Escape

Harry was restless. The storm clouds had blown away and he could see the moon shining over the grounds of Hogwarts as he sat curled up against the window in his dormitory. He had crawled out of his warm bed earlier while his roommates slept on obliviously and he sat for hours thinking about his life—and destiny. Ever since his encounter with Lucius Malfoy on the Quidditch Pitch the other day his nerves had been as taut as a bowstring. Harry’s breathing quickened as his body reacted to the memory of Lucius’ hands and voice streaming over, around and through him. Harry had felt a desperate need to reach out and grasp what the dark wizard had been offering. Respite. A chance to let someone else take over the burden of responsibility that felt more and more like a life-threatening weight on his soul. Har Harry’s hand drifted between his legs and he gently began to caress himself. To have that strength leading him, caring for him, enveloping him. It wasn’t enough. He reached into his pyjama bottoms, grasped himself more firmly and began to pump. His head leaned back against the casement window and he let out a small gasp. Vividly, he remembered the tone of Lucius’ voice, his touch. Harry gasped, arched his back and spilled his seed messily over his hand and front of his pyjama bottoms.

Harry’s breathing returned to normal and he felt relaxed and comforted even as his semen cooled on his hand. Lucius Malfoy might indeed turn him over to his master, but Harry’s instinct told him otherwise. Harry didn’t believe that Voldemort had instigated Lucius’ approach that day. It just didn’t have that feel. Lucius Malfoy was, at heart, a true Slytherin; a snake who would use anyone and anything to his best advantage—even his own son. Harry knew that Lucius wanted to use him in some manner—just not how.

Harry shook his head and cleaned off his hand as best he could against his now ruined striped pyjamas. Did it really matter that Lucius wanted to use him? Wasn’t that what Dumbledore and the Order were doing as well? Harry had never been in charge of his own life—not really. Each person in his life was gently or firmly pushing him down the road to his final confrontation with Voldemort. Even his two best friends, Hermione and Ron, fully expected Harry to carry on no matter the cost. It was both exhilarating and frightening. Everyone clearly thought that Harry wanted to be a part of the Voldemort’s downfall. Harry hated the monster, that was certainly true. His parents, Cedric, Sirius had all fallen in the war against Tom Riddle.

Still…he’d never been given a choice. From the first time Voldemort had marked him as a baby he’d never had anyone offering him something different, something he might want. To lay down the burden and to accept what Lucius was offering him seemed like a dream. Harry grimaced. If he did, he would be forever marked as the boy-who-shirked-his-responsibilities. There was no escape—not really. Not unless…no, he couldn’t he’d never be able to contact Malfoy. Harry’s heart began to beat a little more rapidly and his hands began to tremble. Did he dare?

Harry quietly crawled out of the window and went back to his bed. There he took out a sweater, pants and socks and quickly disposed of his stained pyjamas. He slipped on a pair of shoes and grabbed his invisibility cloak.

Two minutes later he was moving out of the Gryffindor Common Room and towards the owlery.

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Lucius Malfoy sat by the roaring fire in his library carefully examining the hurried childish scrawl on the parchment. So, apparently he’d touched a nerve—and more with the boy. Lucius smirked. Clearly Dumbledore had no idea how to manage the boy. But he did, oh most assuredly. He tossed the correspondence into the fire and stood up. It would be delicate matter prying the boy loose from the death grip that Dumbledore and the Order had on him, but it could be done.

The larger question was how he’d manage to avoid giving away the game to Voldemort. Lucius had long ago come to the conclusion that tying his future to that abomination had been a mistake of the first water. It was time to cut his ties in such a way as to save himself and the Malfoy name and that all led back to Potter. It always did.

Lucius picked up his cane from beside his chair and started towards the stairs leading to his quarters. Perhaps it was time for Narcissa to join her family on the continent—he’d suggest it at the first opportunity. He needed room to work and Narcissa had done her duty by him. He had his heir and the marriage was no longer necessary or useful. Especially with young Potter about to enter his life…yes…Narcissa would be best put quietly aside. Lucius smiled as he detoured into his wife’s rooms.

Forbidden Forest ---

Harry had lingered in the Gryffindor showers after the late Quidditch game. He was the last to finish up and hoped that no one would engage him in post-game chatter. Ron had been last to leave.

“Harry, are you coming? Ron said, glancing curiously at Harry. Normally, Harry was relaxed and jovial after a win, even if it was against Hufflepuff, but now Harry looked anything but relaxed. There was tenseness to his shoulders and his brow looked furrowed with some kind of worry.

Ron had learned over the past few years to ignore much of Harry’s moodiness and put it down to you-know-who worry. Hermione had told him they must be patient and supportive although Ron found it irritating at times. After all, Harry was famous and was clearly the favourite of Dumbledore and the rest of the Order. Ron never doubted that Harry would eventually kill Voldemort and become the boy-who-killed-you-know-who and live off that fame for the rest of his life. Ron felt a stab of envy. He hadn’t been called to greatness, he was just one of the many Weasleys in the wizarding world…while Harry was unique and special and always would be.

Ron frowned when Harry didn’t answer him. Harry continued to towel dry his hair, seemingly oblivious to Ron’s presence by the door.

“Harry!” Ron said sharply. “Are you listening?”

Harry startled and looked around, his hands clenching and unclenching with nerves.

“Sorry Ron, I was just thinking…” Harry said vaguely. How could he tell Ron he was considering running away and, to top it off, running to a known dark wizard and Death Eater of Voldemort’s? Ron would think him insane and run for the Headmaster.

Ron looked at Harry quizzically and finally smiled.

“S’all right. I’ll see you back in the common room, eh?” Ron replied.

“Yes, I’ll be there soon, Ron.” Harry said, desperately wishing Ron away. A barn owl had brought him a terse message…forest after game. That was it. No signature. No other indication of what he should expect.

Ron shrugged and walked out of the locker room. Harry quickly finished up and pulled on his clothes. He tugged his shoes on and tore out of the Gryffindor locker room, looking carefully around as he exited the building.

All was quiet. There was no one left on the Pitch. It was beginning to get dark and Harry knew he didn’t have much time. He would surely be missed if he didn’t show up within the next half hour for dinner. He felt a shiver go down his back as he approached the edge of the wood. He didn’t know what to expect as he carefully made his way into the trees.

The sounds of the forest surrounded him; the creaking of the branches in the wind, the rustling movements of small animals in the underbrush. Harry looked around, peering for some evidence that Lucius Malfoy had been the author of the note he’d quickly destroyed earlier in the day. When Ron had asked him at breakfast who’d sent him the note, Harry had quickly claimed it was Order business—which automatically precluded further discussion, especially in public.

Harry began to shiver despite the warmth of cloak. Had he been wrong to trust Malfoy? He cursed under his breath. What sort of fool was he to trust the intentions of a Death Eater…someone who’d helped to destroy his family?

Abruptly, he turned on his heel, intending to leave the Forest and return to Hogwarts.

“Harry,” a deep voice came from behind him.

Harry whirled, his heart rate accelerating in the span of seconds. There, standing in the shadows, was Lucius Malfoy.

Lucius walked forward in an unhurried fashion, looking entirely masculine and powerful despite the white-blond hair that hung down to his shoulders. Harry trembled and bit his lip. Had he made a mistake? Harry’s hand clenched around his wand and withdrew it from his pocket quickly.

Lucius never hesitated but stalked forward like a great cat in mid-hunt. Harry took a few steps backwards.

Lucius reached out with his gloved hand and put his hand to the back of Harry’s neck.

“Easy, boy,” came the sensual, dark voice.

Harry felt Malfoy’s gentle massaging of the back of his neck soothing out the tension that had been building since breakfast. He let out a shaky breath. It didn’t look like Malfoy had any immediate plans to kill him at least.

Feeling the boy drop his guard a bit, Lucius reached carefully for Harry’s wand hand with his free one.

“No need for this then…” Lucius said as he twitched the wand out of Harry’s hand. Harry’s hand jerked back and he tried to regain control of his wand but grabbed only air.

“My wand…” Harry said in a stuttering voice.

Lucius moved his leather clad hand up to Harry’s messy, dark hair and began to stroke it. Harry sucked in a large breath.

“You won’t need it, boy,” came the amused voice of Malfoy. “If I wished you harm I could have killed you the minute you turned your back,” he said in a sharper tone.

Harry felt vaguely ashamed, as if he had let Malfoy down in some way. He flushed and remembered his earliest DADA lessons that promoted preparedness first, last and always.

“I…” Harry began trying to find his voice. Lucius’ closeness was having the same effect on him as that day on the Quidditch Pitch.

Lucius surreptitiously put Harry’s wand into his robe pocket. There, that was over, the first hurdle passed.

Harry started as he felt Lucius’ other arm wind around his waist and found himself being inexorably pulled forward. When Harry was pulled up tightly against Lucius’ body he felt an inexplicable need to burrow closer to this source of strength and warmth. Harry impulsively laid his head against Lucius’ chest in a trusting fashion.

Harry couldn’t see the possessive gleam in Lucius’ eyes over his head as he felt the tension slowly leak out of his body.

“You and I shall get along well, Harry. You’ll see. You have me now to take care of you,” Lucius said as his lips brushed Harry’s forehead. Lucius smirked as he tightened his hold around the boy. He held in his hands his future and that of the rest of the wizarding world. He would destroy Voldemort and Dumbledore both with the key he held, that much he was certain.

TBC