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Familial Predilections

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Lucius stared down at Draco’s unconscious body, fear flooding his nerves with ice. He reached out to put a hand on Draco’s chest, releasing an unsteady breath as he felt the heart beating beneath his palm. Draco’s pulse wasn’t strong, and it seemed a bit irregular, but it was present.

Lucius climbed down from the bed on shaky legs. He was breathing so fast it was making him dizzy.

“What have I done?” he gasped aloud, feeling his eyes sting.

As he struggled into a set of pyjamas and slipped a robe over the top, he reasoned with himself. Draco had made the choice to come to his father’s bed. He was of legal age and in full control over his mental faculties. It wasn’t Lucius’ fault. Draco knew how possessive Malfoys were by nature.

But then, Lucius hadn’t ever asked how exactly Draco was de-aging himself. Now he knew it was a potion and if his memory served him, de-aging potions had unpredictable side effects, and it could be that Draco hadn’t been in his right mind for years, especially since potion side effects often grew in intensity with prolonged use.

He smoothed the front of his robes, catching his reflection in the wardrobe mirror, startled by the terrified expression he wore. He cursed and turned away, headed for Draco’s room.

There was no question that he would take Draco to be seen by a Healer at St Mungo’s. Gone were the days when he could summon a Healer to the manor and expect discretion, but first he needed to find out exactly what potion Draco had been taking.

The door bounced off the wall as Lucius forced his way in, dispelling the wards with ease.

He dashed inside, his eyes travelling frantically over the room.

Draco’s bed was rumpled and unmade. There was an indentation in his pillow from where he’d lain his head. Robes and various pieces of clothing were strewn over the floor and armchair, as well as hanging haphazardly from the foot board. The only area of the room that wasn’t in a state of total disarray was the desk.

He rushed to it and sat in Draco’s chair. Running his hands an inch from the desk, Lucius could feel more wards set over the drawers, though it didn’t take him long to break through them. The traces of Draco’s magic he could sense felt weak.

He pulled open the drawers one at a time, finding nothing more than financial records on the surface, but when he got to the bottom drawer, he lifted another ward and found it contained an Undetectable Extension Charm.

He rummaged inside the depths of the drawer and withdrew numerous bottles of potion, leather bags of potion ingredients, and an ancient potions book he recognised as coming from the manor’s library. He flipped through the pages, finding the recipe for a de-aging potion, eyes flying over the list of ingredients until he came to the Unicorn tears.

His hand flew to his mouth and he nearly dropped the book. Unicorn tears were not only illegal, they were also known to cause hallucinations and heart failure with prolonged use.

A tapping at the window drew Lucius out of his thoughts. He released the catch with a flick of his wand and a white snowy owl swooped inside, landing on the desk. It turned large round amber eyes on him.

He untied the small scroll from the owl’s leg and unrolled it.


I’m sorry about yesterday. I guess I was moving too fast. Listen, I know you feel like you have to stay loyal to your family and everything, but I’m really worried about your health. I’m sure your father would understand that you need to move on with your life and find your own path. After all, parents are the ones who are supposed to sacrifice for their children, not the other way around.

Can I see you again? Tonight, perhaps? Send your answer with my owl.


What was this?

Lucius fell back in Draco’s chair, stunned.

~*~Familial Predilections~*~


Not as he was now, a full-grown young man of nearly eighteen years, but then — back in the days when he was young and perfect, when he thought that Lucius had the power to hang the moon in the sky and looked to him for direction in all things.

Lucius swirled his snifter, watching the amber-coloured brandy slosh the sides of the glass in dizzying rings.

He hadn’t allowed himself to touch Draco ever, never wanted to bring upon his son the same fate that had befallen him, but the longing had never ceased. Even now, now that it was too late, now that Draco was a man and capable of making his own decisions, the need for a taste, a touch of prepubescent Malfoy skin, perfect and unblemished, lingered in the very cells of Lucius’ body, calling out a lingering hunger that would now never be sated.

Lucius looked at the clock resting over his mantle. It was late: his placebo should have been delivered.

He drummed his fingers in irritation at having been kept waiting, playing out a tuneless beat on the red polished surface of his desk.


Lucius jumped, his brandy sloshing up the side of his glass, nearly spilling as the clock chimed the hour. With shaking hands he put his glass down.


It was coming and he was more than ready.


Platinum blond hair, finer than spun silk.

His lungs ached.


The pale expanse of a slight bended back.

He licked his lips.


Little hands wrapped around his cock, making it look disproportionately large.

He picked up his father’s wand in a death grip, bracing his hand upon his knee.


A small pink pucker, winking its surprise at being touched.

His blood thundered in his ears.



He shivered, gripping his knee through his satin dressing gown.



He thought his heart might burst, it was beating so fast.


A vision of the child Draco had been flashed across his mind. The young boy giggling wildly in delight while he was tickled into submission by his father, tears leaking from his smiling eyes.


His cock strained against the confines of his pyjama pants, pulsing with each pounding of his heart.


The nickeled handle of the door turned down. He swallowed hard, watching the door swing open, jaw clenching.


The witching hour had struck, and he watched the lumpy little man enter his sanctuary, back stooped with an invisible burden.

“Put it on the bed,” Lucius hissed, his throat tight and rasping.

Wormtail obeyed with a wheeze. He dropped the invisible bundle from his back onto the pristine white duvet, and backed away, cowering before the bedroom door.

Lucius rose. He moved to the bedside as if he were floating, drawn towards his prize with itching fingers, his heart loud in his ears.

So close. He was so close to abating the hunger within him.

A quick wave of his wand removed the Disillusionment Charm over the stunned body of a boy.


He drank in the platinum-blond hair in messy tangled tufts. The boy’s skin was pale and unmarked, polished with the glow of health and youth. His lips were thin and pink, parted as he breathed in spelled sleep and his fair eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks above his small child’s nose. If Lucius had to guess his age, he would hazard the boy was about ten years old. The clothes the child wore were Muggle, making Lucius’ lips draw back in distaste, but considering a kidnapped Muggle child would rouse fewer suspicions than a child of wizarding blood, he was willing to overlook the inequity.

“Will he be missed?” Lucius asked, not turning to look at Wormtail, though he could hear him shivering behind him, the silver hand clinking against a ring on his other hand as he wrung them.

“His parents are dead.”

Lucius closed his eyes, a hand stalling on the narrow chest of the boy, feeling the heart beating slow but steadily beneath his palm. He breathed rhythmically, tension releasing, and opened his eyes again. He lifted one of the boy’s eyelids, his body throbbing with longing at the appearance of a sightless grey eye. Too perfect.

“You may go.”

He listened to the sounds of the retreating Wormtail, the door closing and catching shut, the thundering silence that followed pressing in on his ears.

He climbed onto the bed beside the boy, fingers trembling as he unfastened the boy’s shirt buttons.

This boy was already doomed. The moment the Dark Lord had sent his Death Eaters out to murder a Muggle family, the boy’s fate had been sealed. By keeping him for himself, Lucius was giving him the opportunity to live a while longer, and to learn what it meant to experience the pleasures of life. “As long as you are good,” he said softly, stroking a still cheek with a light finger, “you have nothing to fear.”

He pointed his wand at the boy’s exposed chest, hairless and divine.



Living in the shadow of the Dark Lord was not an easy task. Every step he trod in the ancient corridors of his family’s house was monitored by the watchful eyes of the Dark Lord’s spies; the worst of whom was his sister-in-law.

Narcissa kept Draco on a short leash, insisting that he be accompanied at all times by either Lucius or herself while their house was overrun by the evil of the one they had so foolishly thrown their lots in with so many years previously.

At the end of a day being treated as little more than a slave in his own house, Lucius bade his wife and family good night and retreated to his bedroom to take the edge off of his stress.

He opened the door to find his room destroyed. The curtains surrounding his bed were ripped and the rod holding them up bent in the middle. His financial records lay heaped in a ruined pile on the floor, soggy with his entire stash of rare elf-made brandy dumped on top of them. The empty crystal bottles were shattered on the floor nearby from where they had been unceremoniously smashed against the edge of his desk, judging by the deep scratches in the polished surface.

His jaw clenched as he surveyed the wreckage. How dare that Muggle brat! He had saved his life, or at least prolonged it, given him a private room full of all the creature comforts a child could possibly want, fed him, made every moment they had together as pleasurable for him as possible, and this was how he was repaid!

He snapped his attention to the boy as he entered the room from Lucius’ en suite, the boy’s face triumphant and eyes glowering his defiance.

“Draco!” Lucius spat, “I do not have time for games!”

“My name is Brandon!” the boy shouted back. He was trembling from head to foot, but despite his fear, his eyes fixed on Lucius and he deliberately kicked the remains of the crystal decanter, sending fragments spinning towards Lucius across the floorboards.

Lucius whipped his wand out, pointed it at the boy and spat: ”Imperio.”

Lucius took several deep breaths through his nose, lips pursed in irritation as the boy fell into compliance. The boy’s expression was blank and his hands hung limply at his sides. Lucius debated having a house-elf in to put the mess to rights before angrily doing it himself, trying to calm himself before he allowed himself to touch the boy. The last thing he wanted was to have to find another pet, but considering the boy had not taken to his training in the fortnight he’d been around, Lucius was seriously considering ending the arrangement sooner than he’d intended.

He had to repeat the restoration spell several times as he repaired the damage to his room. The only wand that he had at his disposal had belonged to his father, and it just wasn’t compatible with Lucius. As he pointed the stubborn instrument at the curtains, casting the spell for the third time, Lucius’ resentment over the presence dominating his life and his house grew in intensity. The boy was his outlet. He needed the boy to vent his pent up frustrations; so much harm would come to pass if the Dark Lord read them in his mannerisms.

While he worked, Lucius spoke aloud to the boy despite the fact that the child was under his control.

“Draco, I just don’t understand why you feel the need to act out in such an undignified manner. Are you not given every luxury a boy of your age could want? I have gone out of my way to make your living quarters not only comfortable, but lavish enough to please royalty. You are kept safe from harm. The house-elves answer to your every need. What more must I do to convince you to adopt a manner befitting the Malfoy name?”

When the room was once again as it should be, he turned to look at the glazed eyes and slackened jaw of the child, Lucius sighed at the necessity of using the Imperius Curse. With a flick of his wand, he forced the child to take himself to the bed to make himself presentable, while Lucius saw to the en suite and performed his evening rituals.

Feeling refreshed from his shower and shave, Lucius tied the sash of his dressing gown around his waist and returned to the bedside.

The boy looked up at him, a cold hatred clouding his eyes momentarily before they sank once again into a vacant stupor.

Lucius was taken aback. This Muggle child was fighting the curse, and partially succeeding. Dread pooled in Lucius’ stomach as he realised this would have to be the last night. He couldn’t keep a Muggle slave that could not be house trained. The Dark Lord had made his instructions to his Death Eaters quite clear. They could engage in whatever Muggle torture they pleased as long as it did not affect their work performance. Having a child rebelling against him would undoubtedly carry over into his day-to-day attitude and if discovered, it would be perceived as further proof Lucius had lost his touch.

Lucius fingered the boy’s hair right above his ears, examining it more closely. It was not as bright as he had initially thought. The nose wasn’t pointed properly; the boy had no concept of manners or decorum; he was not Draco. The glaring truth exposed in the vacant eyes trained upon his chest made the fury inside him rise once again. This Muggle scum deserved the lot he was about to receive, and Lucius itched to put him in his place.

He summoned a silver dagger from the drawer in his bedside table and placed it within arms’ reach on the duvet.

He deserved one more indulgence, first.



It was beyond time the filthy Muggle puppet had its strings severed. The fact that it existed was sin enough, but that it dared to resemble the descendants of the Malfoy line earned the maximum penalty.

A droplet of sweat slid through a gap in Lucius’ lashes, stinging his eye, and he watched as the child’s life ebbed away beneath him, the stain on the duvet growing larger from where his dagger protruded from the boy’s neck: the last gift Lucius could give the child, draining his perfect body of its filthy blood.

One thrust, followed by two more sent him careening over the edge, his hatred for the foul imposter finding peace as he groaned his release.


Draco’s voice broke through the thundering in his ears. Lucius froze, cold seeping into his bones. He blinked and reality settled on him like he’d been doused with a bucket of ice water.

His eyes flashed to his bloodied hands, and the lifeless bruised body bleeding out below him on the mattress.

He pulled back and stepped down, turning to face his son, his heir. His faculties were sluggish as he met the scared grey eyes in Draco’s beautiful face, wide with a pleading fragility, as if he was begging for the truth he was witnessing to be exposed as a farce.

Lucius watched Draco take in the carnage before him, his expression changing from disbelief to a horrifying understanding. Lucius’ heart sped up, sending feeling rushing through his limbs once more. He pulled Draco into an embrace, blocking the scene from his view, attempting to prevent his worst fear from coming to pass, that Draco would recognise the child as his doppelganger.

“Shh, Draco,” he whispered, feeling his son’s hot tears spilling against his chest.

He held on tightly, his own eyes squeezed shut, desperate to make things right again, to not have to face the disappointment and loathing in the eyes that once gazed upon him in admiration.

He felt Draco’s body stiffen in his arms, pulling away. Lucius reluctantly released him, anxious at the repulsion he saw reflected in Draco’s eyes at the sight of his father’s naked body covered in blood, the disgust evident in Draco’s expression as he realised his own robes were now stained.

“Why?” Draco asked, peering at Lucius, eyes brimming with anguish. “Why were you —?”

“I’m sorry,” Lucius managed, his voice strained by the dryness in his mouth, his tongue scraping the back of his throat. And he was. He was sorry Draco had come in at such an inopportune moment. He hadn’t intended for Draco to find out how precious he was to his father, especially not after his likeness had been murdered by that same father’s hands. If the child had been the real thing, it would never have come to this point. He tried to impress upon Draco through his eyes that this had only been a Muggle, that he would never hurt Draco intentionally.

As he searched Draco’s eyes for an acknowledgement that he understood, Lucius willed himself to see beyond the now grown face to the perfect child Draco had been, longing for just a glimpse, but it was hopeless. Draco had grown into his pointed features. His face wore the unmistakable lines of premature aging brought on, no doubt, by stress. His nose was still pointed, but the bridge had grown and solidified, all traces of the soft childhood cartilage transformed. Even his hair had lost its youthful lustre, replaced with thicker, coarser strands, still beautiful, but no longer divine.

“That’s all you have to say?” Draco demanded.

Lucius could feel the hurt behind his words, the unspoken accusation lingering just underneath the surface, barely restrained. He summoned what was left of his dignity, feeling himself swell with parental authority, despite his nudity. He was not ashamed of his body, but what he did in his own room was not Draco’s concern. He swallowed thickly.

“Return to your mother.” His voice was sharp and direct, leaving no room for disobedience.

Draco opened his mouth and closed it again, apparently deciding not to challenge his father while his hands were still dripping with blood. Draco gave a sharp nod, turned away from the massacre on the bed and left the room.

When he was alone, Lucius felt his heart sink into his stomach. The parting look Draco had given him was confusing. He wasn’t sure how much Draco had understood, but he was keenly aware that Draco was displeased with him.

He looked down at his hands, shivering. The dirty Muggle blood was contaminating him. He picked up his father’s wand, memories flooding him as the handle touched his palm.

The first time Abraxas had touched him, Lucius thought it was just a game. His father had always been very affectionate with him, making him feel precious, far more worthy of his station in life than the pretenders he’d had as playmates.

It had started when his father would come into his room to read him stories before bed. Then he would tickle Lucius into exhaustion in a playful way and end with a kiss and goodnight wishes. Lucius had loved those days. He had done everything he could to please his father and earn his praises.

Then when Lucius turned ten, his father began to tutor him in preparation for manhood, beginning still innocently enough with lessons on the changes in his body he could expect over the course of his adolescence before turning into more of a “hands-on” demonstration of the differences between a child’s and an adult’s body.

Even when the touching had progressed much further into actual penetration, all done as instruction for Lucius to know how to please his future wife, Lucius loved his father. But the day came when Lucius had developed into a young man and when he returned home from his third year at Hogwarts, his father no longer seemed to care for him. He was told that he had mastered all Abraxas had to teach and now that he was a man, it was time for him to grow up and learn to turn his attentions to the young female purebloods that may one day make Abraxas a grandfather.

Lucius fell to his knees at the memories, feeling the pain of his father’s rejection of him as keenly as if it had only just happened. He looked up at the mess he had left on his bed, at the body of the boy he could not train now growing rigid and blue. He Vanished the mess, bed and all with a wave of his wand, unable to find peace for his troubled mind with the evidence of his failure besmirching his room.

He climbed to his feet and walked unsteadily to the en suite, the need to wash the Muggle taint from his body his first priority.


The following morning, Lucius lifted a spoonful of his poached egg to his mouth and swallowed it, though it tasted like glue. He put his spoon down, pushed the rest of his breakfast towards the centre of the table and concentrated on taking his tea instead.

He was seated beside his wife, having lost the head-of-house status when the Dark Lord had chosen the manor as his residence. He’d learned to accept the position he now held after his master made his displeasure with Lucius’ performance extremely clear, first by allowing him to rot in Azkaban for nearly a year though he could have freed him in a trice had he wished, then by marking his son with the Dark Mark at sixteen despite Lucius’ desire to wait until Draco had finished his schooling. Draco was lucky to have survived the previous year and Lucius knew it was all part of his punishment, unfair as it was. The last of his pride had broken when the Dark Lord had taken his wand and Potter had destroyed it.

Harry Potter. Even the thought of the boy’s name left Lucius with a foul taste in his mouth. If only Potter would be captured at last, all these dark days would be over. With a victory under his belt, the Dark Lord might be inclined to forgive the shortcomings of those in his inner circle and Lucius and his family would at last rise to the position for which they were bred, to live as the elite among wizard kind; the Muggles would be put in their place or eradicated and all would be right with the world.

That is what Lucius had dreamed would come to pass, though it was becoming harder and harder for him to put faith in the Dark Lord’s vision when the Dark Lord himself was unable to score a victory over Potter.

Such thoughts were dangerous for Lucius to dwell upon, especially as Bellatrix had taken the position of the Dark Lord’s second-in-command while Snape was absent. It made Lucius furious to have to answer to his sister-in-law as she commanded him with the same scorn she used to direct his house-elves. The only saving grace in the entire situation was his wife’s stoic ability to keep their family alive and together. Narcissa was the only person with whom Lucius could speak frankly about how frustrated he was, without fear of retribution.

That morning, Draco had taken a seat beside his mother instead of beside Lucius, and the change had not gone unnoticed by Bellatrix.

“Why, Lucius,” she drawled lazily, a taunting smirk playing at her lips. “What have you done now to drive your own son to sit so far apart from you?” Bellatrix turned to Draco, her heavily-lidded eyes pinning him with an intense stare. She lifted her gaze after a moment, shrugging and sitting back in her chair with a pout on her face. “It seems I was too earnest in my instruction of you, Draco. I did not teach you Occlumency to have you use it against me.”

Lucius’ jaw clenched, his entire body going rigid, but Narcissa spoke before he had a chance to say something he would surely later regret.

“Hold your tongue at my table, Bella. I will remind you that you are a guest in our house.”

Bellatrix’s mouth twitched irritatedly, but she turned her attention to the door, a wide smile spreading across her face. She held her hand up, silencing the table. “My Lord,” she said, her voice a sultry purr. “Please do us the honour of joining us for breakfast.”

Lucius calmed himself, focusing on the clearing of his mind, filling it instead with thoughts of how glorious it would be to see the Dark Lord putting Potter in his place, finishing him off with a flick of his wand and how much joy Lucius would feel kneeling at the feet of so powerful a master. It was growing harder every day to hold the illusions in his mind as if they were his dearest desires the longer he was made to suffer. Yet, as Narcissa had reminded him earlier that morning, it was not in a Malfoy’s nature to fall; he was bred for resilience and he must not forget it.

“Lucius,” the Dark Lord addressed him, drawing out the end of Lucius’ name in a cruel hiss. Lucius froze, the soft sounds of footsteps coming closer and stopping at the head of the table. “Bellatrix,” the Dark Lord continued, pronouncing each syllable of her name with a soft voice that still held total authority. “Look at me.”

Taming his thoughts, Lucius looked up to meet the piercing red eyes as they fixed him with a penetrating stare.

The Dark Lord seemed to find nothing in his search of Lucius’ mind to warrant a punishment and he continued speaking, turning to Bellatrix to give his instructions. “I will be abroad for several days, and I must impress upon all of you the importance of calling me back for nothing short of the capture of Harry Potter. If I am summoned and Potter is not waiting for me, my displeasure will be severe. Do I make myself clear?”

Bellatrix’s expression melted into one of adoration as she answered the Dark Lord. “We understand, Master. Thank you for the honour of delivering your message to us in person.” She lowered her eyes. “I live to serve you.”

Lucius bowed his head at once as Narcissa clutched his knee with her hand under the table and gave it a quick squeeze. “And I as well,” Lucius said quietly, eyes focused on his teacup, not daring to look up again.

After what felt like an age, he heard the drawing room door click closed and allowed himself a deep sigh of relief.

“Lucius,” Narcissa said. She placed her cloth napkin on her plate and turned in her chair to address him. He met her eyes. “I have made an appointment for you at Twilfitt and Tattings to be measured for your new robes. I want you to take Draco with you, as Bella and I have business to discuss.”

Lucius kept all emotion out of his face, noticing Draco would not look at him, but carefully not drawing attention to the fact. “Of course. At the usual time, I assume?”

“Yes,” Narcissa answered briskly. “They expect you at eleven.” She got to her feet and fixed her eyes on Bellatrix. “Shall we?”

Lucius watched Bellatrix lift her arms over her head, stretching unconcernedly. “Of course, Cissy.” She got to her feet as well, smirked again at Lucius, and left the room with Narcissa following.


Lucius could feel the silence hanging between himself and Draco as if it were a Shield Charm. He didn’t like the feeling of judgement he sensed Draco had passed on him. Draco led the way to Flourish and Blotts as they were killing time before Lucius’ fitting and was steadfastly ignoring his father as he perused the selection of Potions texts.

Lucius itched to get away from the tension he felt between himself and Draco. He flipped through the pages of a book he’d randomly plucked from the tall shelf, his left eye twitching with nerves. This was pointless. He closed the book and stuffed it back on the shelf, not bothering to check it wasn’t misfiled.

“Draco,” he said, pursing his lips as Draco refused to acknowledge Lucius’ voice, instead continuing to focus on the table of contents listed in the book in his hands.

Lucius snatched the book away from Draco, demanding attention.

Draco glared back at Lucius, an eyebrow raised, waiting.

“I’m taking a walk. Why don’t you meet me at the robe shop after my fitting and we’ll return to the manor together?”

Draco answered with a shrug, taking his book back from Lucius and turning away.

Stepping out into the warm spring day helped to lift his spirits, though Lucius felt so tightly wound from Draco’s snubbing he knew he needed to find a new outlet for his stress and soon.

He headed down the cobbled street of Diagon Alley holding his head high with a pride he did not quite feel, watching as Muggle-born outcasts shrank into the shadows as he passed. That was as it should be.

As he grew near number 93, his expression soured. The garish monstrosity the Weasley twins had built to ply their wares upon the wizarding public stood out like a rude hand gesture, existing in defiance of the new regime the Dark Lord was building.

Lucius thought about crossing the street so as not to have to sully himself by standing in the same space leased by blood-traitors, but something in the shop window caught his eye, and he hurried to take a closer look.

A young boy with blond hair was laughing at a puppet of Merlin worn on the hand of a witch wearing the bright magenta uniform robes of the employees of the shop.

He ignored the witch and watched the boy’s merriment, sizing him up. Probably ten years old, not quite Hogwarts age, he couldn’t see what colour the boy’s eyes were, but regardless, he would do as a replacement pet. Lucius just needed to catch his eyes, he’d be able to read the boy’s name in his mind and it would be easy enough to Obliviate the shop employee if necessary.

A hand descended on his shoulder, pulling him back from the window. Lucius turned to meet the livid eyes of his son.

He returned the gaze with a challenge, daring Draco to make a scene, to step out of line, but instead, Draco simply gestured for Lucius to keep walking. “I believe you are nearly late for your fitting,” Draco said coldly.

Lucius allowed himself to be escorted to the front doors of Twilfitt and Tattings, though Draco made no move to follow him inside.

“Are you not coming in?” Lucius asked.

Draco’s face remained smooth, expressionless. “I need to pick up some potion ingredients, but I will be back before you are finished.”

Lucius nodded, secretly relieved he wouldn’t have to deal with the strain between himself and his son while being fitted. “Take care that you stay out of trouble. Your mother will murder me if anything happens to you.”

Draco acknowledged him with a quick jerk of his head, and walked away.


Later that night, Lucius sat at his desk, surveying how his room looked with the new bed he’d had the house-elves bring in. His hand trembled as he poured himself a glass of whiskey from a crystal decanter.

Draco hadn’t spoken another word to him since they had returned from Diagon Alley and Lucius’ conversation that evening with Narcissa had been strained as she pointed out her notice of Draco’s odd behaviour.

What Lucius needed more than anything was a decent shag, though now that his pet was gone and his wife out of sorts since the Dark Lord had taken over their house, he had been forced to accept he would likely not find relief until he could obtain a new boy.

He swallowed his whiskey in one gulp, praying for an alcohol-induced relaxation to release the knots from his back. He set the glass on his desk with a thunk and stood up abruptly as a knock announced he had a visitor.

Swallowing, his heart raced in his chest, the fear rising to the surface of his skin at who could possibly be intruding upon him without invitation.

Lucius strode to the door, reminding himself the Dark Lord had gone abroad earlier in the day and he had done nothing of late to stir up further animosity with his fellow Death Eaters. He kept his wand ready in his hand and answered the door.

Stumbling backwards, his wand falling to the floor as his grip relaxed in surprise, Lucius’ eyes grew large as Draco pushed his way into the room. Only it wasn’t the Draco Lucius had seen earlier in the day at all, but Draco as a child, not quite Hogwarts age, wearing a navy blue satin dressing gown that was far too large for him, his pale naked child’s body showing beneath it from between the edges of the robe, fastened with a loose knot of the cord around his narrow waist.

“Draco,” Lucius choked, stuffing his fist to his mouth to keep his lips from trembling. He turned his eyes away from the tantalising vision before him, forcing them shut. “Go to your room!”

Instead of answering with words, this child-Draco pushed his way into Lucius’ arms, pulling them around himself in a tight embrace.

Lucius thought his heart would stop beating as he felt the small hands untying his dressing gown, moving to grip his hardening length, and realised how lost he was.


When he opened his eyes the following morning, Lucius felt more relaxed and sated than he could ever remember feeling before. Until he turned onto his side, and found himself face to face with his son’s sleeping face, no longer the child, but the grown man. His pale face was rough with golden stubble and his body was only half covered with the sheet. Lucius could see the ugly criss-cross of scarring that Harry Potter had put on his son’s chest and Draco’s exposed hipbone was decorated with dark bruises from Lucius’ own fingers.

Lucius felt the bile rise in his mouth at what he had done. He had sworn to never bring Draco into the same fate his father had brought upon him, but perhaps, considering Draco was only posing as a child, considering he was actually of age and fully capable of making his own decisions, it wouldn’t be the same for him. Perhaps his Draco really was the perfect child seeking to please his father every way he could. Maybe it was jealousy he had seen in Draco’s eyes when he’d been caught earlier and not disgust or judgment at all.

Still, the sight of the grown man’s body made Lucius feel physically ill, and he staggered to the en suite to wash the foul taste from his mouth and to make his escape from the room and the evidence of what he had done.


Lucius wandered through the early morning street of Diagon Alley, trying to clear his mind and regain control over himself.

He kept his hand inside his robe pocket at all times, clutching the handle of his father’s wand, ready to deflect any potential threat to his person, but like the previous day, the Mudblood beggars, the wandless, disappeared into the shadows as he came close, not wanting to be seen and targeted by known Death Eaters.

The small boy he had glimpsed through the shop window the day before was there, hand in hand with his mother, bouncing happily and begging for sweets. Lucius felt his mouth twitch into a smile as the boy looked at him without fear before turning again to his mother and whinging some more.

But the longer Lucius looked at the boy, the more he realised he didn’t hold a candle to the child Draco made. His hair was too dark, more golden than white and his face was too round.

The child’s mother frowned as she saw Lucius watching her child, and pulled the boy by the arm into the nearest shop.

Lucius realised he must have let his intentions show through too much and forced himself back into a collected, self-assured poise. He didn’t need to seek out another pet right away after all. Yet now that he’d had a taste of the sweetness he’d always longed for, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to not have it again.

~*~Two Years Later~*~

Lucius looked into his wardrobe mirror, fastening silver cufflinks to his shirt sleeves and practicing his finest Malfoy sneer. He had an appointment to meet with his solicitor in Diagon Alley to discuss the terms of his probation. He was tired of having the Ministry sniffing about all the time, but, as Narcissa reminded him in her letters from her residence in Italy, resilience was part of his breeding.

He left his room and descended the stairs, stopping at the bottom as the sound of Draco coming down the hall filled his ears.

Lucius watched his son, now fully grown into his features, looking dignified if a bit peaky as he met his father at the bottom.

Lucius ran his fingers through Draco’s hair, noticing it had lost its shine and grown far too unkempt.

“Your hair looks terrible,” he said finally.

Draco pulled away, taking a step backwards, his eyes heavily lined with dark shadows as if he’d not slept well. “I was thinking I’d gel it back.”

Lucius hummed under his breath. “Yes. Do it quickly. The way it’s standing on end looks far too similar to the latest trend set by Harry Potter.” Lucius spat Potter’s name with sharp distaste. He looked Draco up and down, frowning. “Have you gained weight?”

Draco shrank back some more, his eyes drawn away from Lucius, looking over Lucius’ shoulder at the wall behind him, almost like he was listening to something unseen.

This wasn’t a new behaviour. Lucius had noticed Draco had taken to talking to himself when he thought Lucius couldn’t hear him, and Lucius was beginning to worry that the madness that ran in the Black bloodline was manifesting in Draco.

“I’ll be in Italy visiting your mother for the next few days. Do take care of yourself.”

Draco nodded quickly and hurried back up the stairs closing himself in his room.


Lucius stepped into the Library after returning to the manor. It had been a long three days. Dealing with the International Portkey Office and being searched by Aurors on both ends of his journey had left Lucius feeling violated and stressed. He needed the comfort of his son and the familiar surroundings of his house. Yet, something felt different.

The wards had been changed around the library’s fireplace. Draco must have altered the Floo to admit somebody whose magical signature Lucius did not recognise.

Lucius gave the room a cursory once over, finding nothing blatantly out of place and was about to retreat when his eyes fell on a crumpled piece of parchment lying in the corner.

The house-elves had been set free after the war and the Ministry had taken a sizable chunk of the Malfoy legacy in reparations, making it difficult to maintain a housekeeper. Draco had convinced Lucius to allow Draco to do the housework and they had closed off the majority of the rooms in the house, choosing to inhabit only a few rooms in one wing.

Lucius Summoned the parchment with a spell and unfolded it.


I have something that belongs to you. Where can I meet you?

H. Potter

Lucius crumpled the note again, shoving it into his robe pocket. That explained the wards.

The idea that the very boy who had brought misfortune and failure down upon the Malfoy name, leaving it in shambles, had been given Floo access to his house, made Lucius’ anger rise to boiling point.

He stormed up the stairs and pounded on Draco’s bedroom door, shouting his name, but it seemed that Draco was not home.

Lucius gathered his wits about him and took himself to his bathroom to soak in the bathtub and enjoy the last bottle of his finest champagne.

The water relaxed him mightily and he finished the bottle off, not wanting any of it to go to waste, so by the time he had pulled on his dressing gown and made his way back to his room, he had put the note out of his mind.

The child-Draco was waiting for him on the bed. His over-large dressing gown was open at the front as he rested against his father’s pillows stroking himself into hardness when Lucius entered the room.

Lucius’ mouth went dry at the sight. His son, his perfect Malfoy child, was there ready to please his father.

“There’s something wrong with it, father,” Draco’s little voice said in a perfect facsimile of innocence. “It won’t go back down and it makes me feel really strange.”

Lucius crossed the room and climbed onto the bed, slipping his arm around his young son’s frail shoulders. “Daddy is here. I can help you make it go away, Draco. Let me kiss it better for you.”

Draco’s large grey eyes grew wide with his mimicry of innocence, but the facade fell apart as he was taken by a coughing fit that left him gasping for air.

Lucius watched, concerned, and felt Draco’s forehead with the back of his hand. For a moment they were not lovers, but transported back in time, a tender-hearted father tending his sick son. Draco was warm, but not alarmingly so. The coughing subsided slowly as Lucius rubbed Draco’s back, leaving a faint sound of wheezing as Draco regained control over his breathing.

“Are you poorly, Draco?” he asked. “Would you like me to bring you some tea?”

Draco smiled wanly, grabbing Lucius’ hand and putting it back on his flagging erection. “No, Father. I want you to help me first. Make it all better, please?”

Unable to resist a moment longer, Lucius settled Draco back against the pillows, propped up against the headboard and ducked down to take the small pubescent erection in his mouth, savouring it’s smoothness as he pressed his nose into the hairless pubis, inhaling the scent of youth.

Draco began coughing again while Lucius suckled, though he tried hard to bring him to pleasure despite it. Closing his eyes, Lucius silently thanked all the deities he could name for giving him such a perfectly obedient child, one so pure and precious Lucius would do all in his power to please him.

Feeling his excitement mounting, Lucius redoubled his efforts, encouraged by Draco’s gasping cries. He looked up to see his son with his eyes shut tight, gripping the pillows for something to hold onto as he rocketed towards his pleasure and with a moan, Lucius brought him over the edge, his heart full of love and a sense of being cherished until he heard Draco’s voice cry out in a gasp.


Lucius’ entire body seized up at the whispered name. He swallowed thickly, and rose to a seated position, his own erection waning in his shock.

“Harry? Did you just call out for Harry?” he demanded, watching as Draco opened his mouth, looking like he was going to cough again. Draco reached for a small bottle of potion on the bedside table, his small arm stretching as far as he could, just barely reaching it.

Lucius watched Draco’s body rapidly mature, returning to his actual age, making him draw back wondering if his grown son was going to try to hit him.

“Draco,” he said again. “Did you just say Harry? Harry Potter?”

He needed to hear Draco say it, confirm his worst fears, that Harry Potter, the boy who had taken everything from him of value would now take his precious son away as well. He couldn’t allow it, wouldn’t.

Draco began coughing again, finding it hard to draw breath between the coughs, and his face grew red and splotchy.

Lucius watched, horrified by what he was about to hear, seeing the tears building in Draco’s eyes as the coughing fit finally subsided. He pushed Draco back down on the bed, looking into his eyes, holding him in place. “I am waiting for an answer, Draco.”

“I’m sorry,” Draco said, squeezing his eyes shut tight, tears squeezing out the sides of them and rolling down the sides of his face into his ears.

“You’re sorry?” Lucius asked. “What for?”

Draco pushed Lucius’ arms off himself and struggled to sit upright. “I’m going —”

Lucius couldn’t let this happen. He grabbed Draco’s arms and pushed him down again. “No you’re not. Did he fuck you?”

“What?” Draco gasped, staring angrily into his father’s face.

Lucius leaned over Draco, pressing him back against the mattress and covering his mouth, forcing his tongue inside, possessing him with his bruising kiss, ignoring the scrape of stubble against his face. This was Draco, his Draco, it didn’t matter that he was a man anymore, couldn’t matter. He mustn’t lose him. His hand slipped down between Draco’s legs, massaging the flaccid cock, attempting to stroke it back to life. He released Draco’s unresponsive mouth, meeting his angry eyes once again. “Does he touch you like this?”

“Please stop,” Draco said feebly. His eyes were focused again over Lucius’ shoulder, looking at something Lucius couldn’t see.

“No! God! Draco, don’t leave. Don’t leave me. I’ll give you anything,” Lucius said, continuing his stroking, feeling the flesh begin to respond to his ministrations. “I’ll give you anything, child. Potter’s not worthy of a Malfoy. Not you. You’re too good, too perfect. You belong with me! This is your place!”

Draco pushed his father’s hand off his cock, and struggled to sit up, gazing at the vacant space on the bed beside him. “No.” He sat up, shaking his head, his face hot with pink spots on his pale cheeks, looking half mad with delirium. “No. No. No!”

“No?” Lucius asked, his voice thick with disbelief, unable to fathom this was finally happening. “You belong with me. You are the one who started it!”

“I don’t care,” Draco said, his eyes falling shut as he rested against the pillow for a moment.

Lucius couldn’t take it any longer. He needed Draco to be his, needed to hear him admit how much Draco needed him as well. It wouldn’t end like this.

He covered Draco’s body with his own, forcing his way inside, feeling Draco burning now as if with a fever. Tears ran down Lucius’ cheeks as he held Draco in place by his arms, rocking into him in a frenzied pace, unable to give up what he needed to survive.

Draco struggled half-heartedly to push him off, but Lucius held him firmly in place, licking the ridge of his ear as he flew towards completion.

He crossed over the edge of reason with a groan, the taste of salty tears and pain in his mouth. “Don’t leave me, Draco,” Lucius cried, finally pulling out and releasing his grip. “I love you!”

Draco scrambled into a seated position, clutching at his chest as another wave of coughing overtook him.

“Draco?” Lucius cried, watching horror struck as Draco leaned over the edge of the bed and vomited. “Draco, I’m sorry, I didn’t —” Lucius started, reaching out to comfort Draco, but Draco shook him off. Lucius looked into Draco’s face, seeing his unfocused eyes tracking dizzily back and forth, up and down, and then Draco fell back against the pillow, his body growing limp as his consciousness fled.

~*~Back to the Present~*~

Lucius stared at the note, fury lashing up inside him, but at the same time, the words made him pause. Parents are the ones who are supposed to sacrifice for their children, not the other way around.

Was that what Draco was doing? Sacrificing himself for Lucius?

The parchment slipped out of Lucius’ fingers and fell to the desktop. Potter’s owl’s amber eyes stared at him, as if challenging him to deny that his master had written the truth.

He swallowed, his mouth tasting bitter. The sun outside the window was low in the sky and just then threw a golden beam of light through Draco’s open window, warming Lucius’ clammy hand in its glow.

He finally understood. He had taken the purest form of magic in the world, the love between a parent and child and turned it into something unnatural and perverse, and now Draco was paying the price. Draco had given up his friends and interests, any hope at a life without his father or a chance to make his own name in the world — and for what?

The answer came to him when he looked at the solitary photograph on Draco’s desk. In it, he stood beside Draco with his hand clasping Draco’s shoulder. It was taken the day Draco was to leave home to go to Hogwarts for the first time. They stood side by side in front of the Malfoy family tapestry, Draco smiled brightly at the camera, then looked up into his father’s face and instantly put on a more serious face to match the expression he saw Lucius wearing. Draco was sacrificing himself for the Malfoy name. He was protecting his father by giving him what he knew was needed and destroying himself in the process.

Lucius picked up a quill from its inkpot on the desk and turned over Potter’s note with trembling hands.

Come now. The Floo is open.

Lucius’ joints were rigid as he rolled the note up again and fastened it to Potter’s owl’s foot. “Go on,” he told the owl. He watched it as it stretched its wings, flapping them momentarily before lifting off and swooping out the window.

Lucius had made his decision. It was time to end the charade. Time to put the pieces back in proper alignment. He rose unsteadily, fear seeping out of every pore of his body, and walked to Draco’s wardrobe door.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror on the door, seeing the shadow of his father under his long blond hair, leering out at him through his steel grey eyes.

He pressed the tip of his wand at his own throat, watching his Adam’s apple bob nervously in the mirror. Focusing his energy on his hatred and self-loathing, mouthing the words, his vision filled with green light and he fell.