally knew what Draco meant when he said his magic yearned for him.
*
No matter what he had to do, Harry was going to find the last Horcrux. People did all kinds of things in times of war. Things they would think back on and shudder. And if Harry could just do this, if he could defeat Voldemort with this hideous act, it would all be worth it.