Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

I Hope I Die Before I Get Sold	By : JBankai89 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Lucius Views: 17735 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, I gain nothing from this but a way to pass the time.

Chapter List
- 1-I Hope I Die Before I Get Sold
- 1
A/N: I'm a sucker for enslavement fics, have I mentioned that? 90% canon-compliant, save for a little deviation in DH. Lucius is kinda OOC for this fic, but nothing too crazy. (Like he's not handing out sweets to orphans or opening a bunny rabbit rescue or anything like that!) I've been working on this fic on and off for close to seven months, so it's a relief to finally be able to publish it. I hope you guys enjoy :) Title stolen from iGeneration by MC Lars.
I Hope I Die Before I Get Sold

Harry's knees ached. The manacles and rope that bound him forced his arms to twist against his back and were then looped through a chain attached to the iron collar around his neck, keeping his struggling to a minimum. Harry's ankles and knees were bound similarly, so tightly that had it not been for the steel bars enclosing him, he would have certainly toppled over. The thick collar forced his gaze forward, and his muscles twitched near-constantly, unused to his body stripped of its magic so completely. Harry was only mildly grateful that he'd been allowed to wear his clothes, as he'd heard more than one protest at allowing him this shred of dignity. Harry experimentally tried to pull at his bindings, but swore under his breath when he felt a body-bind curse hit him at once, freezing any hope he had of moving.

Eyes flicking to the scene beyond his prison, he saw Kingsley, but the man was incapable of meeting his eyes. It wasn't exactly his fault that Harry had wound up here, but it was difficult to keep himself from feeling anger at him anyway. Minister of Magic less than six months, and he had been overruled in the Harry-Potter-is-a-Dark-Wizard hysteria. Harry could feel his muscles twitching feebly under the combination of the bindings and the curse, and he struggled to ignore the way he ached all over from staying in the same position for so long.

The charms placed on his prison cell kept him from hearing the proceedings around him. Harry didn't particularly want to hear them, but the dead silence that surrounded him was unsettling. He could see a cluster of Ministry witches and wizards, but the way they flitted in and out of his field and vision so quickly made it impossible to keep track of them all.

Harry had begun to wonder whether they would leave him in here permanently, when a tidal wave of sound hit him, the bars disappeared, and he felt the body-bind curse lift. A squat Ministry wizard flicked his wand at Harry as he approached him, stopping him from toppling over, utterly helpless as he was. Following behind him appearing as tall and impressive as ever in robes of black velvet was Lucius Malfoy. Harry inhaled sharply, not bothering to hide his fear.

“It is the will of the council that Harry James Potter be bound, for the safety of the greater wizarding population,” the Ministry wizard pronounced, and Harry gritted his teeth, wishing he was able to speak out on his own behalf. How thick did you have to be to genuinely believe that just because he killed Voldemort that automatically made him the next Dark Lord? It was absolute insanity. Above him, the little Ministry wizard continued, “by the means of the Enslavement Charm...” Harry felt what colour was left in his face leave it. Enslavement? “...Harry James Potter will be bound to Lucius Abraxas Malfoy. Henceforth Harry James Potter relinquishes his right to property, to his freedom, and to his magic. From now until death, Harry James Potter will be known as property to the Malfoy Estate, to be passed on from father to son with all other inheritances.” The little wizard paused and looked up to Lucius, while Harry felt sick. No one had said that this was the Ministry's ultimate plan. How could they think that this was in any way a wise move? “Do you accept these terms, Mr Malfoy?”

“I do,” he said, his silky voice made Harry want to shiver, run and hide, anything. His bindings would not budge, despite his feeble attempts to free himself.

“Place your hand on its head,” he said, and Harry felt his stomach churn violently when he felt the light pressure of a hand rest against his hair. The Ministry wizard's wand tip rested against his forehead, and Harry's eyes—the only part of him that could move independently—flicked to Kingsley again. Their eyes met this time, Kingsley's ridden with guilt as he mouthed, 'I'm sorry.' The cold comfort did little to alleviate Harry's feelings of betrayal. “Now, focus on the ideal placement of The Mark, Mr Malfoy, and the charm will do the rest.” Harry guessed that Lucius had nodded, as there was no verbal response.

Ice had replaced the blood in his veins. Harry's breath hitched and he struggled against the bonds, forgetting the futility of the action. Ice changed swiftly to fire, and Harry's eyes bulged pain as the flesh of his inner right thigh burned sharply. All at once the bindings—both physical and magical dissolved, and Harry fell forward, just barely catching himself with his shaking arms. Harry was not left for long, as he felt a wandtip press against the back of his neck, and thick leather encircled his throat—a collar.

Rough hands dragged him to his feet, holding him until they were certain he could stand on his own. Harry glanced up at Lucius, his closed expression giving away nothing as he regarded Harry.

“Come,” he said at last, moving a hand to press against the small of Harry's back. The contact was unsettlingly familiar. He led Harry from the hall and through several passageways, before coming to the lift. Lucius nudged Harry forward, and he stumbled the last few steps inside, the golden grille closing behind them with a loud clang.

Lucius did not remove the hand from the small of Harry's back, and when he had attempted to move forward away from the contact, he felt his body freeze. He supposed it had something to do with the charm they had performed on him, and he felt his stomach clench with despair. Enslavement. Property. How could this have happened? A shiver lanced through him, and Harry felt Lucius's thumb rub small circles against his spine. The contact did little to settle Harry's panic, and instead intensified it. There had to be a way out of this.

The lift rattled open, and Lucius led him through the Atrium. Harry bowed his head shamefully, the hissing whispers following him as Lucius led him through the space. Harry should have known the man would have wanted to parade his new acquisition around before taking him away. His stomach roiled again with his panic, and Lucius stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Hold on to me, Mr Potter,” he said in a much gentler tone of voice than Harry expected. Pushing down his fear, he grasped the man's forearm. Even so, he was still unprepared for the claustrophobic sensation of Side-Along Apparition.

Lucius reached out to steady Harry until he found his feet, his head spinning from the trip. He looked up, and memory overlapped memory as he took in the grandeur of the Malfoy Manor. Harry felt as though he had swallowed ice water, the chill of his fright seemed to reach every part of him. The dungeons. Hermione screaming. Aberforth's eye. Dobby. It took a great deal of self-control to keep himself from screaming out loud.

“Come along, Mr Potter,” that voice again. A gentle tone that did not befit the Lucius Malfoy that Harry knew. The words did not immediately register in his mind, and he stumbled as Lucius led him to the large french doors. Harry's head drooped, and he allowed himself to be led into the house.

Harry did not look up as he was led through the house, his eyes focused entirely on the movement of his feet. Thoughts whirled around his mind on repeat, and no matter how often he went over it, he could not fathom how this could have happened. No one could have predicted that following Voldemort's death the entire wizarding world would go off the deep end. Now stuck in the care of the Malfoys for the foreseeable future, how on earth was he supposed to get out of this one?

He was jarred from his thoughts by a large hand on his shoulder jerking him to a halt. Harry looked up and found himself in a parlour, high-backed leather armchairs placed around a low glass table, a fire crackling in the hearth, and a fully stocked minibar tucked away in the corner. Lucius stepped back from him, his eyes roving over Harry's form so intently that he felt a flush creep up his neck. “We must do something about the state of your dress, those rags of yours do not look remotely comfortable.” Before Harry could protest, he felt a pleasant warmth envelop his body, and in a moment his robes had been transfigured from greying, tatty, ill-fitting Azkaban robes to jeans and a Weasley jumper. Harry stared, uncertain he could believe what he was seeing.

“I—er, thank you,” Harry looked up into the cold grey eyes, uncertain what to make of it. Why would Lucius bother holding onto his old clothes? The man's mouth pulled into something of a bitter smile.

“Have a seat, Mr Potter, we have much to discuss.” He motioned to one of the available chairs and Harry moved to take the proffered seat, but as he moved to sit down pain lanced through him, starting at the collar and seemingly jolting through his every nerve. A strangled cry escaped him, his knees buckling as he fell at Lucius's feet. The moment Harry's knees hit the floor the pain vanished. He pressed his palms into the tops of his thighs, gasping for breath as he tried to ride out the aftershock of the sudden pain. Lucius cursed above him and fell into one of the other chairs, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“What the—what did you do?” Harry growled, his teeth gritted in anger.

“That was not me. I have no desire for such a subservient...acquisition.” He lifted his gaze to Harry, his eyes blazing with anger. “It is the damnable charm, you foolish boy. It will force you into a submissive position, and any signs of equality between you and any of my kin will trigger that collar you wear.” Harry frowned and lifted his hand to the leather that encircled his neck. It felt cold against his fingers, and smooth, without even a dip in the design for a catch.

“What did this charm-thing do to me?” Harry struggled to keep his voice level, despite the fact that his mind was reeling with panic. It would not do to fall apart now; he needed to think clearly if he was ever to get out of this.

“In essence, it has removed your will. The charm is in the collar you wear, as well as in my mark. The collar will stop you from going anywhere without my express permission, stop you from causing harm to me and mine, and your magic is bound. You may as well be a squib, for all the magic you are presently able to perform.” Lucius's lip curled following his little speech, and Harry felt as though he might be sick. Never before had he felt so helpless; so vulnerable.

“I had not anticipated how far the charm would reach,” Lucius continued with a frown, a flicker of anger flaring in his gaze, “and it would seem that sitting upon my furniture would mark us as equals. It's a pity, as I had a rather nice set of quarters prepared for you. We will have to see what is to be done about that, but not now. I have some information for you that may ease your anxieties in regards to being here. If you would stand, please,” Harry stood slowly, warily, as Lucius flicked his wand and a cabinet snapped open, a pensieve lifting off one of the shelves and floating over to rest on the table. Lucius pulled a vial from his pocket, the silvery-grey contents, neither liquid nor gas, was something that Harry recognized at once.

“Whose memories are those?” Harry asked as he felt some of his fear beginning to ebb as he watched the man unstopper the vial with a tap of his wand, and tip the memories into the basin.

“Mine,” he said as he stood, and motioned for Harry to come closer, “this will not take long.” Taking a breath to steady himself, Harry plunged forward into the memories of Lucius Malfoy.

Harry spun, a sea of colours and shapes spiralling around him, and a second later his feet slammed into hard stone. At once, Harry recognized the large, circular room and the man that sat behind the overlarge desk.

“Lucius,” Snape said, the sound of his voice making Harry's stomach clench with guilt. “Why do you now feel compelled to rebel against the Dark Lord? Surely you feel the same pride as your dear Sister-In-Law at having him reside under your roof, when he is not abroad?” He eyed Lucius suspiciously, a single brow quirked questioningly.

“My son...” Lucius's voice no longer carried its haughty air, but was haggard and lost. “He is forcing my son to perform the Cruciatus curse on those who disobey him, my son...he won't last much longer. If defying the Dark Lord and taking your side is what I need to do to save him, I will do it.” Snape narrowed his eyes, and Lucius barked a laugh. “I have known you for years, Severus. You can fool the Order of the Phoenix, you can fool your students, even the Dark Lord himself, but you cannot fool me. I know where your true loyalties lie.”

Snape's thin mouth curled into a smirk, “very well.”

The images spun and dissolved around him, and Harry found himself again in the Headmaster's office, but it was a different day. Heavy raindrops pattered against the windows, and Lucius looked less frightened, and closer to his old confidence. “You are saying that you will not survive this war, Severus?”

“What I am saying, is it is likely the Dark Lord will have me killed. I like it no more than you do, Lucius; I'm sure you realize that. But in the event that I do not survive, I need you to do one thing for me, in my stead.”

“And what might that be?”

“Protect Harry Potter.”

“Mr Potter has dozens of people watching over him, why would I make any difference to the boy's welfare?”

“Harry Potter will win the war, there is no doubt about that, Lucius,” Snape said with such certainty that Lucius appeared mildly alarmed by his confidence, but he did not interrupt. “However, following the war, the fallout will be very great. Mass hysteria, paranoia, and the Ministry will likely input some very harsh laws to keep this from happening again. You may be one of the few people with enough political power to keep him from harm.”

“Assuming I do not return to Azkaban for my crimes as a Death Eater.”

“Yes, well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Something tells me that before this is all over, Potter will need you,” Snape said, and Lucius inclined his head once in agreement.

“I will do what I can, Severus.”

A hand on Harry's shoulder startled him out of his daze, and he looked up to see the present-day Lucius looking down at him with a calm, unreadable expression.

“Come,” he said, and Harry was dragged from the man's memories in another whirl of colour.

Harry staggered a little when he found himself back in the Manor's parlour, and it took several moments to clear his mind enough to form a coherent thought. Lucius crossed his arms and watched Harry calmly, clearly waiting for him to speak. When Harry said nothing, Lucius huffed a sigh of frustration.

“Your freedom was being auctioned off, Potter,” he said with an air of impatience, “I am uncertain whether they let you in on that little fact. Proceeds went to the construction of a home for children orphaned during the war. Several Death Eaters that escaped Azkaban were quite taken at the idea of possessing the Chosen One. Had I not stepped in, it is likely you would be sucking MacNair's cock right about now.”

Harry felt his face burn at the comment, and turned his gaze from Lucius's steely gaze. Harry knew the memories had been genuine, but he was still afraid. This was Lucius Malfoy, after all. The last time he'd been in this house he'd lost a dear friend, almost two. His trust of the man did not extend very far, regardless of what he'd been shown.

Lucius huffed again, and he narrowed his eyes at Harry. “Zazzle,” Lucius called out, and at once a house elf appeared with a sharp crack. The little creature reminded Harry painfully of Dobby, and he forced his gaze away.

“Master called?” It asked squeakily, curtsying once to Lucius, but not offering Harry the same respect. Clearly, the elf knew that Harry had been demoted from free human being to the same rights and freedoms of a tea kettle.

“Bring in our guests,” Lucius said. The elf curtsied once again with a nod, and disappeared with another crack. Almost at once the side doors to the parlour swung open, and standing there looking remarkably out of place was Ron and Hermione.

Harry took several steps back, and he was certain that he had gone, if possible, even paler at the sight of them. The collar around his neck was not something that could be hidden, and the idea of his two best friends seeing him like this was too much. Harry staggered into the side of the table, and caught himself just in time to keep from falling. He opened and closed his mouth several times, but the words would not come. Lucius ignored Harry, and focused on the pair at the doors.

“Miss Granger, Mr Weasley, thank you for coming.” Hermione was holding Ron's hand, tight enough that even in the dim light Harry could see that her knuckles had gone white.

The pair stepped in, “thank you for inviting us, Mr Malfoy,” Hermione seemed to be trying to exert a confidence she did not feel, and her voice sounded very small.

“My son tells me you are quite an accomplished young woman, despite your...heritage.” The comment caused everyone to glare at the older man, but he ignored it and pressed on. “I would not have asked you here, Miss Granger, had I not an excellent reason to do so. I am well aware that this place does not hold good memories for you.” Harry snorted; that was an understatement.

“What do you want from me?” Hermione narrowed her eyes, her grip on Ron's hand loosening slightly.

“Mr Potter, come here, if you please,” Lucius extended a hand, and Harry hesitated for half a moment, but hissed as he felt the burning of the collar inflicting punishment on him, and he walked forward stiffly. He pressed a hand to the small of Harry's back, and turned back to Hermione, ignoring the way he tensed at the contact. “As you are aware, I stepped in and...purchased Mr Potter as a last favour to the late Severus Snape. It is not my desire to have him so enslaved and subservient, I am doing what I can for him to live a full life, not a half life. Perhaps you can study his delightful new accessory and see what can be done about breaking some of its charms?”

“Er, all right. I'll try.” Hermione stepped forward uncertainly, while Harry looked away, unable to meet her sympathetic gaze. He felt her fingers brush the side of his neck and he flinched, while the hand on Harry's back had begun to rub in slow circles, clearly an attempt at comfort. Harry felt his panic build again, and he had the sensation as though he was being attacked from both sides. He could hear Hermione murmuring under her breath, and the gentle brush of her magic as she studied the collar.

Hermione stood close to Harry for a full ten minutes, while he kept his eyes anywhere but on his friend. He heard her murmur another spell, and suddenly pain lanced through him. He yelped, his knees buckled and Lucius's arm shot out, catching him before he fell.

Bracing Harry against his side, Harry was pulled up onto his feet. He breathed shallowly as he got a handle on the pain.

“Miss Granger?” Lucius prompted, voice was dangerously calm.

“I-I'm sorry, Harry!” Her voice had taken on a tearful quality, to which Harry grimaced, but didn't speak. “I was just trying to see the root of the enslavement magic and I guess I triggered something, I swear I didn't mean to—” Harry had tuned out most of her gibbering, but Lucius cut her off.

“That's enough, Miss Granger,” Lucius's sharp tone caused Hermione to jump, and her mouth snapped shut at once. “It was an accident, let us leave it at that,” Lucius said while continued to hold onto Harry, his arm tightening as he spoke. “Perhaps we should leave it here for today. I shall research this charm, and I expect you to do the same. If you find something, send it along and we shall organize a time to meet again.”

Harry frowned, but kept his mouth shut. He appreciated the help—he really did, but to be seen this way, a mere shadow of his former self and enslaved to Lucius Malfoy. He didn't want anyone to see him like this; it was humiliating.

Hermione and Ron bid him a meek goodbye, though Harry was unable to meet their eyes. He kept his eyes down, head turned towards Lucius.

“Please—” Harry grimaced a little, his voice sounded very small in his own ears. “Please don't invite them back. I—I don't want them to see me like this.” Harry swallowed thickly, and the hand on his back slid up to his shoulder. He felt Lucius squeeze it gently, as though attempting to offer comfort, but the contact did little to alleviate his despair.

Harry could not fathom why Lucius would bother being kind to him. He had seen the memories, and he appreciated all that had been done for him thus far, but Harry wondered how long it would last. Lucius was not a kind man, nor a fair one. Harry felt as though it was only a matter of time before the mask was removed, and whatever Lucius actually had planned for him would be revealed. Even so, he could not stop himself from uttering the feeble plea.

“You may feel differently tomorrow, Mr Potter. Come, we shall see to your sleeping arrangements.” Lucius turned, his hand moving to press against Harry's lower back again, and he was led out of the parlour. Harry followed the man's lead, his head bowed miserably, looking up only as necessary to keep himself from stumbling. He was led up a spiral staircase, down several passageways until they stopped in front of a highly polished oak door. “This will be your quarters, Mr Potter,” Lucius said in that same low, even tone, “My own are down the hall, should you require anything. I will have my house elves bring up your supper, and you can get settled in.” Harry nodded stiffly, his gaze fixed on the ground, while he struggled to keep himself calm. His mind was a torrent of memory and conflicting emotions, and he did not dare open his mouth to speak. If he had, Harry wasn't sure if he'd shout at Lucius, or weep.

Lucius leaned past Harry and turned the brass knob, and the door creaked open to show less of a bedroom, and more of a small flat. Harry's eyes went wide, and he stepped over the threshold, taking in everything he was seeing.

A large four-poster bed with red blankets and gold embroidery, a large fireplace before a coffee table and settee, the walls and floor decorated in Gryffindor colours. Plush sheepskin rugs covered every inch of the cold stone, and an ajar door showed that it led to an adjoining bathroom. At the foot of the bed sat Harry's trunk, open to display his muggle clothes, school and dress robes, his pocket sneakoscope, his broomstick servicing kit, his school books...every one of his belongings was accounted for, even the ones he was certain that he'd lost by leaving them back in Privet Drive more than a year earlier.

Harry knelt down and reached out to brush his fingers over the warped spine of Flying with the Cannons, and turned his questioning gaze back to Lucius, who was watching him from the doorway, his blank expression unchanged.

“Why?” Harry finally managed to ask, and the question caused the man to press his lips together in a thin line.

“As I have said, I have no need for a slave. I have house elves for that, Mr Potter. The Dark Lord lost my fealty when he chose to victimize my son. I am many things, Mr Potter, but no one hurts my family and gets away with it. Sleep well.” Without another word he turned and closed the door behind him. Harry stared at the closed door for a long time, then turned and stepped towards the bed. Remembering the pain from earlier when he had tried to sit down, he braced himself as he turned and eased himself down onto the soft duvet that covered the mattress.

No pain. Harry's eyes snapped open and he fell backward with a heavy sigh of relief. Thank God, Harry thought, I wasn't looking forward to having to sleep on the floor. A sudden popping sound distracted Harry from his thoughts, and he sat up to see a meal laid out for him on the coffee table. Harry wandered over, brow furrowed with curiosity, and just barely managed to bite back a snort of amusement.

Red wine, some sort of red meat that looked like beef but smelled a little different, a variety of cheeses, fresh bread, a plate of treacle tarts, and hot tea. Apprehensive of testing the other seats in the room after the debacle in the parlour, Harry knelt down before the table and began to eat, surprised at how hungry he suddenly felt. He devoured the entire spread, and was left feeling almost uncomfortably full. Harry leaned back against the edge of the settee, cradling the warm teacup in his hands as he tried to work through everything that had happened in the last several days.

He still could not fathom how he could go from Hero to Villain in such a short span of time, and the injustice of it all filled him with anger. He wondered if Sirius had felt similarly when he had first been sent to Azkaban, punished for something he didn't do. Harry sipped the tea, and sighed in frustration. Harry set down the half-drunk cup, stood, and wandered over to his trunk to dig out his pyjamas.

Harry dropped out of the jeans and jumper, but paused when he noticed the dark shape upon his inner thigh, which he had given little thought to since the charm had been incanted some hours earlier.

Malfoy's Mark.

Harry looked down at it, and felt a fresh wave of misery fill him as he stared at it. It was a black brand, the skin around its edges an angry, inflamed red. It was a simple crest with a large letter 'M' in the centre, over a backdrop of two intertwined serpents. Harry fell into a sitting position on the bed, his eyes unable to leave the brand. Regardless whatever claptrap Lucius had spouted over the course of the afternoon, imprinted on his skin was the incontrovertible proof that he was owned. Harry raked his shaking hands through his hair, and quickly pulled on his pyjamas, but even with the thin cloth concealing the mark, it was still there. It would never go away.

It was a long time before sleep claimed him that night.

~*~

Despite the late hour in which Harry had fallen asleep, he was awoken early by the sharp crack of thunder overhead, and he opened his bleary eyes to see a veritable gale blowing outside. Large raindrops lashed against the windows, and the inky sky flashed periodically with sheet lightning. Harry sat up with a small groan and put on his glasses, but even with clear vision the storm looked no better. Harry smiled bitterly at the sight of it—it felt as though the weather was mirroring his inner turmoil quite well.

Harry pulled himself from the bed, and fished out some clothes for the day before heading to the adjoining bathroom. As with everything else in the Malfoy Manor, it was ridiculous. Ceramic and marble everywhere, a bath tub that would put the prefect's bathroom at Hogwarts to shame, and a shower nearby, big enough to fit at least four or five people comfortably. Biting back his amused laughter, he picked out a fluffy white towel and moved to the shower, stripping out of his bedclothes as he walked. Harry kept his eyes focused resolutely forward, trying his best to not think on the brand on his thigh. It was difficult to not think on it, and busied himself with turning on the hot water and soaping himself to keep his mind busy, rather than wallow on the permanence of the brand burned into his flesh.

Breakfast was waiting for Harry when he returned to the main area of his rooms, simpler fare than the night before of tea, crumpets, a pat of butter and blackberry jam. Harry moved to sit down on the settee, froze, and with a defeated huff he plopped himself down on the ground and tucked in.

Harry was nursing the last of his tea when a soft tapping sounded from the door. It creaked open and Lucius stepped inside, dressed more casually than he had been at the Ministry the previous day in black trousers and a white button-down shirt rolled up to the elbows. The garments were almost muggle in their design, though Harry knew better than to assume they were anything but wizarding garb. He seriously doubted any Malfoy would be caught dead in something as plebeian as Gucci or Armani.

“Good morning Mr Potter,” the smooth-as-silk voice washed over him, and Harry could barely repress a shiver. Despite the man's reassurances that he was here 'for his own good', somehow Harry seriously doubted the claim.

“Morning,” he said softly, his gaze shifting back to the teacup he held as he spoke. He felt a small shift in the air as the man sat down upon the settee, his knee brushing Harry's shoulder. A large hand rested upon the back of Harry's neck and he looked up, unable to completely hide the fear he knew was visible in his gaze.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Er—yes, thank you,” Harry said as he ran his thumb across the lip of the cup, his heart beating out a violent tattoo against his chest. The same crushing weight of helplessness overwhelmed him again, and he looked away, only to hitch his breath as a warning shock of pain lanced through him. For whatever reason, it was clear that Lucius wanted Harry to look at him. “There were no issues with sleeping on the bed, I suppose the charm doesn't count that as being on equal footing with you.”

Harry's words trembled a little towards the end as Lucius's thumb stroked the skin at Harry's nape in slow, gentle circles. The tender contact was deeply unsettling, and just like the previous day, the sensation filled him with a panic, instead of the supposed comfort the man was apparently trying to offer.

“No, I thought not,” the corner of Lucius's mouth twitched into a small half-smirk. “I delved into the family library last night, and found some rather interesting volumes concerning this charm.” Lucius's fingers disappeared into Harry's hair, and he felt himself go rigid with both surprise and fear.

“I assume whatever you found, I'm not going to like it,” Harry replied, aiming for cool nonchalance, but winced a little as the words escaped him with a tremor.

“That is likely,” Lucius said without humour. The bitter smirk returned to his face, while his fingers continued to toy with Harry's hair, almost in an absent-minded sort of way—like how a person may pet a favoured pet. “It would seem the origin of this charm was, not surprisingly, to control native peoples of lands the English claimed for their own. The lords of the time seemed rather fond of using it as a means to acquire not just slaves, but sex slaves.”

Harry nearly dropped the cup in his hands. He felt his breakfast churn in his stomach, and he was amazed that he was able to keep it down at all. Harry tried to speak, but the shock and panic had rendered his mind blank. The hand that had continued to stroke his hair and neck felt suddenly much more invasive than they had a moment earlier, and it took all of Harry's strength to keep still.

“If it will put your mind at ease, Mr Potter, I have never forced anyone into my bed, and I do not intend to start with you.” Harry almost laughed hysterically at Lucius's words. A sex slave. Harry was bound to Lucius Abraxas Malfoy. For life. He suddenly found himself missing Voldemort. At least with him the worst that could happen was death. Not...this.

Harry closed his eyes and bowed his head, but the hand combing through his hair and tickling his neck did not stop, and its presence did little more than cause his fear to mount. If Lucius was aware of Harry's fear he made no sign, and instead continued to stroke his hair. Harry tried to let go, focus on the contact and not who it was that was touching him, but it was nearly impossible. Instead of being free, he was locked away inside the Malfoy Manor, with the same rights and freedoms as a cauldron. Instead of patching things up with Ginny, he was being manhandled by an ex-Death Eater. Instead of finishing his education at Hogwarts, he was sitting at the feet of a man who a few years ago would have had no qualms about killing him.

A solitary tear escaped past his eyelid before he could stop it, and he hissed a curse, hastily moving to brush it away before Lucius saw. He froze with his hand inches from the tear track, the now-familiar lance of pain shooting through him, warning him to stop what he was doing, as his Master disapproved. Harry opened his eyes at last and looked up, and was startled to see that Lucius was much closer that he had been mere moments before.

A soft hand moved to his cheek and brushed away the tear. Harry looked away, his mind overrun with shame. Voldemort had him on the run for a year, and he never broke, not once. Less than twenty-four hours in Lucius's keeping and he was already shattered.

“I realize that to you it feels like the end of life as you know it,” Lucius said in a soft, unnervingly gentle tone, “but you are here as a last favour to Severus, as you know. You are here for your protection, Mr Potter, not my personal pleasure.” Harry chewed the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing; such a statement from Lucius Malfoy of all people sounded positively ridiculous. Harry kept his gaze fixed resolutely to one point to the left of Lucius, unable to look him in the eye. He could feel Lucius's hot breath against his cheek, and the sensation made his stomach twist with panic. He lurched, intending to get away, but was stopped short by that familiar warning pain.

Lucius's hands fell away from him, and he watched as the man stood and moved towards Harry's door. “If you need me, call a house elf and they will take you to me,” he said before disappearing into the hall.

~*~

The day passed slowly for Harry.

Following Lucius's morning departure, he felt strangely dirty, and he wandered over to the wardrobe and picked out another pair of jeans and jumper, but stopped short when he noticed that he had much more clothes that he recalled ever owning.

Mixed in with the countless Weasley jumpers, jeans, T-shirts, and old school robes, he found a mixture of expensive muggle and wizard clothing. Armani suits, dress robes in bottle green and black, dark jeans that looked quite expensive, and a number of other items, including new trainers and dragonhide boots.

Harry stared, at a loss for what to think. Why would Lucius Malfoy bother purchasing such expensive clothes, and for him? Someone he didn't want here, someone who was only in his house as a favour to a deceased, longtime friend. The shock and confusion clung to him as he got changed and slipped out of the room, fingering the collar around his throat miserably as he began to explore.

Despite the fact that palatial estate held more rooms and curiosities than Harry had ever seen in one place before (except perhaps Hogwarts or Gringotts) nothing held his attention for long. A great number of the rooms Harry learned quickly were off-limits to him, as his attempt to enter them was met with another shock of pain from the charm nigh curse he'd been put under.

Around noon, Harry located the kitchens and accepted a small meal from the elves, while he tried to stave off their attempts to overfeed him as politely as he could. After he finished he wandered back to his rooms and pulled Flying with the Cannons from his trunk, and sprawled out in front of the fire to read, while the veritable gale continued to rage outside.

The darkness of the sky did not change, but Harry had to assume a decent amount of time had passed, as he heard a soft tapping on his door, and sat up to see Lucius step inside.

“It is nearly dinnertime,” Lucius said, his voice washing over Harry and making him shudder a little, though he strove to hide his revulsion at the older man under a neutral mask. “I would ask that you remain in this room unless I call for you. My son is coming for dinner, and until we can do something to maintain your dignity, I'd rather he not see you.”

“You mean, I'd be forced to kneel next to you while you ate, and you don't want Mal—Draco verbally abusing me, is that it?” The look in Lucius's eyes following his words told him that he was correct, but Harry could not work out how he felt about this. Was he grateful, or resentful? He could handle Draco, but forced to kneel at Lucius's side...the thought made him feel sick.

“Something like that,” Lucius murmured, as he stepped forward and he reached up to touch Harry's cheek. He flinched from the contact before he could think better of the action, and was rewarded with another lance of pain through his body. Harry wobbled a little, and Lucius reached out to close his hands over Harry's upper arms to steady him. Harry hated how warm the man's hands felt on him, and how the order did not rankle him nearly as much as it should have.

“Stay,” Lucius said, releasing Harry and sweeping out the door. Harry watched miserably as he heard the soft snick of the lock shifting into place.

Dinner came to him an hour later, and Harry set aside his book so that he could eat.

It was the same heavy, rich fare as the day before, rounded off with tea and a small treacle tart. Harry sat upon the settee experimentally, and marvelled that he was able to do so. He tucked into the meal, and tried to banish all that had happened over the last day and a half from his mind.

Full to bursting, Harry resumed his reading, curled up before the fire, feeling quite peaceful, despite the circumstances. The familiar, dog-eared book and the warmth of the crackling fire brushing over his skin helped him to forget where he was, and eventually he nodded off, the book still in his hands.

Later that night, Harry was too deeply asleep to hear the door unlock, nor witness the blond, aristocratic man slip into the room. He lifted the youth with ease, cradling his head against his chest as he slept on, and carried him to his bed.

So deeply asleep, he did not hear nor see the look of regret upon the man's face as he murmured, “I'm sorry,” before striding soundlessly from the room without so much as a backward glance.

~*~

Harry woke the following morning confused, as he could not recall actually making the trek to his bed last night. Pinching the bridge of his nose with a soft groan he sat up, though he could not shake the groggy disorientation he felt.

Still in a half-asleep daze, Harry stumbled to the bathroom and went through his morning rituals clumsily, and even after washing and dressing, he still felt strange. At first, he thought he might be catching something, but he did not feel ill, just odd. Like something wasn't quite right. Harry couldn't put his finger on what it was, and he tried to push it to the back of his mind as he settled down to eat his breakfast.

Harry had barely finished his tea when his door was opened, and a house elf peered inside. The sight of it reminded Harry painfully of Dobby, and he felt his stomach clench with grief.

“Master is asking for Harry Potter's presence in the drawing room,” it squeaked, “Tinky is taking you there.”

Harry had never been one to enforce house elf politeness or any of that tommyrod, but he did not miss the way she—at least, he thought the elf was female—addressed him. Even the elves of this house did not recognize him as on the same level as Lucius. The observation cemented in Harry's mind the realization that this wasn't temporary, and he wasn't viewed as a free human being any more. He really and truly was a slave.

Curling his hands into fists to hide the faint tremor of panic that flooded his mind that the sudden thought had caused, he nodded once and stood silently to follow the little elf to their Master.

They wove through the Manor, and Harry felt slightly unsettled by the fact that the elf did not bow as she departed, leaving him in the entryway of the room where Lucius was waiting. It reminded him of his new social standing, and again he felt a wave of panic-induced nausea wash over him, and he struggled to keep his breakfast down.

“Come in Mr Potter,” Lucius's smooth voice sounded from the elegant settee, and Harry looked up to see him sitting there, none of the early-morning fatigue showing on his face or in his body language. Does he just roll out of bed and look every bit the aristocrat? Does he ever look like a normal human being? Harry wondered as he stepped forward stiffly, and circled the settee then stopped before the older man.

“Kneel.”

Harry paled, and he felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. Mentally kicking himself for trusting that Lucius wouldn't take advantage of Harry's situation, he paid dearly for his heartbeat of hesitation, and he hissed in pain as his knees buckled and he fell to his knees before him.

“There is no need to be so dramatic Potter,” he said with a huff while he rolled his eyes exasperatedly, “I would like to try adjusting the charms on this accessory of yours, and I'd rather do it sitting down, since it seems reluctant to allow you to sit with me like a normal human being.”

Flushing with embarrassment, Harry mumbled an apology and bowed his head so that Lucius could more easily reach the foul collar. The motion of submission made every fibre of Harry's being scream with negation, and he shivered as he struggled to keep still.

However, the moment he felt the man's angular fingers brush against the skin around the accessory, the grimy, almost sickly feeling that had weighed on him all morning seemed to evaporate. Harry's eyes widened in shock, the fingers brushing along the edge of the collar, and he heard the soft tap of Lucius's wand rest against the back of it. He began to mutter under his breath, and Harry felt a strange warmth slip from the wand and encase the collar.

Harry did not know how long he knelt there, and despite his best efforts to count the time, he quickly lost count. More unsettling still was the implication that if he did not receive some sort of physical contact from his so-called Master, he would suffer because of it. Remembering the way his symptoms seemed to vanish at Lucius's touch made him feel sickened with himself. How was he supposed to function if he now needed the physical touch of an enemy?

“All right Potter, you may stand,” Harry stood up on shaking limbs, his knees and neck aching from being in the same position for so long. He rotated his head, and his neck cracked loudly, which caused Lucius to cringe.

“I would like to see if my efforts have made a difference. Sit with me,” Lucius said at last, and he nodded towards the empty side of the settee.

Bracing himself for more pain, Harry slowly sat down on the cushions, and his eyes widened with surprise when no pain lanced through him.

“Oh.”

“Oh? I spend the last hour charming that infernal collar of yours and all you have to say is oh?”

“I'm sorry,” Harry said quickly, “I was just surprised, that it worked I mean. After Hermione—”

“—I like to think that I have more magical prowess than some adolescent mudblood,” Lucius snapped, and Harry glared at him.

“Don't call her a mudblood. Hermione has more magical talent in her pinkie than you do in your whole—” Harry cut himself off with a yelp of pain, curling forward on himself as the punishment shot through him like an electric current.

Before Harry had a chance to recover from the pain, much stronger than it had been before, he felt a hand thread through his hair and yank his head up, forcing Harry to look at Lucius.

“Watch your mouth Potter,” Lucius snarled, giving him a sharp shove. Harry had not expected the action, and nearly toppled off the settee from the force of it. “You would do well to remember that you're are a bloody guest in my bloody home. I will not tolerate such insolence.” His anger radiated off him, and his flaring emotions at Harry were sending him sharp shocks of pain through him. The continual cycle of moderate pain was making him queasy, and he slid off the piece of furniture and to the floor. He bowed forward, prostrating himself at his Master's feet.

Harry was only distantly aware of what he was doing, the pain too disorientating for him to form a clear thought. Even as the sharp shocks began to fade, his body trembled, and he found himself afraid to move.

“Stand, Potter,” Harry hastened to obey, and three seconds later he was sickened with himself for doing so.

Lucius stood up in one fluid motion, and Harry felt infinitely small. He stepped closer, and Harry tensed the muscles of his legs, forcing himself to keep still, despite his burning desire to back away from the man. Somehow, he knew that Lucius wanted him nearby.

Harry held his breath, his heart pounding hard in his chest, while Lucius's narrow, artistic fingers trailed across Harry's cheekbone. Harry shivered.

Harry tried to take a step back. Lucius was close, too close. He was rewarded with a warning jolt of pain. The pads of Lucius's fingers were soft, betraying his charmed life, and Harry's heart jumped into his throat as his thumb brushed over Harry's lower lip.

Lucius's hand fell away, and the spell broke.

“Get out of my sight Potter.”

~*~

That night, Harry dreamt of Lucius.

He sincerely hoped it was the charm at work, because certainly the man wasn't that well-endowed in real life.

He woke the following morning feeling dirty, despite the fact that he hadn't actually done anything.

Harry took a long time in the shower, scrubbing feverishly at his skin, but the sensation refused to go away. He dressed hastily, even more keen than usual to not lay his eyes on the Malfoy insignia burned into his skin, and Harry ignored the breakfast laid out for him as he slipped out of the room and into the enormous hallway.

He wasn't certain where he wanted to go, but for the first time since his imprisonment at the hands of the Ministry, Harry felt like he had energy to burn.

As he explored, the grimy, dirty feeling that clung to his skin refused to abate. Harry had a vague inkling of what would make it go away, but his pride refused to allow him to seek his Master out. The title came more readily to his mind; his Master. Harry shivered, and he felt his throat burn as he felt suddenly incredibly nauseous. Harry pressed his back against the cherry wood panelling on the walls of the passageway he stood in, and he slid to the floor, his eyes shut.

“So, it's true then.”

Harry's eyes snapped open.

He looked up, and he felt what colour that had returned to his face leave it at the sight of Draco Malfoy. The smug, almost dangerous smirk he saw there was highly unsettling, and he was quick to jump to his feet. The moment he did however, pain lanced through him, and his knees buckled, and he fell hard at the younger Malfoy's feet.

“Oh I like that,” he drawled, “Famous Harry Potter, at my feet.” Harry shot him a glare, but was met with another jolt of pain, strong enough to force a soft gasp from him. Long, angular fingers, so much like his father's closed around his throat and forced him up, and he felt his back press hard into the wood. Harry didn't dare meet his eyes, finding it easier to think and try to come up with a way out of his situation when he wasn't defying Malfoy and thus receiving the punishing pain. He did his best to mask his fear, but left wandless and helpless at his school rival's hands, he could barely get a handle on the panic that was beginning to bubble to the surface.

“Did no one tell you Potter,” Malfoy purred, the soft quality of his voice causing Harry to tense. “That it's a familial enslavement charm? I own your sorry arse as assuredly as my dear father does. I'm looking forward to playing with you.”

The implications behind Malfoy's words made his blood run cold. No, no one had told him, not that it really mattered—he was stuck in this house for the rest of his life. He kept silent, hating himself for his fear, and hating even more the sudden wish that Lucius was nearby—surely he would put a stop to his son's sadistic tendencies.

“What, nothing to say? Did my father have your vocal cords removed? I must say it makes for an improvement over the inane babble that used to spout out of your mouth.” Draco squeezed his throat once in warning, then shoved Harry very hard, causing him to fall to the floor again, and hiss as his jeans tore and his knees scuffed against the thin carpeting, making the flesh turn an angry red.

“Fuck you,” Harry growled, lifting his head to shoot his ex-classmate a nasty glare. He winced as punishing pain hit him again, but he managed to keep himself from crying out. He hated himself for being so afraid, and of Draco Malfoy of all people.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen... Harry thought bitterly, and gasped in pain as he felt the back of Malfoy's hand come into contact with his cheek. The heavy silver ring he wore bit into his cheek and tore the flesh, and his head snapped to the side from the force of the blow. Warm blood trickled down his cheek and dripped from his chin.

“Don't talk back to your Master,” Malfoy hissed angrily, his normally aristocratic, fair face a blotchy red and contorted grotesquely in his anger. “You are mine to do with as I will. You have less rights than a bloody house elf. That means you keep your mouth shut Potter.”

“He is not yours yet, Draco,” an even, but still melodic voice said from the end of the hall. Harry looked up with wide-eyed relief.

His cane clicked sharply against the floor as he strode forward and bypassed his son completely as though he wasn't even there, and crouched before Harry. Harry felt the uncomfortable, grimy sensation leave him the moment Lucius's fingers brushed over his cut cheek.

“Are you all right Harry?” He whispered, and Harry wasn't certain what unsettled him more—the soft tone of voice, or his given name coming from the elder Malfoy.

“Yes,” Harry mumbled without looking up, feeling utterly humiliated and miserable. Draco's words cut more than they ever had whilst they were in school, and somehow Lucius coming to his aid made it even worse.

Lucius wrapped an arm around Harry's waist and helped him to his feet, and Harry held on to the older man, feeling comforted by his presence, especially in the presence of a threat like the man's son and heir. It took Harry a moment to realize what he was doing, and quickly stopped. He tried to step back, but Lucius's arm around him only tightened, more or less pinning Harry to his side.

“He belongs to the head of the family Draco,” Lucius said, still holding onto Harry a little more tightly than was necessary. “That means he is not yours, not yet. You entered my home without so much as a greeting. Was there something you wanted, or did you come here just to accost Harry?”

Draco's eyes narrowed at the use of Harry's given name, but he did not respond to it. Instead he muttered something under his breath, too softly for Harry to catch, though he was certain he'd heard him use the word, 'mother'.

“Your mother isn't here to dispute my decisions any more,” Lucius snapped, glaring at his son. “She ran off to Paris with your classmate, as you recall. What I choose to give or take from you she no longer has any control over.”

Draco narrowed his eyes as though he was going to spit a scathing remark at his father, but at the last minute he spun on his heel and stalked away.

Lucius's hand fell on Harry's cheek the moment his son had gone, and he tilted Harry's head up, forcing him to meet the older man's gaze. Harry's breath caught, and he winced a little as the man prodded at his injured cheek.

“Come with me, I'll have that tended to,” Lucius spoke more gently than Harry had expected him to, and with a hand on his back, he steered Harry from the hall and down to the dining room, which was still awash with afternoon sunlight. He sat Harry down on one of the chairs, then left him there as he swept out another doorway.

Harry had assumed he'd gone to fetch a house elf, but he returned with a shallow bowl and rag, and sat in a chair next to him and mopped the blood off his face, then prodded his cheek once with his wand, healing the wound instantly. He did the same for Harry's scuffed knees, and for a moment Harry was at a loss for what to say.

“I—thank you,” Harry said, finally looking up to meet the cold, grey stare of the older man.

“I must apologize to you Harry,” he said, and Harry's eyes widened in surprise at his words. Lucius Malfoy was the last person Harry ever expected to apologize for anything. “The animosity you share with my son escaped me, and it had not occurred to me that he would take full advantage of your...status, in true Slytherin fashion when I was otherwise occupied.”

“I—It's all right,” Harry mumbled, his gaze dropping to focus on his knees. “You needn't apologize. After seven years around Mal—Draco, it's to be expected that he'd come after me at the earliest opportunity.”

Lucius reached out and rested a hand on Harry's knee. Harry was unnerved by how alien yet how welcome the contact felt. His breath caught, and he was rather alarmed by the sudden impulse he had to lean forward and kiss the man.

Harry looked up then back down quickly, but there was no hiding his red, embarrassed flush. Lucius's hand moved up to cradle his cheek, and forced Harry's gaze back up. His half-lidded eyes were enough to tell Harry that the man likely was sharing his sudden urge, but unlike Harry, Lucius was never a man to deny himself anything, and showed no reluctance as he leaned in and caressed Harry's lips with his own.

Harry hadn't kissed a whole lot. Apart from a few stolen kisses with Cho and Ginny—and one drunken, experimental snog with Krum at Bill and Fleur's wedding, he was fairly inexperienced. Even so, the expert touch of the older man was enough to make Harry feel as though he'd melted into a puddle of goo.

When Lucius pulled away, there was a noticeable bulge in the front of Harry's jeans.

He felt himself flush, though for once it was not completely out of embarrassment. Lucius cradled his cheek, and kissed him again, though this time it was more insistent and demanding. Harry inched forward in his seat, and while uncertain what to do with his hands, he twisted them in his lap awkwardly.

“Tonight,” Lucius murmured, his breath tickling Harry's damp lips, “if you still want it, I will gladly give it to you.”

Lucius had swept away before Harry had been able to absorb the invitation, and the implication behind the words.

~*~

Left alone, Harry returned to his rooms and stretched out on the settee, watching the fire sullenly while he tried to work through the myriad of conflicting emotions that were clogging up his brain space.

He was afraid to venture out of his rooms without Lucius nearby. It absolutely sickened him that he even remotely felt this way, and his pride screamed at him whenever the feeling bubbled too near to the surface.

He wanted Lucius. His physical response to the kiss was proof enough of that. Harry wasn't certain whether this was the charm at work, some strange form of stockholm syndrome, or genuine feeling, but regardless of the origins of the emotions, they were there nonetheless. The speed in which they'd manifested was highly unnerving, however.

Harry raked a hand through his hair, and tensed when his fingers brushed against the collar. A physical representation of his status as something less than human, less than a house elf, even. He felt his eyes sting, and he shook himself in an effort to dispel the feeling. He refused to break down again.

The Lucius Malfoy Harry had always known would have had him on the floor, prostrated at his feet and shuddering under multiple Cruciatus Curses by now. This new, almost kind version Harry had absolutely no idea how to interact with. In many ways, Lucius reminded him of Snape; the cool aloof demeanour, the poison tongue, but behind it all was a strange sort of kindness.

Harry's hand fell to his inner thigh, and his fingers ghosted over the hidden design that rested there. As with every other thing in his life, he had no idea what he wanted, and he was stuck again having to make the best of another terrible situation.

I won't go, Harry thought vehemently as afternoon tea materialized on the low table before him, I can't go. This is Lucius effing Malfoy, not some no-name sugar daddy. If I give in now, there will be no going back. For all I know, once I give in he'll probably share me with his son or something. I can't let that happen.

Though he was uncertain whether or not it was the right choice, it was a choice nonetheless. He slid off the settee and sat at the table, and began to serve himself, ravenous after his busy morning.

~*~

“Time to play...”

Harry knew that voice, but he couldn't place it.

It was dark, he couldn't see anything, not even a stray beam of moonlight to tell him anything about his surroundings. The black was absolute.

Harry was bound. Ankles and wrists tied by thin, strong rope, and his knees dug into the cold stone floor painfully.

A whip-crack broke the silence like a gunshot, and a hook sunk into Harry's bare back. It tore the flesh, and he screamed in pain. The whip came down again without even the briefest respite, and again, and again.

The weapon tore Harry's back to ribbons, and it did not take very long before he no longer cared that he was screaming and crying, no longer cared about dignity in the face of death; he no longer cared about anything. The pain was too all-consuming, he just wanted it over.

Just as suddenly, everything stopped. Silence fell, and not even the ragged breathing of his supposed attacker was audible. Harry slumped forward in his bindings, his breath coming out in short gasps as he struggled to control himself.

A soft swish of a cloak, and Harry tensed, assuming it was his attacker coming back. Instead, a face loomed out of the darkness, so close Harry could feel his warm breath and see the silver-blond of his long hair.

“Harry...” the now familiar voice murmured his name and his bonds dissolved. He crumpled into Lucius's waiting arms and wept.

Harry woke with a start.

He was gasping for breath, as though he'd just finished running a marathon, and there were tears on his cheeks. Harry didn't remember falling asleep, nor crawling into bed, but he woke buried under the thick blankets of his bed in a pair of pyjamas he could not remember putting on. Had it not been for the harrowing dream, it would have been quite comfortable.

Harry sat up, still trembling, the phantom pain of the dream still fresh in his mind. He bent his knees and pressed his sweaty forehead against them, but still the trembling refused to abate.

The soft click of his door opening snapped him out of his daze, and he looked up to see Lucius, face paler than usual, and a black silk dressing gown pulled over himself. Harry tried to not look at the line of pearl-white skin that peeked out from the sweeping neckline of the garment. He didn't say anything as Lucius stepped across the door's threshold, and moved over to his bed in a few strides of his long legs.

The bed dipped as the older man sat down, and he reached out to brush his fingers through Harry's hair. Harry hated how good it felt.

“The charms around your rooms alerted me to so some sort of distress, though I see no attacker. Did you have a nightmare?”

Harry was quiet for too long, and he winced as a faint jolt of pain lanced through him in warning.

“Y-yes,” Harry mumbled, turning his gaze back to his knees as he tried to ignore howgood the hand in his hair felt. “Nothing unexpected, after everything that has happened.”

“Indeed,” Lucius mused, his angular fingers falling from his untidy mope to trace the line of his jaw. He coaxed Harry's head up, and Lucius was much closer than Harry had expected him to be. He felt some of his tension leave him as his Master tasted him with a gentle brush of his lips. Harry's insides squirmed uncomfortably at the sensation that stirred suddenly in the pit of his stomach—desire.

“Come with me, Harry,” he murmured, and again that gentle tone washed over him, leaving Harry feeling both protected and vulnerable at once. “I will do nothing you do not want, but I do believe certain...closeness tonight may keep your nightmares at bay.”

Too tired to argue, and still clinging too tightly to his pride to willingly admit it, he did not balk at the idea of some form of closeness. It felt so wrong, so strange, to accept it from someone like Lucius, but at that precise moment, Harry was well beyond caring.

Feeling very much like a child being led by the hand, Lucius threaded his fingers with Harry's and led him out of his rooms and down the hall to a lavish suite that made Harry's living space look like a broom cupboard. With his gaze focused mostly on his shuffling bare feet he did not take in much of the décor, but allowed the older man to lead him to the very large bed, and he slid under the silk sheets, joined a moment later by Lucius, who pulled Harry flush against his side. Harry accepted the embrace readily and fell asleep quickly, his cheek pressed against Lucius's shoulder.

It took Harry a moment the next morning to wrap his head around why he was in a bed that he did not recognize, why he was pressed into the comforting warmth of another body, and why he woke without that now-familiar, grimy, unclean feeling upon his skin.

Lucius was still fast asleep, holding Harry like a child would a treasured toy. Harry's first impulse was to wrench himself out of the hold and bolt, but as he tensed, a faint warning shock of pain lanced through his body, and he knew that pulling away would be highly unpleasant for him.

Harry lay stock still, curled up close to the older man, his hazy vision staring blankly at the crimson and silver blotches of wall, while he tried to work out the design that was there. This activity kept his mind busy enough to more or less ignore the warm breath that tickled his cheek, and how Lucius pulled him closer, and muttered something under his breath, too softly for Harry to catch it.

When Lucius finally woke, Harry was not immediately aware of it, too lost in his own thoughts to pick up on the subtle change in his breathing pattern. Cool lips brushing his cheekbone startled him out of his daze with a sharp gasp of surprise at the sudden touch.

“You look good on my sheets Harry,” he purred, trailing a hand down Harry's bare chest, and stopping to rest against his hip bone. “Perhaps you should have nightmares more often.”

Harry had no idea what to say to that, and as a result his response escaped him as a nonsensical stammer, silenced only when Lucius cupped his jaw in his hand and pressed a tender kiss to his lips.

“You needn't strain yourself. What Malfoys want, they take, this is true. But we are not the monsters you and your Gryffindor friends make us out to be. We are not rapists.”

After Draco's behaviour the day before Harry found that statement incredibly hard to believe, but at the same time, he had a feeling that at least Lucius's words were genuine. True, it's wasn't completely consensual, with the charm in place Harry doubted that such a thing was possible for him, but he didn't feel like he was being forced either. It was confusing, but in Lucius's bed at least, Harry did not think he needed to fear the man, not like he used to.

Another soft kiss drew Harry out of his thoughts, and he lifted a tentative hand to rest at the side of Lucius's throat, urging him to draw out the contact.

“Come to me tonight Harry,” Lucius murmured, something very close to a plea in his tone, and Harry shivered at his first name on the man's tongue. It still sounded so strange. “I will endeavour to make your time here...pleasurable.”

Without another word, Lucius slid from the bed, leaving Harry alone and deeply aroused.

Throughout the day, Harry began to notice that grimy feeling again. It came with more frequency than it had before, and it only lifted when Harry would shyly seek out Lucius, and the man would stop whatever paperwork he was working on, open his arms and claim Harry's mouth in one of his toe-curling kisses.

Harry hated it, because he loved it.

Lucius was supposed to be an evil bastard, and his son a slightly less evil bastard. Instead, Harry found it was the reverse, and that bothered him more than he'd like to admit.

By evening, Harry knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would grace Lucius's bed that night. He wanted to, and he was finding that he didn't exactly care if it was the charm at work or his own lust for the man. He didn't care, because either way he was stuck in this house for life. He couldn't imagine himself celibate for however long he had left to live, and if Lucius's kisses were any indication, if nothing else, the night would certainly be memorable.

After a small dinner, Harry whiled away the hours, putting off his near-burning desire to seek out his Master. The word left a bad taste in his mouth, despite the truth behind it.

As if in a daze, Harry finally caved to the itching behind his eyes, the sensation of grime on his skin, and he allowed himself to be led by the magic of the charm to Lucius's expansive bedchamber.

“I was certain that that infuriating Gryffindor pride of yours would keep you away,” a soft voice purred the moment Harry slipped inside without knocking. He didn't immediately see Lucius, and a sharp gasp escaped him before he could stop it when he felt a large hand press into the small of his back and slide up his spine to his neck. “I'm pleased that I was mistaken.”

Harry tried to turn to face him, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him short. His heart in his throat and his erection straining painfully against his jeans, Lucius wasted no time in pulling off Harry's jumper and T-shirt in one swift motion. His hot mouth found the back of Harry's neck, and he let out a soft moan as the older man's teeth raked across the flesh he found there.

“You are exquisite, Harry Potter,” Lucius purred, his hands exploring every dip of muscle and traced every scar. “You don't even know it, do you?” His teeth dug into the hollow of Harry's throat, just hard enough to bruise, “you have absolutely no idea what a perfect specimen of manhood you are. It's your innocence that makes you even more desirable.”

Harry had no idea what to say to that, but the sharp pain and promises of pleasure paired together was enough to elicit another feeble moan from his parted lips. Lucius's hand moved to his abdomen, and began to trail slowly down his front. At the same moment, his tongue laving over the blossoming bruise, he raked his nails over Harry's shoulder blade, just shy of breaking the skin.

Harry's back arched, and he let out another feeble cry, and shuddered when he felt Lucius's mouth gently caress the scratches.

“Why does it not surprise me that the Saviour of the Wizarding World is aroused by pain?” Lucius asked rhetorically, laughter in his tone. Harry felt his face grow warm, as the moment his nails dug into Harry's back, the sensation jolted to his groin. Before he could answer, the older man spun him around and claimed his mouth with a vocalization very close to a growl.

Harry stumbled back a few steps from the force of it, but Lucius's hand around his waist kept him from falling. He bit down lightly upon Harry's lower lip and tugged at it, then returned to the task of plundering his mouth quite completely. Harry reached up with tentative hands and fumbled with the ties of the man's outer robe, and Lucius let him go at his own pace, soon relieving the older man of the garment, just as the backs of his knees brushed the edge of Lucius's mattress. Harry hadn't even noticed that they'd moved, and without a word Lucius hooked his thumbs inside the waistband of Harry's jeans and pants, and pulled both garments down.

The two articles of clothing dropped to his ankles, and Harry tried to kick them off smoothly, but was hindered somewhat when the bunched up denim refused to release his left ankle. Flushing slightly with embarrassment he finally managed to get it off, and he looked up at Lucius, who was still mostly dressed. It felt a little strange to be naked in front of him, but at the same time he was so aroused by the man's ministrations that he couldn't find it in him to dwell on that fact for very long.

“Lie down on the bed,” Lucius ordered gruffly, “on your stomach.”

Harry hastened to obey, and felt the bed dip behind him as the older man joined him. He heard a murmured spell, and gasped as he felt what was undoubtedly some sort of charm as the magic of it rushed through his buttocks.

“Merely a cleansing charm,” Lucius murmured, “not to worry...”

The man trailed off, and he pressed his lips gently to the space between Harry's shoulders. Lucius trailed his tongue down the column of his spine, and paused just above his coccyx.

Much to Harry's surprise, he felt that same tongue swirl over his puckered hole, and a trembling moan escaped him as it breached his entrance.

“Oh God...” Harry moaned and reached forward to grip the duvet, his knuckles white against the dark fabric.

Lucius continued to devour his hole like a man starved, but like with everything else, he somehow managed to maintain some semblance of dignity throughout it. Harry, on the other hand, was reduced to a quivering mass of nerves, utterly unused to sexual stimulation of this kind. Harry rutted against the bed, desperate for release, and he let out a pitiful whine when Lucius's hand snaked beneath him and squeezed the base of his cock, staving off his orgasm.

“Not yet,” Lucius murmured, his voice a little rougher than usual, “we don't want you spent before we've even started.”

Harry whimpered; normal human speech felt well beyond him at that point. He heard Lucius chuckle, closely followed by the distinctive rustle of the man shedding his clothes. He heard him murmur another spell, and he watched the bedside table's drawer stutter open, and a small stone jar flew from inside it and directly into the older man's hand.

“Some wizards prefer to use a spell for this,” Lucius said, his voice still thick with lust, “but I find the personal touch is much more gratifying.”

Harry heard the scrape of the lid opening and was about to ask what he was doing when he felt a slick finger press against his hole.

“Relax Harry,” Lucius whispered, and he pressed a hand against the tense muscles of Harry's lower back. “Bear down on me and relax, I don't want to unintentionally hurt you.”

Harry almost laughed; it was so strange to hear Lucius speak with such care in his voice. He did his best to follow his instructions, and slowly the digit slid in further. Briefly, Harry wondered how gay men found this at all pleasurable. It didn't feel bad, but more strange than anything else. This thought stayed for a very short time, as the tip of Lucius's finger brushed a certain spot inside him and he saw stars.

“Whatever you did,” Harry rasped, his hands clutching even more tightly at the blanket beneath him, “do it again.”

“With pleasure,” Lucius said with a soft chuckle; Harry could all but hear the smirk in his voice. His finger was removed, and something much thicker pressed against his virgin hole. Harry tensed involuntarily, but a whispered word from his Master was all that he needed to calm himself down, and with slow, steady movements, he slowly breached Harry's protesting ring of muscle.

It burned. Harry's breath caught, and Lucius rubbed Harry's back gently, murmuring words of encouragement to him as he slid inside. His dream about Lucius did not do the man justice. Buried so deeply in Harry's arse, Lucius's cock felt huge. Once completely sheathed in Harry, the older man froze his movements, his breath becoming a little ragged as Harry slowly grew used to the feeling.

He did not wait for Harry's nod of assent, and as he began to move, the burn did not go away, but instead bled into the pleasure, and the combined sensations were almost too much for Harry to handle. He grunted and tried to move in time with Lucius's thrusts, each brush to that spot inside him elicited another cry from him, and he whimpered as his right hand moved to his own cock, only to feel a warning shock from his collar. He planted his hand back on the duvet, and rode out the sensation, while he tried to ignore his weeping cock beneath him, begging for attention.

At long last, Lucius's soft hand curled around his shaft, and stroked Harry in time with his own thrusts. Harry's arse muscles tensed around the man's cock, and Lucius gave Harry's cock a satisfying squeeze, and both men froze as they cried out their pleasure and came almost at exactly the same time.

Lucius slumped to the side, dragging Harry with him, and slid his softening cock from the confines of Harry's arse. They were both sweat-soaked and panting, and Lucius took a brief moment to flick his wand at the bed, cleaning away Harry's mess.

As Harry came down from his orgasm, the reality of what just happened set in. He didn't know how he felt about it, but he was relieved of thinking on it too intensely by the tickle of fingertips brushing over his inner thigh. Harry looked down, and felt his stomach knot as he saw Lucius's fingers tracing the edges of his family crest burned into Harry's flesh. He didn't protest, but he couldn't watch either. Reminders of what had brought him here were still painful, regardless of how pleasurable Lucius had made his stay thus far. The unspoken promise of more nights like this wasn't nearly as unpleasant a thought as it should have been, and like so many things of late, Harry found that he didn't know how he felt about that.

“Your mudblo—muggleborn friend, Granger, is fighting the Ministry on your behalf,” Lucius murmured, and pressed a kiss to the back of Harry's bare shoulder. “Only a Ministry official can break the charms in place upon you. Knowing her, it is only a matter of time before they come to their senses and relieve you of this...curse. Until then, I intend to take full advantage of you.”

Harry turned in the embrace, and he could see a faint smile upon the older man's face. Not a smirk, but a genuine smile. It was very strange to see, but not wholly unwelcome. Harry leaned up slightly and kissed him.

“I look forward to it.”

Epilogue: Six Months Later

In the six months Harry Potter spent in the Malfoy Manor, he saw very little beyond Lucius Malfoy's bedroom ceiling.

He was never imprisoned, never locked away, and he learned a great many things in that time. Like how a cane across his buttocks could be just as pleasurable as a mouth on his cock. Or the terrifying, exciting, and deeply erotic experience of being blindfolded, rendered temporarily deaf, and bound. All that would exist for Harry in those moments was the pleasure Lucius would deliver unto him, and it had always taken Harry much longer to recover from those sessions with his Master.

Harry didn't hate it. Far from it. In fact, he came to look forward to Lucius finishing his work, just so he could be taken to bed.

It was a warm May eve when it happened.

Harry's wrists had been tied to the headboard, his favourite silk blindfold over his eyes, and Lucius had left him with an anal plug in his arse, pressing directly into the spot Harry now knew to be his prostate.

He'd lost count of how long it had been, his hands were clenched into fists, and his skin was dotted with sweat. A cock ring in place kept him from orgasm, and his grunts came out somewhere between a plaintive whine and moan of pleasure.

At long last, Harry felt Lucius's now familiar hands on him, and the two implements disappeared. Lucius's hot cock replaced them, and Harry let out an appreciative moan. It did not take long for Harry to come all over the sheets, nor did it for Lucius, whom Harry suspected had been watching him the whole time.

The bindings and blindfold disappeared and Harry collapsed onto the bed with Lucius on top of him. Both were satiated and breathing heavily, but something felt different. Not wrong, exactly, but different.

The source of this strangeness was found as Lucius rolled onto his side, pulling Harry with him as he always did, leaving his collar behind.

Harry stared, a hand going to his bare throat. He felt Lucius's hold on him slacken somewhat, and he looked down to where his brand was. In its place was an expanse of pink skin, like he'd been healing from a particularly bad burn.

“She must have done it,” Harry murmured, still numb with shock as his gaze returned to the two leather straps that had been his collar up until mere moments before.

“So it would seem,” Lucius mused, and he pulled away from Harry. His voice had gone dangerously cold, and Harry felt it as acutely as a slap to the face.

“Lucius, I—” Harry broke off and sat up slowly, still more than a little sore from their latest game. He studied the older man's face, but he'd fallen back into his expressionless mask, and Harry could not discern how the man felt about this development one way or the other.

“I expect you will wish to go,” Lucius said, his voice still very cold. Harry was surprised at how much it distressed him to hear it.

“Do I have to?” Harry asked, wincing at how small his voice sounded in his own ears. Lucius's gaze rounded on him, his eyes widened slightly in surprise.

“Do you want to stay?”

“If you'll have me,” Harry replied, not waiting for a response as he closed the distance between them with a kiss. Lucius's arm coiled around Harry's trim waist to hold him there.

Harry was not a fool. He knew the kind of man Lucius was. He knew better than to expect sweeping admissions of love or adoration. Harry also knew that he didn't want it all to end; not yet.

“My friends are probably on their way here to 'liberate me' as we speak,” Harry whispered, and Lucius chuckled as he summoned the lubricant with a casual flick of his wand.

“Then we best give them a show, shouldn't we?” Lucius asked, and Harry grinned.

End
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I Hope I Die Before I Get Sold