Warnings: underage, cross-gen, incest, ambiguous consent of sorts
"We will take him home."
Lucius stared at his grandson's twitching body in the hospital bed, taking in the sweat-soaked forehead, the pupils moving restlessly under blue-veined eyelids. The boy's breaths came flat and rapid. Draco was perched on the side of the bed, fists clenched to stop himself from touching Scorpius' hair again. That had been a bad move.
"I don't think that's a good idea, Mr Malfoy." Headmistress McGonagall's lips were very thin, accentuating her age despite her open hair and colourful tartan dressing gown. "He assaulted another student-"
"He didn't assault me!"
Lucius had forgotten the small figure of Albus Severus Potter at the back of the room, and, judging from her frown, so had McGonagall. School robes pulled over pyjamas, bony, slippered feet, and a shock of dark hair framing a white face. All that was missing was a lightning scar. Well, not quite, Lucius admitted after a sharp look. The delicate body, the fine-boned face bore testimony that even an injection of traitorous Weasley blood could improve a Muggle-tainted lineage.
Young Potter stepped forward as if to shield Scorpius from the Headmistress' stern eyes. "He's ill – he didn't even know what he was doing."
As if to prove his point, the boy gingerly reached out to touch Scorpius' hand. Lucius could see Scorpius' limp fingers curl into claws, the greedy twist of his mouth. He grabbed Potter's wrist and pulled him away from the bed. Bones almost shifted in Lucius's grip, and the boy's face twisted in pain before he found himself stumbling against the door.
"Get out, Potter!"
The boy gave him a scared look and fled.
"Really, Mr Malfoy," McGonagall snapped, "I don't think-"
"Yes, Headmistress," Lucius interrupted, in a low drawl that vibrated with rage. "I don’t think that it is acceptable for my grandson to be poisoned at school either. I would suggest that you find out who slipped him this potion, and deal with them appropriately – before I do." His tone said, rather clearly, that if he caught the culprit, half his limbs would never be recovered.
It wasn't that Lucius believed Minerva McGonagall to be among those who would consider an attack on a child from a 'Death Eater family' an incident of lesser importance, but his grandson and heir had been hurt in her care.
"I assure you, Mr Malfoy, we will discover who was responsible and punish him in accordance with the school rules."
Madam Pomfrey put a blue-veined hand on the Headmistress's arm and peered at Lucius from under her starched white wimple.
"Lucius, Draco… don't you think that St Mungo's might be better equipped to help young Scorpius?"
Lucius felt Draco's eyes on him, full of painful indecision in a pinched face as white as Potter's had been. But the mere fact that Pomfrey asked the question proved that she didn't know what they were dealing with. She hadn't known twenty years ago either, but there had been the possibility that she'd read up on the potion in the interim, no matter how distasteful or esoteric.
"No," he said. "I am familiar with the potion and its effects. We will be able to produce the cure at the Manor."
He nodded at Draco, who bent down and scoped up Scorpius inside his hospital bedding, careful not to touch his bare skin. The boy whimpered; his eyes opened into feral slits that held no sign of Scorpius' usual, detached intelligence. He… undulated in Draco's arms, wrapping himself around his father's chest like a serpent. Draco caught his grasping hands and trapped them inside the duvet before he could be touched. Scorpius let out a soft, pained moan that had Lucius digging nails into his palms in rage.
"If you'd lower the Anti-Apparition Wards for a moment, Headmistress?"
Few were even aware that this lay within the power of Hogwarts' Headmaster, a feat rarely performed. But Lucius knew that she wouldn't refuse him.
So he found himself treated to the spectacle of the school's ancient protections lowering before him without sound or sign, something that even the Dark Lord had never achieved during the war. Lucius could feel the wards' weight shift and vanish for the few precious seconds required for Apparition. Catching Draco's eyes, he Disapparated.
Draco appeared only seconds behind him in the Manor's Hall of Apparition. In his arms, Scorpius cried out and struggled against the bedding that covered him. Draco had to tighten his hold, and the boy screamed again.
"You said you know what it is." Draco's face looked older than Lucius had ever seen it. His fine blond hair was in disarray, exposing the receding hairline he usually carefully styled over. "Are you certain you can brew the antidote?"
"I've seen the potion at work several decades ago when some Gryffindor 'pranksters' slipped a dose to Snape," Lucius said curtly.
It hadn’t seemed that much of a chore then - the ugly black-haired urchin throwing himself at Lucius in the mad, agonizing abandon that the Nightburning Heartsache potion inflicted. He'd dragged the boy into the seventh year Slytherin dorm to share with his inner circle for a rather enjoyable night of debauchery. Even now, he could conjure up the memory of young Snape's hot, desperate flesh squeezing around his cock.
"As for an antidote, there is none, except for helping the poison to run its course."
Draco went literally grey. "Are you sure?"
"Nightburning Heartsache was included in the 12th edition of Moste Potente Potions in 1608 and removed three years later at the insistence of the Wizards' Council. Our 1610 edition states quite explicitly that no cure exists. And who'd invest valuable potions ingredients on a condition that can be remedied… physically?"
A shudder ran through Draco's stooped form. "Perhaps St Mungo's-?"
"Would you leave your heir to the mercy of a St Mungo's orderly?" Lucius growled. "A stranger who might be disgusted? Or worse, amused?"
Draco stared down at the squirming bundle. Scorpius was trying to rub himself against his father's body in mindless need.
"Father, please! He's my son. I can't do this!"
'Ah, but you think I can?' was on the tip of Lucius' tongue, but all he said was, "Apparate him up to my spare bedroom. Then go and calm your wife. I will… deal with this."
He wondered whether Scorpius had sought out the younger Potter boy on purpose, or whether he'd just gone for the nearest warm body in his dormitory once the potion had kicked in. He hoped it was the former. If his grandson felt an attraction to men, he might come out of this sane.
He forced himself to take the stairs at a slow, measured pace, and yet Draco was still there when he reached the bedchamber, trying to get a grip on his son's wandering hands.
The room was one Lucius retreated to in Narcissa's absence, devoid of female touches and much too dark and heavy a place to bring the boy to. But taking Scorpius to the boy's own bedroom would have been a travesty. And yet his grandson looked terribly out of place, twisting on the black fur blanket that covered the four-poster.
Lucius drew his wand and secured Scorpius' flailing hands to the bed with a pair of silk-lined leather shackles. The boy's eyes flew open, his lips parted and glistening, and the naked hunger in his eyes plucked a string deep inside Lucius' belly.
Scorpius had always been attractive in a way that adolescent Draco, with his triangular, too-sharp face and too-fine hair, had never been. Like most of the Blacks, the Greengrasses bred true. But Lucius had never desired him, not in a way he might have been inclined to pick up a pretty Muggle or Muggleborn, to use and discard - broken, Obliviated or Confunded. This, however, was his heir, his blood. There was more than just the boy's need that called out to him.
Draco lifted his hand as if to brush away the tendrils of hair that clung to his bound son's face, but didn't.
"Be gentle, father," he whispered. "Please."
The promise gave Draco the strength to leave, even if it was a lie – if Lucius touched the boy gently, he'd most likely drive him mad. The door clicked closed behind Draco with the most final of sounds.
Lucius pried the hospital blanket away from Scorpius' body. He still wore his silk pyjama top with little Chinese Fireballs embroidered on the cuffs and hem, a gift from Asteria. Lucius remembered the boy's smile when he'd opened it on his thirteenth birthday.
Now, the top gaped open, revealing little nipples that looked dark and rigid and painful, though not as painful as Scorpius's erection when Lucius finally managed to pull the sticky blanket away from it.
Scorpius hissed and writhed in his bonds, which didn't surprise Lucius at all. His small prick was swollen, inflamed with need and oozing precome at the tip. His legs fell open like a whore's to expose the swell of balls and, beneath, his red, eager hole. The feral, needy tang of arousal hit Lucius' nostrils.
Without preamble, he closed one large hand around the boy's prick. Scorpius screamed, his entire body twisting up into the rough grip. The skin of it, wet and hot and so very tender, burned Lucius' palm as he squeezed, not quite cruel, but rough enough to extract another howl. Beads of sweat formed on the boy's temples. Never loosening his hold, Lucius let a blunt thumb nail graze the slit, then dug in.
Scorpius' mouth gaped open, lacking breath for another scream. He convulsed while Lucius felt ejaculate spill over his thumb and hand, warm and pungent. The shackles cut into the boy's wrists as he struggled against them. Then he collapsed. Gently, Lucius released his grandson's spent prick and wiped come off his fingers.
He looked down at the slack face, the tightly shut eyes, and the spots of red on Scorpius' cheeks that had spread out into an even flush. Minutes ticked by without the boy stirring. Then his eyes opened, sudden in the quiet. They were clear.
"Scorpius." Inwardly, Lucius prided himself on the calm strength of his voice.
The boy shivered and tried to pull his legs up, only to brush Lucius's arm with his hip. Scorpius gasped. His prick, still wet with semen and pink with exertion, twitched and rose. An expression of terror stole on his face.
Lucius put his hand over the boy's mouth, hard. "You have nothing to feel sorry for." He met the hurt grey eyes straight on. "You are a Malfoy, and Malfoys rise above adversity. You will be fine tomorrow. As for tonight, you'll do what needs to be done."
He would have the blood of whoever was responsible for this, he promised himself. For both of them.
Still holding Scorpius' gaze, Lucius removed his hand and rose from the side of the bed. Slowly, he unbuttoned his robes and slid them off his shoulders, then followed them with shirt and trousers and, finally, undergarments.
His skin felt cold until he caught the narrowing of the boy's eyes, the fire that seemed to wrap around his naked body and draw him back to the bed. Scorpius bit down on his bottom lip, slow and almost calculating, sharp white teeth against bruised red a challenge of their own. Lucius allowed the heated gaze to pull him in, sinking back down again on the side of the bed and aligning his thigh with his grandson's until the brush of skin made the boy moan and press his face against Lucius' chest.
With a wandless burst of magic, Lucius spelled the shackles open and pulled Scorpius against him, the boy's slender cock an insistent burn against his stomach. He grazed the sweet flesh of a shoulder with his teeth until Scorpius' head fell back to expose eyes storm-dark with desire.
"Please!" Scorpius whimpered.
Lucius took a deep breath, tasting fragrant skin and arousal. His lips curved into an invisible smile as he kissed the boy's forehead tenderly, then traced his way down over a flared nostril until he could capture his mouth. Scorpius' lips opened under his like a carnivorous flower sucking him in, and Lucius finally allowed the flare of desire to trickle down his spine.
He covered the length of Scorpius' body with his own, pressing him down into the mattress until he could feel his grandson's breaths in his own chest and the pulse of his grandson's cock against his. Then he allowed himself to be swallowed up by the poison.
~ finis ~