Izzy here, with my fanfic, "For One Forbidden," a very slashy Harry Potter fanfic, which is to be blamed on Chris Columbus for putting all those vibes between Harry and Lucius. This is actually Harry/Draco, with one-sided Harry/Lucius, and is quite angsty, and isn't really everyone's cup of tea. May even be rated R, though I'd go more for PG-13. You have been warned. Nor are they mine. Harry's POV.
I hated Draco first, and there is of course a thin line between love and hate, one I think I ended up walking for most of the time after our affair began. One I still walk, sometimes slipping one way, sometimes slipping the other.
But I was aware that my feelings for Lucius went beyound hate first.
I didn't really hate him until the summer after my fourth year. I was aware already of how despicable a person he was, but he just wasn't a big enough presence in my life to elict so strong an emotion. Then came the attack on the Burrow.
I didn't hear about it until days afterwards. I wondered why Ron's letters suddenly stopped, and I started to fear Voldemort had killed him. Then I got the letter from Bill, telling me that Arthur, Molly, Percy, Ron, and Ginny had all gone into hiding, and that Charlie and the twins were dead. There was an investigation into who was the attacker, but it was clearly getting nowhere, and all that we could really do was hold a funeral service and pray for the safety of the remaining Weasleys.
The funeral was held on the Hogwarts grounds the day before my fifth year started. Professor McGonagall arrived at the Dursleys early that morning, stayed for an hour to prove she wasn't polyjuiced, and took me to Hogwarts herself. Snape did the same for the Weasleys, and Flitwick brought Hermione. Dumbledore feared especially for the safety of the three of us, and thus arranged for our transport at the hands of the three people he trusted most.
And Lucius Malfoy had the gall to show up at the funeral. Some official Ministry business he had to conduct before the start of term, he said, and he thought he might as well pay his respects.
It was over Fred's coffin that it happened. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and I were standing over it when Lucius walked over. I don't even remember what he said anymore. But at that moment I looked at him, and I knew-just like that-that he had been responsible for the attack, and the three deaths. To this day I can't explain it. When he left, Ron muttered something to that effect, and Hermione and Ginny voiced their agreement, but it was only a hunch for them. They didn't know in the same way I did.
And I thought of Fred and George, whom everyone loved, and of Charlie. And then I did hate him.
But then I began obsessing over him. At first it was just thinking about how awful he was, and how I'd like to kill him. It was the first time I'd actually fantasized about killing someone. When I thought Sirius responsible for the death of my parents, I'd wanted to kill him deep down, but I hadn't even consciously admitted that, let alone thought about the details. I'd feared and hated Voldemort, but it was the same thing, I never thought about how I would kill him, even though I would have done it if I had been able to. It was Lucius Malfoy whom I could first say that dreamed of killing.
And then came the night dreams.
These days I shudder to think of it, though whether in longing or disgust I don't know. But I remember the images quite well: Lucius Malfoy touching me, taking me, and when we were done, I calmly pulled out my wand and administered an Avada Kedavra curse, though I didn't know how to do that curse. And then I woke up with the sheets all sticky.
The dream repeated itself, night after night. And then I ran into Lucius Malfoy again.
There was always Ministry business at Hogwarts during my fifth year. With everything occuring in the outside world, it was hardly suprising. So it was inevitable that Lucius would return. On a day in January Ron, Hermione, and I ran into him in a corridor. This time I remember what he said, and the exact way he said it. "Still here, Potter." He seemed to be acknowledging it as a mild surprise.
Ron exploded. He demanded to know just why Lucius thought I shouldn't still be there, and outright accused him of being a Death Eater. Lucius just chided him for his temper and passed on.
Ron went for his wand, and Hermione had to stop him by herself. She barked at me to help her, but my head was flying. The exact way he had said it...
The night dreams stopped after that, but then the daydreams began. Whether I wanted to kiss or kill Lucius Malfoy, he was always on my mind. I never breathed a word of it to anyone, though they guessed that someone was on my mind, but they would never know who.
All this while Draco and I were continuing our rivalry, until one day in April he made one comment too many, and I challenged him to a duel, right there in the corridor. And he accepted. We didn't get further then a few harmless curses before we were stopped, informed of the points that would be taken away from our Houses, and given a detention.
The detention lasted several hours, during which, after first an icy comment, and then an icy reply, and then another one a bit later, a conversation between Draco and myself started, our first one since we met in Madam Malkin's all those years ago. And somehow we got onto the topic of love potions. And Draco, after admitting he and Pansy took them to make their lives more convenient, said I really should use one, because no girl would stay with me otherwise.
I remember my reply exactly. It was, "It's far more complicated then that, Malfoy, and I'm not going to share the details with you, but I will say this: I will never take one myself. Unlike you. You hide behind it, don't you? You're afraid of your own heart. Now that's cowardly."
One look at his face and I knew my barb had stung. Over and over since I've pictured him in the days after, tried to imagine what he was thinking, my taunt continually in his head, driving him to take an antidote to his love potion, as he managed to inform me when school was almost over. He was all smug, as if he had proven himself. I had made him need to prove himself. The thought that I could have such an effect on him brought with it an intoxication that I couldn't have imagined.
Now I had two Malfoys in my thoughts, and my image of Lucius Malfoy started to get fuzzy. I started to want to kill him less and to kiss him more, though I never lost my desire entirely for the former. The dreams returned, but with the Avada Kedavra gone, and now father and son took turns in them. I started volunteering to do the laundry to keep it concealed, stunning the Dursleys in the process, even though I'd had one or two wet dreams, the nature of which I couldn't remember when I woke up, the previous summer, and noone had made any comment. Maybe Aunt Petunia had been too embarrassed.
Professor McGonagall had taken me home at the end of the year, and she came to fetch me again at the start of it. It from she that I learned of the second attack on the Burrow, and that this time, everyone had been killed, save Bill. He taught Defense Against the Dark Arts that year, and it was simply an excuse to keep him at Hogwarts, where he'd be safe.
When Hermione and I tried to discuss that September recently, we discovered that we both remember little, save overwhelming grief. Hermione had newly started a relationship with Ron at the end of the previous year, and now, a year later, she's far from recovered from his death. I think the scar's permenant. And I had lost my best friend, and the only family I had ever really known. It seemed some days all I could do was cry. My passions for Draco and Lucius were completely forgotten; I wasn't even actively meditating about who had attacked the Burrow.
Until one night the grief became too much, and I felt I had to get away from it. Covered in the invisibility cloak, I wandered the corridors of Hogwarts, looking for something; I didn't yet know what. I found it in the form of Draco. What he was doing in the corridors that night I'll never know.
We didn't speak any words. For the next few months, in fact, we never said anything to each other. By day, we avoided each other. By night, we sought each other out, and the only words we spoke were each other's last names, during heated encounters that would end with us both lying spent on the floor of some classroom or corridor, willing ourselves not to think too deeply about what we were doing. We never questioned when we had gone from hate to love, or even indeed if we had gone from hate to love. He tried to call me Harry once, but I kept calling him Malfoy, and so he gave up and continued to call me Potter. I assume he believed I was keeping this last shred of distance and disdain. And I must let him believe that, because I can never tell him the truth.
The truth was, sometimes after we had ripped each other's clothes off and he had me, I saw not him, but his father. When I met with him, I never knew until that point whom I would think of. By calling him Malfoy, I could make him both, so it didn't matter, as long as he never knew. Nor did it matter that he didn't know the reason I always let him be on top, when it was easy for him to figure out I had been drawn to this by the power I could hold over him, to make him break his father's rules in screwing me, that reason being to match my fantasies about Lucius. Nothing mattered. I was drunk, drowning my sorrows of the deaths I had experienced in Malfoy.
It took the Dark Mark to sober me up, when one night having pulled off his robes, I saw it on his shoulder. And then I finally stopped and thought. He continued to try to undress me, and I pushed him off. He stared at me stunned. And I said, "I'm sorry, Malfoy, but Voldemort killed my parents, my best friend, and my adoptive family, and caused pain my other best friend may never recover from. I can't make love to one of his supporters. That's a line I just can't cross." And he simply lay there as I got dressed and left. He didn't know either that what I had just said didn't apply to just him, but to his father as well.
Now at times I regret being so harsh, because I no doubt drove Draco back to his old ways. At the end of that year, I spied on him when he and Pansy Parkinson toasted in private, and she didn't notice the potion he slipped into his goblet, but I did. He's hidden back behind her, and there he will no doubt stay until he dies.
But ultimately I had no choice. Draco and I knew from the start our affair wouldn't last, even if we managed not to think of that.
As for his father, I ran into him again at the beginning of this year. He has no idea of any of this, of course. Once again it was in the corridor. This time, he said, "Still here, you two." In the very same tone of voice he'd used two years ago.
To which Hermione said, "I am learning the Avada Kedavra curse. Someday we're going to meet again when I know it, and you've been proven to be a Death Eater so I can use it, and I promise you, I will." Her grief has changed her greatly. This time it was her whom Lucius chided for temper before passing on.
That encounter, combined with time and passing out of the younger years of adolescence, have done away with any feelings I had for Lucius Malfoy besides hate. If Hermione doesn't kill him, I will.
But Draco is a different matter. I will never be able to have a uncomplicated opinion of him like I used too. I pity him, simply following his father to becoming a Death Eater. He had his choice. He must have realized I would have problems with him being a Death Eater, and he could have chosen me over it, but he didn't. And now he has fled and left me to deal with the pain that I had caused us both.