
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/740630.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/Lucius_Malfoy, Draco_Malfoy/Harry_Potter
  Character:
      Lucius_Malfoy, Harry_Potter, Draco_Malfoy, Voldemort, Bellatrix
      Lestrange, Peter_Pettigrew
  Additional Tags:
      Suicide, Age_Regression/De-Aging, Pedophilia, Parent/Child_Incest, Rape,
      Child_Murder, Kidnapping, Potions, Mental_Instability
  Series:
      Part 10 of Mab's_Harry/Draco_fics
  Collections:
      The_Harry/Draco_Remix_Challenge, HP_Darkarts_Fanworks_Collection, H/
      D_Remix_2013
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-03-08 Words: 8623
****** Familial Predilections ******
by Queenie_Mab
Summary
     Lucius Malfoy has always been proud of his resilience, though the
     measures he takes to ensure his survival come at a price. He doesn’t
     realise exactly how much he stands to lose until a letter intended
     for Draco opens his eyes.
Notes
     Remixed for the 2013 HD_Remix on livejournal from Phantom_of_Mine by
     aj_socks
     Written from Lucius Malfoy’s POV. The warnings may frighten some
     readers off, but all dark subjects are not titillating, focusing
     instead on the mentality behind the action. In no way are the
     squickier of the warnings presented in a manner that promotes them.
     Thank you to my beta readers, slashpervert, leemarchais, tryslora,
     and thisgirl_is!
  This work was inspired by
      Phantom_of_Mine by aj_socks
                                ~*~Prologue~*~
Lucius stared down at Draco’s unconscious body, fear flooding his nerves with
ice. He reached out to put a hand on Draco’s chest, releasing an unsteady
breath as he felt the heart beating beneath his palm. Draco’s pulse wasn’t
strong, and it seemed a bit irregular, but it was present.
Lucius climbed down from the bed on shaky legs. He was breathing so fast it was
making him dizzy.
“What have I done?” he gasped aloud, feeling his eyes sting.
As he struggled into a set of pyjamas and slipped a robe over the top, he
reasoned with himself. Draco had made the choice to come to his father’s bed.
He was of legal age and in full control over his mental faculties. It wasn’t
Lucius’ fault. Draco knew how possessive Malfoys were by nature.
But then, Lucius hadn’t ever asked how exactly Draco was de-aging himself. Now
he knew it was a potion and if his memory served him, de-aging potions had
unpredictable side effects, and it could be that Draco hadn’t been in his right
mind for years, especially since potion side effects often grew in intensity
with prolonged use.
He smoothed the front of his robes, catching his reflection in the wardrobe
mirror, startled by the terrified expression he wore. He cursed and turned
away, headed for Draco’s room.
There was no question that he would take Draco to be seen by a Healer at St
Mungo’s. Gone were the days when he could summon a Healer to the manor and
expect discretion, but first he needed to find out exactly what potion Draco
had been taking.
The door bounced off the wall as Lucius forced his way in, dispelling the wards
with ease.
He dashed inside, his eyes travelling frantically over the room.
Draco’s bed was rumpled and unmade. There was an indentation in his pillow from
where he’d lain his head. Robes and various pieces of clothing were strewn over
the floor and armchair, as well as hanging haphazardly from the foot board. The
only area of the room that wasn’t in a state of total disarray was the desk.
He rushed to it and sat in Draco’s chair. Running his hands an inch from the
desk, Lucius could feel more wards set over the drawers, though it didn’t take
him long to break through them. The traces of Draco’s magic he could sense felt
weak.
He pulled open the drawers one at a time, finding nothing more than financial
records on the surface, but when he got to the bottom drawer, he lifted another
ward and found it contained an Undetectable Extension Charm.
He rummaged inside the depths of the drawer and withdrew numerous bottles of
potion, leather bags of potion ingredients, and an ancient potions book he
recognised as coming from the manor’s library. He flipped through the pages,
finding the recipe for a de-aging potion, eyes flying over the list of
ingredients until he came to the Unicorn tears.
His hand flew to his mouth and he nearly dropped the book. Unicorn tears were
not only illegal, they were also known to cause hallucinations and heart
failure with prolonged use.
A tapping at the window drew Lucius out of his thoughts. He released the catch
with a flick of his wand and a white snowy owl swooped inside, landing on the
desk. It turned large round amber eyes on him.
He untied the small scroll from the owl’s leg and unrolled it.
     Draco,
     I’m sorry about yesterday. I guess I was moving too fast. Listen, I
     know you feel like you have to stay loyal to your family and
     everything, but I’m really worried about your health. I’m sure your
     father would understand that you need to move on with your life and
     find your own path. After all, parents are the ones who are supposed
     to sacrifice for their children, not the other way around.
     Can I see you again? Tonight, perhaps? Send your answer with my owl.
     Harry
What was this?
Lucius fell back in Draco’s chair, stunned.
                         ~*~Familial Predilections~*~
Draco.
Not as he was now, a full-grown young man of nearly eighteen years, but then —
back in the days when he was young and perfect, when he thought that Lucius had
the power to hang the moon in the sky and looked to him for direction in all
things.
Lucius swirled his snifter, watching the amber-coloured brandy slosh the sides
of the glass in dizzying rings.
He hadn’t allowed himself to touch Draco ever, never wanted to bring upon his
son the same fate that had befallen him, but the longing had never ceased. Even
now, now that it was too late, now that Draco was a man and capable of making
his own decisions, the need for a taste, a touch of prepubescent Malfoy skin,
perfect and unblemished, lingered in the very cells of Lucius’ body, calling
out a lingering hunger that would now never be sated.
Lucius looked at the clock resting over his mantle. It was late: his placebo
should have been delivered.
He drummed his fingers in irritation at having been kept waiting, playing out a
tuneless beat on the red polished surface of his desk.
Clang!
Lucius jumped, his brandy sloshing up the side of his glass, nearly spilling as
the clock chimed the hour. With shaking hands he put his glass down.
Clang!
It was coming and he was more than ready.
Clang!
                                     Platinum blond hair, finer than spun silk.
His lungs ached.
Clang!
                                      The pale expanse of a slight bended back.
He licked his lips.
Clang!
 Little hands wrapped around his cock, making it look disproportionately large.
He picked up his father’s wand in a death grip, bracing his hand upon his knee.
Clang!
                    A small pink pucker, winking its surprise at being touched.
His blood thundered in his ears.
Clang!
                                                                         Youth.
He shivered, gripping his knee through his satin dressing gown.
Clang!
                                                                         Tight.
He thought his heart might burst, it was beating so fast.
Clang!
A vision of the child Draco had been flashed across his mind. The young boy
giggling wildly in delight while he was tickled into submission by his father,
tears leaking from his smiling eyes.
Clang!
His cock strained against the confines of his pyjama pants, pulsing with each
pounding of his heart.
Clang!
The nickeled handle of the door turned down. He swallowed hard, watching the
door swing open, jaw clenching.
Clang!
The witching hour had struck, and he watched the lumpy little man enter his
sanctuary, back stooped with an invisible burden.
“Put it on the bed,” Lucius hissed, his throat tight and rasping.
Wormtail obeyed with a wheeze. He dropped the invisible bundle from his back
onto the pristine white duvet, and backed away, cowering before the bedroom
door.
Lucius rose. He moved to the bedside as if he were floating, drawn towards his
prize with itching fingers, his heart loud in his ears.
So close. He was so close to abating the hunger within him.
A quick wave of his wand removed the Disillusionment Charm over the stunned
body of a boy.
Perfect.
He drank in the platinum-blond hair in messy tangled tufts. The boy’s skin was
pale and unmarked, polished with the glow of health and youth. His lips were
thin and pink, parted as he breathed in spelled sleep and his fair eyelashes
fluttered against his cheeks above his small child’s nose. If Lucius had to
guess his age, he would hazard the boy was about ten years old. The clothes the
child wore were Muggle, making Lucius’ lips draw back in distaste, but
considering a kidnapped Muggle child would rouse fewer suspicions than a child
of wizarding blood, he was willing to overlook the inequity.
“Will he be missed?” Lucius asked, not turning to look at Wormtail, though he
could hear him shivering behind him, the silver hand clinking against a ring on
his other hand as he wrung them.
“His parents are dead.”
Lucius closed his eyes, a hand stalling on the narrow chest of the boy, feeling
the heart beating slow but steadily beneath his palm. He breathed rhythmically,
tension releasing, and opened his eyes again. He lifted one of the boy’s
eyelids, his body throbbing with longing at the appearance of a sightless grey
eye. Too perfect.
“You may go.”
He listened to the sounds of the retreating Wormtail, the door closing and
catching shut, the thundering silence that followed pressing in on his ears.
He climbed onto the bed beside the boy, fingers trembling as he unfastened the
boy’s shirt buttons.
This boy was already doomed. The moment the Dark Lord had sent his Death Eaters
out to murder a Muggle family, the boy’s fate had been sealed. By keeping him
for himself, Lucius was giving him the opportunity to live a while longer, and
to learn what it meant to experience the pleasures of life. “As long as you are
good,” he said softly, stroking a still cheek with a light finger, “you have
nothing to fear.”
He pointed his wand at the boy’s exposed chest, hairless and divine.
“Rennervate.”
                                      ~*~
Living in the shadow of the Dark Lord was not an easy task. Every step he trod
in the ancient corridors of his family’s house was monitored by the watchful
eyes of the Dark Lord’s spies; the worst of whom was his sister-in-law.
Narcissa kept Draco on a short leash, insisting that he be accompanied at all
times by either Lucius or herself while their house was overrun by the evil of
the one they had so foolishly thrown their lots in with so many years
previously.
At the end of a day being treated as little more than a slave in his own house,
Lucius bade his wife and family good night and retreated to his bedroom to take
the edge off of his stress.
He opened the door to find his room destroyed. The curtains surrounding his bed
were ripped and the rod holding them up bent in the middle. His financial
records lay heaped in a ruined pile on the floor, soggy with his entire stash
of rare elf-made brandy dumped on top of them. The empty crystal bottles were
shattered on the floor nearby from where they had been unceremoniously smashed
against the edge of his desk, judging by the deep scratches in the polished
surface.
His jaw clenched as he surveyed the wreckage. How dare that Muggle brat! He had
saved his life, or at least prolonged it, given him a private room full of all
the creature comforts a child could possibly want, fed him, made every moment
they had together as pleasurable for him as possible, and this was how he was
repaid!
He snapped his attention to the boy as he entered the room from Lucius’ en
suite, the boy’s face triumphant and eyes glowering his defiance.
“Draco!” Lucius spat, “I do not have time for games!”
“My name is Brandon!” the boy shouted back. He was trembling from head to foot,
but despite his fear, his eyes fixed on Lucius and he deliberately kicked the
remains of the crystal decanter, sending fragments spinning towards Lucius
across the floorboards.
Lucius whipped his wand out, pointed it at the boy and spat: ”Imperio.”
Lucius took several deep breaths through his nose, lips pursed in irritation as
the boy fell into compliance. The boy’s expression was blank and his hands hung
limply at his sides. Lucius debated having a house-elf in to put the mess to
rights before angrily doing it himself, trying to calm himself before he
allowed himself to touch the boy. The last thing he wanted was to have to find
another pet, but considering the boy had not taken to his training in the
fortnight he’d been around, Lucius was seriously considering ending the
arrangement sooner than he’d intended.
He had to repeat the restoration spell several times as he repaired the damage
to his room. The only wand that he had at his disposal had belonged to his
father, and it just wasn’t compatible with Lucius. As he pointed the stubborn
instrument at the curtains, casting the spell for the third time, Lucius’
resentment over the presence dominating his life and his house grew in
intensity. The boy was his outlet. He needed the boy to vent his pent up
frustrations; so much harm would come to pass if the Dark Lord read them in his
mannerisms.
While he worked, Lucius spoke aloud to the boy despite the fact that the child
was under his control.
“Draco, I just don’t understand why you feel the need to act out in such an
undignified manner. Are you not given every luxury a boy of your age could
want? I have gone out of my way to make your living quarters not only
comfortable, but lavish enough to please royalty. You are kept safe from harm.
The house-elves answer to your every need. What more must I do to convince you
to adopt a manner befitting the Malfoy name?”
When the room was once again as it should be, he turned to look at the glazed
eyes and slackened jaw of the child, Lucius sighed at the necessity of using
the Imperius Curse. With a flick of his wand, he forced the child to take
himself to the bed to make himself presentable, while Lucius saw to the en
suite and performed his evening rituals.
Feeling refreshed from his shower and shave, Lucius tied the sash of his
dressing gown around his waist and returned to the bedside.
The boy looked up at him, a cold hatred clouding his eyes momentarily before
they sank once again into a vacant stupor.
Lucius was taken aback. This Muggle child was fighting the curse, and partially
succeeding. Dread pooled in Lucius’ stomach as he realised this would have to
be the last night. He couldn’t keep a Muggle slave that could not be house
trained. The Dark Lord had made his instructions to his Death Eaters quite
clear. They could engage in whatever Muggle torture they pleased as long as it
did not affect their work performance. Having a child rebelling against him
would undoubtedly carry over into his day-to-day attitude and if discovered, it
would be perceived as further proof Lucius had lost his touch.
Lucius fingered the boy’s hair right above his ears, examining it more closely.
It was not as bright as he had initially thought. The nose wasn’t pointed
properly; the boy had no concept of manners or decorum; he was not Draco. The
glaring truth exposed in the vacant eyes trained upon his chest made the fury
inside him rise once again. This Muggle scum deserved the lot he was about to
receive, and Lucius itched to put him in his place.
He summoned a silver dagger from the drawer in his bedside table and placed it
within arms’ reach on the duvet.
He deserved one more indulgence, first.
                                      ~*~
Punishment!
It was beyond time the filthy Muggle puppet had its strings severed. The fact
that it existed was sin enough, but that it dared to resemble the descendants
of the Malfoy line earned the maximum penalty.
A droplet of sweat slid through a gap in Lucius’ lashes, stinging his eye, and
he watched as the child’s life ebbed away beneath him, the stain on the duvet
growing larger from where his dagger protruded from the boy’s neck: the last
gift Lucius could give the child, draining his perfect body of its filthy
blood.
One thrust, followed by two more sent him careening over the edge, his hatred
for the foul imposter finding peace as he groaned his release.
“Father!”
Draco’s voice broke through the thundering in his ears. Lucius froze, cold
seeping into his bones. He blinked and reality settled on him like he’d been
doused with a bucket of ice water.
His eyes flashed to his bloodied hands, and the lifeless bruised body bleeding
out below him on the mattress.
He pulled back and stepped down, turning to face his son, his heir. His
faculties were sluggish as he met the scared grey eyes in Draco’s beautiful
face, wide with a pleading fragility, as if he was begging for the truth he was
witnessing to be exposed as a farce.
Lucius watched Draco take in the carnage before him, his expression changing
from disbelief to a horrifying understanding. Lucius’ heart sped up, sending
feeling rushing through his limbs once more. He pulled Draco into an embrace,
blocking the scene from his view, attempting to prevent his worst fear from
coming to pass, that Draco would recognise the child as his doppelganger.
“Shh, Draco,” he whispered, feeling his son’s hot tears spilling against his
chest.
He held on tightly, his own eyes squeezed shut, desperate to make things right
again, to not have to face the disappointment and loathing in the eyes that
once gazed upon him in admiration.
He felt Draco’s body stiffen in his arms, pulling away. Lucius reluctantly
released him, anxious at the repulsion he saw reflected in Draco’s eyes at the
sight of his father’s naked body covered in blood, the disgust evident in
Draco’s expression as he realised his own robes were now stained.
“Why?” Draco asked, peering at Lucius, eyes brimming with anguish. “Why were
you —?”
“I’m sorry,” Lucius managed, his voice strained by the dryness in his mouth,
his tongue scraping the back of his throat. And he was. He was sorry Draco had
come in at such an inopportune moment. He hadn’t intended for Draco to find out
how precious he was to his father, especially not after his likeness had been
murdered by that same father’s hands. If the child had been the real thing, it
would never have come to this point. He tried to impress upon Draco through his
eyes that this had only been a Muggle, that he would never hurt Draco
intentionally.
As he searched Draco’s eyes for an acknowledgement that he understood, Lucius
willed himself to see beyond the now grown face to the perfect child Draco had
been, longing for just a glimpse, but it was hopeless. Draco had grown into his
pointed features. His face wore the unmistakable lines of premature aging
brought on, no doubt, by stress. His nose was still pointed, but the bridge had
grown and solidified, all traces of the soft childhood cartilage transformed.
Even his hair had lost its youthful lustre, replaced with thicker, coarser
strands, still beautiful, but no longer divine.
“That’s all you have to say?” Draco demanded.
Lucius could feel the hurt behind his words, the unspoken accusation lingering
just underneath the surface, barely restrained. He summoned what was left of
his dignity, feeling himself swell with parental authority, despite his nudity.
He was not ashamed of his body, but what he did in his own room was not Draco’s
concern. He swallowed thickly.
“Return to your mother.” His voice was sharp and direct, leaving no room for
disobedience.
Draco opened his mouth and closed it again, apparently deciding not to
challenge his father while his hands were still dripping with blood. Draco gave
a sharp nod, turned away from the massacre on the bed and left the room.
When he was alone, Lucius felt his heart sink into his stomach. The parting
look Draco had given him was confusing. He wasn’t sure how much Draco had
understood, but he was keenly aware that Draco was displeased with him.
He looked down at his hands, shivering. The dirty Muggle blood was
contaminating him. He picked up his father’s wand, memories flooding him as the
handle touched his palm.
The first time Abraxas had touched him, Lucius thought it was just a game. His
father had always been very affectionate with him, making him feel precious,
far more worthy of his station in life than the pretenders he’d had as
playmates.
It had started when his father would come into his room to read him stories
before bed. Then he would tickle Lucius into exhaustion in a playful way and
end with a kiss and goodnight wishes. Lucius had loved those days. He had done
everything he could to please his father and earn his praises.
Then when Lucius turned ten, his father began to tutor him in preparation for
manhood, beginning still innocently enough with lessons on the changes in his
body he could expect over the course of his adolescence before turning into
more of a “hands-on” demonstration of the differences between a child’s and an
adult’s body.
Even when the touching had progressed much further into actual penetration, all
done as instruction for Lucius to know how to please his future wife, Lucius
loved his father. But the day came when Lucius had developed into a young man
and when he returned home from his third year at Hogwarts, his father no longer
seemed to care for him. He was told that he had mastered all Abraxas had to
teach and now that he was a man, it was time for him to grow up and learn to
turn his attentions to the young female purebloods that may one day make
Abraxas a grandfather.
Lucius fell to his knees at the memories, feeling the pain of his father’s
rejection of him as keenly as if it had only just happened. He looked up at the
mess he had left on his bed, at the body of the boy he could not train now
growing rigid and blue. He Vanished the mess, bed and all with a wave of his
wand, unable to find peace for his troubled mind with the evidence of his
failure besmirching his room.
He climbed to his feet and walked unsteadily to the en suite, the need to wash
the Muggle taint from his body his first priority.
                                      ~*~
The following morning, Lucius lifted a spoonful of his poached egg to his mouth
and swallowed it, though it tasted like glue. He put his spoon down, pushed the
rest of his breakfast towards the centre of the table and concentrated on
taking his tea instead.
He was seated beside his wife, having lost the head-of-house status when the
Dark Lord had chosen the manor as his residence. He’d learned to accept the
position he now held after his master made his displeasure with Lucius’
performance extremely clear, first by allowing him to rot in Azkaban for nearly
a year though he could have freed him in a trice had he wished, then by marking
his son with the Dark Mark at sixteen despite Lucius’ desire to wait until
Draco had finished his schooling. Draco was lucky to have survived the previous
year and Lucius knew it was all part of his punishment, unfair as it was. The
last of his pride had broken when the Dark Lord had taken his wand and Potter
had destroyed it.
Harry Potter. Even the thought of the boy’s name left Lucius with a foul taste
in his mouth. If only Potter would be captured at last, all these dark days
would be over. With a victory under his belt, the Dark Lord might be inclined
to forgive the shortcomings of those in his inner circle and Lucius and his
family would at last rise to the position for which they were bred, to live as
the elite among wizard kind; the Muggles would be put in their place or
eradicated and all would be right with the world.
That is what Lucius had dreamed would come to pass, though it was becoming
harder and harder for him to put faith in the Dark Lord’s vision when the Dark
Lord himself was unable to score a victory over Potter.
Such thoughts were dangerous for Lucius to dwell upon, especially as Bellatrix
had taken the position of the Dark Lord’s second-in-command while Snape was
absent. It made Lucius furious to have to answer to his sister-in-law as she
commanded him with the same scorn she used to direct his house-elves. The only
saving grace in the entire situation was his wife’s stoic ability to keep their
family alive and together. Narcissa was the only person with whom Lucius could
speak frankly about how frustrated he was, without fear of retribution.
That morning, Draco had taken a seat beside his mother instead of beside
Lucius, and the change had not gone unnoticed by Bellatrix.
“Why, Lucius,” she drawled lazily, a taunting smirk playing at her lips. “What
have you done now to drive your own son to sit so far apart from you?”
Bellatrix turned to Draco, her heavily-lidded eyes pinning him with an intense
stare. She lifted her gaze after a moment, shrugging and sitting back in her
chair with a pout on her face. “It seems I was too earnest in my instruction of
you, Draco. I did not teach you Occlumency to have you use it against me.”
Lucius’ jaw clenched, his entire body going rigid, but Narcissa spoke before he
had a chance to say something he would surely later regret.
“Hold your tongue at my table, Bella. I will remind you that you are a guest in
our house.”
Bellatrix’s mouth twitched irritatedly, but she turned her attention to the
door, a wide smile spreading across her face. She held her hand up, silencing
the table. “My Lord,” she said, her voice a sultry purr. “Please do us the
honour of joining us for breakfast.”
Lucius calmed himself, focusing on the clearing of his mind, filling it instead
with thoughts of how glorious it would be to see the Dark Lord putting Potter
in his place, finishing him off with a flick of his wand and how much joy
Lucius would feel kneeling at the feet of so powerful a master. It was growing
harder every day to hold the illusions in his mind as if they were his dearest
desires the longer he was made to suffer. Yet, as Narcissa had reminded him
earlier that morning, it was not in a Malfoy’s nature to fall; he was bred for
resilience and he must not forget it.
“Lucius,” the Dark Lord addressed him, drawing out the end of Lucius’ name in a
cruel hiss. Lucius froze, the soft sounds of footsteps coming closer and
stopping at the head of the table. “Bellatrix,” the Dark Lord continued,
pronouncing each syllable of her name with a soft voice that still held total
authority. “Look at me.”
Taming his thoughts, Lucius looked up to meet the piercing red eyes as they
fixed him with a penetrating stare.
The Dark Lord seemed to find nothing in his search of Lucius’ mind to warrant a
punishment and he continued speaking, turning to Bellatrix to give his
instructions. “I will be abroad for several days, and I must impress upon all
of you the importance of calling me back for nothing short of the capture of
Harry Potter. If I am summoned and Potter is not waiting for me, my displeasure
will be severe. Do I make myself clear?”
Bellatrix’s expression melted into one of adoration as she answered the Dark
Lord. “We understand, Master. Thank you for the honour of delivering your
message to us in person.” She lowered her eyes. “I live to serve you.”
Lucius bowed his head at once as Narcissa clutched his knee with her hand under
the table and gave it a quick squeeze. “And I as well,” Lucius said quietly,
eyes focused on his teacup, not daring to look up again.
After what felt like an age, he heard the drawing room door click closed and
allowed himself a deep sigh of relief.
“Lucius,” Narcissa said. She placed her cloth napkin on her plate and turned in
her chair to address him. He met her eyes. “I have made an appointment for you
at Twilfitt and Tattings to be measured for your new robes. I want you to take
Draco with you, as Bella and I have business to discuss.”
Lucius kept all emotion out of his face, noticing Draco would not look at him,
but carefully not drawing attention to the fact. “Of course. At the usual time,
I assume?”
“Yes,” Narcissa answered briskly. “They expect you at eleven.” She got to her
feet and fixed her eyes on Bellatrix. “Shall we?”
Lucius watched Bellatrix lift her arms over her head, stretching unconcernedly.
“Of course, Cissy.” She got to her feet as well, smirked again at Lucius, and
left the room with Narcissa following.
                                      ~*~
Lucius could feel the silence hanging between himself and Draco as if it were a
Shield Charm. He didn’t like the feeling of judgement he sensed Draco had
passed on him. Draco led the way to Flourish and Blotts as they were killing
time before Lucius’ fitting and was steadfastly ignoring his father as he
perused the selection of Potions texts.
Lucius itched to get away from the tension he felt between himself and Draco.
He flipped through the pages of a book he’d randomly plucked from the tall
shelf, his left eye twitching with nerves. This was pointless. He closed the
book and stuffed it back on the shelf, not bothering to check it wasn’t
misfiled.
“Draco,” he said, pursing his lips as Draco refused to acknowledge Lucius’
voice, instead continuing to focus on the table of contents listed in the book
in his hands.
Lucius snatched the book away from Draco, demanding attention.
Draco glared back at Lucius, an eyebrow raised, waiting.
“I’m taking a walk. Why don’t you meet me at the robe shop after my fitting and
we’ll return to the manor together?”
Draco answered with a shrug, taking his book back from Lucius and turning away.
Stepping out into the warm spring day helped to lift his spirits, though Lucius
felt so tightly wound from Draco’s snubbing he knew he needed to find a new
outlet for his stress and soon.
He headed down the cobbled street of Diagon Alley holding his head high with a
pride he did not quite feel, watching as Muggle-born outcasts shrank into the
shadows as he passed. That was as it should be.
As he grew near number 93, his expression soured. The garish monstrosity the
Weasley twins had built to ply their wares upon the wizarding public stood out
like a rude hand gesture, existing in defiance of the new regime the Dark Lord
was building.
Lucius thought about crossing the street so as not to have to sully himself by
standing in the same space leased by blood-traitors, but something in the shop
window caught his eye, and he hurried to take a closer look.
A young boy with blond hair was laughing at a puppet of Merlin worn on the hand
of a witch wearing the bright magenta uniform robes of the employees of the
shop.
He ignored the witch and watched the boy’s merriment, sizing him up. Probably
ten years old, not quite Hogwarts age, he couldn’t see what colour the boy’s
eyes were, but regardless, he would do as a replacement pet. Lucius just needed
to catch his eyes, he’d be able to read the boy’s name in his mind and it would
be easy enough to Obliviate the shop employee if necessary.
A hand descended on his shoulder, pulling him back from the window. Lucius
turned to meet the livid eyes of his son.
He returned the gaze with a challenge, daring Draco to make a scene, to step
out of line, but instead, Draco simply gestured for Lucius to keep walking. “I
believe you are nearly late for your fitting,” Draco said coldly.
Lucius allowed himself to be escorted to the front doors of Twilfitt and
Tattings, though Draco made no move to follow him inside.
“Are you not coming in?” Lucius asked.
Draco’s face remained smooth, expressionless. “I need to pick up some potion
ingredients, but I will be back before you are finished.”
Lucius nodded, secretly relieved he wouldn’t have to deal with the strain
between himself and his son while being fitted. “Take care that you stay out of
trouble. Your mother will murder me if anything happens to you.”
Draco acknowledged him with a quick jerk of his head, and walked away.
                                      ~*~
Later that night, Lucius sat at his desk, surveying how his room looked with
the new bed he’d had the house-elves bring in. His hand trembled as he poured
himself a glass of whiskey from a crystal decanter.
Draco hadn’t spoken another word to him since they had returned from Diagon
Alley and Lucius’ conversation that evening with Narcissa had been strained as
she pointed out her notice of Draco’s odd behaviour.
What Lucius needed more than anything was a decent shag, though now that his
pet was gone and his wife out of sorts since the Dark Lord had taken over their
house, he had been forced to accept he would likely not find relief until he
could obtain a new boy.
He swallowed his whiskey in one gulp, praying for an alcohol-induced relaxation
to release the knots from his back. He set the glass on his desk with a thunk
and stood up abruptly as a knock announced he had a visitor.
Swallowing, his heart raced in his chest, the fear rising to the surface of his
skin at who could possibly be intruding upon him without invitation.
Lucius strode to the door, reminding himself the Dark Lord had gone abroad
earlier in the day and he had done nothing of late to stir up further animosity
with his fellow Death Eaters. He kept his wand ready in his hand and answered
the door.
Stumbling backwards, his wand falling to the floor as his grip relaxed in
surprise, Lucius’ eyes grew large as Draco pushed his way into the room. Only
it wasn’t the Draco Lucius had seen earlier in the day at all, but Draco as a
child, not quite Hogwarts age, wearing a navy blue satin dressing gown that was
far too large for him, his pale naked child’s body showing beneath it from
between the edges of the robe, fastened with a loose knot of the cord around
his narrow waist.
“Draco,” Lucius choked, stuffing his fist to his mouth to keep his lips from
trembling. He turned his eyes away from the tantalising vision before him,
forcing them shut. “Go to your room!”
Instead of answering with words, this child-Draco pushed his way into Lucius’
arms, pulling them around himself in a tight embrace.
Lucius thought his heart would stop beating as he felt the small hands untying
his dressing gown, moving to grip his hardening length, and realised how lost
he was.
                                      ~*~
When he opened his eyes the following morning, Lucius felt more relaxed and
sated than he could ever remember feeling before. Until he turned onto his
side, and found himself face to face with his son’s sleeping face, no longer
the child, but the grown man. His pale face was rough with golden stubble and
his body was only half covered with the sheet. Lucius could see the ugly criss-
cross of scarring that Harry Potter had put on his son’s chest and Draco’s
exposed hipbone was decorated with dark bruises from Lucius’ own fingers.
Lucius felt the bile rise in his mouth at what he had done. He had sworn to
never bring Draco into the same fate his father had brought upon him, but
perhaps, considering Draco was only posing as a child, considering he was
actually of age and fully capable of making his own decisions, it wouldn’t be
the same for him. Perhaps his Draco really was the perfect child seeking to
please his father every way he could. Maybe it was jealousy he had seen in
Draco’s eyes when he’d been caught earlier and not disgust or judgment at all.
Still, the sight of the grown man’s body made Lucius feel physically ill, and
he staggered to the en suite to wash the foul taste from his mouth and to make
his escape from the room and the evidence of what he had done.
                                      ~*~
Lucius wandered through the early morning street of Diagon Alley, trying to
clear his mind and regain control over himself.
He kept his hand inside his robe pocket at all times, clutching the handle of
his father’s wand, ready to deflect any potential threat to his person, but
like the previous day, the Mudblood beggars, the wandless, disappeared into the
shadows as he came close, not wanting to be seen and targeted by known Death
Eaters.
The small boy he had glimpsed through the shop window the day before was there,
hand in hand with his mother, bouncing happily and begging for sweets. Lucius
felt his mouth twitch into a smile as the boy looked at him without fear before
turning again to his mother and whinging some more.
But the longer Lucius looked at the boy, the more he realised he didn’t hold a
candle to the child Draco made. His hair was too dark, more golden than white
and his face was too round.
The child’s mother frowned as she saw Lucius watching her child, and pulled the
boy by the arm into the nearest shop.
Lucius realised he must have let his intentions show through too much and
forced himself back into a collected, self-assured poise. He didn’t need to
seek out another pet right away after all. Yet now that he’d had a taste of the
sweetness he’d always longed for, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to not have it
again.
                             ~*~Two Years Later~*~
Lucius looked into his wardrobe mirror, fastening silver cufflinks to his shirt
sleeves and practicing his finest Malfoy sneer. He had an appointment to meet
with his solicitor in Diagon Alley to discuss the terms of his probation. He
was tired of having the Ministry sniffing about all the time, but, as Narcissa
reminded him in her letters from her residence in Italy, resilience was part of
his breeding.
He left his room and descended the stairs, stopping at the bottom as the sound
of Draco coming down the hall filled his ears.
Lucius watched his son, now fully grown into his features, looking dignified if
a bit peaky as he met his father at the bottom.
Lucius ran his fingers through Draco’s hair, noticing it had lost its shine and
grown far too unkempt.
“Your hair looks terrible,” he said finally.
Draco pulled away, taking a step backwards, his eyes heavily lined with dark
shadows as if he’d not slept well. “I was thinking I’d gel it back.”
Lucius hummed under his breath. “Yes. Do it quickly. The way it’s standing on
end looks far too similar to the latest trend set by Harry Potter.” Lucius spat
Potter’s name with sharp distaste. He looked Draco up and down, frowning. “Have
you gained weight?”
Draco shrank back some more, his eyes drawn away from Lucius, looking over
Lucius’ shoulder at the wall behind him, almost like he was listening to
something unseen.
This wasn’t a new behaviour. Lucius had noticed Draco had taken to talking to
himself when he thought Lucius couldn’t hear him, and Lucius was beginning to
worry that the madness that ran in the Black bloodline was manifesting in
Draco.
“I’ll be in Italy visiting your mother for the next few days. Do take care of
yourself.”
Draco nodded quickly and hurried back up the stairs closing himself in his
room.
                                      ~*~
Lucius stepped into the Library after returning to the manor. It had been a
long three days. Dealing with the International Portkey Office and being
searched by Aurors on both ends of his journey had left Lucius feeling violated
and stressed. He needed the comfort of his son and the familiar surroundings of
his house. Yet, something felt different.
The wards had been changed around the library’s fireplace. Draco must have
altered the Floo to admit somebody whose magical signature Lucius did not
recognise.
Lucius gave the room a cursory once over, finding nothing blatantly out of
place and was about to retreat when his eyes fell on a crumpled piece of
parchment lying in the corner.
The house-elves had been set free after the war and the Ministry had taken a
sizable chunk of the Malfoy legacy in reparations, making it difficult to
maintain a housekeeper. Draco had convinced Lucius to allow Draco to do the
housework and they had closed off the majority of the rooms in the house,
choosing to inhabit only a few rooms in one wing.
Lucius Summoned the parchment with a spell and unfolded it.
     Malfoy,
     I have something that belongs to you. Where can I meet you?
     H. Potter
Lucius crumpled the note again, shoving it into his robe pocket. That explained
the wards.
The idea that the very boy who had brought misfortune and failure down upon the
Malfoy name, leaving it in shambles, had been given Floo access to his house,
made Lucius’ anger rise to boiling point.
He stormed up the stairs and pounded on Draco’s bedroom door, shouting his
name, but it seemed that Draco was not home.
Lucius gathered his wits about him and took himself to his bathroom to soak in
the bathtub and enjoy the last bottle of his finest champagne.
The water relaxed him mightily and he finished the bottle off, not wanting any
of it to go to waste, so by the time he had pulled on his dressing gown and
made his way back to his room, he had put the note out of his mind.
The child-Draco was waiting for him on the bed. His over-large dressing gown
was open at the front as he rested against his father’s pillows stroking
himself into hardness when Lucius entered the room.
Lucius’ mouth went dry at the sight. His son, his perfect Malfoy child, was
there ready to please his father.
“There’s something wrong with it, father,” Draco’s little voice said in a
perfect facsimile of innocence. “It won’t go back down and it makes me feel
really strange.”
Lucius crossed the room and climbed onto the bed, slipping his arm around his
young son’s frail shoulders. “Daddy is here. I can help you make it go away,
Draco. Let me kiss it better for you.”
Draco’s large grey eyes grew wide with his mimicry of innocence, but the facade
fell apart as he was taken by a coughing fit that left him gasping for air.
Lucius watched, concerned, and felt Draco’s forehead with the back of his hand.
For a moment they were not lovers, but transported back in time, a tender-
hearted father tending his sick son. Draco was warm, but not alarmingly so. The
coughing subsided slowly as Lucius rubbed Draco’s back, leaving a faint sound
of wheezing as Draco regained control over his breathing.
“Are you poorly, Draco?” he asked. “Would you like me to bring you some tea?”
Draco smiled wanly, grabbing Lucius’ hand and putting it back on his flagging
erection. “No, Father. I want you to help me first. Make it all better,
please?”
Unable to resist a moment longer, Lucius settled Draco back against the
pillows, propped up against the headboard and ducked down to take the small
pubescent erection in his mouth, savouring it’s smoothness as he pressed his
nose into the hairless pubis, inhaling the scent of youth.
Draco began coughing again while Lucius suckled, though he tried hard to bring
him to pleasure despite it. Closing his eyes, Lucius silently thanked all the
deities he could name for giving him such a perfectly obedient child, one so
pure and precious Lucius would do all in his power to please him.
Feeling his excitement mounting, Lucius redoubled his efforts, encouraged by
Draco’s gasping cries. He looked up to see his son with his eyes shut tight,
gripping the pillows for something to hold onto as he rocketed towards his
pleasure and with a moan, Lucius brought him over the edge, his heart full of
love and a sense of being cherished until he heard Draco’s voice cry out in a
gasp.
“Harry.”
Lucius’ entire body seized up at the whispered name. He swallowed thickly, and
rose to a seated position, his own erection waning in his shock.
“Harry? Did you just call out for Harry?” he demanded, watching as Draco opened
his mouth, looking like he was going to cough again. Draco reached for a small
bottle of potion on the bedside table, his small arm stretching as far as he
could, just barely reaching it.
Lucius watched Draco’s body rapidly mature, returning to his actual age, making
him draw back wondering if his grown son was going to try to hit him.
“Draco,” he said again. “Did you just say Harry? Harry Potter?”
He needed to hear Draco say it, confirm his worst fears, that Harry Potter, the
boy who had taken everything from him of value would now take his precious son
away as well. He couldn’t allow it, wouldn’t.
Draco began coughing again, finding it hard to draw breath between the coughs,
and his face grew red and splotchy.
Lucius watched, horrified by what he was about to hear, seeing the tears
building in Draco’s eyes as the coughing fit finally subsided. He pushed Draco
back down on the bed, looking into his eyes, holding him in place. “I am
waiting for an answer, Draco.”
“I’m sorry,” Draco said, squeezing his eyes shut tight, tears squeezing out the
sides of them and rolling down the sides of his face into his ears.
“You’re sorry?” Lucius asked. “What for?”
Draco pushed Lucius’ arms off himself and struggled to sit upright. “I’m going
—”
Lucius couldn’t let this happen. He grabbed Draco’s arms and pushed him down
again. “No you’re not. Did he fuck you?”
“What?” Draco gasped, staring angrily into his father’s face.
Lucius leaned over Draco, pressing him back against the mattress and covering
his mouth, forcing his tongue inside, possessing him with his bruising kiss,
ignoring the scrape of stubble against his face. This was Draco, his Draco, it
didn’t matter that he was a man anymore, couldn’t matter. He mustn’t lose him.
His hand slipped down between Draco’s legs, massaging the flaccid cock,
attempting to stroke it back to life. He released Draco’s unresponsive mouth,
meeting his angry eyes once again. “Does he touch you like this?”
“Please stop,” Draco said feebly. His eyes were focused again over Lucius’
shoulder, looking at something Lucius couldn’t see.
“No! God! Draco, don’t leave. Don’t leave me. I’ll give you anything,” Lucius
said, continuing his stroking, feeling the flesh begin to respond to his
ministrations. “I’ll give you anything, child. Potter’s not worthy of a Malfoy.
Not you. You’re too good, too perfect. You belong with me! This is your place!”
Draco pushed his father’s hand off his cock, and struggled to sit up, gazing at
the vacant space on the bed beside him. “No.” He sat up, shaking his head, his
face hot with pink spots on his pale cheeks, looking half mad with delirium.
“No. No. No!”
“No?” Lucius asked, his voice thick with disbelief, unable to fathom this was
finally happening. “You belong with me. You are the one who started it!”
“I don’t care,” Draco said, his eyes falling shut as he rested against the
pillow for a moment.
Lucius couldn’t take it any longer. He needed Draco to be his, needed to hear
him admit how much Draco needed him as well. It wouldn’t end like this.
He covered Draco’s body with his own, forcing his way inside, feeling Draco
burning now as if with a fever. Tears ran down Lucius’ cheeks as he held Draco
in place by his arms, rocking into him in a frenzied pace, unable to give up
what he needed to survive.
Draco struggled half-heartedly to push him off, but Lucius held him firmly in
place, licking the ridge of his ear as he flew towards completion.
He crossed over the edge of reason with a groan, the taste of salty tears and
pain in his mouth. “Don’t leave me, Draco,” Lucius cried, finally pulling out
and releasing his grip. “I love you!”
Draco scrambled into a seated position, clutching at his chest as another wave
of coughing overtook him.
“Draco?” Lucius cried, watching horror struck as Draco leaned over the edge of
the bed and vomited. “Draco, I’m sorry, I didn’t —” Lucius started, reaching
out to comfort Draco, but Draco shook him off. Lucius looked into Draco’s face,
seeing his unfocused eyes tracking dizzily back and forth, up and down, and
then Draco fell back against the pillow, his body growing limp as his
consciousness fled.
                           ~*~Back to the Present~*~
Lucius stared at the note, fury lashing up inside him, but at the same time,
the words made him pause. Parents are the ones who are supposed to sacrifice
for their children, not the other way around.
Was that what Draco was doing? Sacrificing himself for Lucius?
The parchment slipped out of Lucius’ fingers and fell to the desktop. Potter’s
owl’s amber eyes stared at him, as if challenging him to deny that his master
had written the truth.
He swallowed, his mouth tasting bitter. The sun outside the window was low in
the sky and just then threw a golden beam of light through Draco’s open window,
warming Lucius’ clammy hand in its glow.
He finally understood. He had taken the purest form of magic in the world, the
love between a parent and child and turned it into something unnatural and
perverse, and now Draco was paying the price. Draco had given up his friends
and interests, any hope at a life without his father or a chance to make his
own name in the world — and for what?
The answer came to him when he looked at the solitary photograph on Draco’s
desk. In it, he stood beside Draco with his hand clasping Draco’s shoulder. It
was taken the day Draco was to leave home to go to Hogwarts for the first time.
They stood side by side in front of the Malfoy family tapestry, Draco smiled
brightly at the camera, then looked up into his father’s face and instantly put
on a more serious face to match the expression he saw Lucius wearing. Draco was
sacrificing himself for the Malfoy name. He was protecting his father by giving
him what he knew was needed and destroying himself in the process.
Lucius picked up a quill from its inkpot on the desk and turned over Potter’s
note with trembling hands.
     Come now. The Floo is open.
Lucius’ joints were rigid as he rolled the note up again and fastened it to
Potter’s owl’s foot. “Go on,” he told the owl. He watched it as it stretched
its wings, flapping them momentarily before lifting off and swooping out the
window.
Lucius had made his decision. It was time to end the charade. Time to put the
pieces back in proper alignment. He rose unsteadily, fear seeping out of every
pore of his body, and walked to Draco’s wardrobe door.
He stared at his reflection in the mirror on the door, seeing the shadow of his
father under his long blond hair, leering out at him through his steel grey
eyes.
He pressed the tip of his wand at his own throat, watching his Adam’s apple bob
nervously in the mirror. Focusing his energy on his hatred and self-loathing,
mouthing the words, his vision filled with green light and he fell.
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