Cadence (First Movement, Part I of II) - A gift for secretsalex!
Title: Cadence (First Movement)
Author: daiseechain
Recipient: secretsalex
Pairing(s): Lucius/Harry
Word Count: 11,278
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Dub-con, Slavery, D/s, BDSM, Verbal humiliation
Summary: He'd been locked in a cupboard and kept as a slave for eleven years. He'd outlived that. He was patient. He would outlive this.
Author's Notes: Hope you enjoy this, Secretsalex!
Disclaimer: HP, all the characters from HP, all the rights to HP belong to those they belong to (I'm not going to set them all out because that's incredibly complicated and you know who you all are and none of you are me). This is a work of fiction, being distinguishable from real life by the fact that nothing in this story or the source material happened in the real world. Any lawyers tempted to sue because there might be damage to real people should get themselves a real life.
The chime was soft and as it tripped up and down a scale it reminded him of a fairy he once saw alighting from bluebell to bluebell, bending the flower-heads and cascading dewdrops from petals to the green of leaves and ground. It was such a dulcet sound, lacking hard edges; the one note seeming to remain and rise again as the next without ever truly ending, and he strained his ear attempting to find the break in the noise, but couldn't. He was incapable of discerning... He was incapable of discerning.
A tiny bubble of noise escaped him until he clamped his lips shut. It might amuse him that his inability to recognise a break in the music echoed his inability shut out distraction, but he knew better than to show emotion in here.
By his calculations he'd held out for six weeks - an almost herculean effort. It was just... well fuck it was difficult. Hadn't been hard at first of course, because he hadn't been hard at all at first. Easy to feign disinterest when you're terrified. He'd heard about guys who got it up when they were scared out of their wits, but he'd never been one of them. About the only thing functioning when he got scared were his fists and his mouth, both of which had pitched him into enough trouble over the years that he'd finally learned to keep them firmly clamped; his lips shut and his hands plastered to the sides of his thighs like they were stuck there with a binding spell. It is our choices that define who we are. This was his choice. There weren't many options for fighting back in this place, so he'd take whatever he could get away with. Sometimes playing along, playing for time, was the best way of fighting back. If that was true, then he was fighting back hard. He'd held out six weeks. He thought he'd been here about four months now.
It wasn't just the lack of hard edges to the music, it was the build-up to when it stopped; the crescendo, Lucius had called it. Hermione would be proud that he was learning new words but she wasn't there to know, and if he believed Lucius, which he didn't, not for a minute, but if he did then Hermione would never be anywhere to witness anything about him again. Lucius told him she was dead, repeating the story over and over clearly hoping he'd lose his cool and flip out or something. Hermione wasn't dead. He knew that for a fact. Little voices in the back of his head whispered he didn't know anything about facts right now, but he ignored them.
Lucius also said Ron was dead. Repeated that story over and over too, like it made any difference how imaginary Ron had died in a made-up raid on his house at his brother's imaginary wedding. Who would get married in the middle of this war? No, he didn't believe that story either, although it was hard to ignore the relish with which Lucius recounted that fairy story. Relish. Another word he wouldn't have used four months ago.
His initial capture was fuzzy in his memory; maybe someone had drugged him, or maybe he'd just been playing Quidditch and someone had taken the opportunity of a Bludger to the head to send in the snatchers. There were a series of jumbled images in his head: a Death Eater mask, the landscape tilting sideways as his head hit the compacted dirt, expensive shoes, and a vial containing what he thought had been healing potion. Of course, they weren't actually in that order - he'd pieced them together like a jigsaw, and that seemed the best fit. But actually they could have happened backwards, or even be entirely unrelated. It wasn't as if he didn't have those snapshots from other points in his life. And it didn't matter what order the memories came in anyway. He'd still ended up locked away in yet another cell.
He'd been minding his own business and then suddenly there was the cell and then there was Lucius. They'd fought at first. Well, he'd fought. Lucius had just remained aloof if faintly amused by the bile directed at him. It was difficult to tell how frequently he stopped by as there was no visible daylight, even when the door opened. He worked out early on that the visits were timed to seem inconsistent, all the better to throw him off guard he supposed. Lucius would come in, watch him for a while as Harry stared sullenly back, then leave without a word spoken by either party (the bile came later). Harry was determined not to give Malfoy anything of his own volition, which, noble though the sentiment might be, kind of backfired on him when after a few short weeks Lucius stopped seeming aloof and got up close and far too personal (which was when the bile started).
Lucius ordered him to remove his clothes, Harry refused, Lucius told him he wouldn't tell him again, Harry pointed out that amounted to the same thing, and Lucius stayed calm as he vanished all Harry's clothes off never to be seen again. Lucius listened to Harry screaming obscenities at him for about twenty minutes before quietly leaving. Harry didn't stop screaming obscenities on the grounds that someone out there was probably listening to him and should be left in no doubt as to his feelings on the matter and he hoped it gave them earache besides.
He fell asleep exhausted and slept fitfully throughout what he'd come to think of as nighttime, although in reality it could have been broad daylight for all he knew, and when he woke found he was once again wearing clothes albeit not the ones he'd been previously wearing.
The next day they repeated the scene, and again, and again until they became so rehearsed that Harry found himself somewhat blase about the whole affair. He would occasionally fire off epithets but his heart wasn't really in it anymore. He had no idea what Lucius hoped to gain from this dance but he wasn't counting on it being just a view of his enemy naked.
His suspicions were confirmed about two weeks later the music from the clock changed slightly. This time he woke up and there were no clothes. That was discomfiting enough, but even more so was the realisation that Lucius was already in the room and he had no idea how long Malfoy had been there. Long enough to watch him wake up. Long enough to witness him blink blearily at his surroundings and slump as he understood no one had rescued him overnight. Long enough to watch him shiver and look down to find he was naked. It was the soft rasping of woollen trouser-legs brushing against each other as Lucius moved that alerted him to someone else in the room, but it was the wisp of leather and parchment, soot and juniper that alerted him that that someone was Lucius. Harry had already grown accustomed to the scent, which always made him imagine Lucius had been burning manuscripts while drinking gin. Probably not far from the truth if he was trying to bury his Dark Arts possessions. Harry hoped it was a sign the Ministry were closing in on the Manor but deep down he knew better. Lucius would never be careless enough to leave that kind of incriminating evidence lying around if there were Aurors sniffing through the grounds. He didn't even have any reason to believe that they were at the Manor apart from a vague impression that Lucius wouldn't lower himself to conduct his affairs anywhere else. Control freak, was the phrase Hermione had used, which had made him hoot with amusement until she'd asked him what was so funny. He'd kept his mouth shut not wanting to endure the argument that would have ensued if he'd told her she was pot calling kettle black. That self-control she'd exhibited and that had made him laugh would have come in handy about now. He could have done with a little more of it himself. For starters it would have prevented him from nearly dislocating his arms from their sockets as he lunged for Malfoy's throat, only to be brought up short by the chains attached by metal cuffs to his wrists and embedded in the wall behind the bed.
Lucius' only response was to sigh and raise an eyebrow. Harry rifled through his stream of invectives and combined them with some he'd remembered seeing in the Restricted Section of the library. When he eventually wound down, panting and sweating from the strain, he collapsed back onto the edge of the bed and Lucius calmly left.
After another few weeks of this, Harry felt a bit like the message on a shampoo bottle. Lather, rinse, repeat. It was time to try a new tack.
He had it all worked out; when Lucius appeared he would remain calm and simply ask him what he wanted. That was the plan anyway, and it seemed reasonable except that he hadn't counted on Lucius changing the game again. As he emerged from a groggy half-sleep filled with images of an unreasonably attractive Lucius, he realised that swallowing was difficult and when he reached up to find a collar around his throat it seemed as though it suddenly constricted until he couldn't breathe and his lips and fingertips tingled. Frantically clawing at the contraption it wasn't until Lucius reached out and forcibly pulled his hands away from his own throat that he became aware Malfoy was even there. Still Harry struggled until Lucius twisted his arms together behind his back with one hand, and pulled on his hair to yank back his head with the other.
"Stop struggling, my young idiot. You are perfectly safe with the collar on."
"Breathe!" Harry managed to grind out. "Can't... breathe!"
"Of course you can! The collar is not restricting your breath. It is your own state of panic that is constricting the oxygen flow to your extremities. Now calm down!"
Harry could barely make out the room. He felt as if he were floating; as though everything were miles away. Great. He was going to faint in a pervert's arms.
Which was when Lucius dissolved the chains cuffed to his wrists with a word, dragged him over to the chair, bent him over it and smacked his arse hard.
Harry took a deep breath to begin another tirade but was stopped before he could begin by Lucius putting a hand over his mouth.
"I take it your foray into yet another barrage of slander means you have recovered your breath?"
Harry glared all the silent insults he could think at him, while grudgingly admitting to himself that yes, he was breathing again.
"Good. Then we can begin."
This time the thwack on his backside was more pain than surprise which was good as far as Harry was concerned. Pain he could deal with. He just had to wait it out. One, two, three... He waited for four, but it didn't arrive, being replaced instead with a soft stroking of his hair which sent unexpected jitters through his spine and made him squirm until Lucius gently placed a hand between Harry's shoulder blades and pressed firmly down. Harry kicked out but missed, and Lucius yanked on Harry's hair pulling him off the chair and throwing him against the wall, where his head met stone and he buckled sideways sliding down to the ground. He stayed crumpled there, head swaying as he looked at Lucius' expensive shoes and tried not to throw up on them.
"We can repeat this as often as is necessary. It will do me no harm. You, however, may wish to find more... constructive methods to express your dislike of your living arrangements. Reflect on your actions today and their consequences. We shall try again next time."
Harry felt that was easy for him to say. Lucius was the one with all the self-control. Hermione had all Harry's. The thought made him giggle a bit and then think he might be a little concussed. He peered giddily at the bed, wondering if he could make it that far, then figured the floor was nearly as comfortable anyway and passed out.
The collar was still there the next 'day' in lieu of clothes although the wrist chains hadn't been replaced. Harry supposed this was going to be his uniform now until he escaped. Never mind. He'd had worse outfits. Dudley's cast offs sprang to mind. Being naked in front of someone was humiliating, but if they thought a little humiliation was going to break him down then they weren't paying close enough attention to what he'd been through at school. He'd faced down Snape's homework assignments. This, by comparison, was easy. He'd keep telling himself that until he believed it.
He began practicing his newfound belief on Lucius' next visit. When the man turned out to have been once again watching him sleep, Harry feigned brass and rolled over, stretched out, and yawned, before propping himself up on his elbows. He peered through his hair at Lucius. "What's on the agenda today? Little window shopping? Followed by buying things you can't afford?"
Lucius' smile showed teeth. "Bravado. Very good. Much more like the legendary boy I remember watching his friend's suicide in a graveyard."
"Murdered," Harry responded quietly through gritted teeth. "Cedric was murdered."
Lucius held out a hand and tilted it back and forth. "Suicide. Murder. Circumstance can render the difference a matter of semantics."
Harry's jaws fought a battle with each other until he remembered his belief and forced himself to relax. Lucius was baiting him; testing his resolve. He flopped back against the mattress and looked at the plaster ceiling, silently cursing the damn clock and the off-kilter chiming that was driving him nuts. "What do you want, Lucius?"
"I would have thought that was obvious, even to a man with your propensity to be oblivious to his surroundings." The noise of wool sliding off the leather chair was followed by the sound of Lucius padding over to the bed, where he perched at the edge next to Harry's shoulder. He reached up and traced a finger along the shell of Harry's ear. "I want you."
Harry flinched away and flung up an arm to ward off the unwelcome attention but Lucius caught his punch in time and held him fast by the wrist. Harry cursed himself for having been so stupid as to let his other arm be pinned between himself and Lucius, cursing again when he saw Lucius was reading his expressions.
"No reason to fret. We have plenty of time." Lucius bent down and kissed the inside of Harry's captured wrist. As he straightened again he briefly closed his eyes. "Dirt and sweat," he said. "We shall have to provide you with a bath so you will smell less offensive next time."
With that he released Harry's wrist, and Harry shrank as far back on the mattress as the wall would allow, carefully watching Lucius' movements as he stood and left. This time, the bastard was humming along with the chiming of the clock.
When the melody broke next time Harry was ready and waiting, behind the door so that Lucius missed him as he first walked in and had to search the room. Lucius took scarcely more than five seconds to find him, but Harry was pleased to note that Lucius seemed surprised for a split-second before bringing his expression back under control.
"Well, Mr Potter," Lucius kept his eyes on him as he shut the door and locked it, "How nice to see you are finally settling in."
Harry's tongue nearly bled as his teeth bit down on his response. He couldn't keep the anger off his face though, causing Lucius to snort in amusement.
With the music off there was very little noise in the room; just Harry's breathing, the ticking of the inconsistent clock, and the soft padding of Lucius' leather-soled shoes on the silk carpet as he moved toward Harry, but that noise stopped too as Lucius came to a halt in front of Harry. A quick flick of an amused gaze told Harry that Lucius approved of his lack of clothing, and he gestured toward the bed. "However next time it would be better for you to be kneeling."
When only the clock could be heard Lucius turned to him again and reached up a hand to rest on Harry's shoulder. "Do breathe, Harry. You are no use to either of us if you faint."
After several seconds passed in which the world reduced down to Lucius' face, Lucius suddenly boxed him on the ear knocking Harry sideways so that he staggered into the wall. Reeling from the impact of the double blow Harry swept in a lungful of air. All Lucius said was, "If you remember to breathe next time, that will not be necessary again, will it?"
Harry concentrated on not throwing up on the carpet while he listened to a new ringing sound, not from the clock but in his ear. Dazed, it took him a few seconds to realise that Lucius was now sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for Harry to join him. He stumbled over, intending to sit primly next to Lucius, but tripped on his own feet and would have fallen headlong into the mattress had Lucius not caught him.
"Gently now. You've had a nasty shock. You'll need to take care with your movements for the next few hours."
Harry had had enough experience with concussion by now to know exactly how long it could take to recover, but he was also getting used to just getting on with whatever he had to do. Adrenalin usually took you through the worst of it, and by the time Lucius would be finished he'd have been passing out anyway, so this wasn't going to be much different. Although... if he was honest with himself it made a nice change to have someone stroking his hair afterward, rather than being given more homework. None of the teachers had ever comforted him after he'd been attacked by giant snakes or hit in the head with a bludger or nearly died during the damn cup tournament. He'd been left to tough it out on his own, and now that he thought back on it, he could have damn well done with some human contact after any of those incidents. Hermione had tried but her hugs were about as passionless as one of her lectures. Usually all he'd ever ended up with were lines from Snape for not having completed the homework on time. He sighed and slumped a bit at the memory, and Lucius tucked his hair out of the way before gently kissing the bruised and ringing ear. Harry flinched, partly because it was Lucius and partly because his ear was tender, but then Lucius gently dabbed his tongue to Harry's earlobe and traced the pain up around the shell and Harry shuddered and closed his eyes against the onslaught of sensation.
"Would you like me to kiss it better, Harry?"
No, he wouldn't. What would make it better would be slicing Lucius' skin open over his heart and stabbing it with the man's own wand, but that wasn't going to happen today.
Another dab, another gentle tracing of the shape of his ear and suddenly there wasn't much difference between one sensation and the other. His nerves jangled and he shuddered at the prickling that shot through from his ear to his shoulder and then crept up and down his spine.
"Doesn't the kissing make it better, Harry?"
No. It didn't. It made it... less obvious. That was all. Obscured. The pain was still there but there was something else going on now and he wasn't sure he liked that any more than he had the ringing or dizziness. His breath hitched and he shifted his weight away until Lucius reached out and wrapped an arm around him to stop him moving any further. They sat like that, Lucius gripping him firmly, Harry rigid as a wooden doll.
Lucius leaned away from him slightly, the better to get a look at his face. "That's quite all right. You made good strides today, but it's only natural that your enthusiasm will come later." He smiled.
Harry gagged.
"Concussion?" Lucius regarded him thoughtfully. "Or something else?" When Harry's shoulders tightened, Lucius lifted his chin. "Something else it is then."
The blinking reminded Harry of nothing quite so much as a lizard, which he supposed was fitting given who the man was emulating. The thought wasn't much comfort as Lucius lifted him off the mattress and placed him on his own lap with as little effort as if Harry were a child. With Lucius behind him it was even harder to work out what was going on in the man's mind. But then Lucius reached up one hand to wrap around Harry's throat, and moved the other down to slide around Harry's hip and under his arse and Harry didn't need to guess. Fuck but he could have done without this. But then, he supposed, that was entirely the point.
As a slender finger reached between them and began to circle, Harry gasped, cursed himself for doing so yet again and fought the pleasure for as long as he could - which wasn't long at all. Damn Lucius was good at this. It wasn't fair! Fuck the man for making him enjoy this. The ringing in his ears got worse each time he convulsed and set off a pulsating headache, and now he didn't know if he was crying from the pain or something else but it might have been Lucius' name he screamed as he came sobbing, waves of searing pain crashing up against waves of joy and he'd never hated either of them more than he did at that moment.
It was only when Lucius began whispering in his ear that he realised he'd collapsed back into his arms, folding in on himself as he cried while Lucius hugged him tightly and offered up soothing words. For the first time in months he was too tired to fend him off, so they stayed that way until Harry's tears reduced down to a snivel, the ringing in his ear, and the scratching, prickling need to burst out of his own skin and run screaming.
After bathing Harry and putting him to bed, Lucius left, but not before resetting the musical clock. Harry eventually drifted off into a fitful dozing state hearing double; the pulsing ringing in his ear out of synch with the gentle chime of the clock that never kept time.
The low moaning sound broke his sleep with a start and he sat slumped on the edge of the bed for several seconds before it occurred to him that he'd been making the noise. Unsteadily rising to his feet he swayed clumsily over to the wall and groped his way along it to the sink. Lumos would have made more sense but his head ached and he didn't think he had the strength right now to cast even a faint spell. Tepid water spilled from the tap as he touched it and he cupped it in his hands before sloshing it over his face and twisting to glare at the clock. Disliking intensely in its direction failed to stop it tocking in strange patters or creating off-key melodies with chimes so he turned back to the basin, gathering another handful of water as he leant against the sink with his hip, watching the water fill to the top of the bowl created by his palms before it hit the limit and began pouring over into the porcelain below. He knew it was possible to drown in an inch of water. Was it possible to drown in a handful that you were holding? Probably not. He'd watched men hit with stunning spells and knocked on the head in Quidditch. The hands went limp along with everything else, so the water would just run away down the plughole. He searched for a plug for the sink but there wasn't one. Lucius had apparently considered that possibility too. But then Lucius had bathed him a few days ago, an effort that gave even Harry grudging respect for the man's determination considering that Harry had nearly drowned them both during the proceedings. There'd been water enough then in the bath, so surely there must be a plug?
Fumbling blindly through the dark he moved cautiously in the direction of the enormous claw-footed bath, but still managed to stub his toe on one off the golden feet. Swearing, he pitched over and caught himself on the edge of the bath just in time to stop himself falling in. As he rested against the side of the tub the taps at the end sprang into action. He frowned at them and pulled himself upright. The sound of running water ceased only to be replaced with the gurgling of water draining away. Experimentally he leaned over the bath then leaned away, repeating the exercise a few more times. He sighed. Apparently there wasn't actually a plug at all; just another charmed object. Clearly water wasn't going to provide him with an escape.
The thought stopped him cold. Was this really all it took to break him down completely? If you murdered or tortured his friends in front of him it just pissed him off, and he was so used to the threat of death that it was almost boring these days, but a few forced fumbles behind the bike shed were really all it took to push him over the edge? To hell with that. He'd done worse things with Cho and Ginny so what was his problem anyway? He should probably give this some thought but thinking had never really been his strength; he'd always had Hermione for that. No, his thing was taking action, it was taking... it was taking charge. Except, what was there for him to take charge of? He couldn't escape. There were no windows and the door only opened for Lucius - he'd wasted a lot of time trying it and only ended up with a bruised knuckle when he'd punched it in frustration. He couldn't Disapparate - he'd tried and failed, which only added to his suspicions that they were somewhere beneath the Manor, although it felt different to the time he'd been captive here with Ron and Hermione, so he figured it was a different wing. Until he had more information about the world beyond this prison escape would be dangerous. Not that that bothered him all that much, but he'd been on the run enough by now to know it was helpful to know where you were going.
Fighting Lucius wasn't an option either. At the moment the man had advantages over him. He wasn't fatigued from lack of food, or keeping weird hours, and he was clearly taking good care of himself - that much had become obvious when Lucius had him pinned down. He also had the luxury of using magic, which Harry currently didn't. Harry couldn't control his food supplies which only ever showed up when he was asleep. And he couldn't control Lucius. Could he?
Lucius had been amused when Harry was angry, had reacted violently when Harry disobeyed, had definitely been interested when he'd had Harry on his lap, so maybe it was possible to control him after all. He just wished he knew what he was doing. He thought back to his time with Cho. Neither of them had known what they were doing and it hadn't been any less exciting for that. With Ginny things were a little different. The memory of her pretending to be winsome and naive brought a smile to his face. She'd twisted him to her every whim just by biting her lip or pretending to let him take the lead. When excitement and nerves had caused his hands to shake she'd placed hers over his and guided him. He'd thought... he'd thought she was waiting for him to take the lead, but now that he thought about it, she'd known all along what she was doing. He hadn't been thinking clearly enough at the time to see it, but her patience and subtle guidance had brought him to his knees in front of her. His smile slipped away, a slow counterpoint to the rise in the pulsating of his head and the irregular chiming from the damned clock - which suddenly stopped.
Across the room, the door opened. Harry hesitated a second, then, his own ragged heartbeat making up for the loss of the clock, slipped from the edge of the tub to kneel on the floor. Right now there didn't seem to be a lot of choice. And this way, at least the choice was his.
Click here for the Second Movement, Part II of II.
Author: daiseechain
Recipient: secretsalex
Pairing(s): Lucius/Harry
Word Count: 11,278
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Dub-con, Slavery, D/s, BDSM, Verbal humiliation
Summary: He'd been locked in a cupboard and kept as a slave for eleven years. He'd outlived that. He was patient. He would outlive this.
Author's Notes: Hope you enjoy this, Secretsalex!
Disclaimer: HP, all the characters from HP, all the rights to HP belong to those they belong to (I'm not going to set them all out because that's incredibly complicated and you know who you all are and none of you are me). This is a work of fiction, being distinguishable from real life by the fact that nothing in this story or the source material happened in the real world. Any lawyers tempted to sue because there might be damage to real people should get themselves a real life.
The chime was soft and as it tripped up and down a scale it reminded him of a fairy he once saw alighting from bluebell to bluebell, bending the flower-heads and cascading dewdrops from petals to the green of leaves and ground. It was such a dulcet sound, lacking hard edges; the one note seeming to remain and rise again as the next without ever truly ending, and he strained his ear attempting to find the break in the noise, but couldn't. He was incapable of discerning... He was incapable of discerning.
A tiny bubble of noise escaped him until he clamped his lips shut. It might amuse him that his inability to recognise a break in the music echoed his inability shut out distraction, but he knew better than to show emotion in here.
By his calculations he'd held out for six weeks - an almost herculean effort. It was just... well fuck it was difficult. Hadn't been hard at first of course, because he hadn't been hard at all at first. Easy to feign disinterest when you're terrified. He'd heard about guys who got it up when they were scared out of their wits, but he'd never been one of them. About the only thing functioning when he got scared were his fists and his mouth, both of which had pitched him into enough trouble over the years that he'd finally learned to keep them firmly clamped; his lips shut and his hands plastered to the sides of his thighs like they were stuck there with a binding spell. It is our choices that define who we are. This was his choice. There weren't many options for fighting back in this place, so he'd take whatever he could get away with. Sometimes playing along, playing for time, was the best way of fighting back. If that was true, then he was fighting back hard. He'd held out six weeks. He thought he'd been here about four months now.
It wasn't just the lack of hard edges to the music, it was the build-up to when it stopped; the crescendo, Lucius had called it. Hermione would be proud that he was learning new words but she wasn't there to know, and if he believed Lucius, which he didn't, not for a minute, but if he did then Hermione would never be anywhere to witness anything about him again. Lucius told him she was dead, repeating the story over and over clearly hoping he'd lose his cool and flip out or something. Hermione wasn't dead. He knew that for a fact. Little voices in the back of his head whispered he didn't know anything about facts right now, but he ignored them.
Lucius also said Ron was dead. Repeated that story over and over too, like it made any difference how imaginary Ron had died in a made-up raid on his house at his brother's imaginary wedding. Who would get married in the middle of this war? No, he didn't believe that story either, although it was hard to ignore the relish with which Lucius recounted that fairy story. Relish. Another word he wouldn't have used four months ago.
His initial capture was fuzzy in his memory; maybe someone had drugged him, or maybe he'd just been playing Quidditch and someone had taken the opportunity of a Bludger to the head to send in the snatchers. There were a series of jumbled images in his head: a Death Eater mask, the landscape tilting sideways as his head hit the compacted dirt, expensive shoes, and a vial containing what he thought had been healing potion. Of course, they weren't actually in that order - he'd pieced them together like a jigsaw, and that seemed the best fit. But actually they could have happened backwards, or even be entirely unrelated. It wasn't as if he didn't have those snapshots from other points in his life. And it didn't matter what order the memories came in anyway. He'd still ended up locked away in yet another cell.
He'd been minding his own business and then suddenly there was the cell and then there was Lucius. They'd fought at first. Well, he'd fought. Lucius had just remained aloof if faintly amused by the bile directed at him. It was difficult to tell how frequently he stopped by as there was no visible daylight, even when the door opened. He worked out early on that the visits were timed to seem inconsistent, all the better to throw him off guard he supposed. Lucius would come in, watch him for a while as Harry stared sullenly back, then leave without a word spoken by either party (the bile came later). Harry was determined not to give Malfoy anything of his own volition, which, noble though the sentiment might be, kind of backfired on him when after a few short weeks Lucius stopped seeming aloof and got up close and far too personal (which was when the bile started).
Lucius ordered him to remove his clothes, Harry refused, Lucius told him he wouldn't tell him again, Harry pointed out that amounted to the same thing, and Lucius stayed calm as he vanished all Harry's clothes off never to be seen again. Lucius listened to Harry screaming obscenities at him for about twenty minutes before quietly leaving. Harry didn't stop screaming obscenities on the grounds that someone out there was probably listening to him and should be left in no doubt as to his feelings on the matter and he hoped it gave them earache besides.
He fell asleep exhausted and slept fitfully throughout what he'd come to think of as nighttime, although in reality it could have been broad daylight for all he knew, and when he woke found he was once again wearing clothes albeit not the ones he'd been previously wearing.
The next day they repeated the scene, and again, and again until they became so rehearsed that Harry found himself somewhat blase about the whole affair. He would occasionally fire off epithets but his heart wasn't really in it anymore. He had no idea what Lucius hoped to gain from this dance but he wasn't counting on it being just a view of his enemy naked.
His suspicions were confirmed about two weeks later the music from the clock changed slightly. This time he woke up and there were no clothes. That was discomfiting enough, but even more so was the realisation that Lucius was already in the room and he had no idea how long Malfoy had been there. Long enough to watch him wake up. Long enough to witness him blink blearily at his surroundings and slump as he understood no one had rescued him overnight. Long enough to watch him shiver and look down to find he was naked. It was the soft rasping of woollen trouser-legs brushing against each other as Lucius moved that alerted him to someone else in the room, but it was the wisp of leather and parchment, soot and juniper that alerted him that that someone was Lucius. Harry had already grown accustomed to the scent, which always made him imagine Lucius had been burning manuscripts while drinking gin. Probably not far from the truth if he was trying to bury his Dark Arts possessions. Harry hoped it was a sign the Ministry were closing in on the Manor but deep down he knew better. Lucius would never be careless enough to leave that kind of incriminating evidence lying around if there were Aurors sniffing through the grounds. He didn't even have any reason to believe that they were at the Manor apart from a vague impression that Lucius wouldn't lower himself to conduct his affairs anywhere else. Control freak, was the phrase Hermione had used, which had made him hoot with amusement until she'd asked him what was so funny. He'd kept his mouth shut not wanting to endure the argument that would have ensued if he'd told her she was pot calling kettle black. That self-control she'd exhibited and that had made him laugh would have come in handy about now. He could have done with a little more of it himself. For starters it would have prevented him from nearly dislocating his arms from their sockets as he lunged for Malfoy's throat, only to be brought up short by the chains attached by metal cuffs to his wrists and embedded in the wall behind the bed.
Lucius' only response was to sigh and raise an eyebrow. Harry rifled through his stream of invectives and combined them with some he'd remembered seeing in the Restricted Section of the library. When he eventually wound down, panting and sweating from the strain, he collapsed back onto the edge of the bed and Lucius calmly left.
After another few weeks of this, Harry felt a bit like the message on a shampoo bottle. Lather, rinse, repeat. It was time to try a new tack.
He had it all worked out; when Lucius appeared he would remain calm and simply ask him what he wanted. That was the plan anyway, and it seemed reasonable except that he hadn't counted on Lucius changing the game again. As he emerged from a groggy half-sleep filled with images of an unreasonably attractive Lucius, he realised that swallowing was difficult and when he reached up to find a collar around his throat it seemed as though it suddenly constricted until he couldn't breathe and his lips and fingertips tingled. Frantically clawing at the contraption it wasn't until Lucius reached out and forcibly pulled his hands away from his own throat that he became aware Malfoy was even there. Still Harry struggled until Lucius twisted his arms together behind his back with one hand, and pulled on his hair to yank back his head with the other.
"Stop struggling, my young idiot. You are perfectly safe with the collar on."
"Breathe!" Harry managed to grind out. "Can't... breathe!"
"Of course you can! The collar is not restricting your breath. It is your own state of panic that is constricting the oxygen flow to your extremities. Now calm down!"
Harry could barely make out the room. He felt as if he were floating; as though everything were miles away. Great. He was going to faint in a pervert's arms.
Which was when Lucius dissolved the chains cuffed to his wrists with a word, dragged him over to the chair, bent him over it and smacked his arse hard.
Harry took a deep breath to begin another tirade but was stopped before he could begin by Lucius putting a hand over his mouth.
"I take it your foray into yet another barrage of slander means you have recovered your breath?"
Harry glared all the silent insults he could think at him, while grudgingly admitting to himself that yes, he was breathing again.
"Good. Then we can begin."
This time the thwack on his backside was more pain than surprise which was good as far as Harry was concerned. Pain he could deal with. He just had to wait it out. One, two, three... He waited for four, but it didn't arrive, being replaced instead with a soft stroking of his hair which sent unexpected jitters through his spine and made him squirm until Lucius gently placed a hand between Harry's shoulder blades and pressed firmly down. Harry kicked out but missed, and Lucius yanked on Harry's hair pulling him off the chair and throwing him against the wall, where his head met stone and he buckled sideways sliding down to the ground. He stayed crumpled there, head swaying as he looked at Lucius' expensive shoes and tried not to throw up on them.
"We can repeat this as often as is necessary. It will do me no harm. You, however, may wish to find more... constructive methods to express your dislike of your living arrangements. Reflect on your actions today and their consequences. We shall try again next time."
Harry felt that was easy for him to say. Lucius was the one with all the self-control. Hermione had all Harry's. The thought made him giggle a bit and then think he might be a little concussed. He peered giddily at the bed, wondering if he could make it that far, then figured the floor was nearly as comfortable anyway and passed out.
The collar was still there the next 'day' in lieu of clothes although the wrist chains hadn't been replaced. Harry supposed this was going to be his uniform now until he escaped. Never mind. He'd had worse outfits. Dudley's cast offs sprang to mind. Being naked in front of someone was humiliating, but if they thought a little humiliation was going to break him down then they weren't paying close enough attention to what he'd been through at school. He'd faced down Snape's homework assignments. This, by comparison, was easy. He'd keep telling himself that until he believed it.
He began practicing his newfound belief on Lucius' next visit. When the man turned out to have been once again watching him sleep, Harry feigned brass and rolled over, stretched out, and yawned, before propping himself up on his elbows. He peered through his hair at Lucius. "What's on the agenda today? Little window shopping? Followed by buying things you can't afford?"
Lucius' smile showed teeth. "Bravado. Very good. Much more like the legendary boy I remember watching his friend's suicide in a graveyard."
"Murdered," Harry responded quietly through gritted teeth. "Cedric was murdered."
Lucius held out a hand and tilted it back and forth. "Suicide. Murder. Circumstance can render the difference a matter of semantics."
Harry's jaws fought a battle with each other until he remembered his belief and forced himself to relax. Lucius was baiting him; testing his resolve. He flopped back against the mattress and looked at the plaster ceiling, silently cursing the damn clock and the off-kilter chiming that was driving him nuts. "What do you want, Lucius?"
"I would have thought that was obvious, even to a man with your propensity to be oblivious to his surroundings." The noise of wool sliding off the leather chair was followed by the sound of Lucius padding over to the bed, where he perched at the edge next to Harry's shoulder. He reached up and traced a finger along the shell of Harry's ear. "I want you."
Harry flinched away and flung up an arm to ward off the unwelcome attention but Lucius caught his punch in time and held him fast by the wrist. Harry cursed himself for having been so stupid as to let his other arm be pinned between himself and Lucius, cursing again when he saw Lucius was reading his expressions.
"No reason to fret. We have plenty of time." Lucius bent down and kissed the inside of Harry's captured wrist. As he straightened again he briefly closed his eyes. "Dirt and sweat," he said. "We shall have to provide you with a bath so you will smell less offensive next time."
With that he released Harry's wrist, and Harry shrank as far back on the mattress as the wall would allow, carefully watching Lucius' movements as he stood and left. This time, the bastard was humming along with the chiming of the clock.
When the melody broke next time Harry was ready and waiting, behind the door so that Lucius missed him as he first walked in and had to search the room. Lucius took scarcely more than five seconds to find him, but Harry was pleased to note that Lucius seemed surprised for a split-second before bringing his expression back under control.
"Well, Mr Potter," Lucius kept his eyes on him as he shut the door and locked it, "How nice to see you are finally settling in."
Harry's tongue nearly bled as his teeth bit down on his response. He couldn't keep the anger off his face though, causing Lucius to snort in amusement.
With the music off there was very little noise in the room; just Harry's breathing, the ticking of the inconsistent clock, and the soft padding of Lucius' leather-soled shoes on the silk carpet as he moved toward Harry, but that noise stopped too as Lucius came to a halt in front of Harry. A quick flick of an amused gaze told Harry that Lucius approved of his lack of clothing, and he gestured toward the bed. "However next time it would be better for you to be kneeling."
When only the clock could be heard Lucius turned to him again and reached up a hand to rest on Harry's shoulder. "Do breathe, Harry. You are no use to either of us if you faint."
After several seconds passed in which the world reduced down to Lucius' face, Lucius suddenly boxed him on the ear knocking Harry sideways so that he staggered into the wall. Reeling from the impact of the double blow Harry swept in a lungful of air. All Lucius said was, "If you remember to breathe next time, that will not be necessary again, will it?"
Harry concentrated on not throwing up on the carpet while he listened to a new ringing sound, not from the clock but in his ear. Dazed, it took him a few seconds to realise that Lucius was now sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for Harry to join him. He stumbled over, intending to sit primly next to Lucius, but tripped on his own feet and would have fallen headlong into the mattress had Lucius not caught him.
"Gently now. You've had a nasty shock. You'll need to take care with your movements for the next few hours."
Harry had had enough experience with concussion by now to know exactly how long it could take to recover, but he was also getting used to just getting on with whatever he had to do. Adrenalin usually took you through the worst of it, and by the time Lucius would be finished he'd have been passing out anyway, so this wasn't going to be much different. Although... if he was honest with himself it made a nice change to have someone stroking his hair afterward, rather than being given more homework. None of the teachers had ever comforted him after he'd been attacked by giant snakes or hit in the head with a bludger or nearly died during the damn cup tournament. He'd been left to tough it out on his own, and now that he thought back on it, he could have damn well done with some human contact after any of those incidents. Hermione had tried but her hugs were about as passionless as one of her lectures. Usually all he'd ever ended up with were lines from Snape for not having completed the homework on time. He sighed and slumped a bit at the memory, and Lucius tucked his hair out of the way before gently kissing the bruised and ringing ear. Harry flinched, partly because it was Lucius and partly because his ear was tender, but then Lucius gently dabbed his tongue to Harry's earlobe and traced the pain up around the shell and Harry shuddered and closed his eyes against the onslaught of sensation.
"Would you like me to kiss it better, Harry?"
No, he wouldn't. What would make it better would be slicing Lucius' skin open over his heart and stabbing it with the man's own wand, but that wasn't going to happen today.
Another dab, another gentle tracing of the shape of his ear and suddenly there wasn't much difference between one sensation and the other. His nerves jangled and he shuddered at the prickling that shot through from his ear to his shoulder and then crept up and down his spine.
"Doesn't the kissing make it better, Harry?"
No. It didn't. It made it... less obvious. That was all. Obscured. The pain was still there but there was something else going on now and he wasn't sure he liked that any more than he had the ringing or dizziness. His breath hitched and he shifted his weight away until Lucius reached out and wrapped an arm around him to stop him moving any further. They sat like that, Lucius gripping him firmly, Harry rigid as a wooden doll.
Lucius leaned away from him slightly, the better to get a look at his face. "That's quite all right. You made good strides today, but it's only natural that your enthusiasm will come later." He smiled.
Harry gagged.
"Concussion?" Lucius regarded him thoughtfully. "Or something else?" When Harry's shoulders tightened, Lucius lifted his chin. "Something else it is then."
The blinking reminded Harry of nothing quite so much as a lizard, which he supposed was fitting given who the man was emulating. The thought wasn't much comfort as Lucius lifted him off the mattress and placed him on his own lap with as little effort as if Harry were a child. With Lucius behind him it was even harder to work out what was going on in the man's mind. But then Lucius reached up one hand to wrap around Harry's throat, and moved the other down to slide around Harry's hip and under his arse and Harry didn't need to guess. Fuck but he could have done without this. But then, he supposed, that was entirely the point.
As a slender finger reached between them and began to circle, Harry gasped, cursed himself for doing so yet again and fought the pleasure for as long as he could - which wasn't long at all. Damn Lucius was good at this. It wasn't fair! Fuck the man for making him enjoy this. The ringing in his ears got worse each time he convulsed and set off a pulsating headache, and now he didn't know if he was crying from the pain or something else but it might have been Lucius' name he screamed as he came sobbing, waves of searing pain crashing up against waves of joy and he'd never hated either of them more than he did at that moment.
It was only when Lucius began whispering in his ear that he realised he'd collapsed back into his arms, folding in on himself as he cried while Lucius hugged him tightly and offered up soothing words. For the first time in months he was too tired to fend him off, so they stayed that way until Harry's tears reduced down to a snivel, the ringing in his ear, and the scratching, prickling need to burst out of his own skin and run screaming.
After bathing Harry and putting him to bed, Lucius left, but not before resetting the musical clock. Harry eventually drifted off into a fitful dozing state hearing double; the pulsing ringing in his ear out of synch with the gentle chime of the clock that never kept time.
The low moaning sound broke his sleep with a start and he sat slumped on the edge of the bed for several seconds before it occurred to him that he'd been making the noise. Unsteadily rising to his feet he swayed clumsily over to the wall and groped his way along it to the sink. Lumos would have made more sense but his head ached and he didn't think he had the strength right now to cast even a faint spell. Tepid water spilled from the tap as he touched it and he cupped it in his hands before sloshing it over his face and twisting to glare at the clock. Disliking intensely in its direction failed to stop it tocking in strange patters or creating off-key melodies with chimes so he turned back to the basin, gathering another handful of water as he leant against the sink with his hip, watching the water fill to the top of the bowl created by his palms before it hit the limit and began pouring over into the porcelain below. He knew it was possible to drown in an inch of water. Was it possible to drown in a handful that you were holding? Probably not. He'd watched men hit with stunning spells and knocked on the head in Quidditch. The hands went limp along with everything else, so the water would just run away down the plughole. He searched for a plug for the sink but there wasn't one. Lucius had apparently considered that possibility too. But then Lucius had bathed him a few days ago, an effort that gave even Harry grudging respect for the man's determination considering that Harry had nearly drowned them both during the proceedings. There'd been water enough then in the bath, so surely there must be a plug?
Fumbling blindly through the dark he moved cautiously in the direction of the enormous claw-footed bath, but still managed to stub his toe on one off the golden feet. Swearing, he pitched over and caught himself on the edge of the bath just in time to stop himself falling in. As he rested against the side of the tub the taps at the end sprang into action. He frowned at them and pulled himself upright. The sound of running water ceased only to be replaced with the gurgling of water draining away. Experimentally he leaned over the bath then leaned away, repeating the exercise a few more times. He sighed. Apparently there wasn't actually a plug at all; just another charmed object. Clearly water wasn't going to provide him with an escape.
The thought stopped him cold. Was this really all it took to break him down completely? If you murdered or tortured his friends in front of him it just pissed him off, and he was so used to the threat of death that it was almost boring these days, but a few forced fumbles behind the bike shed were really all it took to push him over the edge? To hell with that. He'd done worse things with Cho and Ginny so what was his problem anyway? He should probably give this some thought but thinking had never really been his strength; he'd always had Hermione for that. No, his thing was taking action, it was taking... it was taking charge. Except, what was there for him to take charge of? He couldn't escape. There were no windows and the door only opened for Lucius - he'd wasted a lot of time trying it and only ended up with a bruised knuckle when he'd punched it in frustration. He couldn't Disapparate - he'd tried and failed, which only added to his suspicions that they were somewhere beneath the Manor, although it felt different to the time he'd been captive here with Ron and Hermione, so he figured it was a different wing. Until he had more information about the world beyond this prison escape would be dangerous. Not that that bothered him all that much, but he'd been on the run enough by now to know it was helpful to know where you were going.
Fighting Lucius wasn't an option either. At the moment the man had advantages over him. He wasn't fatigued from lack of food, or keeping weird hours, and he was clearly taking good care of himself - that much had become obvious when Lucius had him pinned down. He also had the luxury of using magic, which Harry currently didn't. Harry couldn't control his food supplies which only ever showed up when he was asleep. And he couldn't control Lucius. Could he?
Lucius had been amused when Harry was angry, had reacted violently when Harry disobeyed, had definitely been interested when he'd had Harry on his lap, so maybe it was possible to control him after all. He just wished he knew what he was doing. He thought back to his time with Cho. Neither of them had known what they were doing and it hadn't been any less exciting for that. With Ginny things were a little different. The memory of her pretending to be winsome and naive brought a smile to his face. She'd twisted him to her every whim just by biting her lip or pretending to let him take the lead. When excitement and nerves had caused his hands to shake she'd placed hers over his and guided him. He'd thought... he'd thought she was waiting for him to take the lead, but now that he thought about it, she'd known all along what she was doing. He hadn't been thinking clearly enough at the time to see it, but her patience and subtle guidance had brought him to his knees in front of her. His smile slipped away, a slow counterpoint to the rise in the pulsating of his head and the irregular chiming from the damned clock - which suddenly stopped.
Across the room, the door opened. Harry hesitated a second, then, his own ragged heartbeat making up for the loss of the clock, slipped from the edge of the tub to kneel on the floor. Right now there didn't seem to be a lot of choice. And this way, at least the choice was his.
Click here for the Second Movement, Part II of II.