Title: Catching Up
Summary: Forced by Snape and Albus Dumbledore to change sides, Lucius Malfoy takes his revenge on the first available targets...
Warnings: non-con, coercion, abuse of potions for unsavoury purposes, underage for Australians (the boys are 16), not HBP compliant
Wordcount: 11563 words
Note: Humble thanks to leni_jess, dracos_doll and my own Thea for beta and advice!
Harry Potter caught up with Lucius Malfoy in a deserted corridor of locked Herbology storerooms on the ground floor level of Hogwarts castle.
He had run out of Transfiguration class with a flimsy excuse and a twenty-point loss from Gryffindor. But after having spent half the night screaming at the Headmaster not to embrace Malfoy's alleged change of sides, seeing a pair of Aurors escorting the bastard to Dumbledore's office in the morning on his way to class had brought Harry's blood to a boil. He'd kept his eyes glued to the Marauders' Map throughout classes, even Potions where there was the risk of Snape catching him out. But when he'd seen Dumbledore and the Aurors wink out of existence through the Headmaster's fireplace, and Malfoy's hated dot swaggering down the corridors from Dumbledore's tower office all alone, it was clear that the Headmaster had swallowed the bastard's line, hook and sinker. And Harry wasn't going to stand for it!
He had no clear idea of what to do when he caught up with the bastard – yell, punch, hex him to bits. Provoke him. Yes, provoking sounded good, so that everybody, Dumbledore most of all, could see how badly they'd misjudged Malfoy, and they could kick him back into Azkaban where he belonged.
So Harry skirted corners and sped down staircases three stairs at a time, knowing he had to stop Malfoy before he could reach the courtyard and get out of the castle.
He skidded down the last flight of stairs and into the corridor. And there was Malfoy, striding along with his cloak flowing behind him like a bird of doom. Harry wanted nothing so much as to grab that cloak, pull the bastard off his feet and bash him over the head with the marble bust of Murdoch the Lewd that sat on a plinth within reach. He settled for a vicious snarl that echoed off the smooth stone walls.
For a moment, it looked as if the Death Eater wasn't even going to stop. He took two more steps, then paused in mid-third before swinging around on the same foot. Malfoy's mouth was thin and showed canines.
In retrospect, Harry recalled the small signs of danger – a certain dishevelment in Malfoy's appearance, a strand of white-blond hair coming free from his pony tail, an unusual spot of colour on the pale face, and an unsettled, near-manic glint in the steel-gray eyes. Back then though, agitated and out of breath, all Harry could see was the hateful face, so insultingly unmarked by his time in Azkaban, so unlike Sirius.
"Mr Potter..." A slow drawl that made Harry's blood pressure rise a few notches. "You've decided to welcome me among your allies?"
"You treacherous evil bastard," Harry breathed, one of the rare occasions he wanted to be comfortable using the harsher words Aunt Petunia had cured him of with soap in his mouth. "You'll never be my ally," he whispered just as softly, because any louder sound would have made his voice crack. "You deserve to rot in Azkaban like all of your murderous kind for what you did, you disgusting-"
"You'd better leave the decision-making to your elders and betters, Potter." There was something cold in Malfoy's face, something that disguised seething anger under a thin veneer of control as if he, Harry, had hit a sore spot. "Albus Dumbledore has decided that I'll serve him better in freedom. Surely you don't presume to question your master?"
Harry's fingers clenched around the smooth length of his wand in his pocket. He didn't want to exchange clever barbs with the bastard – he needed to infuriate him into losing control.
"Dumbledore has been wrong before," he spat.
Before Harry could make a move, Malfoy stepped right in front of him and clamped his hand around the wrist of Harry's wand hand. He dug in so hard that Harry's fingertips prickled.
"And so you thought you'd come down to vent a little, and perhaps gloat over the domesticated dark wizard?" The grip increased and twisted, and Harry let go of his wand with a muffled cry of pain. Malfoy shoved him roughly against the wall. "Did you hope to goad me into an Unforgivable right here at Hogwarts, you stupid child?"
Harry glared and contemplated punching his free fist right into Malfoy's too-pointed nose. The bastard gestured at the empty corridor, waving Harry's wand. "I don't think you've learned very much from your misadventure in the Department of Mysteries."
This time, Harry swung at him without thinking, Sirius' face as he fell through the veil looming foremost in his mind. Malfoy blocked his fist an inch from his chin, and stepped up so closely that his body pressed against Harry's, effectively pinning him to the wall.
"Unwise, Potter," Malfoy hissed, and Harry could feel hot breath on his face. It smelled artificially sweet, as if Malfoy had been eating syrup. "Remember when I grabbed you in the Ministry, Harry?"
Harry remembered all right, shuddering in retrospect at the blinding panic he'd felt.
"Such a pleasant, unspoiled body – I wanted to take you right there on the spot." A vile grin spread on Malfoy's thin lips. "I so appreciate you obliging me after all."
Malfoy interrupted Harry's snarl by reaching up and grabbing a fistful of hair at Harry's neck, wrenching his head back. Using his leverage, he brought his lips down on Harry's, harshly and without a shred of gentleness that would make it a kiss rather than an assault. Harry gasped under the unasked-for contact and tried to squirm. Malfoy's lips tasted bitter, acutely so, but try as he might, he could not wrench himself out of the vice-like grip.
The kiss burned his mouth like poisonous vapours, cresting in his brain in a wave so dark and compelling he could only sink under it. His tongue crept along Malfoy's, a shuddering thing, steeping itself in the saccharine taste that clung to Malfoy's mouth. His eyes were wide open, blankly looking through Malfoy's face, who observed him with lazy interest. Harry blinked wildly even as a strange heat surged into his stomach; he nearly choked on a sob when he felt warmth spreading down into his groin. Malfoy was so close; he'd feel it if Harry grew hard against him. And he did with a derisive laugh, shifting his hips a fraction to make Harry's stiffening more evident.
"No!" Harry moaned. He couldn't believe he was reacting to this!
Malfoy leaned down to capture his mouth in another kiss that seemed intent on mapping every bit of Harry's mouth, bitter sweet and swirling about the contents of Harry's poor brain. He was distantly aware that Malfoy had released his hands to cup the back of his head, and found himself sneaking his arms around the bastard's back to fist in his robe and pull him even closer. He just couldn't do anything else.
"Let me go!" he gasped as Malfoy freed his lips after what seemed like an eternity.
"Your master used me, Potter, he all but forced my compliance. You won't deny me the right to do the same to you."
Without giving Harry a chance to protest, Malfoy tore at his robe, sending hapless buttons flying and wrenching it off Harry's shoulders. The buttons of his shirt followed in quick succession. Then Malfoy had his hands pressed against Harry's naked chest, one leg between his to make escape impossible, and claimed his mouth again.
Ron watched Harry dash out of the classroom under Professor McGonagall's enraged glare, and swallowed hard as he tried to focus his eyes back onto his Transfiguration text. Harry had been so furious last night when Dumbledore told him about Malfoy. As if Malfoy had killed Sirius, not that bloody madwoman Lestrange. And Malfoy had come down the tower stairs alone... If Harry confronted him on his own, he might get hurt. And if anyone found out, he would get into trouble.
Ron put down the sugar quill he'd been sucking on to make up for a breakfast missed trying to calm down his ranting best friend, and sneaked his hand onto Harry's desk under the cover of his Advanced Transfiguration copy. He pulled the Marauders Map towards him, which Harry had been checking and then had just left behind when he'd run out. He rolled it up and put it in his pocket. With a quick lick over dry lips, Ron raised his hand.
"Yes, Mr Weasley?" Professor MacGonagall's voice still held a sharp tinge of anger. Just where were Fred and George's Puking Pastilles when you really needed them?
"I'm sorry, Professor... I'm feeling sick. May I go, please?" Smooth, Weasley, he reprimanded himself as the professor's eyes narrowed into slits. That'll convince her!
"You most certainly will not, Mr Weasley," Professor McGonagall glared. "Unless you'd like to notify Mr Potter that you will join him in detention for the coming week!"
Ron flushed, but rose from his chair, eyes wide with panic. Harry... Harry might be in trouble. "Sorry, Professor," he gasped with an unconvincing hand pressed to his stomach. "Very sick..."
He fled through the classroom door, McGonagall's outraged "Mr Weasley!" ringing in his ears, and was out in the corridor before he could hear how many points he'd lost from Gryffindor. He rounded a few corners just to be on the safe side, then got out the slightly crumpled Map. Not even wiped clear, Harry, you dolt!
Ron scanned the parchment. The centre page showed students massed inside their classrooms. Filch and Mrs Norris were down in Filch's office, Snape upstairs in Dumbledore's study, probably holding the fort during the Headmaster's absence. Ron spotted Malfoy and Harry on the ground floor level, so close that they almost made one single dot, the spidery writing of their names intermingling. Cursing loudly enough to make the bearded wizarding astronomer conversing with a bespectacled centaur in the nearest frame sniff in disgust, Ron pulled his wand from his back pocket and jogged down the nearest staircase four stairs at a time. He just hoped that the mingling of dots didn't mean Malfoy was standing over Harry's dead body. He could have handled the other way round easily, though it might not go over too well with Dumbledore.
Ron took the last two staircases down at full speed, jumping over the widening gap where the last one had already disengaged from the landing to swing round towards the History of Magic classrooms. He landed hard on his feet, and took off again with smarting soles after a quick glance at the Map. Harry and Malfoy were still in the same spot just outside the Herbology storerooms. It lessened the gnawing panic in Ron's stomach a little. If Harry had stunned – or killed – Malfoy, he was the kind to wait there by the body; if it were the other way round, Malfoy would already have run.
Although every one of his instincts screamed at him to barge in and throw himself into the fray, Ron slowed and gripped his wand firmly before tackling the last staircase down into the corridor with his friend and the Death Eater. He paused to listen, but could hear nothing. Testing the sound of 'Stupefy' on his tongue, he tiptoed down the stairs.
The first thought that made it through to his muddled brain was 'vampire'. The tall, long-haired silhouette of Malfoy was bent over Harry, who was trapped against the wall. Malfoy's enveloping cloak half-hid them both from sight like the man-sized wings of a bird of prey. Harry's shirt was ripped open to reveal his neck and chest, and Malfoy was leaning into him...
But then it wasn't Harry's neck that mouth was attached to. They were... kissing, there was no polite word for it. Or rather, Malfoy was feasting on Harry like a Dementor on a victim's soul. Harry's slack sprawl against the wall, the fists that were balled but hanging helplessly at his sides, all heightened that impression.
Ron swallowed hard and felt his ears heat. He wasn't even comfortable watching Hogwarts couples snogging, and this was an abomination. Harry would never kiss Malfoy voluntarily. Whatever the Death Eater had done to Harry – cursed him, most likely – Ron was determined to stop it. Now.
Rage pounded in his temples as he raised his wand and took the last steps forward that would give him a clear aim.
"Let him go, Malfoy!"
Lucius smiled against the Potter brat's lips and retracted his tongue from the boy's mouth with a last sinuous slide. He'd seen the movement on the stair out of the corner of his eye. Now he raised his head to observe Potter's friend standing in the corridor, hand clenched around his wand. The white, tense face set off his freckles. Potter tried to focus his eyes as Lucius freed his mouth, but still seemed too dazed to spring into action at an inopportune moment. He kept running his tongue over the roof of his mouth as if probing for the strange taste he'd got of Lucius.
"Get away from him, Malfoy!" There was ice sloshing in Weasley's tone, a thin, frozen sheet over an insufficiently-disguised river of panic. Lucius ran a finger over the smooth wood of Potter's wand and angled it, hidden by the folds of his robe. He relied on the fact that young Weasley would hesitate to trade curses for fear of hitting his friend. Vulnerable and emotional, like all of his ilk.
Arthur's youngest son... A smirk formed on Lucius's lips. What, what to do with the little Weasel? Petrify him and let him watch Lucius have his way with Potter? Shock actually improved the boy's appearance – it made his hair look darker in contrast, his mouth redder... Surely not attractive, but young and not ugly either. And the unwilling son of an enemy...
Weasley's wand jerked in his hand, then wriggled out of his grasp and fell onto the floor. The unspectacular result of using somebody else's wand. The boy was down on one knee in a flash to retrieve it.
Oh no, you won't!
The boy yelped as the magic pulled at him and sent him barrelling into a heap at Lucius's feet. He winced, but the grimace of pain morphed into one of rage as he glared up at Lucius. He jumped up, fingers clawed. Lucius wrapped an arm around Potter's throat and squeezed.
"Careful, Mr Weasley..." Facing the double threat of Potter's wand in Lucius's hand and Lucius's grip on Potter's neck, even a fool as volatile as Weasley let his hands fall to his side. Lucius recalled the boy's father attacking him with fists and the Encyclopedia of Toadstools, and smiled. He let go of Potter abruptly, who stumbled and slid half down the wall, eyes still wide and dark. The little Weasel saw his chance and dashed forward to grab his friend, no doubt intending to drag him bodily to safety. Almost lazily, Lucius reached out and caught the squirming armful of boy, all red hair, cheap robes and scratchy maroon jumper.
"Fool," Lucius commented, pinning the Weasley's arms with one of his and restraining him against his chest. It forced the boy's spine to arch as the back of his head was pressed against Lucius's shoulder. A film of sweat was collecting at the hollow of Weasley's throat.
Lucius fisted his hand in the boy's hair, exerting a little pull to drag Weasley down with him as he sunk to his knees. Weasley's panicked eyes took in Potter's form, still sitting with his back against the wall and unable to shake the paralysing haze of the potion. Of course he couldn't, Lucius sneered inwardly. Snape's most potent Compulsion Concoction, designed to overcome Lucius's Dark Mark and his distaste for the idea of joining Albus Dumbledore. If it had got the better of Lucius, who had spent a lifetime rendering himself as immune to mind-altering potions as was wizardly possible, a boy, no matter how glorified, had no hope of resisting.
He saw Weasley mouthing his friend's name, although no sound came out. Yes – time to put him into play.
Lucius smirked and threw a subtle Repellent Charm on the corridor, just enough to compel any passers-by to use the parallel staircase to the outer yard instead. Dumbledore might notice, of course, but Dumbledore had accompanied the Aurors to the Ministry by Floo to dazzle their superiors with his strategic brilliance. Too bad for Lucius's two young captives.
He dragged Weasley's head back again to bare that vulnerable throat, and put pressure on the boy's spine until he tensed with fear. It left one ear just next to Lucius's mouth. He gave it a sharp nip, just because he could. Weasley's breath stuttered, but he was too bright to struggle. With a dark smile blooming on his lips, Lucius lifted his eyes to Potter, who was crouching a few feet away in a mix of fear and drugged daze. There was something raw in those pretty green eyes.
"Do you enjoy seeing your little friend stretched out like this, Harry?" Lucius called out to the boy, cutting through his paralysis. Hot rage poured onto Potter's face, and his hand scrabbled on the wall for purchase. He opened his mouth for what promised to be a vile insult.
"Yes," he snarled. And clamped his hand over his mouth.
Lucius threw his head back and laughed out loud, even as the little Weasel's body jerked against him in shock.
"What did you do to him?" Weasley raged, a fiery glare in his eyes as if he wanted to ignite Lucius on the spot. He did struggle now, although the strain on his neck had to hurt him.
"Oh, nothing really," Lucius smirked. "He got a few things off me, but surely nothing I could be blamed for... You see, if your Headmaster and his lapdog hadn't been so free with doling out Veritaserum and Compulsion Concoction so freely, you wouldn't have to suffer the consequences now. The latter, in particular, is quite potent." Yes, Lucius could still feel the sticky, oily film on the roof of his mouth and on his tongue. He feasted his gaze on Potter's shell-shocked face.
"Yes, I thought you might, Potter. It never convinced me, all that talk of virtue in James Potter's son, of all people." His voice lowered to a seductive purr. "Shall I give him a kiss too, Harry? Shall we show him?"
Lucius could see the pink-brown nipples harden on Potter's exposed chest even as his face turned into a grimace of horror.
"No!" the boy protested wildly. Ah, honesty – how delightful.
"But I want to," Lucius murmured and then, when the boy looked frantic and about to jump at him, "And you'd like to watch, wouldn't you, Harry?"
A defenceless lower lip was mangled as the boy tried to make sense of the conflicting feelings that welled up inside him.
"I-" he tried before his head lowered until unruly black hair obscured his eyes. "Yes," he whispered.
Oh, poor Potter. This had to be the world's worst moment to discover one's own untoward desires. Really, the boy played into Lucius's hand as beautifully as if he'd written him the script. Then again, that old coot Dumbledore must have thought the same about Lucius when he'd seen him on his knees, swearing an Unbreakable Vow to betray all he'd ever held dear in exchange for freedom.
"You see?" Lucius murmured, pressing his cheek against Weasley's for an instant. "We wouldn't want to disappoint your friend, would we?"
Weasley's lips were still open in shock as Lucius captured his mouth, exerting a bit of extra pull on the boy's neck to warn him off silly stunts before slipping his tongue inside. Weasley tasted good, as if he'd sucked on a sweet in class. Pleasant, and rather inspiring.
The Weasley held out longer than young Potter, lips unyielding and tense until the sticky residue of the two mingled potion had transferred to him. Not that he was more strong-willed – Potter had got most of it already. Then Weasley, too, went pliant even as the pulse began to flutter at the base of his throat. Lucius released him, letting him slip awkwardly to the ground as soon as his body relaxed.
Potter reached out gingerly, then hesitated before putting a hand on his friend's arm. Weasley uttered an unselfconscious moan, hand flying to his lips as if to probe the imprint of Lucius's mouth. A full dose for Potter, and just enough for the Weasley boy to keep him docile and fearful for his friend's fate.
"He does taste rather sweet, Harry." Lucius smirked at the boys, all teeth. "I think you should taste him too."
Lucius watched the film of compulsion darkening the boy's gaze at the veiled order. The Compulsion Concoction was an insidious thing. It flooded its victims with emotions, making them vulnerable to verbal suggestions and almost as responsive as Imperius. Lucius would bow to Snape's skills if he hadn't used them against him. And Dumbledore had humiliated him, in front of his old-friend-turned-traitor no less. Lucius deserved a bit of unadulterated vengeance!
"You will obey me without protest until I permit you to leave," he told them coldly. "Go ahead, Harry."
Potter leaned forward, his face a pained grimace, and put both hands on Weasley's arms, begging for forgiveness with the hesitant touch of his fingers.
"You want our Harry to kiss you, don't you... Ronald?" Lucius inquired after a moment of racking his brain for the boy's first name – there were so many of Arthur's brood.
The little Weasel licked his lips, an unconscious mimicry of seduction.
"Nnh-" Young Ronald choked on his denial, eyes flitting to his friend with delightful insecurity. "Harry...?"
"Oh, I'm sure Harry wants to," Lucius threw in. "Don't you, Harry?"
His head lowered, eyes still fixed on Weasley's lips, Potter whispered, "Yes."
If it wouldn't have disrupted the mood he'd created, Lucius would have laughed at their blatant display of conflicting feelings. Poor Potter – he would never truly know what lay at the core of his compliance – the Compulsion potion or the Veritaserum.
They did kiss then, Weasely propped up on his arms on the ground, Potter's hands careful on his shoulders as he bent over his mouth. It was pathetically tentative and so inexperienced that all they could do was avoid bumping noses. A mere brush of lips.
"Ah, you surely can do better than that," Lucius admonished when they broke apart. He revelled in the way they tried not to look into each other's eyes, and in the blush that stained their cheeks. "Again," he commanded.
This time they tried, Potter's hands cupping his friend's face, and the little Weasel with his eyes shut and a line of concentration crinkling his forehead. Lucius, leaning in to observe the fun more closely, saw the fine dark hairs at the nape of Potter's neck rise the precise moment their tongues touched.
He waited until they'd finished their kiss, lips red and breathing hard, before grabbing Potter's shoulders and drawing him back into his arms.
Harry couldn't help but wonder why he was letting himself being pulled against Malfoy's body like a doll, and why hot and cold tremors ran down his spine. He was cold with fear, but at the same time the press of Lucius's body against his set his blood on fire.
Touching Malfoy was addictive, and running his hands up grey-clad shoulders seemed just what the situation called for. There was none of the tentative reluctance that had characterised his kisses with Ron in the way Malfoy took control of his mouth – all heated possessiveness as if he was trying to erase the taste of Ron from Harry's lips. And a sort of honest greed that Harry's muzzy brain could not completely make sense of. It surprised him, though. Malfoy wasn't a controlled man at the best of times, but now he seemed almost as tangled up in the madness he'd instigated as his two captives, kneeling on the flagstones of an old corridor and allowing a detested halfblood to touch him.
Harry saw Ron rise to his knees, bracing himself against the wall with one hand and an expression Harry didn't want to dwell on. If only Ron hadn't come after him! Harry could handle Malfoy; or rather, he could handle whatever Malfoy dished out, mad as he was. But now Malfoy was using him as a weapon against his own best friend, forcing unspeakable feelings to bubble up inside him, and Ron did not want any of this, deserve any of this. Harry did, having sought out trouble, but not Ron!
He buried his face against the sharp curve of Malfoy's neck to hide his burning eyes, and welcomed the cloying surge of desire Malfoy's smell and taste brought with them.
"Clothes," Malfoy murmured with a sardonic smile, not needing even to elaborate.
Harry leaned forward to tug at the buttons of Malfoy's robe, eager to expose more pale skin. The cloak had been thick and soft, probably Malfoy's own, but the robe was grey and threadbare, the sort that Azkaban would inflict on its prisoners. He bared Malfoy's chest and tugged the robe impatiently off his shoulders, pressing close like a cat rubbing against its owner. Malfoy's skin felt wonderfully cool against his flushed face, and he licked lightly over a tight nipple before he could catch himself. Malfoy's chuckle trickled over him, making him bold. He licked it again, feeling the slight hardening of the texture under his tongue before trailing upwards to the man's neck. He'd rather have another kiss, but his fingers obediently wandered to the fastenings of Malfoy's trousers, fumbling with the buttons. Malfoy's throaty rumble stopped him when he'd managed the first one.
"Patience, little Harry."
Malfoy caught his shoulders and held him at arms' length, studying his face. Harry's mouth went dry under the intense scrutiny. Malfoy's body beckoned him, from the sharp curve of his collarbone to the faint line of an old scar that swept down from side to hip like a delicate brush of silver on white. And Harry, who had blushed at the thought of kissing a girl, wanted to bury his face in the spill of white hair, and something more feral inside him wanted to expose the hair at the man's groin and bury himself in that, too.
"Now," Malfoy commanded imperiously, and held out his hand. "Come here to us, Ronald."
Harry saw Ron's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. He could read hesitancy in every tendon as Ron reached out, took the offered hand and allowed himself to be roped in until he knelt beside Harry. Malfoy nodded, satisfied, then fixed a malicious gaze on Harry.
"And now undress your friend."
Harry jerked in shock, horror-stricken eyes fixed on Ron even as his fingers twitched with the urge to tug at Ron's maroon jumper.
As if picking up on his desire, Ron fixed a hate-dripping look on Malfoy before touching Harry lightly on the shoulder. "It's all right," he said, trying for a light tone but sounding wobbly instead.
Guilt and self-hatred bubbled inside Harry even as he knew he would do what Malfoy told him. He wanted to see Ron's freckled skin bared to his eyes, his fingers. He knelt right in front of Ron and reached for the hem of his jumper, pulling it up over Ron's stomach until belly button and chest were visible. Ron raised his arms to help, and just when his wrists were tangled up above his head and his face had vanished behind maroon wool, Malfoy leaned forward to whisper, "And make him enjoy it, Harry."
Ron froze in mid-move, mouth free but eyes still obscured by wool. To Harry's relief, he didn't flinch away from his hands. Harry ran his fingers over Ron's skin, freckled and with a red-head's typical pasty complexion.
Harry pressed his lips to the centre of Ron's chest, running his fingers over his sides as if gentling a nervous unicorn foal in Care of Magical Creatures. Ron's breath sped up when Harry laid a kiss to his collarbone, flicking a shy tongue against salty skin before purposefully reaching up and tugging the jumper off Ron's head and pulling his hands free of the sleeves. That would have to do to qualify as 'enjoyment'.
Harry's hands slid thoughtlessly to Ron's belt, undoing it with a single deft tug before freezing at Ron's hips. He balled them into fists at his sides, even though the urge to undress Ron completely still burned in his bloodstream. To hell with Malfoy! He wouldn't humiliate his best friend even more. Whatever that potion of Snape's was capable of, it would not twist him this far!
Malfoy seemed to be reading his body language just right, and despite Ron's fearful look, Harry was viciously glad when the bastard grabbed him by the neck and pulled him away from Ron and into his lap. The grip was punishing, and yet Harry arched further into the touch. He felt Malfoy's mouth, then his teeth marking the tender skin of his throat. He splayed his hands on Malfoy's thighs for balance, and abandoned himself to pleasure.
Ron bit his lip. It was too much, seeing Harry like this, with his head thrown back and his throat offered to Malfoy's mouth. His skin still tingled all over from the touch of Harry's hands. He'd fantasised about girls, of course – Lavender, Fleur Delacour, even momentary thoughts of Hermione that were quickly wiped away by guilt. But this was Harry. His best friend, wantonly arching under the enemy's lips.
Malfoy raised his head, pushing a pale curtain of hair back from his face to meet Ron's eye with a sardonic glint.
"Our little Harry seems distraught," Malfoy smirked. He grabbed Harry's shoulders and flung his body over into Ron's arms, where he landed in a near-boneless jumble. "Go ahead and comfort him, Ronald - he's your best friend, after all."
Ron wrapped his arms around Harry's shoulders from behind, noting the unnatural heat of his skin, the faint sheen of sweat, and the clammy tinge of panic underneath. He reflexively held on more tightly and pillowed Harry's head into the crook of his neck as Malfoy leant forward over Harry's body again to bite at his nipples. The sound that escaped Harry's mouth was too breathy by far for pain, and when Malfoy drew back after an endless minute, Harry's nipples were glistening with saliva and had hardened into swollen, reddish nubs. Heat flushed Ron's face, sending a spike of desire through him. He quickly lowered his head when he found himself staring.
Malfoy's hands went unceremoniously down to undo Harry's belt and Harry surged up in Ron's arms when Malfoy opened the button of his jeans, struggling for a moment with the Muggle zipper. The corner of Malfoy's mouth twitched up, less a smile than a provocative quirk. He put his hand on Harry's groin, and Ron could see the bulge of Harry's erection straining into the touch.
"Do you want me to touch you, Harry?" Malfoy asked, as mildly as if he was offering sugar at afternoon tea.
"Yess!" Harry hissed, so much like Parseltongue that it made Ron jump. Harry's eyes closed as Malfoy conquered the zipper and pulled his trousers right off together with the underpants. Harry's feet shifted, but he lifted his arse so Malfoy could slide the clothes down to his ankles.
Even out of the corner of his eye, Ron could see how desperately hard Harry was, his prick angry red and standing straight up from his stomach. Though Ron wasn't in the habit of looking when he was wanking – and trying not to do so at all in daylight – he certainly never had been that painfully hard in his life. Poor Harry, getting the full dose of Malfoy's blasted potion.
Harry actually whimpered as Malfoy's hand closed around his prick, squeezing clear drops from the tip with a firm grip. He tried to bury his face against Ron's neck, the only place there was to hide. Ron pulled him a bit closer, wishing he could work up the strength to pull him away from Malfoy altogether. Instead, he petted Harry's damp hair and tried not to look as Malfoy worked Harry's cock with a practiced hand.
"Hm, yes," the bastard purred when he had Harry's hips thrusting into his hand with abandon. Harry's eyes were still squeezed tightly shut. "I think you're ready, Potter." Malfoy's hand stilled, but remained cupped around Harry's wet cock as his eyes searched for Ron's.
"Now, Ronald, tell me – do you want me to fuck him?"
Ron's potion-suppressed rage came out in a rough growl. "No!"
Incredibly, that humourless grin was back on Malfoy's face. "Be careful what you ask for, Ronald. I'll have one of you for sure – would you rather it be you?"
Ron's pulse hammered in his ears, his heartbeat almost painful. For all that Malfoy had practically forced him into compliance, he hadn't believed for a second this could involve him rather than Harry, whose body Malfoy had been playing so ruthlessly. Ron could feel the probing surge of the Veritaserum in his veins, but he wouldn't have tried to lie anyway.
"Yes." And then, just for emphasis, "I'd rather it would be me."
Malfoy's soft chuckle was drowned out by Harry's "No!" as Malfoy's meaning penetrated his drug- and lust-induced stupor. His fingernails dug into Ron's skin as he gripped his arm, eyes wild and very green.
"Be quiet, Harry," Malfoy commanded without even looking at him. "Do you want me to take you then, Ronald?"
To Ron's amazement, he managed to keep his voice cold, almost contemptuous. "No. But I want you to do it to Harry even less."
"Oh, very well," Malfoy sneered. "The epitome of Gryffindor foolishness, it seems. Never fear, Ronald, I'll have you." A sinister grin spilled onto his face. "And you'll get to fuck your dear Harry."
Lucius saw horror dawning on young Weasley's face, and placed a firm hand over the boy's mouth as it opened to protest.
"That's not negotiable, I'm afraid," he drawled. "Potter deserves punishment, and I certainly won't let him get off easily." He smiled, running his thumb over the bruised curve of Weasley's mouth. "But I'd say he would rather be in friendly hands. Yes, you might hurt him out of inexperience – but I might do so on purpose. What do you think would be worse?"
Not, Lucius sneered inwardly, that Potter was likely to feel much pain, far gone as he was. In fact, although he was quite tempted to himself attend to the delightfully squirming morsel that was Potter, this way had its own advantages beyond getting a bit of well-deserved revenge on Arthur Weasley. Potter might walk out of an encounter with Lucius as a self-styled martyr, but opening up under his best friend's cock would stand between them forever. And knowing that Weasley had suffered worse for his sake would deliver a crushing blow to that infuriating ego of Potter's. Yes, this would make up for Dobby and for a lot more besides. It would certainly repay Lucius for Potter's insufferable arrogance in the Department of Mysteries, behaving as if he were Lucius's equal in every way.
Weasley's face screwed up in a way that made Lucius wonder whether he would burst into tears. Potter, whose hand was still clamped around his friend's freckled wrist, was shaking his head frantically, still labouring under Lucius's order to silence.
"Why are you doing this to us?" Weasley blurted out, his voice raw with despair.
"Because I deserve it!" Lucius snapped, the Veritaserum in his bloodstream translating the response into truth on his tongue. His hand shot out to wrap around the boy's throat almost as instinctively. "You will not question me again!"
He felt the tight knot of the boy's Adam's apple under his palm, and pressed a little harder just to see fear widening Weasley's eyes. How dare he try to interrogate his betters?
He stopped crushing the boy's throat when he felt fingers wrapping themselves around his unoccupied wrist. A slender, tanned hand, but exerting a firm grip that was matched by a look more sharp and alert than any he'd got from Potter since he'd given him his poisoned first kiss. Oh yes – the potion made them susceptible and near defenceless, but unlike Imperius it did not suppress their most basic instincts. Even naked, with his trousers and underpants tangling around one of his ankles and painfully aroused, Potter would fight to protect his friend.
Lucius let Weasley's throat slip out of his grip, leaving the boy to nervous gulps of air, and directed his anger at the closer target. He wrenched his arm out of Potter's hold. The cord that had bound his hair behind his back had slipped off, and white strands whipped the air as he bodily threw the boy back into his friend's lap.
"Use your mouth to prepare him," he commanded, voice still raspy with anger.
Weasley broke his friend's fall, then squirmed as Potter moved to position his face over his lap. Weasley's hands were in Potter's hair as if to pull him off, but they stilled at Lucius's sharp, "No. You'll take it and enjoy it. Surely you don't want to hurt him more than necessary?"
Lucius exulted in the flood of resignation that washed over Weasley's face as Potter bent forward to free, then nuzzle, his cock. The freckled hands, too large yet for his adolescent body, rested on Potter's head in a gesture that was disturbingly tender. But Weasley couldn't disguise his pleasure as Potter began to lick him in earnest; a flush stained his cheeks and he threw his head back with a strangled moan.
Yes. Lucius smiled grimly as he watched Potter at work. His lips had reddened, his dark head a beautiful contrast to the freckled white of Weasley's thighs as it moved under Wesley's hands. To see Potter's arrogant little mouth wrapped around Weasley's cock made up for many of the indignities Lucius had suffered today. Untutored enthusiasm was all it had ever been made out to be. His groin tightened at the sight.
"Enough, Potter," he ordered after the boy had executed yet another deep – and probably throat-bruising – suck that left Weasley's prick straining and glistening with saliva. There was no reason why he, Lucius should deny himself gratification if it offered itself so wantonly. He rose to his feet and stretched his back.
"My turn now, Harry. Come here."
Harry went almost fluidly, giving Ron's freckled hips a brush with his thumbs that was hopefully reassuring. He knelt on the hard flagstones before Malfoy, fingers tugging at the fastenings of his trousers almost impatiently. His very nerves recalled the heady taste of Malfoy's skin.
He gently lifted Malfoy's cock out of his underclothes. It was hard and flushed pink, crooking upwards and slightly to the left under Harry's tentative fingers. He almost felt bereft when he had to let go to help slide Malfoy's trousers down and off, licking his lips as he observed the tempting length bobbing in front of his face. Cloth rustled as the trousers joined Malfoy's robe on the ground, and Harry reached for Malfoy's prick again when the man was fully naked, fleetingly pausing to admire the curve of Malfoy's hip.
"Enjoy," Malfoy commented, sarcasm layered on thick as treacle.
Harry hardly hesitated before darting out his tongue and sliding it along Malfoy's prick. Larger than Ron's, with more prominent veins, the taste of precome on Harry's tongue less intense, though a tad more bitter. It had been anything but disinterested to start with, and now it filled further, curving up under Harry's tongue. A flickering impulse, propelled by Veritaserum, left him yearning to bite, to reduce the monstrous bastard to a howling, bleeding thing, but it evaporated quickly as the evidence of Malfoy's enjoyment hardened in Harry's mouth.
Slanting his eyes up from his sucking, Harry saw Malfoy pulling Ron to his feet, guiding his head to his chest and whispering into his ear. Ron's mouth reluctantly lowered to attend to Malfoy's nipple. The mere sight sent a shiver of heat through Harry's already painful erection that had him gaping involuntarily around Malfoy's prick. Malfoy gave him a look from under half-shuttered lids that fairly dripped amusement. Harry returned his eyes to pale pubic hair quickly, focusing his attention back to the wetting of Malfoy's cock. It was a hard task; his mouth was already half-dry – not to mention aching - after trying to prepare Ron.
"Are you enjoying yourself, Harry?"
At that moment, Harry hated, hated Malfoy for putting the Veritaserum in his bloodstream to test again as much as he craved the overwhelming pleasure of the bastard's touch. And yet, another rush of arousal squeezed a drop from the slit of his aching cock at the thought of admitting his weakness out loud.
He hung his head in shame, but the truth bubbled up. "Yes," he confessed to Malfoy's cock.
"Good," Malfoy murmured. "Proceed, then."
Malfoy's hips gave a slight push forward in time with Harry's sucks, burrowing deeper with every thrust. Precome trickled onto his tongue as Harry revelled in the taste and the texture. He slid his mouth up and down Malfoy's length, his throat experimentally squeezing around the head of the cock at the entrance of his gullet. Malfoy's responsive moan travelled like silk over his skin as the potion sang Malfoy's song in his blood.
Tentatively, he slid his lips down to suckle at the head, using his leverage to glance up into the man's face once more. Malfoy's lids were shuttered in pleasure, self-centred and content as a cat; one hand carded lazily through Ron's hair where he sucked on his chest. Malfoy caught Harry's eyes, giving him a slow smile that set Harry's heart to flutter. His free hand moved down to stroke sweaty tangles away from Harry's forehead. He revealed Harry's scar, tracing it once with his thumb before sliding fingers into Harry's wild hair and guiding his head back down to his groin.
Ron tasted the salt-musk of Malfoy's skin under his tongue as he lapped at the bastard's nipples. Certainly it wouldn't be this pleasant without the bloody potion running through his system. Malfoy was one twisted son of a Crup, even beyond the general. He nipped at one of the tight nubs, then again when he wasn't dragged off. Malfoy just chuckled deep in his throat, chest arching against Ron's lips.
"Again," he ordered. Ron bit his other nipple and felt the man rolling his hips to delve deeper into poor Harry's mouth. Helplessly, Ron clenched his hand into a fist against Malfoy's stomach.
He watched the triangular point of Malfoy's chin as the man threw back his head in pleasure, the drug-warped part of his mind admiring the way pale hair cascaded down over firm shoulders. Seeing an icy bastard like Malfoy respond with such abandon was... interesting. He was bloody beautiful in a way men shouldn't be, and in a way Ron shouldn't notice! Just as he shouldn't notice the picture Harry made, dark head a striking contrast against Malfoy's thighs. Ron's position allowed him an occasional glimpse of swollen lips as Harry worked around Malfoy's prick. Harry's throat moved, a delicious, sweat-slick curve as he gulped for the occasional breath of air or struggled to take Malfoy deeper. So beautiful Ron's heart hurt even as his prick and balls felt as if hot lead had been poured into them.
Malfoy cupped the back of Ron's head, guiding rather than dragging it up, and rubbed his cheek against Ron's with predatory friendliness.
"He's quite pretty, isn't he?" he asked amusedly, one hand carding through Harry's wild hair.
"Beautiful," Ron corrected curtly, then screwed his eyes shut as Malfoy chuckled. Something in his throat tightened at having blurted out that most private of thoughts. But if Harry could go through this without a tear, so would he.
"Enough now," Malfoy ordered in a raspy voice, his state of arousal evident in the way he dug nails into the thin skin at Ron's nape.
Harry's head lifted off Malfoy's lap, cheeks red and mouth glistening with precome as he fretfully gasped for air until his thin chest heaved. Malfoy's cock, its head now fully emerged from the cover of its foreskin, looked angrily dark against the man's pale skin. A sharp knot of fear formed in Ron's chest. Objectively, it wasn't as big as what Ron had seen the day he'd barged in on Charlie to show him his new fossilised Dragonette egg. But this intimidating length, saliva-slicked or not, was going inside him!
"You'd better come here before Harry's spit dries," Malfoy caught on to his thoughts with a touch of sardonic amusement.
And Ron went, lips pressed together in a thin line. Each and every one of his muscles felt as if it had just been petrified. Harry was shivering, but his skin was hot to the touch as Ron ran a hand along his flank. His prick lay in an aching curve along his belly, straining as if it were trying to crawl off Harry's groin. His eyes were heavy-lidded, bruised slits, glowing with the mad shine of poison. Ron gave in to the temptation to kiss him gently, tasting Malfoy and potion on Harry's lips as they parted pliantly under his. He made sure not to brush that painful-looking erection.
Malfoy swept up their discarded clothes into a nest on the floor with a quick Summoning Charm before guiding Harry down on them on his back. Harry whimpered when Malfoy stroked up the length of his cock, a trickle of precome oozing from the slit as Malfoy pressed his thumb in just below the head. The bastard laughed and pushed Harry's legs apart, rolling him back to expose his arse on the makeshift bed. Ron trembled at the sight of that pinkish pucker, tight and virginal and nothing he'd ever wanted to see. Or touch. Or enter! It didn't look as if that was even possible.
"Touch him," Malfoy commanded, and Ron slid his hand around one softly rounded cheek on display. Malfoy leaned in, pointing his wand, and when Ron jerked back for fear of having done something wrong, Malfoy grabbed his hand and murmured a spell that left Ron's fingers sticky with a coating of fragrant oil. "Let nobody say I'm a cruel man," Malfoy murmured.
Ron put his fingers against Harry's pucker, feeling its ridges and insistent heat. Touching Harry there felt almost as if the small hole was trying to grasp him. Awkwardly, Ron pressed a slick fingertip forward, nervously staring down into Harry's face. Harry's eyes were screwed shut, hair plastered to his face, a tiny frown crinkling his forehead.
"Relax for him, Harry," Malfoy ordered over Ron's shoulder. "You want him!"
Tension seemed to flow right out of Harry's body, and Ron felt his slight push accommodated until his finger was in the tight, hot channel to the knuckles.
"Very good," Malfoy whispered into Ron's neck. "Now try another."
Ron felt Malfoy press up against his back, gooseflesh breaking out all over his skin as he felt the man's prick, wet from Harry's mouth, laid along his own cleft. He trembled and fumbled to press two fingers into Harry, who moaned with his lips rounded into a pained 'o'. Malfoy used his cock to stroke the tumbled mass of nerves at Ron's own hole as he advised him in low, sibilant whispers how to roll and twist his fingers until Harry uttered a low noise that travelled right up Ron's prick, and writhed.
"Good," Malfoy purred. "He's more than ready. Inside him, now."
Ron felt himself slide forward until he kneeled right behind Harry; he pulled out his fingers and wiped them surreptitiously on the robes, reddening at Harry's "Ngg!" of protest. Quickly, he reached down to spread the rest of the spell-created oil over his cock before Malfoy could forbid him. He hissed at the contact, becoming aware of his own painful arousal where before he'd only seen Harry's.
Malfoy hooked his hands into the back of Ron's knees and spread his thighs until they braced Harry's hips. Then he guided Ron's hands to the backs of Harry's thighs.
"Hold him open for you," Malfoy said, and when Ron pushed Harry's legs back and apart a little more, his hole gaped, red and glistening.
Malfoy reached for Ron's prick, and Ron nearly threw his head back and screamed as the insistent hand guided it to Harry's cleft. His cock ached and Harry felt like a vacuum crying out to be filled around his engorged head. He pressed forward instinctively, his aching flesh surrounded by tightness made bearable by the lubrication. Barely. His cock was squeezed by the walls of Harry's tight channel until he felt as if his forehead would break into pieces of bone from the sheer pressure of it. He didn't have to try to go slow – moving any faster would kill him.
A hand on Ron's back pushed him forward, and then Malfoy's knees nudged between his spread legs, opening him more. Warm fingers grabbed the cheeks of his arse, pulling them apart. The touch felt amazing, if a lot more subtle than Malfoy's fingers directing his cock.
But the teasing fingers vanished all too quickly, to be replaced with the blunt pressure of Malfoy's head. Ron swallowed against the sudden knot in his throat, willing himself to relax and failing miserably. He could practically feel his muscles tensing up one by one.
Although Malfoy had used some of the lubrication on his own length as well, the entry was still agonising. Malfoy's prick was just too big as it burned its way into Ron's arse. Cold sweat was dripping from Ron's forehead as he tried to brace himself. The bastard did go slow, but it only meant that Ron felt every agonising inch. Malfoy pushed him forward and deeper into Harry, and Ron only realised that he'd been digging nails into Harry's thighs when Harry let out a faint hiss. Ron flushed with shame and let go, the red crescents on Harry's thighs an accusatory testimony to his lack of control.
When Malfoy was fully sheathed inside him – Ron could feel the heavy weight of the man's balls nudging against his cleft – it left him raw and helpless and full in a way that made him want to scream and claw at something, anything. He could feel every one of Malfoy's harsh breaths through the cock lodged inside him. It was a relief that Harry's eyes were still closed so he couldn't see the pain etched on Ron's face. The thought that he, Ron, was causing Harry even a fraction of the same torment was unbearable.
Then Malfoy rocked inside him and the pain spiralled right up Ron's spine; he had to bite his tongue until he tasted copper in order not to scream. Tears burned in his eyes, and he arched his back, which only pushed him even deeper into Harry's arse.
"Yess!" Malfoy hissed into Ron's neck, and bit down on his earlobe without any care. Still, Ron's overloaded nerves translated the little sting as pleasant compared to the overwhelming agony in his lower body. When Malfoy pulled back, just to push in deeper, the pain flared up to new heights.
"Do you want to enjoy it, Ronald?" Malfoy snarled into Ron's bitten ear.
"I want it over!"
Malfoy just laughed and pounded into him until his thrusts shook Ron's entire frame and it became harder and harder not to scream or to tear himself away and fall on the monster with claws and teeth. Frantically, Ron braced one hand against the floor and stiffened his back to shield Harry from the force of Malfoy's assault. Harry, who was making desperate little noises and Ron knew he had to be hurting – a mouthful of potion and a few words couldn't possibly sugar-coat this kind of agony. Harry, whose tight channel clenched around Ron's prick and squeezed him in a way that made his neck hairs stand up and his breaths harsh. Ron began to feel like a raw blade on an anvil, caught between hammer and fire and trying not to bend.
"You're not doing him any favours by holding back." Malfoy sounded as hoarse as Ron felt after quelling his screams in his throat.
"Shut the fuck up!" he snapped, and immediately wanted to clap his hand over his fat mouth. Malfoy had their wands, even if he wasn't lodged to the balls in Ron's arse and could take his revenge that way. Malfoy bared his teeth against Ron's neck, then grabbed Ron's hand off the floor and twisted it behind his back until his shoulder joint screamed. Ron feebly scrabbled for balance as Malfoy shoved him against Harry.
"Fuck him properly or I'll make you, Weasley!" With a sob, Ron sank deeper into Harry's yielding body, and Malfoy loosened the crushing grip on his wrist to sneer. "Because our little Harry is dying for you to have him, aren't you, Harry?"
Ron couldn't help but stare at Harry's face, which looked out of the nest of clothes with sheer need bleeding from his eyes.
"Please, Ron," he whispered. "You can't hurt me."
Ron struggled for breath and made a conscious effort to relax his spine against Malfoy, to let himself be rocked into Harry with increasing force. Reflexively, he reached out to wrap his hand around Harry's swollen, crimson cock, feeling the slick coating of precome that had seeped from the slit.
Malfoy caught him before he could get a grip, rapping him sharply on the knuckles.
"Not him!" Malfoy sneered, and Ron's heart jumped at the look of despair that spread over Harry's face. "I haven't seen enough willing compliance to feel permissive."
Ron squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think over the burn in his arse, over Malfoy's presence inside him, over the ever-worsening ache in his prick. His shoulders slumped.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, watching one of Harry's eyes open into a wary green slit. Harry's face twisted with all the feral rage of a trapped young animal.
"Don't you dare-" he snarled. Ron leaned forward and planted his hand firmly over Harry's mouth, aware that the movement translated into a punishing thrust into Harry's depths. He tried not to groan at the sweetness of it even as Harry writhed under him, silent but with eyes that still flashed fire. Let Harry hate him for this, but Ron couldn't watch his best friend in such agony.
"Please make me feel-" He choked, then caught himself "- pleasure, Mr Malfoy."
Malfoy laughed triumphantly and grabbed the hair at Ron's neck to pull him flush against his chest. Ron let go of Harry's snarling mouth and went with the pull, curling his back against Malfoy's slick skin. He tried not to flinch as the new angle seemed to make Malfoy's cock shift and swell inside him.
"Bright if not at all subtle," Malfoy commented sardonically. "But very well – stop resisting and you may bring your friend off – later."
Ron felt the double reassurance of the potion and the promise wash over him in a saccharine wave. He went pliant in Malfoy's arms and around his cock, and twisted his neck around to touch his lips to the side of Malfoy's throat.
Lucius felt no need to hide his vicious smirk at Weasley's breathless plea. It had been enjoyable to break the boy's prickly resistance, more so even than Potter's drugged helplessness. Too bad there would be no way of letting Arthur know what had transpired between Lucius and his youngest son in the foreseeable future. He thrust into the boy once more, enjoying the way in which near-painful friction gave way to still-delightful tight heat as the boy surrendered himself to Lucius's cock.
He shifted his angle, making sure the little Weasel was shoved equally hard into Potter's arse. Weasley's shocked little noise told Lucius that he'd brushed the boy's prostate. He repeated the same movement several times to reduce young Ronald to the same state of frantic neediness as his friend.
He could see the spine arching under the flushed skin of the boy's back, saw sweat pooling at the dipped hollow just above where their bodies interlocked. Weasley was grabbing Potter's thighs way too hard, although neither of them seemed to notice. Hot heaviness ached in Lucius's balls as the boy writhed underneath him, head twisting from side to side in desperate urgency. Blood thudded in his ears at the sight of Potter, arse lifted obscenely and clenching around Weasley's cock, his own prick a dark, swollen need against his belly. Lucius wondered idly if Potter's erection would burn him if he touched it with his tongue.
He got no warning when Weasley climaxed, throwing his head back with uncontrolled force, almost smashing into Lucius's nose. His spine-curving shudder trembled along Lucius's chest as the boy spilled into Potter's arse. Drops of blood appeared like another smattering of freckles as he scratched his own arms instead of Potter's defenceless skin under the sheer force of his orgasm. Probably his first with another, Lucius mused smugly, still rocking balls-deep inside Weasley's depths. Definitely his first being taken on the flagstones of Hogwarts Castle like a sorcerer's catamite.
Lucius did not give the boy time to pull away from Potter, although a dribble of white ran down the back of the saviour's thigh. It was the perfect humiliating addition to Lucius's pleasure. He grabbed Weasley's hips with both hands, sinking in nails for good measure to pull the boy out of his post-orgasmic haze, and pounded into the tight arse until he heard his little prey whimper under his chest. Lucius felt his balls tightening as he fucked the boy, taking cruel delight in hammering him deeper into Potter. Even soft, Weasley's prick would provide stimulation to the little hero's over-sensitised arse.
He forbade himself any sound of enjoyment as hot pressure surged inside him and he spilled in a dizzying rush into Weasley's well-ploughed hole. He held them upright for just one sweet moment longer, arms wrapped around the boy's chest to delight in the cold sweat of his back, the frantic thudding of his heartbeat.
Then he pulled out with a wet pop that had the boy flinching before he landed in a jumble of limbs on his friend.
Poor little Potter, Lucius thought sardonically and rose to his feet, a delicious ache pulling at the muscles of his thighs and shoulders. He watched Weasley scramble free of Potter's hole, trying to be gentle but fumbling clumsily.
The boy did not give him another look. His hand flew out to wrap around Potter's prick with all the determination of an arrow loosed from its bowstring. Potter's legs had lowered, his body a twisted shape on the nest of robes. Lucius watched Weasley tighten his grip, watched Potter's head jerk back, throat bared and terribly vulnerable, and felt a low, warm glow suffusing his stomach.
It hardly took three energetic tugs before Potter arched up, eyes dark and blind to the world, and came with the sound of a little bird giving up its life under a kneazle's jaws. His prick spurted in Weasley's hand, coating his chest and belly, and spraying white drops over Weasley's chin. When the convulsions had left him, he lay as if dead, eyes closed in exhaustion, in shame. Weasley's mouth trembled.
"Lick him clean, Ronald," Lucius ordered coldly, irrationally angered by the shared world of silence between them.
Weasley leaned down, his back stiff like an old man's. Lucius looked at himself, at the pink-tinged residue of his own come that still flecked his cock, and smiled. The boy ran his tongue along the side of Potter's navel, and began to lap at him like a kitten. Potter shuddered, his fists balling as his friend cleaned his belly, then his pubic hair and finally his limp, exhausted prick. He never opened his eyes; only his face paled, almost imperceptibly, into a mask of anguish.
At last, Weasley wiped the smear of come off his chin and sucked his palm clean before shifting on his knees. He looked up and met Lucius's gaze. His eyes were steady, but their expression brittle.
Lucius held the boy's gaze for a long moment, waiting for a break-down that did not come. Then he raised Potter's wand and cast a quick Scourgify on himself, then on the boys. It would not do to leave traces. Potter curled up into a ball as the magic poured over him, but then rose, almost fluidly; first to his knees, then to his feet. He did not look at Lucius, but down at the short red hair of his friend kneeling before him.
Something that Lucius had only ever associated with the ravages of the Cruciatus Curse twisted Potter's face - fleeting, and then gone. He touched the red-head's cheek very gently. Weasley bit his lip, eyes fixed on his bare toes, and forced himself up to his feet next to Potter. Lucius could practically hear the screech of pain he did not utter, and knew how the boy's arse must burn. But Weasley stood, shoulder to shoulder with Potter, if slightly stooped.
Flicking his wand again, Lucius called his clothes to himself and dressed, quickly, but with a display of perfect confidence. He kept a careful eye on Potter and Weasley.
They stood defiantly, hands laced in an unconscious resemblance of the Unbreakable Vow, and fixed Lucius with single-minded determination. This will not break us, the gesture screamed. You will not break us!
Well, time would tell, Lucius smirked.
Safely covered up by his rebuttoned robe, he summoned his cloak. The Azkaban wardens let him have that much, a symbol of respectability for meeting great Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore – and his dear friend Severus – had forced Lucius to their will, playing on Malfoy reputation and self-interest, playing on his weaknesses to steal him from the Dark Lord as backup for the old man's beloved Severus and as another spy for his precious Order.
Oh, he'd gotten revenge on Dumbledore by forcing the two children to his will, though the old man had better never find out. Looking at the stony masks of the boys' faces, so insufficiently hiding the abyss of bruised innocence beneath, Lucius knew that Dumbledore would never learn the truth from them.
He allowed the triumphant smile that was tugging at his lips to blossom freely.
"I believe we shall meet again at Grimmauld Place over the holidays," he said, nonchalance incarnate. Potter's face did not betray any emotion, but a muscle jumped in the young Weasley's face like a knight anticipating a serpent in his stronghold. Lucius's smile widened. "You may approach me again, if you desire," he offered smugly. "You've proven yourselves an entertaining morning's diversion, both of you."
He slipped the cloak into place around his shoulders, ignoring the way Weasley's face reddened and Potter's mouth twitched with hatred.
Collecting both boys' wands in one hand, he lifted the Repellent Charm and took a few confident steps down the corridor towards the main castle gates. No, they would not attack him, not wandless and still vulnerable to the potion's effects. Not hurt as they were.
Lucius paused at the end of the corridor, then placed their wands atop the marble plinth of the bust of Murdoch the Lewd before swinging around to face his two playthings one last time. They still stood as if carved in stone, hands clasped tightly.
"And do try to keep a better grip on your wands next time, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, if you decide to dally with Death Eaters."
Many feet above that particular ground floor corridor, Severus Snape reclined in the plush luxury of the Headmaster's favourite armchair and waved his own wand to deactivate the Extendable Eye located in the bust of Murdoch the Lewd.
That had been an... entertaining spectacle altogether. He now congratulated himself on the impulse that had kept him from rushing down to break off the impending confrontation when Potter had showed up behind Lucius in that corridor. Oh, this would give him leverage over Lucius Malfoy, knowing – just as the man himself had to – that Dumbledore would have his guts for garters for defiling precious Potter. Even pleading extenuating circumstances due to the after-effects of potions poisoning would not save the man if the Headmaster ever found out.
And it was one more precious memory to copy to Snape's own small private Pensieve at Spinner's End.
Yet more sweetly still, he, Severus Snape, would be able to superimpose this morning's memories on the insolent faces of the two brats whenever they decided to act up in Potions class. If they regained their spirit, after this.
Yes, Potter, Snape thought coldly, recalling the sight of the hateful little brat stumbling away from his Pensieve, and his most humiliating memories. There is something to be said after all for invading other people's privacy.