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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 Six
Lucius had spent a miserable three days battling with the Ministry to stop the rezoning of residential homes for magic users. There had to be some protection. They couldn't just expect that wizards and muggles could live side by side without proper defenses against prying eyes and twitchy fingers. Just think if a family like the Dursleys lived side by side with Malfoy Manor? They would have called the police countless times over trivial, pointless things they didn't understand. They were ignorant and powerless, and would always be afraid of those who were not. And what did they do to those they were afraid of? Apparently they beat them and locked them under stairs in cupboards.
Lucius had done some digging, disguising himself and getting the Hogwarts' groundskeeper so drunk that Hagrid had ended up bawling out Harry's unfortunate tale. Lucius had spent the rest of the evening in the dark pub, drinking cheap ale and asking himself what the hell he was doing. Potter wasn't some child in need of rescue anymore. If he wanted to take revenge on his abusive muggles that was completely up to him.
But Lucius also knew the boy wouldn't. Wouldn't want to. Might even have forgiven the wretched creatures. It didn't sit well with Lucius, and he wasn't certain why.
The Ministry was pushing for some 'reasonable' equality lately, and Lucius and his peers had to push back before the neighborhood went to trash. The Dursleys had taken a little boy into their home and had seen him, not for what he was, but as a monster. If such people could be so blind, so cruel to what was right under their noses, what would happen once a fence and lawn was there to make things look even more exaggerated and frightening? It would be torches and burnings all over again.
“Father, you look like shit,” Draco remarked, drinking down his mug of coffee like a fish in need of caffeinated water. Lucius was momentarily surprised to find his son in the kitchen so early, only to remember it was no longer early. Lucius had stayed out too late with Hagrid, the half-giant's stories rather interesting once Lucius had gotten enough pints in his bloodstream. It was Friday, and he could afford to be late for work after the last three days of torture.
“The Ministry was being difficult...” Lucius disclosed, his eyes slowly moving around his kitchen. It showed the remains of hurricane Harry all over it; mud, dishes—Damn it, the milk! “For some reason they think muggles can be trained to be civilized and domestic. I have living proof to the contrary.”
Pulling out his wand, Lucius began spelling everything clean, grabbing the now cottage cheese that had used to be milk and dumping it down the garbage disposal.
“I told you to leave him alone,” Draco said, his voice carrying a hard edge. “He's not some plaything. He's pissed you're playing dress up with him.”
Pausing in front of his boiling water, Lucius pursed his lips. “So he didn't like the clothes?”
“Don't know. A rack of them just arrived, but he's still sleeping.” Draco shrugged, watching his father carefully. “It doesn't matter if they're everything he's ever wanted. He won't except a gift like that. He sees strings, and let's face it, you're not really known for your generosity.”
Lucius sighed heavily, feeling his exhausting week sink deep into his bones. “Do you have any suggestions?” He asked his son, knowing Draco was pushing at something.
“Yeah, stay away from him.”
Lucius did roll his eyes this time. “Drink another cup of coffee and then answer me. He needs clothes. He has practically nothing now.”
“All thanks to you,” Draco reminded, drinking down the rest of his cup with a gulp.
Lucius snapped his head up, glaring. “If you think me remorseful, you are very wrong. Those clothes were unfit for anyone. That he's Harry Potter, and a guest in my house, is just coincidence.”
“Sure...” the boy drawled, hiding his smirk behind his cup.
“Draco,” Lucius said warningly, tearing a packet of tea open and throwing the teabag into his cup. “If you care anything for your friend, you will help me so that he won't be walking around in the same disgusting outfit for the rest of the summer.”
Draco shrugged, pretending he didn't care in the least. Lucius scowled, pouring scalding water into his mug and letting it sit. He then turned to his obnoxious son, arms folded over his chest. It was a silent standoff, Draco fixing his father with a long side glance that eventually broke.
“Fine, whatever,” Draco muttered. “But nothing you do is going to work. Maybe a week ago, but not anymore.”
“Why?” Lucius stared at the handprint he had missed on the wall, looking suspiciously of crushed fruity pebbles. Muggle nonsense junk food...
“Because he's jealous.” Draco sneered just saying the words, slamming his mug down too roughly on the kitchen island. “The bloody idiot is hurt over you. All you've done is treat him like shit, and he's throwing a damn tantrum that you left. You should have seen him when I told him you're out with other men—I don't like any of this, Father. He's more a mess now than when he left those muggles. I never should have brought him here.”
Lucius stiffened at the implication, his mind stuttering to a halt. Drinking last night had been a mistake because surely that was why Lucius was feeling slightly giddy. Harry was jealous... The little tormenting, green-eyed demon didn't want Lucius out, screwing other men. It was interesting. Very interesting.
Lucius snagged his mug from behind him, sipping his tea as he thought. He then paused, scowl spreading across his face while he glared down at the green tinted mixture. Head jerking to the side, he picked up the box of tea, flipping the lid open and glaring at the contents. They looked perfectly normal. He pulled out another packet, tearing it open and sniffing hesitantly.
The goddamn hellion.
Draco silently watched his father dump his tea down the sink and begin tearing through the tea packets one by one, until a pile of torn paper and rejected teabags scattered the counter. Harry had suddenly started drinking his own tea recently, avoiding Lucius's like the plague. Draco had assumed his friend just didn't want to have anything to do with his father, including his tea. Apparently not the case. Draco had no interest in telling his father where he thought his tea was hiding, Lucius's angry muttering extremely satisfying after all the trouble he had caused.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Draco asked innocently, holding up the glass carafe to Lucius.
Glaring at his son threateningly, Lucius swept the pile of dreadful mint tea into the dumpster. He had to get to work. He had to get himself together, face his day with the right foot forward, and do what needed to be done. Lucius had done it everyday, even when his father had beaten him near death the night before, even when his son had been born, even when his wife decided that family and duty just wasn't enough and had packed up and left. Lucius had moved resilient during every instance in his life, letting go of the irrelevant and forging forward as he knew he must.
Today, Lucius had to get to work.
“I'm going to shave,” he muttered to his smirking son, turning on his heel and leaving the kitchen. Once in the upstairs hallway, Lucius ignored the many things he had to do, and instead stalked towards the room Harry was still sleeping in. Work be damned.

“My tea, Potter? Every drop of my tea?” Lucius stood in the doorway, glaring into the dim lighting of the room, drapes still closed tight. Harry didn't stir. Odd, because Lucius knew the boy was a light sleeper, always jumping awake at the sound of people walking by his door. Realizing the brat was playing possum, Lucius shut the door behind him and glided to the bed to loom menacingly.
Harry continued to lie still, chest rising peacefully in rhythm to his quiet breaths of air. He was beautiful, unassuming and taunting at the same time. “Potter, you're not fooling me. I've seen enough people pretending...” Lucius stopped, frowning at just how still the air seemed to be around Harry's bed.
Maybe the little brat wasn't pretending.
Glancing around the room, to the nightstand, bureau and even trunk when very little of any items could be found, Lucius sought out Harry's wand. Surely he wouldn't... But no, it was in his hand, fingers curled lightly around it, power still active as it drew energy from Harry's unconscious form. Judging the situation carefully for a few long moments, Lucius eventually reached his hand out, knocking Harry's elbow so that the wand went flying out of the boy's grasp and clattered safely on the ground.
“Potter?” Lucius asked, bending over as the stillness began to fade, the spell slipping away without power to drain. When Harry didn't answer, Lucius gently touched his cheek.
Harry gasped, hands flying out in front of him, eyes snapping open to reveal pure terror. Lucius remained perfectly still, allowing Harry to adjust to reality and release whatever nightmare he had been caught in.
“L-Lucius?” Harry finally asked, his body slowly relaxing. “Why are you...?” He squinted, reaching for his glasses on the nightstand. Lucius grabbed his hand before he could, pinning Harry's wrists to the mattress.
“What did you do? Was that... intentional?” Lucius asked cautiously, trying to read the boy's face. All he could discern was confusion and the beginnings of a flush on Harry's cheeks.
“I don't understand. I haven't done anything,” Harry self-consciously muttered, wishing Lucius wasn't leaning so close. He was supposed to be angry at the man, not pleased to find him in his bedroom. Lucius always disoriented him.
“You cast a sleeping charm on yourself,” Lucius said tightly, Harry blinking back.
“S-So? Ron used to do it all the time, whenever I woke up with nightmares at school and couldn't sleep. I just... I just wanted to sleep, that's all,” Harry whispered, looking away from the intense silver gaze boring into him.
Lucius's frown deepened to severe. “The next time you wake up from a nightmare, you will either wake Draco or me. We will cast you asleep. One must never cast themselves asleep, Potter. Never.”
“W-Why?” Harry asked, gaze jumping back at the almost desperate note in Lucius's voice.
“Because if you are not discovered, you will sleep to death. That is why we have sleeping draughts and even disposable charms. By Merlin—Do you know nothing!” Lucius pushed himself away with a frustrated growl, Harry rubbing his wrists from the dull pain he had left.
Harry sat up unsteadily, his heart pounding in his chest. He slipped his glasses on, tracking Lucius's movements as the man paced haltingly in his bedroom. Harry opened his mouth to speak, to explain he hadn't realized, when Lucius turned and fixed him with a glare. Harry clicked his mouth shut, silent.
“I'm sorry about your clothes,” Lucius said roughly, his teeth possibly cracking for how tight his jaw was clenched.
“W-What?” Harry asked, completely flabbergasted.
“I am sorry I burned your clothes. It was wrong of me. I was behaving rudely. Please except the new clothing as my apology.” He knew he sounded disingenuous, but Lucius could not think straight, could not smooth himself as needed to say whatever was required to fix this maddening boy. He wanted to yell and roar, and possibly break things—Nothing that was of use at the moment.
Eyes wide as saucers, Harry nodded his acceptance, unable to speak at the moment. Lucius Malfoy did not apologize. Harry knew because Draco never apologized, and the boy was a pale echo of his father's stubbornness. Lucius went to leave, and Harry snapped to reality. “Wait!”
Lucius froze, glaring over his shoulder. Harry stilled at the molten gaze, but forced himself to continue. “Don't leave here thinking I tried to hurt myself. I would never—Not intentionally. I'm j-just, well, muggle raised. I don't always know what everyone else knows.”
Lucius gave a curt nod and was out the door before Harry had finished his sentence. He was down the stairs moments later, growling loudly, the noise growing as he passed the kitchen and garbage full of tea.
“Father, you're not ready—What's wrong?” Draco asked, leaning around the corner, coffee mug still in hand.
“I'm going out,” Lucius said tersely, watching his son cringe at his murderous tone.
“But work...” Draco blinked at Lucius, looking all the world like a wide eyed snowy owl fallen from its perch. “Father, you're only in a t-shirt. At least put on a proper shirt before—” Draco yelped, falling backwards as Lucius sent a vase smashing across the hallway in the opposite direction.
“Watch Potter!” Was all Lucius managed to spit out before rounding out the back door and apparating with a thunderous crack.

Harry was just pulling himself free of the bedspread when Draco came rushing in, a mix of fear and confusion on his face. “What happened! Did you fight! Was it the clothes!”
Harry stumbled backwards from the assault of questions, nearly braining himself on the nightstand. Situating his glasses back on his face, Harry blanched to find Draco right in his personal space. “W-what?”
“What happened?” Draco repeated, grabbing Harry by the shoulders and shaking him. It would have been comical if Harry didn't feel so bloody dizzy and light headed since waking. Sleep charms always left him groggy.
Harry lightly shoved his friend away, falling back to sit on the bed. “I'm not sure,” he said weakly, eyes focusing on his wand. For some reason it was on the floor where anyone could step on it. Harry quickly picked it up and placed it safely on the nightstand.
“My father just mauled a vase while running out of here. Something happened!” Draco hissed, looking Harry up and down. The boy didn't look particularly ravished, just the same old mess of hair as always. Which just left fighting. But whatever they were fighting about had to be beyond anything normal. Lucius was not the type to have fits of rages. Especially around his family. The man held a steel trap on his anger, Draco suspected because Lucius's father had been reputed to be brutal with his fury.
Harry shrugged uncomfortably, looking up at Draco. “I think he thought I had done something.”
“The tea? He got worked up over the damn tea!”
“Stop yelling,” Harry urged, wincing when Draco hit one of his particularly screeching notes. “It wasn't the tea. I woke up after a nightmare and charmed myself asleep. He seemed to think that it was a bad thing to do.”
Draco blinked, trying to process the information. “So? I use charms all the time when I can't sleep. We all do...”
“No,” Harry amended, realizing he had phrased things wrong. “I used my wand. I cast a sleep charm on myself.”
Draco gaped. Without warning, he reached over and punched Harry in the arm. “Are you out of your mind? You could have killed yourself! If I had tried to wake you and didn't know it, I could have ended up dead too! Everyone knows—!”
Harry grabbed Draco's fists before the boy could swing again. “I didn't. Muggle raised. I never even cast one before. Ron usually did it for me. I didn't know there was a problem with a simple spell like that.”
Draco snapped his mouth shut, relaxing his grip so Harry would let him go. Draco then punched his friend again, Harry swearing at the obvious sham. “Potter, if this had happened three days ago, Father could have walked in on both of us starved while asleep. You need to think before you act. Ignorance is no fucking excuse.”
Harry knew from experience that three days was not long enough to starve, but it didn't seem the right time to bring up the fact. “I will never do it again, I promise. I didn't know. Now I do. I'm more concerned your father is calling to have me admitted for trying to off myself like a nutter.”
Draco shook his head at the words. “He knows you're an idiot—At least, that's what he's always telling me. I doubt he thinks that it was on purpose.”
Harry was not so certain. “He thinks everything I do is on purpose. Like it's my life's goal to bother him. I'm sure this is just another in the long list. Get this—He apologized to me about burning my clothes.”
“No he didn't,” Draco said flatly, wondering if maybe Harry was losing his mind.
“Yeah, he did. Told me the new clothes were to be taken as an apology. He must think I'm off my rocker, saying something like that to me.”
Draco blinked wearily a few times and then sprawled back on Harry's bed. His life was going to shit. All he wanted to do was have his friend over for the summer so Harry would be safe and Draco could have company. How did it get so complicated? Draco knew it was the drawbacks of being friends with Harry; it always had been. The boy was a Gryffindor—The worst offense. He was also an absolute troublemaker, always dragging Draco into so much danger at school just to get them out of it almost as quickly. And of course, he was such a mental headcase, like crazy emotional mess when it came to anything more complicated than holding hands. That Lucius had gotten sucked in was just one more casualty to the wild war that was Harry Potter.
Lucius had apologized. Draco wasn't certain exactly what it meant, but it was bad. Very fucking bad. Life changing, earth shattering, his father was losing his shit bad. And then he had gotten angry and broken something. Draco was going to be an orphan. Worse, he was going to be Longbottom, having two parents that were so out of their minds they couldn't do a damn thing. Draco was turning into Neville.
Harry watched his friend sigh with deep angst and emotion, not sure what to do. “I swear, Draco. I wouldn't put you at risk like that. I really didn't know.”
Draco sighed again, covering his eyes with his hands. “Potter, shut up for a second.”
Harry did, scratching the back of his head.
After a few minutes Draco sat up, resolved to face the day. “He's a grown man. He can take care of himself. Let's get you into some clothes already and get out of the house. I'll leave a note, just in case Father comes back.” Draco said it all very deliberately, as if they were planning a military strategy, and not an outing for fun. Harry nodded, not about to disagree.

Lucius was feeling like a rabid wolf, foaming and confused, and wanting to strike out. So it was no surprise to him when he found himself in the Silver Forest of Zasu, quite literally his old hunting grounds. He used to come out here when he was in his twenties to hone his accuracy and release his frustrations. The sleek and beautiful Basial, no larger than a bobcat with their speed and dangerous claws, had been Lucius's favorite prey, to the point that he would not kill them for he respected the creatures too much. He would, however, stalk them down and stun the hell out of them.
He was not prepared. No water or weapons beyond his wand. As a wizard, his magic was everything. It could sustain him with summoning liquid, striking down enemies, and even apparating far away if he came across a foe too dangerous. But the intense focus needed for such actions was beyond Lucius right now. He was angry. He wanted to fight something. And he wanted to get hurt doing it.
Beneath his anger was a feeling. It burned his veins. Twisted his stomach. Stole the moisture from his mouth. It compelled him to do crazy, irrational things—Like apologize. Lucius did not want to have this feeling. It had left him after his third lashing, along with the boy he had protected, and Lucius had promised he would never let it in again. He was not some flighty child that could afford such emotion. Even as a young man his father had proven to Lucius he could not afford such weakness.
He stilled, the forest strange around him, different than moments ago. Lucius was not being quiet enough. All small prey had fled with each ill-controlled step he took. There was a thin, soft carpet of leaves beneath his feet, hard packed earth of the old trail peeking through. Trees rose up tall around him, their canopy so thick that the mid day light left dark shadows on the ground, dazzling spots of blinding sun bouncing up at Lucius's eyes. In one of those large shadows was something... Something too big to be a Basial.
That giddy feeling in his kitchen should have warned him away, but he had been foolish. After so many years, he had been confident that nothing could rouse his heart again. Mostly because he had half wondered if it had been damaged the way his body had. For every scar Lucius hid on his body, his heart echoed.
The dragon was small, not fully grown. It was not sleeping, but may have been moments ago. Its tail, slithering over the texture of the underbrush, had caught Lucius's attention. The stillness of the forest, warning him away from the pile of scrubby brush and broken twigs that on closer inspection were bones, kept Lucius from making the wrong move. His anger drained, to replace with adrenaline. He had come looking for a fight, but a massacre was less of interest.
Lucius knew Harry was powerful. Draco used to come home summers, raving with clear jealousy that the boy-who-lived had exploded another thing, sometimes another person. But he was also so fragile. Something right beneath the surface, fluttering desperate for attention, while at the same time begging to never be exposed. Lucius recognized it. The desperate, helpless cry for affection, even while brusquely telling himself that it was a weakness. The want for protection, even though as a wizard nothing should ever physically hurt again.
Lucius stopped his edging steps away. The dragon swished in its dwelling, puffing dark smoke, warning Lucius that to continue to stand there was to risk more than just claw and fang. Lucius stood his ground.
What was the worst that could happen? The boy could find him too old? Too dull? Perhaps he wouldn't, not right away. Maybe it would be the rest of summer, only to have Harry go back to school and never think of him again. While something inside Lucius might hurt... Might even break and never heal again. Was that the very worst thing?
The brush gave a shudder as the hiding beast roared, more smoke rising, roiling a dark cloud of scalding steam around them. Lucius cast a spell over his eyes, allowing him to see through the ash. It was lumbering up, long neck twisting, leathery wings unfurling as they cracked through the brambles and thorns of its nest.
Was a burn worth the dazzle of fire up close? Wasn't that always the consequence? Everyone knew that to stand before a dragon was the surest way to get burned. What about hellfire? The demonic, green-eyed trickster, likely tearing up his house at that very moment, was full of hellfire. What would that burn like if Lucius stayed to find out?
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The Slow Unintended Seduction Of Lucius Malfoy