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Stricken: The Principles of Lust	By : Chocho Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 10290 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the characters, places or names. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Stricken: The Principles of Lust

Four-part

Written by: chochowilliams

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the characters, places or names. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Summary: No strings. No promises. No commitment. Just a single night of passion to ease the loneliness. It wasn’t until Harry discovered he was pregnant did things start to become complicated.

Warning: non-epilogue compliant, fantasy, drama, romance, language, sexual situations, infidelity, OOC, OCs, F/M, M/M, M-Preg, Mary Sues and Brit Picks need not apply.

Pairings: Harry/Lucius, Ron/Hermione, past Harry/Ginny, implied Ginny/Seamus, implied future Harry/Draco

Inserts: “I wandered lonely as a cloud” by William Wordsworth

A/N: I’m my own beta, so I may have missed something, so let me now if you spot something. On another note, this starts off as a one night stand between Harry and Lucius, but will end up being an HP/DM in the end -- maybe. Thanks and enjoy!

+ HARRY POTTER + STRICKEN: THE PRINCIPLES OF LUST +

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o’er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Besides the lake, beneath the tree,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

-From “I wandered lonely as a cloud” by William Wordsworth

+ HARRY POTTER + STRICKEN: THE PRINCIPLES OF LUST +

Chapter 1: Forbidden Voices

31^st December - Corfield Manor - Shropshire, England

Byron Lancelot Corfield -- bachelor, self-made billionaire and self-proclaimed Lord -- was a Turncoat. Many were unaware of this and that was exactly how Lord Corfield, as he preferred to be referred to as, wanted it to be. During the Second Wizarding War, Lord Corfield was a secret supporter of the Dark Lord. While he hadn’t agreed with many of His tactics, Lord Corfield understood the reasoning behind said tactics. But when the Dark Lord fell, Lord Corfield switched his allegiances to Harry Potter and the Light -- as detestable as that was. One would do whatever one could in the name of self-preservation.

“Ah! Mr. Potter,” Lord Corfield greeted the eighteen year old The Daily Prophet was referring to as “the Savior” as said teen was announced by one of the Lord’s well-dressed house-elves. “Welcome!”

An excited murmur rose about the two men.

Harry tried his best to ignore it. It was something he was becoming an expert on doing as of late, but it didn’t change how very much he detested the obsequious behavior those of the Wizarding World showed him. All he could do at this point was wait for it to die down, which it would do…eventually. In the meantime, he could continue doing what he’s been doing in order to deal with the unwanted attention: pretend it did not exist.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Harry greeted a beaming Lord Corfield.

With a strained smile plastered on his face, he allowed his hand to be swallowed by his host’s massive mitt and pumped vigorously. Who needed to lift weights when people were always excited to shake your hand? It reminded him vividly of when Hagrid had taken him to Diagon Alley for the first time and every witch in the Leaky Caldron had wanted to shake his hand. Only this time, he was not in the mood to exchange pleasantries, but since protocol demanded it, he forced himself to participate.

“You have a beautiful home.” Merlin, he wished he’d stayed home.

He wasn’t sure which was worse: being treated as if he were the greatest wizard since Merlin or the hundreds of bodies pressing in on him. At the first stirring of panic, Harry effectively shut down those thoughts. He would not have a panic attack in the middle of Lord Corfield’s ballroom.

Lord Corfield inclined his head. “Thank you. It is the ancestral home of the Corfield family,” he explained. “Please.” Lord Corfield swept his famed guest into the crowded ballroom with a hand on the younger man’s lower back and a smug air about him.

The excited murmur followed.

As they wove their way through the ballroom, people reached out to touch Harry and shake his hand and thank him. He could see the reverence on their faces and in their eyes. It made him very uncomfortable, especially when many of the men bowed and the women curtsied as if he were some dignitary. His Slytherin-side was torn between being smug at the attention that it felt he so richly deserved and disgusted by everybody’s hypocrisy. His Gryffindor-side was just plain uncomfortable with the whole affair. He hadn’t chosen to fight Voldemort in order to be lavishly praised and worshipped. He’d done it because it was something that needed to be done.

Harry found himself scouting out all possible escape routes and exits as Lord Corfield led him further into the wiggling mass of bodies as well as the other guests for possible threats.

“Like the Black family, the Corfields are an ancient and proud bloodline,” Lord Corfield was saying. “Of course, my ancestors were much like the Gaunts. I am assuming you’ve heard of the Gaunts. Mr. Potter?”

“I’m sorry?” Harry flushed guiltily for having been caught not paying attention to his host.

“The Gaunts?” If Lord Corfield was annoyed by his guest’s distraction, he did not show it. “I am assuming you have heard of them?”

Instead of anger the connection his mind made between the Gaunt family to the Dark Lord and thus the war, a bitter sadness welled within him -- a sadness that spoke of loss and sacrifice and the tremendous pain that still kept Harry up at night. It was something he was not -- could not, would not- allow to overwhelm him. Not here. Not now. “Oh. Oh, yes. I-”

“My ancestors had a similar trait to those of the last of Slytherin’s line: profligacy,” Lord Corfield carried on. “That is to say they were very wasteful with their money. Had no sense of frugality. Knew nothing about investments or the like. Believed they had an endless supply of galleons. Never once did it ever cross their minds that they would leave their descendants penniless and destitute by their endless splurging.” As he spoke, Lord Corfield waved his hand about and sneered. “Which they did. By the time my great-great grandfather was born, the ancient house of Corfield was a house of beggars on the street. Can I get you a drink, Mr. Potter?”

“Ah, no thank you,” Harry politely declined, but Lord Corfield was already turning away towards a tray of filled wineglasses that was weaving its way through the sardine packed ballroom. Lord Corfield grabbed two wine glasses and handed one of them to Harry. Having no other option, Harry took the proffered wine glass and thanked the man, all the while feeling greatly awkward.

He despised these functions. Always have. Always will. He had since learned to smile and nod though. After all, it was all about whom you knew. Connections. Connections. Connections. Since the end of the war almost a year ago, he had been to so many of these functions that he had since lost count.

At the ones hosted by the Ministry, he was always awarded some sort of honor or bestowed with yet another title. It was nothing more than a farce -- just another way for the Ministry to proclaim to the masses that they had Harry Potter on their side. They were allies.

Whatever.

At least at the private functions he attended, the hosts did not pretend he had been invited for anything other than the prestige and rise in status they would receive when word spread that the Harry Potter had attended their party. He was there to be paraded around as if he were a priceless artifact.

It was all quite tedious at this point, but unavoidable.

“Anyway,” Lord Corfield took a sip of wine before continuing, “my great-great grandfather refused to live like a tramp. Refused to be poor. He vowed to return the Corfields to their place of honor and prestige. And he did. By the time he was thirty, the Corfields were once more one of the wealthiest families in all of Wizarding Britain. That is until my father became head of the family. He made some…unfortunate business transactions and investments and nearly lost the entire family fortune.”

What a way to phrase it, Harry thought. What Lord Corfield was not saying was that his father had been a follower of Grindelwald and donated almost all of the family money to The Cause. It was one of those things nobody talked about and yet everyone knew about.

“I heard,” Harry said, “you are a self-made billionaire?”

Lord Corfield cocked a smug grin. “Once I became of age, by family tradition, I was made head of the family and given control over the family finances. At that time, I made some of my own business transactions and investments. Only, unlike my father, my business dealings helped save the manor where my father had nearly lost us the manor that his great grandfather had struggled to reclaim.”

Harry was impressed. The only business dealings he’d made were investing in Weasley Wizarding Wheezes and The Quibbler. His financial advisors and accountants took care of his finances and business dealings.

“Where is Ms. Weasley tonight by the way?” Lord Corfield inquired. “I was under the impression you would be arriving with your beautiful fiancée on your arm.”

“Sick,” was the automatic response. Harry didn’t bother to correct Lord Corfield that Ginny was not his fiancée -- much to her chagrin. Turning away, Harry made a show of taking a sip of wine and used the opportunity to study the ballroom. The décor was very elaborate with its white marble, gold, crystal and mirrored surfaces.

“That’s a shame. I would have liked to meet the woman who has captured Harry Potter’s heart.” There was a mischievous twinkle in Lord Corfield’s eyes and a smirk upon his lips.

“Maybe next time,” Harry said as he turned back towards Lord Corfield.

“I will hold you to that,” Lord Corfield responded with a smile.

Harry inclined his head.

“I hope it’s nothing serious,” Lord Corfield said.

Harry really did not want to have this conversation because the truth of the matter was, things between he and Ginny had been strained lately.

“Just a little cold,” Harry replied.

It wasn’t an entire lie. Ginny had been sick over Christmas, or so he‘d been told by Ron. Harry had steered clear of the Burrow this year. He hadn’t wanted to fight with Ginny, which was inevitable nowadays when they got together. He’d also been avoiding her brothers who were annoyed with him for being such an “uncompromising wanker” among other things. You see, whatever problems he and Ginny were having was, of course, his fault. So, claiming Ginny was ill and unable to attend was better than admitting that he hadn’t even asked his girlfriend if she would like to attend Lord Corfield’s party with him.

He wasn’t even sure when it had started -- when the two of them had began to grow apart.

First, there were the demons from the war that he was still dealing with, which thanks to Mind-Healer Albatross, were, bit by bit, abating.

Secondly, he’d agreed to testify as a character witness for the Malfoys at their trial this past summer, which was not something most of Wizarding Britain had appreciated, especially the Weasleys. During the trial, to add insult to injury, he and Draco had developed a friendship of sorts. To say that had not gone over well with Ginny would be an understatement.

Then he’d had the “audacity” to name Draco one of his heirs. Draco along with his godson Teddy would stand to inherit the Black fortune that Harry had inherited from Sirius in the event of his death. Ginny could not -- refused to actually -- understand why he would do something so “asinine”, but to him, it made perfect sense. Both Draco and Teddy were the last of the Blacks and as such, they had more right to the Black fortune than he did. This was why he hadn’t told anyone that if at the time of his death he had no children, Draco and Teddy would each inherit one-third of the Potter fortune as well. The remaining one-third would go to the Weaselys.

It didn’t help when rumors started -- thanks to Rita Skeeter and her bold front-page headlines -- that proclaimed Draco and him were having an illicit affair. According to Ms. Skeeter, the two of them being paramours was the “only explanation” for how close the two of them have become since the end of the war.

Ginny had demanded he stop hanging out with Draco at that point. He’d refused. She’d accused him of liking Draco more than her. He’d said that maybe he did. She’d said if he liked Draco so much maybe he should marry him. He said he just might. She’d called him a bastard as well as a variety of other things he was sure she learned from her six brothers. They haven’t spoken since.

Yes, he was well aware he was an idiot. Draco told him as much while at the same time smirking smugly at the admittance that Harry Potter had chosen him, Draco Malfoy, over the Weaselette.

When a bright flash accompanied by a cloud of black flash powder went off before him, ripping him forcibly from his thoughts, Harry knew that he’d had enough for one night -- for the next millennium actually, but he knew he would have to partake in many more of these “parades” for the unforeseeable future. Nice.

Not only was he tired of the adulation shinning in the eyes of all those in the ballroom, of their bowing and whispering and roaming hands, but with the hundreds of bodies pressed up against him, Harry was finding it exceedingly difficult to breathe.

With spots dancing before his eyes from the damn cameras and their operators who did not seem to understand what personal space was, Harry muttered an, “Excuse me,” to those surrounding him before forcibly maneuvering his way out of the ballroom.

It wasn’t until later that he realized he wasn’t sure what had happened to his wine glass.

Once out of the sardine packed ballroom, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. It was cooler in the hallway. It was also considerably less claustrophobic -- not that he had an irrational fear of being in a confined or enclosed space. It was having his personal space compromised, of being surrounded, of hands reaching out towards him-

Harry gave a violent shake of his head and shoved the memories and the rising panic aside again.

Laughter floated towards him from the ballroom as did the sound of approaching voices accompanied by footsteps that grew louder -- coming towards him, he realized. Harry couldn’t say why he panicked at that moment, but he did. All he knew was that he did not want to deal with anyone or anything.

Sometimes, he thought as he dashed through the twisting maze-like corridors of Corfield Manor as quiet as a ghost, he wondered what it would be like to be just Harry, if even for a moment.

+ HARRY POTTER + STRICKEN: THE PRINCIPLES OF LUST +

Harry was not sure how long he had been walking by this point. If his aching feet were any indication, it’d been quite awhile.

A quick glance around made him realize he had absolutely no clue where he was or how to get back to the ballroom as one hallway looked like another. Retracing his path did little to nothing. He cursed silently. If Corfield Manor was like the Moving Staircases back at Hogwarts, someone was going to die. Hopefully that someone was not going to be him.

“Hello,” he called out. “Hello!”

Silence. Harry cursed again. This was just what he needed.

Combing his fingers through his short black locks, Harry sighed heavily as he scanned the silent, dark hallway. For the third time, he cursed. Making an executive decision, he walked to the nearest door. It was locked. He went to the next and the next until he found one that wasn’t locked. Of course, it hadn’t occurred to him that as a wizard, he could have just used magic.

He stepped into what turned out to be a bedroom. Judging by the lack of personal effects, Harry was assuming it was a guest room.

Against the wall opposite was a tall chiffrobe made from what appeared to be mahogany wood. He only knew what the strange piece of furniture was because he’d discovered one hidden under a drop cloth in the attic at Grimmauld Place when he‘d moved in last summer. To either side of the chiffrobe was a set of French doors that opened out onto a patio.

Beyond the patio, Harry could make out the manor grounds. At least he now knew, vaguely, where he was in relation to the ballroom.

The doors to the left of the chiffrobe were open. A ward or barrier of some sort had to be up because the chill December air had not seeped into the bedchamber. What was allowed to infiltrate was the moonlight.

The light from the moon was bright enough for Harry to make out a large four-poster bed sitting on a raised dais against the far wall to his left.

Across from the bed on the wall opposite was a brick fireplace that had been painted black. There was no mantel, but a large painting was hanging on the wall above the hearth. From where Harry stood, he could not make out what the painting was of, but he could see splashes of dark green amidst a sea of black.

Angled in front of the fireplace were green upholstered armchairs. A round side table sat sandwiched between the chairs. A black robe was casually draped over the back of the armchair closest to where Harry stood.

As he stepped further into the bedchamber, he noticed that except for the wall behind the bed where the paneling went from floor to ceiling, the lower half of the walls were covered in a rich wood paneling. The upper half of the walls was wallpapered in a Victorian-style green wall covering. It was too dark to make out what the designs on the wallpaper were.

The room definitely had a Slytherin-esque feel to it, but at the same time, it was also very masculine. He wouldn’t mind something like this at Grimmauld.

Movement on the patio drew Harry’s attention. His wand was in his hand immediately. Bracing himself, Harry pointed his wand towards the patio doors. The curse on his lips died when he recognized the blond haired man that stepped into view.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Harry breathed a sigh.

“Mr. Potter.”

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked, replacing his wand in its hold around his wrist.

With a barely noticeable flick of his wrist, Lucius Malfoy had his wand in his hand. He pointed it over Harry’s shoulder and with a wave, the bedchamber door swung shut with a barely audible click behind Harry. “I could ask you the same thing,” Lucius returned.

Oddly enough, Harry hadn’t felt any sort of fear or panic when having been at the end of Lucius’ wand. He wondered why that was. Realizing it wasn’t something he felt comfortable dwelling on, he filed it away to deal with later. Much later. Instead, he shifted restlessly and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling suddenly nervous for an inexplicable reason. “Well, I, uh,” Harry stuttered with an embarrassed laugh. “I was kinda-”

Lucius smirked. “Lost?” he suggested.

Harry blushed hotly. “Yeah.”

“Hm. Yes. Well that seems to happen quite often in Corfield Manor,” Lucius said as he stepped further into the bedchamber. With a second wave of his wand, he had a fire blazing in the fireplace. “Byron claims it to not be the case, but I believe the manor is enchanted.”

“Enchanted? You mean like the moving staircases at Hogwarts.”

“Exactly. As large as Corfield Manor is, it is not so large as for one to become so hopelessly lost and yet it happens more often than not,” Lucius explained as he stepped forward and placed his wand on the round side table.

Speaking of enchanted, Harry found himself oddly entranced by the elder Malfoy lord as said man stood before the fireplace. The light from the undulating flames lit his porcelain complexion, but left half of his tall, lean frame in shadow. Lucius Malfoy was an attractive man.

“I was actually just thinking that very same thing,” Harry admitted softly as some portion of him realized a response was needed, but did not quite remember why or to what.

Lucius’ white blond hair, as long as ever, was pulled back at the nape of his neck with a black ribbon that appeared to be made of either silk or satin. He had on a white button up dress shirt with ruffles around the wrists and down the front. It was tucked into fitted black slacks. Knee-high black heeled boots completed the ensemble. The first thought that popped into Harry’s head was that Lucius looked like a Musketeer. All that was missing was the feathered hat and the blue tunic. Harry had to chock back a laugh. He had a feeling Lucius would not appreciate neither the laughter nor the comparison. What Harry did not see was the iconic snakehead cane. In fact, Harry could not remember the last time he had seen it.

“Indeed?”

The sound of Lucius’ highbred drawl shook Harry from his spellbound examination of the aristocrat. Catching the amused smirk on Lucius’ face, Harry was mortified to realize that he’d been caught ogling the man. His face burst into flames of embarrassment.

Lucius chuckled.

Harry’s embarrassment intensified.

It was only then that his mind registered that Lucius had called their host by his given name, which was something Lucius hardly ever did as Harry had learned since befriending Draco. Harry latched onto this bit of information and ran with it -- if only to forget his embarrassment. “If I may be permitted to ask, how are you acquainted with Lord Corfield?”

“Well,” Lucius stated, “Bryon and I are -- old friends.” He was immensely pleased with the transformation Harry seemed to be undergoing thanks to his association with Draco. From an ill-mannered, ill-bred oaf to a well-mannered, highly respectful young man.

Harry did not need Hermione to know what Lucius meant by he and Lord Corfield being “old friends”. “Oh.” He was unsure what else to say.

Awkward!

“When he learned that Narcissa and I were having marital problems, he graciously offered the use of Corfield Manor for as long as it was needed,” Lucius continued. “I accepted, of course, and choose the guest room farthest from the main section of the manor. By a stroke of luck, it was one of the few equipped with its own private bath, as well as a private patio that has access to the grounds.”

“Well, it’s a beautiful room, Lucius.” Too late, Harry realized the slip of tongue. He mentally slapped himself. Idiot!

Lucius cocked an eyebrow at the informality.

“I was sorry to hear from Draco about you and Mrs. Malfoy’s separation,” Harry continued, deciding to pretend the slip never happened.

“Yes, well,” Lucius waved a hand in a nonchalant arc, “unfortunately, these things happen, especially after such a devastating war. Such -- conflict has a way of either bringing people together or ripping them apart.”

Harry nodded sadly at the truth of that statement.

“Speaking of which, I heard from my son that you and Ms. Weasley have been having some -- troubles of your own.”

Harry shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. He turned towards the fireplace, becoming mesmerized by the sensual hypnotic dance of the flames. Ginny and he have been having problems since they got back together last spring and the problems did not appear as if they were going to settle themselves anytime soon. Part of him wondered if it wasn’t all for the best.

Turning away from the fireplace, he was startled by the blue-gray depths of Lucius’ eyes staring intently back at him. Those were the same eyes Draco had he realized. They reminded Harry of a mood ring he once found when he was little that Dudley had subsequently destroyed. Like the mood ring, he had noticed since befriending Draco that the hue of the color varied depending on Draco’s mood and even what Draco wore. Sometimes, the color was bluer and other times it was more of a gray. There were even times when it was a wondrous mix of the two shades. It was fascinating to watch the hue change and morph.

Harry, in all honesty, could not understand what enthralled him so much about Draco and now Lucius’ eyes. He’d never paid much attention to people’s eyes before -- with the obvious exception being himself and Voldemort. Everybody was always telling him how very much like Lily’s his eyes were and Voldemort’s were distinctive for obvious reasons.

Just what was it about the Malfoys? It wasn’t as if their eye color was unusual, extraordinary, or remarkable in any way. Maybe it had to do with the dark spot in Lucius’ right eye that Draco had inherited. It was tiny, nearly unnoticeable, and resembled a freckle. Or maybe his fascination had to do with the way those blue-gray eyes seem to peer right into a person’s very soul.

Whatever it was, it kept Harry distracted long enough to allow Lucius to violate Harry’s personal space without him realizing it. The moment Harry realized just how close Lucius had become was the same moment Lucius lifted a hand to Harry’s cheek. Instead of freaking out and fleeing from the foreign touch, or having a full blown panic attack at having his personal space violated like he normally did, Harry found himself leaning into the touch. His eyes fluttered shut almost of their own accord.

The eyes Harry loved so very much were riveted on Harry’s lush red lips. With his hand still connected to Harry’s cheek, which had grown warm beneath Lucius’ palm, Lucius reached out with his thumb and stroked Harry’s lips.

What was he doing? Lucius hadn’t the faintest clue. Yes, he found Harry attractive. Harry has grown into a fine young man. There was no disputing that, so it was no wonder that Lucius found himself fantasizing about Harry. About kissing those lips, of touching that body, of caressing it and biting it and sucking it, and fucking that tight ass, of tasting the sweet nectar from the forbidden fruit.

A shudder sizzled through Lucius.

Oh, yes. He wanted that very much. Just the thought of taking Harry, of consuming him, almost had him coming.

Something was holding him back, though. What was it? The answer came to him swiftly. Draco. His son. Lucius knew all about how his heir felt about the Boy-Who-Lived even if Draco would never admit it. If Lucius were to act like the Slytherin Pureblood he was, he would not care about Draco’s silly little crush and take what he wanted regardless of Draco being flesh and blood, but Lucius was trying to make amends with his son. He did not want to do anything that could possibly compromise an already shaky relationship.

At the same time, Lucius was lonely.

Narcissa and he had not only been lovers and husband and wife, they had been best friends. Their marriage may have been arranged, but Lucius had fallen madly in love with her and her him. Even now, he still loved her and why shouldn’t he? Narcissa had been the one to decide on the trial separation not he. He would have been perfectly content in allowing Narcissa to remain at his side for the rest of his life, but one day she surprised him by saying, “I need some space.” Lucius understood. So much had transpired in such a short time, most -- if not all -- of it due to his incompetence. Giving his wife the space she so desperately needed also afforded him the same opportunity.

What he‘d discovered instead was loneliness, but it wasn’t until now that he realized just how alone he’d felt. He ached for companionship; any sort of companionship. He wanted to feel as if he weren’t the last man on Earth at least for one night.

Besides, it wasn’t as if he and Harry had to announce in The Daily Prophet they had slept together. They were both adults here. Nobody need know what happened behind these locked doors tonight.

With his thumb, Lucius drew Harry’s bottom lip down.

“Luc?” whispered a husky voice from those oh so kissable lips.

Lucius lifted his gaze from Harry’s lips and found those Avada Kedarva eyes trained on him. They held so much intensity. There was also something else hidden within their smoldering depths. It forced Lucius to shudder again. He embraced the feeling.

Their gazes locked, Lucius brought his other hand up and gently held Harry’s blushing face between his hands.

“Push me away,” Lucius whispered as his head descended. As much as Lucius wanted this, he was giving Harry the opportunity to back out. As Lucius himself was not thinking clearly enough to consider the consequences of one night of forbidden passion with the young man before him, he had to hope Harry could.

“Why?” Harry whispered against Lucius’ lips, which were a hairsbreadth from his own.

A nagging voice at the back of Harry’s mind was screeching at him, demanding he cease and desist right this second. As in now! It was telling him that he would wake in a world of regret come morning. That giving into his raging libido -- and dear Merlin was it ever -- and granting his small head the chance to make all the decisions would have unforeseen repercussions. He knew that. Realistically. But for once, his Gryffindor and Slytherin sides were in complete agreement about something and that something was Lucius Malfoy, so the niggling doubts were easily ignored. Besides, what was wrong with one night of passion with an extremely attractive man?

“I don’t know,” Lucius answered as he swooped in and kissed Harry.

To what question Lucius was answering, Harry could no longer remember and frankly, he could care less. All thought vanished the instant their lips connected.

It was a chaste press of lips, but it had Harry shuddering. His body tingled and throbbed in places and in ways it never had before, not even with Ginny. In fact, as Lucius’ lips moved sweetly against Harry’s, Ginerva Weasley was the farthest thing from Harry’s mind.

Ginny who?

A stray and random thought entered Harry’s mind. Lucius smelled of musk, cinnamon and vanilla.

Harry wrapped his arms around Lucius’ shoulders as the kiss deepened. Neither man knew who initiated it. Neither man much cared.

Harry opened his mouth willingly for Lucius who eagerly plundered the moist cavern with relish.

Rising up on his tiptoes, Harry pressed his body against Lucius’. They aligned perfectly. He could feel the older man’s excitement against his own. It had Harry moaning into Lucius’ mouth.

His roaming hands found the ribbon that held Lucius’ blond locks in check. Not anymore, he thought with almost sadistic glee as he yanked on it. The ribbon, which turned out to be satin, slipped from Harry’s fingers. It fluttered to the floor, forgotten. Harry threaded his fingers through Lucius’ silken locks.

Lucius moaned. His hair had always been one of his weaknesses.

Following suit, he slipped one hand behind Harry’s head and threaded his fingers through the short raven locks. He gave an experimental tug, smirking smugly when this move caused Harry to gasp most erotically. Lucius snaked his other arm around Harry’s waist and down his lower back where he grabbed a handful of the younger man’s firm, round ass. He kneaded the globe, causing Harry to purr. Lucius thrust a knee between Harry’s legs, rubbing against the hardness he found against his thigh.

Harry cried out. Tightening his hold on Lucius, he ground his throbbing erection against Lucius’ leg with a throaty moan. He could get off just like this, he realized. “Luc,” he moaned as Lucius rained kisses up Harry’s jaw to his ear where he suckled gently on the lobe, and then did the same to his neck.

Just about ready to burst, Lucius pulled back from Harry enough to admire the red mark on the side of Harry’s neck. He felt a barbaric sense of pride at the sight.

Harry pouted and whined at the loss.

Smirking, Lucius grabbed Harry’s hips and whispered with a hint of amusement, “So impatient.”

Harry shivered.

Lucius chuckled deeply. Their equally smoldering, lust filled eyes locked in as passionate a battle as their tongues had been mere moments before, Lucius backed Harry towards the bed. They maneuvered together perfectly in sync as if they had done this many times before. Together, they rounded the bed.

Having forgotten it was there, Harry stumbled over the raised dais the bed sat on. Blushing in embarrassment, he thanked Lucius as the man steadied him.

“Anytime,” Lucius whispered.

Harry’s blush deepened.

Lucius lifted Harry up onto the dais and gently guided him down on the bed. Lucius followed. He draped himself over Harry.

Feeling Lucius’ erection pressing against his own had Harry throbbing in want. It also had the blush that seemed to have become a semi-permanent fixture on his face going nova. Unable to bear the heated look upon Lucius’ face, he turned his head to the side, turning his attention to the unknown landscape portrait hanging on the wall.

The movement unveiled the reddened mark on Harry’s neck and Lucius took the opportunity to deepen it. As he was making love to Harry’s neck, he cupped Harry through his black pressed suit pants. Harry cried out beneath him and arched into his touch. Meanwhile, Lucius’ other hand loosened Harry’s black tie. By the time Lucius pulled away, Harry was panting and moaning and wriggling under him. Lucius groaned at the friction.

Capturing Harry’s lips, he plunged his tongue past Harry’s ruby red and swollen lips into Harry’s mouth. He stroked Harry’s tongue with his own, luring it to come and play. And play it did. It did not take long for Harry, who had wrapped himself around Lucius like a koala, to fight Lucius for dominance. Lucius easily won.

Pulling back, Lucius started to unbutton Harry’s dark violet dress shirt, covering every inch of skin that was revealed in a multitude of kisses and caresses and nips and strokes of his tongue. When he arrived at Harry’s navel, he nuzzled his face in the coarse black hair that disappeared under his pants.

“Are you sure you’re not a redhead?” Lucius inquired, his voice muffled against the tented pants of the man beneath him. He was referring, of course, to Lily Potter nee Evans who had been a genuine redhead and not a god-awful ginger like the Weaselys.

The reverberations of Lucius’ voice against the clothed, but straining cock had Harry crying out. “Why don’t you find out?” he panted, his voice thick with desire and not sounding like his own.

Lucius’ blue-gray eyes flashed at the challenge. “Gladly.”

Harry moaned at the near growl Lucius‘ voice had become and shifted restlessly.

Chuckling darkly, Lucius sat up and straddled Harry’s thighs. He yanked Harry’s shirt out of his pants none too gently and unfastened the remaining buttons, practically ripping the shirt in his haste.

Sitting up, Harry slipped off the shirt and tossed it over his shoulder. He did not watch to see where it landed.

As Harry lay back, Lucius worked on the three buttons of Harry’s pants. Then he grabbed the metal pull of the zipper.

He locked eyes with Harry.

Harry licked his lips. His emerald eyes were almost black with desire.

Lucius’ gaze never wavered as he lowered the zipper.

“Lucius,” Harry moaned.

Said man crawled down Harry’s legs to the foot of the bed and peeled Harry’s pants off. He tossed the offending piece of clothing over his shoulder. Because he was otherwise preoccupied, it hadn’t occurred to him that Harry’s pants had been so easy to take off because somewhere along the line Harry had rid himself of his shoes. Harry himself could not remember what he’d done with them.

The sight of the engorged cock saluting him had Lucius coming slightly. He had to admit that never happened before, not even with Narcissa.

“Commando Potter?” Lucius managed to say after several failed attempts at speech. It was hard to speak let alone think because of the glorious sight before him.

His face most likely resembling a boiled lobster by now, Harry answered by drawing his knees up and spreading himself open.

Lucius wasted no time. He slid off the bed and divested himself of his clothing. He gave no thought to where they landed or in what condition his animalistic frenzy had taken on them.

Crawling back onto the bed, he kneeled in-between Harry’s legs and buried his face in the thick, coarse pubic hair that encased Harry’s pulsating and weeping cock.

Harry’s eyes rolled back. He fought not to buck his hips wildly. The effort had him sweating and the death grip on the covers beneath him was turning his knuckles white. Keening noises rumbled deep in his throat.

Rising up so that he was on his hands and knees over Harry, Lucius took his full of the man beneath him. The toned, muscled body, flat abdomen, the leaking cock, the quivering legs. “So beautiful.”

Before Harry could process what Lucius said, Lucius was kissing him again.

Lucius caressed a path down Harry’s chest to his cock and back up.

Breaking free of the kiss, Harry tossed his head back and cried out as Lucius wrapped his hand around his aching cock.

Licking his lips, Lucius stared at the long creamy expanse of Harry’s throat. He watched, memorized, as Harry’s Adam’s apple bopped. Lucius leaned down and lightly nipped at Harry’s throat. At the same time, he gave a few experimental tugs on Harry’s cock.

The result was instantaneous. Harry climaxed. It wasn’t unexpected as he’d nearly comed several times that night already, but it was more intense than any other he’d had before, self-induced or not. It swept through him like a storm. His back arched off the bed. It curled his toes. His head was thrown back. His mouth opened in a silent scream and his vision went black.

Temporarily sated, Harry flopped bonelessly back onto the bed. His pulse racing, his breath ragged, Harry came back to himself in time to watch Lucius stroking himself. Harry groaned at the sight. It had him hardening.

Lucius smirked.

When he was sufficiently lubricated, Lucius wove his arms under Harry’s knees and grabbing his hips, lifted Harry’s lower half up off the bed. Lucius aligned himself. With the head of his cock resting against Harry’s anus, which Harry had clenched involuntarily with a quick indrawn breath, Lucius glanced up the sweat and come slickened chest into those green eyes that blazed with a mixture of lust and fear.

“Are you sure?” Lucius asked. His voice sounded deeper, huskier.

“Fuck yes,” Harry moaned.

That was all the incentive Lucius needed. Slowly, he pushed into the tight heat. It was slow going, but Lucius was surprisingly patient. He whispered soothing words to the younger man as Harry hissed and pain flashed across his face. Every time Harry clenched down around him, Lucius would wince, feeling as if he were slowly being strangled, but he would continue to whisper words of comfort and massage Harry’s thighs. He would distract Harry from the pain and discomfort by playing with his balls or his nipples or blow gently into his navel.

When Lucius was in as far as he could go, he paused to catch his breath. He was not sure how long he’d be able to last. He’d been near to bursting before. But that was all right. They had all night.

Lucius paused a moment to study his young lover. Harry’s face was scrunched in discomfort and slight pain, but not once did Harry tell him to stop.

Leaning forward, Lucius kissed away a tear that had become trapped in the corner of Harry’s eye. When he pulled back, Harry was watching him.

They exchanged a smile.

Lucius cupped Harry’s cheek and pressed their lips together in a brief chaste kiss. Sitting up, he gripped Harry’s hips firmly and slowly started to withdraw.

As the immense pressure from having Lucius’ sizable cock inside him subsided, Harry released the death grip on the dark green satiny down comforter beneath him.

Then with a snap of his hips, Lucius thrust back into Harry, forcing out a passionate cry from the younger male.

Any lingering pain was quickly replaced with wave after wave of pleasure and forgotten. A rhythm was set, then broken and reset.

Harry met Lucius’ thrusts head on.

As Harry was rocked, sometimes forcibly, sometimes lovingly, his grunts and moans and nonsensical utterances mingled with those from Lucius. The bed creaked violently beneath them. The headboard thwacked the wall behind it in an un-eurhythmic rhythm. Harry clawed at any and all available surfaces including Lucius.

The pressure built and built until it exploded and before the high could die completely, it was built back up. The cycle continued long into the night.

Not once could Harry admit to thinking about Ginny that night. Nor could he say he regretted sleeping with Lucius Malfoy. Not that night, the next morning or a month later.

+ HARRY POTTER + STRICKEN: THE PRINCIPLES OF LUST +

1^st January - Dawn - Corfield Manor

The sun was just beginning to peak above the horizon, turning the sky a deep pink color when a figure could have been seen by any resident within Corfield Manor who happened to be watching at that moment. None were. The only occupants who played witness to the retreating figure were the house-elves who were up and about, but they knew of the heroics and bravery of this man and with his association with Dobby and Kreature -- house-elves who went over and above the call of duty for their master during the war -- and promised not to say anything.

The figure darted down the gravel path as quick and silent as a ghost. It slipped past the twenty-foot high wrought iron gates that were still propped open and paused. Emerald eyes peered out from under the shadows of the hood and gazed back at the silent manor with a smile before disapparating.

+ HARRY POTTER + STRICKEN: THE PRINCIPLES OF LUST +

Several Hours Later

It was considerably late when Lucius rose the next morning. A quick tempus confirmed it. At half past nine, the morning was a few short hours away from dying. If it weren’t so uncouth, he would swear at the wastefulness. Knowing that he’d only just fallen asleep as the sun was beginning to rise above the horizon was no excuse. Lucius could honestly say that he had never slept in a day in his life, not even while on his honeymoon with Narcissa.

Stretching, Lucius sat up. The comforter pooled at his waist. He shivered as the cool air hit his naked torso. The fire had long since died and the house-elves had not relit it as of yet. It was only then that he realized that not only was he not wearing a nightshirt, he was not wearing anything at all. He was naked. He never slept naked. Why was he-? It took several moments to remember why he had no clothes on. When he did, a rare genuine smile crossed his face.

He’d spent the entire evening and into the very early morning making love to Harry Potter.

Lucius turned to gaze down upon his young, vivacious and insatiable lover only to find that said lover was no longer in bed besides him. Lucius’ smile faltered and fell. “Harry,” he called out. Silence answered him. A quick scan told him what he’d already begun to suspect. Harry’s clothes were missing and with them Harry. He noted that his clothing were folded and neatly piled at the foot of the bed.

It was for the best, he decided as he tossed back the covers and slid from the bed. Summoning his robe, Lucius wrapped himself in its silkiness and called for a house-elf. When one appeared moments later, he ordered it to light the fire and to have his breakfast -- which usually consisted of a poached egg, fresh fruit, English muffin, ham and tea -- ready when he finished his shower.

“Yes sir, Master Malfoy, sir.” It bowed so lowly that its long ears and spindly nose brushed the floor.

Lucius cocked an eyebrow at the androgynous house-elf when the small magical creature remained shuffling before him instead of doing as it was ordered. “Well?”

“Logy has message from Mr. Potter for Master Malfoy, sir.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes sir,” Logy said, pulling a folded piece of parchment from within his uniform. “Mr. Potter gives it to Logy to gives to Master Malfoy, sir.”

Lucius took the proffered parchment. He recognized the handwriting right away. It was from Harry. Nobody else Lucius knew had such horrendous calligraphy. No. It shouldn’t even be considered calligraphy for calligraphy was beautiful and artistic. This was chicken scratch. It wasn’t as illegible as a Healer’s was, but it was close. Unfolding the note, Lucius read the brief sentence.

“Thank you,” it read.

A smile crept upon Lucius’ usually cold visage. It was the umpteenth time since Harry graced him with his presence late last evening that he’d smiled. In was unheard of.

Lucius was no fool. Neither was Harry. They’d both known exactly what they’d been getting themselves into last night and what it meant -- or didn’t mean as the case may be, which Lucius expected was why Harry had left before Lucius had risen; no awkward morning after. One night. That was all either of them had been looking for. A single night of forbidden pleasure and fantasy. A chance to be free from the restrictions. To erase the loneliness each felt. Neither had been looking for anything more than that.

Even if they had, Lucius knew it never would have worked out between them for many reasons.

Refolding the unsigned note, Lucius slid it into an inner pocket of his robe and strode into the bathroom with a smirk on his lips, a song in his heart and a skip in his steps -- none of which he would never admit to.

+ HARRY POTTER + STRICKEN: THE PRINCIPLES OF LUST +

7^th February - 12 Grimmauld Place - London, England

Before the Second Wizard War, the section of the city where the Black family residence was located had not been the most inviting place to live let alone the ideal place to start and raise a family, which was probably why the Blacks had relocated here. Though why a Dark family who hated and despised Muggles would decide to live in the heart of said Muggles was beyond Harry. Then again, the Blacks, like the Gaunts, were all a bit insane -- the result of too much inbreeding; so no decision made by them made any logical sense.

The area had not fallen so far as to be called a ghetto, but it had been a slum, but over the last year, the neighborhood has been undergoing an extraordinary rejuvenation. Harry could not say for certain what the catalyst was, but he did find it coincidental that the rebirth happened at the same time as the renovations to 12 Grimmauld Place.

The park across the street had been cleaned up and rededicated to a Sister whom had been mugged, raped and then beaten to death a decade ago right there in that very park. The street was torn up and repaved. New sidewalks were put in. The turn of the century streetlights, which had not worked in over fifty years, were repaired. The graffiti and garbage was cleaned up. There was a police presence in the neighborhood. All the riffraff was chased out. And young families were moving in.

When Harry had informed Sirius’ mother about the transformation, she went postal.

The makeover was not only happening to the neighborhood. 12 Grimmauld Place was undergoing its own facelift, much to the displeasure of Mrs. Black and Kreature.

Kreature had been easy to placate thankfully. All Harry had to do was promise to transform the attic into a sort of Black shrine/museum that also served as quarters for Kreature and any other house-elf Harry might acquire in the future. Kreature had been beside himself at the announcement.

The mounted heads of past Black family house-elves that climbed the wall besides the staircase, Mrs. Black’s portrait as well as the entirety of Regulus Black’s bedroom (as is) was transported up to the attic along with the Black family tree tapestry. Harry had wanted to toss the tapestry into the Black family vault at Gringotts with a bunch of other knick knacks Harry deemed were to dangerous to keep around the house, but Kreature had thrown a hissy fit so into the attic it went. It hadn’t been an easy transference seeing as everything he’d wanted to move into the attic had been stuck in place with permanent sticking charms, but as he’d discovered, nothing was permanent. Not even a permanent sticking charm.

Other than the renovations to the attic, the exterior of 12 Grimmauld Place had been power washed. Harry tried not to dwell on what had come loose from the façade of the house in the process.

All the doors as well as the windows had been replaced. To the disgust of Mrs. Black, the replacements were just as Muggle in origin as the ones they were replacing, which Harry believed had been original to the house.

The backyard had undergone the most change by far. It’d been completely ripped up. It’d looked like a construction site, which in a way it had been, for quite some time. The ground had been leveled -- it’d been hillier than a group of fairy mounds -- and the flagstones had been replaced. With the help of Neville, the overgrown garden had been tamed. All the dangerous and man-eating plants had been removed and plants that are more innocuous had been planted in their places. Kreature was even growing some vegetables.

Harry had also assigned a standing order to the decrepit house-elf: he was to recover everything the Order and Mundungus had pilfered. “Whatever it takes, Kreature,” was what Harry had said. Harry could honestly say he had never seen a more sadistic expression than the one he had seen cross Kreature’s face at that moment.

The exterior was not the only changes taking place to 12 Grimmauld Place. The interior was in the process of being renovated as well. The first rooms Harry tackled were Sirius’ old bedroom that Harry had confiscated as his own as well as the kitchen and bathroom.

Next on the agenda was to knock down some walls to create a foyer and widen the hallway off the nonexistent entrance hall. Whoever thought it was an ingenious idea to create such a long, tight, claustrophobic space right off the front door was an idiot. There was not a day that went by that Harry did not have to fight off at least one panic attack when he strolled through that damnedable hall. Of course, it did have its advantage. Such a narrow space made it easier to fend off intruders, but that was all it had going for it.

That was where Randall Tiberius Vanderheite came in. This thirty-eight year old squib owned and ran a contracting company. The only son of a pureblood couple, Randall had no qualms about who he hired -- squibs, witches, wizards, even Muggle relatives of Muggleborns -- as long as those he hired were hardworking. Randall’s company worked on both Muggle dwellings as well as wizarding ones. The wizarding community had mostly ostracized Randall because of his standing as a squib. That is until Harry Potter decided that despite Randall’s inability to use magic, he was one of the best contractors in the area. Now Randall had more business than he knew what to do with.

“As you can see,” Randall was explaining to Harry early one February morning in the entrance hall, “this wall here,” he pointed to the wall on his left, “will be taken down in order to created the new foyer.”

“Right.” Harry nodded as he studied the blueprints.

“Like I said before, in order to create the foyer, we’ll have to take space from the drawing room on the other side.”

Harry waved his hand in a nonchalant arc that was a perfect imitation of Lucius Malfoy. This went unnoticed by both men. “That’s fine,” he told his contractor. “As long as you can open up the front hall.” The room Randall was speaking of was where the Black family tree tapestry used to hang.

“Easily done.”

“Good.”

“Now, it turns out that this wall is load bearing,” Randall continued.

Harry frowned as disappointment swirled within him. “I thought you couldn’t remove those.”

“Oh, no, you can. It’s just a little more complicated than just taking a sledgehammer to the wall, but it is doable.”

“How so?”

“To remove a bearing wall,” Randall explained, “like this one here, we have to have adequate re-support in place first otherwise the entire house will come crashing down on our heads.”

“That would be bad,” Harry said dryly.

Randall chuckled. “Just a little, but like I said, it can be done.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. How will this affect removing it?”

“First, we have to make sure there aren’t any electrical lines or plumbing or some sort of column-”

“Columns?”

“It’s happens,” Randall said. “We were working on this one home a few years back that had been hacked up into apartments for as long as anyone could remember. The new owner decided to convert the building into a single-family dwelling. When we started knocking down walls, we actually found an archway hidden in one wall as well as marble columns in another.” He shrugged. “You never know what you’ll find.”

“Wow. Apparently.”

“We’ll call in an electrician and or a plumber if need be to deal with those issues if they come up. If we find any kind of hidden architecture-?”

“Like hidden archways or columns?”

“Exactly.”

Harry shrugged. He was not sure anything of the sort was hiding within the walls of this place, but if it were, they’d deal with it then.

“Alright. To safely remove the wall, because of its load bearing nature, without having the entirety of the house crashing down around us, we’ll have to design a proper replacement -- a beam of some sort. First, we have to build a temporary wall on either side of this wall,” Randall said, jerking his chin towards the wall in question, “deal with any electrical or plumbing or whatever else we find and then insert the replacement beam in the ceiling. Then the temp walls can be taken down and we can finish the expansion.”

Harry was nodding; grateful he didn’t have to abort his plans.

“Now.” Randall rolled up the blueprints for the new entrance hall into a tube and set them on the floor against the wall. Underneath those were another set. These were for the formal dining room. “For the dining room, we were talking about -- Harry? Are you alright?”

While Randall was speaking, Harry’s face had taken on a waxen sheen. Without a word, Harry slapped a hand over his mouth and bolted down the hall. Randall dropped the proposal for the restoration for the dining room and followed Harry. He wanted to make sure the young Savior was all right.

Randall found Harry bent over the toilet down the hall.

“Are you alright?” he asked in concern. “Should I call a Healer or-?”

“No,” Harry groaned, spitting into the toilet. “I’m fine.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. He would be fine in a few minutes. This has been happening for the last few weeks. He’d be fine one minute, nauseous the next and fine again the minute after that.

Flushing the toilet, Harry stood on unsteady legs and walked to the sink. He washed his hands and face and rinsed out his mouth, all the while aware of Randall’s worried gaze trained on him.

“I’m fine,” Harry reiterated. He gave Randall what he hoped was a reassuring smile in the mirror.

“Alright. If you’re sure.”

Harry nodded.

“Well, ah, if you’re up to it, I can show you what I’ve come up with for the dining room based on what we talked about the other week.”

“Let’s go,” Harry agreed with rising excitement.

With a nod, Randall exited the bathroom first.

Harry made to follow, but paused shortly in the threshold between the bathroom and the hall. A hand drifted to his abdomen. He wondered.

+ TBC +

A/N: This was going to be a one-shot, but it was getting ridiculously long, so I decided to split it up. Hope you liked it.

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Stricken: The Principles of Lust