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The Slow Unintended Seduction Of Lucius Malfoy	By : ChimaeraChan Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Lucius Views: 37407 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-CH1
- 2-CH2
- 3-CH3
- 4-CH4
- 5-CH5
- 6-CH6
- 7-CH7
- 8-CH8
- 9-CH9
- 10-CH10
- 11-CH11
- 12-CH12
- 13-CH13
- 14-CH14
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Chapter Ten
Lucius camped outside the Dursleys around seven a.m. Sunday morning, waiting for the family to go to church before approaching and checking on Harry. It wasn't until ten that he started to suspect that something was wrong, dread growing in terrible weight on his shoulders.
Privet Drive was a strange experiment in ordered lives. It wasn't one neighbor going out to jog, it was all neighbors. If at eight o'clock you hadn't watered the flowers in front of the picket fences and around the mailboxes, than you mustn't have flowers at all. Every family, in every shining car, left at nine forty-five to get to their ten o'clock mass at the parish down the lane.
Petunia Dursley did not join in the joggers passing on the street. There was no child Dursley going out to water the neglected flowers by their mailbox. The man Lucius intended to kill if things did not go his way did not lead his family out the door and into his new car. The curtains were pulled tight on all the windows of 4 Privet Drive, and Lucius felt dread.
The house was deathly still compared to the neighbors. Children let out from school for the summer were running around, jumping rope, shrieking as they sprayed each other with squirt guns, and went slamming into their houses demanding first lunch, and then dinner as the hours crawled by. Lucius would not approach the house until the Dursleys were out, or darkness had settled thick enough that he would not be noticed.
He wondered if the house was empty. Had the Dursleys up and left in the middle of the night? Dragging an unwilling Harry behind... Or leaving him here, hurt... maybe worse? Maybe dead? The anxiety within grew, and Lucius knew he did not approach because of this fear. It was not the light and the muggles surrounding him. It was the fear of what he would find if he dared to enter the house.
Lucius growled inwardly, shaking his head at the absurd notion. Harry was a powerful young man. He might be weak in knowledge and confidence, but surely no muggle could get the better of him. The boy had survived Voldemort. Lucius was just being paranoid, having grown frightened by Draco's stories, and reminded of his own past. Vernon was a muggle, nothing more. Harry was so much more.
The streetlights came, on but still Lucius hesitated. Why wasn't anyone moving? The neighbors bustled in their houses, dinner dishes being washed, soft laughing chatter coming out the windows while televisions flashed and radios hummed. But number four was still. Silent. Nothing moving, no curtain twitch, no dinner dish. Nothing.
Around ten p.m. a light went on. It was upstairs at the back of the house. The bathroom, the curtains drawn but lacy enough for light to be seen. Lucius took a deep breath, counting slowly. The light went out. The house went still.
Lucius unfurled from his crouch, his legs stiff, muscles protesting. He let the blood return to his limbs, listening, alert. Most of the neighbors had slipped away to bed, only a few televisions left to hum. Lucius walked up the front walk, keeping to the shadows, his wand in hand. He stood at the door, listening for sounds of activity inside. Nothing. Hesitating a long, frozen moment, Lucius pressed the doorbell.

When Harry had left he had been wearing new clothes, possibly for the first time ever. His jeans had been a dark navy blue, fitting well with enough room in his legs that he didn't feel uncomfortable. His shirt had been a soothing tan color t-shirt, a swirling design of skulls and artistic flourishes teenagers were drawn to in the current style. His socks were even new, along with the sneakers, black and white puma's. It had only been a day, but Harry had managed to destroy them.
There weren't many holes, but there was one large tear, slicing down the front of Harry's chest, as if someone had grabbed him there and pulled too hard. The blood was the worst of it, splatters on the back of his neck and all over his jeans, the white of his shoes now a black rust. Lucius stood a good five minutes staring at those jeans. Harry, broken glasses taped and situated on his face, leaned on the door frame heavily and let him.
“I asked you to stay away,” Harry finally whispered, a cut splitting his bottom lip and running down his chin.
“I tried. Are you okay?” Lucius reached for his face, but Harry jerked away the same time as something flared across the door. It was the wards, repelling non-permitted visitors away.
Harry sighed, staring where the ripple had occurred. “You wouldn't have been able to help... What a fucking sick joke.” Harry looked behind him, revealing the back of his head matted with blood. “I have to go.”
“No, you don't.” Lucius said quickly. “Come with me. Right now.”
Harry glanced back, his eyes not glowing the way they used to when in the manor. “I'm tired. I've been... cleaning,” he said with a curl of his upper lip. “I just want to sleep.”
Lucius fell silent, afraid what that might mean. There was no way the boy had sleeping charms in that muggle house. “You promised...”
It took Harry a moment to understand, but he only shrugged once he did. “Was any of that even real? It had felt so... perfect... Like a dream.”
“I burned all your clothes, and you managed to break your mouth on my pool. You almost killed yourself just trying to take a nap. It was hardly perfect,” Lucius muttered. It had not been some flimsy fantasy. It had been real. It had been their life, and Harry needed to come back to it.
Harry slumped. “I'm going to go sleep, Lucius.”
“Let me in.”
“No.”
Harry shut the door on his face, Lucius left standing alone in the dark.

Lucius knocked on the back door. It was hours later, dawn threatening. The bathroom light had popped on, then off. When Lucius listened, he could hear the sound of a kettle. Harry took a long time to answer. Lucius almost knocked again, but then the door swung open.
Harry did not invite him in, instead holding an empty mug up questioningly. The boy's eyes were a bit sharper than before, but he was still drawn looking, face too pale, eyes too lifeless. Lucius fished through the pocket of his cloak, holding up his prize and letting it spin by the tag. Harry bit his lip when seeing the familiar teabag, but didn't take it. Instead he walked back into the kitchen and poured water into a mug, which he then handed to Lucius. While Lucius floated the bag into the chipped mug—apparently everything Harry came in contact with became dilapidated—Harry went and poured his own tea, something sharp and foul smelling.
Harry sat, folding himself in the doorway so he was resting his mug on his raised knees. Watching him, Lucius sank to the concrete patio, legs bent Indian style. Their tea steeped in silence, the warm kitchen light bathing them in yellow and turning the shadows inky.
Harry had washed his hands, the black rust no longer staining under his fingernails. His glasses had gained another layer of tape, the edge curling up and wavering whenever the boy blew on his tea. Harry grimaced at every sip he took, but did not complain.
“Harry, you don't—”
“How many people have you killed?” Harry asked, effectively cutting Lucius off.
Lucius exhaled slowly, watching Harry's eyes skitter over him and then back to his tea. “Twelve... possibly thirteen.” One individual had been hit by so many spells, no one could claim to truly have been the deciding blow.
Harry nodded at the number, resting his cut lip on the side of his mug and breathing the steam in. “Were they all on purpose?”
“I do not consider accidents to be murder, nor does the law,” Lucius said carefully. “I am too controlled to have such accidents.”
“Which one... What's the worst thing you've done? Were you... Was it for Voldemort?” Harry asked haltingly, his eyes again glancing dull green his way.
Lucius had a sip of his tea, the familiar taste doing nothing to change the fact that they were in the middle of some suburban muggle town, dawn peeking on the horizon, and Harry covered in blood and broken inside. “It is difficult to say... There are acts that I did that were certainly terrible in and of themselves to the individuals I inflicted them on. And then there were acts that were that, and also tore the humanity I was trying to preserve into a million shredded pieces. The second type hurt me the most, but were likely not the worst that I had done. The ones that wounded me were things I had done as a Death Eater.”
“Because you did them on purpose?” Harry asked, fingers drifting down to the bloodstains on his jeans, running over the dried splotches that flaked at his touch.
“No. Because only half of me wanted to do them.” Lucius shrugged. “I thought that was reason enough, but the other half, that part that didn't want to, kept breaking, kept fighting. For some reason, that part eventually won and I stopped.”
Harry flaked more blood, and then brushed it brusquely away. “Tell me about the worst one you did. That you wanted to do. All of you. Without hesitation.”
There had been a few, but one always burned the brightest, the angriest, and at the same time sweetest. “My father.”
Harry held his mug in two hands, tilting and staring at the liquid as if debating whether to drink more or spill it on the ground. “Tell me how you killed your father.”
Giving himself a moment, Lucius relaxed into the memory. He smiled faintly, meeting Harry's curious glance. He had never told anyone this. Rarely spoke of murder at all, except in hushed tones with those that had helped. But this one had been very much secret, never owned to except in his heart. There was something intimate about being able to speak the words. Maybe the demonic glow, still flickering deep, just hidden in Harry's eyes.
“It happened too fast. I was still very much afraid, you see. Actually, I don't think I ever stopped being afraid until he was finally dead.” Lucius's smile grew. “I rushed it. I had planned for months—Years, if I'm really honest about it. All the mental trappings I learned, just to make sure he would never know I aimed to kill him. In some ways, it was all I was those many years. Just the desire for revenge and freedom.”
Harry placed his mug on the kitchen floor, reaching for Lucius's barely touched tea. To Lucius it was more, the urge to be closer, to let him in a little more. Lucius handed his cup over after another sip, watching the boy's hands carefully. One was bruised and swollen, the fingers darker than they should be.
“Did you feel bad after?” Harry asked, sighing into the mug and then drinking deep.
“No, not really. Afraid for a moment. That he might get back up and prove just what a fool I was for thinking I could ever be free. Afraid someone might find out, and then I'd be locked away in a different prison. Afraid my mother, already dead by his scourge, would somehow haunt me for not making amends,” Lucius mussed softly, feeling Harry's gaze slip over him again. “But I never felt bad about it. And I never felt bad that I didn't feel bad. I had felt bad over other deaths, many I had done, and far more that I had seen done. But not him.” Lucius smirked again. He had felt alive. Empowered. Free.
“How did you—”
“Killing curse. Short and sweet. Too short... But still, very sweet. There were so many things I wanted to tell that bastard. But I rushed it. Better to rush in and live.” Lucius paused and frowned. He had forgotten that. Had nearly lost Harry because he had forgotten to act with certainty at a time when it was most needed.
“You had said something. About my body trying to tell me something.” Harry struggled to his feet, grabbing the door to keep from falling. Lucius got up slower, just in case Harry fell outside and he could grab him. Steal him away. Keep him from disappearing back into whatever was in that house.
Harry swayed unsteadily, then slipped two fingers down the front of his jeans and wiggled the slender wand loose he had hidden there. He tapped the magical ward over the door, and the barrier glowed bright and welcoming.
“Come on, then,” the brunette beckoned, walking further into the kitchen and into the hall. Lucius, glancing briefly outside into the beginning of dawn, hesitantly stepped in and closed the door behind him.
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The Slow Unintended Seduction Of Lucius Malfoy