Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/888585.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Lucius_Malfoy/Harry_Potter
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Lucius_Malfoy
  Additional Tags:
      PWP, School_Inspection
  Series:
      Part 1 of A_Strange_Infatuation
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-07-18 Words: 9503
****** Ita Nosco ******
by Nimohtar
Summary
     Short PWP-ish OS. There's an inspection going on at Hogwarts, and the
     students are all in a tizzy. Except young Harry, who's drifting more
     towards annoyance, because he's just received a letter asking him to
     a private meeting with someone on the board of governors...
     (Tagged as 'Underage', although Harry is 17, so over British age of
     consent.)
Notes
     Notes: Canon-based up until OotP, but very few mentions of specifics.
     Beta: Batsutousai
     Title comes from the Latin, meaning “Thus, I learn”.
     Ita – Adverb, ‘thus, so, therefore’ and Nosco – from 3rd Conjugation
     verb nosco-noscere-novi-notus. ‘To learn, to come to know, to become
     familiar with.’ It is a transitive verb, with the object omitted
     here, to be understood from the fic.
 
===============================================================================
 
…Educational Decree #649, section B requires that all Independent Schools for
Learning be submitted to an Inspection once every six years, in order to
inspect and regulate the care and education for children and young people,
determining the quality of educational, economic and social well-being of both
staff and pupils, in accordance with the Department for the Enforcement of
Educational Regulations (DEER), established in 1775…
 
===============================================================================
 
‘What?!’
 The muttering and cries rose from the students at once, stirring them into a
buzz of noise and movement as they craned their heads towards the headmaster
standing to the front of the room, leaning over each other in an attempt to
make their opinions known to friends and housemates, voices growing louder and
louder in excitement.
 At the Gryffindor table, Ron’s exclamation was lost among the sudden outburst,
unheard by any except Harry and Hermione, sitting opposite him.
Now in their seventh year, the trio had grown and matured, closer than ever on
account of their almost constant brushes with death and Voldemort over the
years, and the fact that their time in the place that they had called home for
so long was drawing to a close. Harry dreaded and longed for the end of the
year in equal measure. He’d have to leave his sanctity for the Wizarding World,
an adult, in charge of his own life and future – a future however, that was
looking decidedly grim with Voldemort still alive, albeit in hiding once more.
 Now, though, there was still a year left, and the students had something else
to worry about.
‘An Inspection? Why the hell do they need to inspect the school?!’ Ron cried, a
mixture of disgruntlement and outrage on his face, for the school, perhaps, and
the hassle it would bring to him. As Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, Dumbledore
had already made it clear that he would be required to lunch with the
Inspectors coming to the school, along with the other Captains, Prefects and
Head Boy and Girl.
Hermione sighed, her face taking on the usual expression when she was about to
begin a lecture, something that Harry and Ron were both used to after so long a
friendship, and one they immediately recognised.
‘Oh Ron!’ she said with exasperated affection. ‘You can’t really expect schools
to be allowed to run as they choose? The Ministry is hardly likely to allow
schools to exist without the ability to determine and investigate the school -
its system, standards of education and teaching, living conditions, efficiency,
the teachers within it! There’d be an outcry! How are they able to judge
whether the school is capable of giving its pupils a solid grounding in
education, and provide them with both the environment and opportunities they
need in order to grow up to be contributing members of Wizarding society? It’s
the same in both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds.’
Ron deflated somewhat. ‘I never thought of it that way.’
Harry nodded at Hermione, grabbing a bread roll just to his right, and starting
butter it. ‘I remember something like that happening when I was in primary
school. There was a lot of fuss made, but it only happened the once.’
‘Mm,’ Hermione acknowledged. ‘It only happens once every five or six years -
for private schools anyway. I think in public schools it happens more
frequently.’
‘Assuming that the Inspection is similar in both worlds, what’s actually going
to happen then?’ Neville asked, leaning closer to Hermione. He wasn’t the only
one; many other Gryffindors who had little to no knowledge of something like
this were listening avidly.
‘Well,’ Hermione said, taking a sip of her pumpkin juice before she started. ‘A
group of Ministry officials will come to Hogwarts and stay for about two weeks.
I assume since this is a boarding school, and the Inspectors will wish to have
the full experience of staying here, they’ll be assigned rooms to use -
probably in one of the guest quarters in the castle.’
‘Hogwarts has guest quarters?’ Ron interjected.
Hermione frowned at the interruption. ‘Yes; they do. Don’t forget that even if
it was a school, Hogwarts is still a castle, and in the Founders’ time, it
would have been a shelter for the inhabitants of Hogsmeade - and perhaps beyond
- during times of conflict or disease. If you’d actually read Hogwarts: A
History like I keep telling you, you’d actually find out a lot of very
interesting facts about this school.’
‘Imagine! Guests quarters…’ Ron sat back again, an amazed expression on his
face.
‘Forget guest quarters. Carry on with the Inspection,’ Harry said quickly,
noting the glare Hermione was aiming at Ron, and hoping to avoid the argument
that would undoubtedly follow. It seemed Hermione still hadn’t given up her
aspiration of getting them to read that book at least once before the year
ended.
There were various murmurs of agreement from others, and Hermione shook away
her momentary ire, once again in her element of teacher.
‘Okay. The Inspectors will be allowed free reign over the entire school;
they’ll have access to all rooms, corridors, files and grounds. They can sit in
lessons in order to judge a teacher’s ability - these will most likely be
Masters in specific fields, since there’s no point in sitting in on a lesson
where you have no clue as to what is being - and what should be - taught.
They’ll have meetings with students - you heard what Dumbledore said - and will
look at students’ work - a few for each subject, spread out across the years.’
Seamus paled. ‘They get ta see y’ work?’ He slumped into his seat. ‘Bugger.’
Everyone laughed, knowing well Seamus’ dislike of note-taking, and his distinct
lack of care taken when it came to work. Even the teachers had stopped
reprimanding him for crinkled paper, appalling handwriting, and the numerous
doodles that constantly littered his work.
Ron patted his shoulder in sympathy. ‘You’ll be alright, mate. The teachers
would never let the Inspectors see your work.’
‘Well, that’s not true, Ron,’ Hermione corrected, smiling in amusement, most
likely thinking of her own clear, pristine and ordered files that she kept in a
special compartment of her trunk. ‘The teachers have no say in whose work is
given in. Students are chosen at random, a list is given to the teachers, and
they in turn let the student know their work is needed. It’s all a matter of
chance - you have just as much a chance of being selected as anyone else in
here. And be warned - they don’t only ask you for this year’s work, but last
years’ too if they wish it.’
Panicked looks and moans rose immediately at that statement.
‘Okay, I understand most of that - I think. It seems fairly similar to Muggle
Inspections; but Hogwarts is a magical school. How on earth do they test
something like that? I mean, you can’t really test the students all to one
guide - obviously Ravenclaws are going to be more academic, because it’s in
their overall characteristics,’ Harry said, interested in spite of himself. He
loved learning all sorts of things about the wizarding world, especially since
he was about to become a fully-qualified adult in a year’s time.
Hermione quirked a grin. ‘You forget, Harry, that this system has been around
for a long time - it was established only a few centuries after the school’s
creation. Even then, it seems, nobody was going to take their children’s
magical abilities for granted. Unlike Muggle schools, literacy - including
numerical literacy - isn’t the main concern when it comes to teaching children:
magic is. After all, a child’s ability to read and write comes secondary to
their ability to control their magic.
‘To that end, the magic is taken into important consideration. There are checks
made into whether the proper precautions are taken in lessons, whether children
have the necessary equipment and support to remain safe while practising, and
they also make extensive checks into the wards and the castle itself, which as
you know, is full of ambient magic.’
Opposite him, Harry saw Ron open his mouth, and promptly stepped on his foot,
preventing what would have otherwise been a very disastrous, very foolish
question.
‘As for the students,’ Hermione continued, oblivious to the movements of the
two boys, ‘of course they’re going to take into account the different Houses,
and their strengths and weaknesses. There are two Inspectors, a witch and a
wizard, for each House, both former students who would understand and have the
experience of being able to judge the students of their particular House.’
Ron frowned. ‘That doesn’t sound so fair to me. I mean, take the Slytherins for
example: they may be able to sway their Inspector into saying whatever they
want them to!’
Hermione bit her lip briefly. ‘Well…no system is perfect. This is, I suppose,
the best solution they could come up with. After all, magic is such a diverse
and incomprehensible thing most of the time. At least this way, the students
have someone who is more likely to understand them. It’s the reason behind
Heads of Houses being former members too. There is some sense and fairness to
it.’
Ron huffed, unsatisfied, crossing his arms and muttering darkly about there
being absolutely no connection between fairness and Slytherins. Harry - who by
now had mostly resolved his childish hatred of Slytherins - thought
differently, but stayed silent.
Talk flared and lulled about them, as they turned their attentions back to
their meals, finishing the wonderful feasts prepared by the House-Elves. After
the meal, they - along with the rest of the school - were ushered back to their
dorms, some returning to homework, others to sit by the fire and chat, before
heading to bed.
                                    -DEER-
As expected, conversation over the next few days focused on the upcoming
Inspections. Students veered between excitement and horror, with those that had
interest in such proceedings and were prepared for them should the need arise
watching the rest, who found themselves decidedly unprepared for the prospect
of having to present themselves and their work to Ministry officials rather
frantically collating their work.
Harry was caught somewhere in the middle, his work adequate enough, in his
opinion, should he be called upon, but nowhere up to the standards of
Hermione’s - although how anyone could beat Hermione in terms of neatness,
presentation and organisation he had no idea. It was a physical impossibility,
he often thought, as he gazed in admiration at the folders, colour-co-ordinated
stickers, and perfectly written notes, which she brought out every evening to
pore over in the - somewhat unlikely - chance that something was amiss with
them. Personally Harry just thought she got a thrill over seeing Ron and Seamus
start panicking… After all, she’d been arguing with them for years about the
need for well organised work, and now the pair was beginning to realise just
how right she’d been…
It was two weeks after Dumbledore’s announcement that the Inspectors arrived,
one cold and blustery evening while the students were eating their evening
meal. They came in a large group, shaking out thick cloaks and wiping away the
sprinkling of rain that had gathered on them during their short walk from the
carriages to the school, the majority of them having journeyed via the Hogwarts
Express in order to get there. Harry, like most of the people around him,
craned his neck in order to get a better view; he could see men and women, some
dressed in black teaching robes, others in finer garments, and yet more
distinguished by a thin purple sash across one shoulder.
He glanced over to his left when Hermione started speaking, knowing that she’d
be able to offer more light upon the situation.
‘The ones with the black teaching robes are the Masters of Arts - there’ll be
one for all of main subjects: Potions, Defence, Herbology, Transfiguration,
etc. They’ve all got the gold and silver trimming on their robes, showing just
what stages in their Mastery they are,’ she explained. ‘Of course, gold
obviously denotes a higher status. The people in the teaching robes without
trimming are the ones who’ll be inspecting the lesser subjects - Ancient Runes,
Divination etc - mostly the electives, as opposed to the core subjects. They’re
not really Masters, or most of them won’t be, at any rate, just specialists in
the field; they’ll have enough knowledge for what’s required, regardless.’
‘What about the people with the purple sashes?’ Harry asked in the brief pause
after Hermione’s explanation.
‘Oh, they’ll be the Ministry officials. They won’t be inspecting the Academic
side of things, but rather the rest of it: health, finances, and things like
that. Oh look!’ she suddenly cried, her attention caught by the woman currently
speaking with the Headmaster, a cheery looking witch with dirty blonde hair
held plaited and wrapped in a coronet around her head. ‘There’s Samantha
Brokefist from the Department of Creature Regulations - she’ll be here about
the House Elves, I’ll bet, and probably the creatures in the Forbidden Forest.
That’s good, actually; she’s efficient and fair, I’ve heard… I’ll have to go
speak to her sometime; she seemed rather taken with the idea of S.P.E.W. when I
mentioned it…’ Hermione trailed off, muttering to herself, almost bouncing in
her seat out of eagerness.
Harry and Ron, wisely, said nothing on the matter, not wishing to get embroiled
in such escapades once more. As much as they held Hermione dear and admired
her, her obsession with House Elf rights was something they were perfectly
content to leave up to her.
‘Hey - how do you know so bloody much about all this?’ Ron asked, forking some
peas into his mouth.
Hermione tutted at his distinct lack of manners, talking with his mouth full,
and her answer was somewhat peevish. ‘Because I read, Ron.’
Harry nudged the red-head and, snorting, whispered in his ear: ‘Walked straight
into that one, didn’t you?’
Ron pretended to thump him on the head in retaliation, but grinned ruefully all
the same.
‘What ‘bout that rather weedy looking fella over there talking t’ McGonagall?’
Seamus piped up.
Hermione frowned slightly as she tried to see who Seamus was referring to. When
she finally saw the man, her expression cleared, and she sat down. ‘Oh, him.’
Her tone was less than impressed. ‘That’s Lord Purdletrod. He’s here
representing the School Governors, I suspect.’
‘You don’t sound…too enthusiastic about him,’ Harry commented hesitantly, wary
about setting Hermione off into one of her rants.
The Head Girl shook her hair impatiently, and huffed slightly. ‘No, I’m not.
He’s one of those useless, spineless idiots who toady up to the Purebloods
because they’re considered Old Money, and he made his fortune in Muggle
products and trade.’
Taking a closer look, Harry couldn’t say he was too impressed… The man was
standing next to McGonagall, wringing his hands in front of him, every now and
again letting out a nervous chuckle. His clothes were extravagant, but badly
fitting, and didn’t suit him whatsoever; he’d obviously tried to copy the trend
of the times, but rather unsuccessfully, if Harry had to give his opinion.
Then again, he was hardly the epitome of fashion himself, he admitted ruefully,
even though a few years and Hermione’s help had at least made him more
presentable than he’d been when he’d first arrived in the Wizarding World. He
no longer wore Dudley’s cast-offs, at least.
The atmosphere around the Staff Table had changed by then, greetings now over
and done with, Dumbledore was ushering the large group of people towards the
side entrance of the Hall, various teachers tagging along while others, like
Snape and Hagrid, stayed in their seats, in order to keep watch on the
students. If Snape’s expression were anything to go by, he was more than happy
to avoid socialising with the Ministry Inspectors. Harry had to wonder how the
Potions Master would manage with the Inspection, and horrible thoughts of Fifth
Year and Umbridge made him ever so glad he no longer did Potions… Although he
and Snape would never like each other, not having to see each other in a
classroom had vastly improved their attitude towards each other, at least so
that they were able to work together in the Order with only a bare minimum of
bickering.
‘Hey - where are they going?’ Ron suddenly asked, having just noticed the
exodus.
‘Probably to the Staff Room,’ Harry replied, when Hermione seemed not to wish
to answer. ‘Dumbledore’s probably got some kind of fancy dinner set up for
them.’
Ron frowned. ‘You mean they won’t eat with us?’
Harry shrugged, not really caring one way or another. Oh, he had general
interest in the proceedings, just like everyone else who went to the school; he
didn’t want the Inspections to go badly, after all, but as long as he himself
wasn’t specifically required to deal with the Inspectors, then he wasn’t
bothered with paying more than a passing amount of attention.
And really, how likely was that to happen?
 
                                    -DEER -
‘Bugger.’ Harry let out a heartfelt sigh.
‘What’s that?’ Ron asked, hearing him and coming to peer over his shoulder to
investigate.
Harry held up the letter in his hand so that his friend could read the short
note he’d just received.
 
Dear Mr Potter,
Your presence is requested this Thursday lunchtime, the 14th of October, for an
informal interview with Lord Maxwell Purdletrod in Lesser Staffroom A. Please
be there promptly.
Yours,
Headmaster Dumbledore
 
‘Bad luck there, mate.’ Ron’s sympathy was heartfelt, and he patted Harry
consolingly on the back.
Harry just made a sound of disgust, and crumpled the letter in his fist, before
chucking it behind him. There was a startled protest of “Hey!” and Harry
quickly turned around to offer the person he’d hit a quick apology, before
dropping into his usual seat in front of the Gryffindor Common Room fire.
The Inspections had been going on for the last two days now, and the atmosphere
of the school was already tense, either from excitement or nerves. When walking
about in the corridors, there seemed to be a constant buzz of talking and
motion, a quick scuttle of feet as an eager gossip moved from one group to
another, passing on new tidbits of information in a quick mutter. And there had
certainly been gossip to relate.
The Inspectors were everywhere. Harry had seen them out in the corridors,
walking from class to class, during meal times, out on the grounds. They walked
around in their black robes, clipboards or scrolls to hand, their eyes taking
in every detail of what was going around them. They’d already sat in on three
of his classes, had even come to one of Gryffindor’s Quidditch training
practices. They weren’t bad people, Harry was sure, knowing that the majority
of them had gone to Hogwarts for their own educations, and viewed this
Inspection as a revisit to the past, as well as a job. It was just that their
very presence caused such a stir, and it was tiring. If he had been able to
avoid it, he was sure he wouldn’t have found their presence here nearly as
tiresome, but being who he was, he was automatically of interest, and many of
the Inspectors went out of their way to speak to him.
And now he’d been invited - more ordered - to lunch with the dislikeable Lord
Purdletrod, and since the Headmaster had sent the request, he was pretty sure
there wasn’t a way out of it. It was during one of his free periods, too, so
there wasn’t even the excuse of a lesson to use.
He sighed miserably, and pouted at his rucksack, debating whether to start his
homework now, or leave it until after dinner.
‘I’m sure it won’t be so bad, Harry,’ Hermione offered from her seat on the
sofa opposite. ‘I mean… what’s the worst that could happen?’
‘He probably just wants to be able to tell people he had lunch with you, mate.’
Ron told him, perched on the arm of Harry’s chair.
‘And oh how fun that will be,’ Harry muttered. ‘Still,’ he said, perking up
slightly, ‘It’s only lunch, I’ll survive, and in a short while, they’ll all be
gone.’
‘That’s the spirit!’ Ron grinned. ‘Now, about that Charms homework…’
                                    -DEER-
                                        
Harry walked down a fourth floor corridor, heading towards the Lesser Staff
room in which he was meeting Lord Purdletrod. He sighed gustily, wishing dearly
that he was in the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione instead, not here. It was
the stupid Boy-Who-Lived fame, he just knew it. And Lord Purdletrod would
probably smarm all over him and try to be his friend and stare at his scar the
whole lunch.
He scowled and smoothed down his fringe instinctively. It wasn’t that he much
cared how he looked for this interview, but he thought he shouldn’t waste
Hermione’s efforts in making him presentable, seeing as how she’d spent much of
the night before pestering him into putting on a clean and ironed set of
uniform and school robes. Besides, if she found out he hadn’t, he’d be done
for, and what would he do about that Herbology essay then?
He fumbled in his pocket for the piece of paper with directions to the staff
room on it – trust Hermione to know exactly where it was – and turned the
corner, just around it finding the door he wanted, Lesser Staffroom A marked in
a faded scrawl in its centre.
He rapped sharply with his knuckles.
‘Come in,’ came a muffled voice from inside the room.
Harry looked up in a brief plea for patience, and opened the door, stepping
inside. The room was fairly standard of Hogwarts, and a smaller version of the
main staff room. The grey stone walls were covered with old tapestries; glass
fronted bookcases lined one wall, two large windows another, and in the centre
of the room was a black-wood table for six people, currently laid out with a
lunch feast. There were platters of cold meats and warm rolls, salads and
fruits, and tiny bite sized cakes. A House-Elf was just finishing setting down
two pitchers of drink, and gave Harry a small bob of the head.
‘That will be all.’
Harry startled at the voice, his heartbeat quickening a touch as the House-Elf
vanished with a pop, recognising yet unable to place the smooth voice, only
knowing that it certainly wasn’t the nasally high-pitched whine of Lord
Purdletrod.
He placed the face however, the moment Lucius Malfoy stepped out from the side
room, closing the door behind him,
He was dressed in the expensive, showy way Harry always expected the Malfoys to
dress, his robes stylish black with plum coloured trim, the purple sash bright
across his chest. Malfoy’s mouth was turned in a hard little smile, his grey
eyes glinting as they gazed upon Harry.
‘You!’ Harry gasped, taking an immediate step back, his right hand scrambling
into his pocket for his wand. He had it held out in front of him within
seconds, but Malfoy’s own wand was already pointed right at him, the man giving
his wand a small wave in his direction, and Harry immediately braced himself
for an attack…which never came. Instead, he heard the door behind him thud
shut, and the lock give a small clunk as it secured the room.
Malfoy’s eyebrows swept upwards – mockingly, Harry thought, to match the slight
curl of his thin lips. ‘I wouldn’t attempt it,’ he drawled in his smooth voice.
‘Even the mighty Dumbledore cannot spare you the punishment you’d receive for
attacking a School Governor.’
Harry paused a second, his wand arm lowering, but not relaxing. ‘School
Governor, maybe, but you’re still a Death Eater,’ he retorted.
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. ‘Such brave words for a little lion; better and greater
men than you have tried and failed to prove just that – and you think your
words will have any effect?’
Harry gritted his teeth in frustration, knowing the other’s words for truth.
For all the mark on his arm, for all his allegiance, time and again he and his
Death Eater comrades escaped the clutches of the law and justice. Cleverness or
money on their part? Perhaps, but the ineptitude of the Ministry was difficult
to ignore. Battle raged around them, and here they were, conducting Inspections
of school.
‘Oh do wipe that look off your face and sit down,’ Malfoy ordered as he calmly
returned his wand to its holster, and gracefully settled himself into the seat
at the head of the table.
‘What…?’ Harry managed to get out through the dryness of his throat, his body
still tense and his adrenalin still high.
Malfoy gave him a mildly annoyed look as he picked up one of the platters on
the table and began serving himself. ‘Sit,’ he said sharply. ‘I won’t tell you
again.’
Harry managed to unlock his somewhat frozen limbs and, taking two steps
forward, half-fell, half-slumped into the seat opposite Malfoy, earning himself
a reproving look from the elder wizard. He kept his wand firmly clenched in his
hand, a fact that Malfoy didn’t fail to notice.
‘What exactly do you think I’m going to do to you, boy?’ He gave a silky
chuckle, his eyes bright with mirth, and something far darker. 
‘I’m sure I don’t know,’ Harry retorted angrily, not liking the look in the
man’s eyes, nor the fact that he was here, with Harry. ‘Why don’t you tell me?
Where’s Lord Purdletrod?’ he asked before Malfoy had a chance to answer the
first question.
‘I’m afraid Lord Purdletrod suffered a rather… unfortunate…accident this
morning, which has left him unable to continue in his role as Board
representative here during the Inspections,’ Malfoy replied, his tone falsely
airy, but doing nothing to disguise the edge of hardness behind it. ‘Luckily,
as it happens, I was available to take up his duties and meetings for the next
week.’
‘Funny, that,’ Harry replied stiffly, gnawing on his lip slightly as he thought
over possible means of escape… He had his wand, still, which was a great
comfort. He had a weapon, at least, if it was needed. The door was locked, but
he was sure he could open it if he needed to; or there was the window, and the
side room. He could bar himself in there, call a House-Elf to get a message to
Dumbledore, and hold off Malfoy until help arrived if it came to it.
His hand tightened on his wand when Malfoy reached across the table, but the
man did nothing more than pick up one of the platters and set it before
himself. He glanced at Harry’s wand before chuckling. ‘You believe I plan to
attack you?’
‘You wouldn’t be able to anyway.’ Harry narrowed his eyes. ‘Dumbledore wouldn’t
let it happen.’
Malfoy arched a pale eyebrow and smirked. ‘And I suppose nothing bad has ever
happened in this school while your precious Headmaster has been here?’
Vague memories of the Basilisk in second year flittered through Harry’s mind,
along with other similar events over the years, but he pushed them aside, not
wanting to think of the finer implications of what Malfoy was saying. He knew
Dumbledore wasn’t infallible, but it didn’t help his situation at the moment.
After a moment of silence, Malfoy tutted in vague disgust and picked up a glass
of purple coloured drink. ‘There’s no need for that. I have no intention of
doing any of the things to you which I’m sure your little mind has been
imagining.’
‘I think I’ll still keep it, thanks,’ Harry replied. ‘What are you even doing
here?’
‘I’ve already told you,’ Malfoy answered him, a slight frown etched on his
brow, clearly not having any intention to repeat himself.
‘You’re not seriously planning on asking me questions about my school life,’
Harry asked, a look of complete disbelief on his face.
Malfoy seemed less than impressed. ‘Don’t be infantile. I have no interest in
your pathetic little life.’
‘Then why are you here? Why are you doing this?’ Harry burst out in
frustration, torn between hatred of the man and his desire to figure out his
motive. He was Lucius Malfoy, one of Voldemort’s Death Eaters, and he was here
in Hogwarts, taking over an Inspector’s place and having lunch with Harry:
there was no chance that he didn’t have a motive, in Harry’s opinion.
Malfoy simply appeared amused at his outburst. ‘My, my, you are a suspicious
one, are you not?’
Harry ground his teeth. ‘Then if you’re not going to talk to me, can I just
go?’
‘No,’ Malfoy informed him briskly, stirring his tea before taking a sip. ‘Lunch
is an hour long; you will spend the entire time here, the same as you would
have for Lord Purdletrod. The Inspection demands, and the Headmaster allows.’
Harry glared at him mistrustfully, not at all sure if he should be convinced by
that declaration. He was pretty sure Malfoy had no power to actually keep him
here if he was against it. Well, at least official means, anyhow. Harry was
pretty sure Malfoy would and could resort to questionable means if he chose to.
Thus far, however, he hadn’t proved to be an immediate threat to Harry’s health
or safety, and in spite of his dislike for the man and a general sense of fear,
the perverse desire to remain lingered. He put it down to idle curiosity, the
one which had forever been the cause of the scrapes in which he had been
involved in the past, and mind turning to them now, he couldn’t help but feel a
vague dread that staying now would lead to another such adventure.
Still, as Malfoy calmly sliced strips of meat on his plate and buttered a white
bread roll, Harry stayed sitting at the table. The atmosphere was in no way
relaxed, but Malfoy acted as if oblivious to it, and Harry took the time to
study the older wizard, his eyes following the easy movements of his eating,
even as his hand kept a firm grip on his wand.
He’d spent seven years now in frequent contact with Draco Malfoy in one form or
another, and was well accustomed to the mannerisms and petulance of his boyhood
rival. While he had long since come to terms with the idea that Slytherin did
not necessarily equate with evil, as he had thought when younger, it didn’t
change the fact that Harry thought Draco Malfoy was an immature prat.
His contact with the elder Malfoy, on the other hand, had been less frequent,
and when he truly thought about it, far more intense and memorable because of
it. In Borgin and Burkes when he was twelve, in the graveyard when Voldemort
had been resurrected, in the Department of Mysteries during the chase for the
prophecy…
To put it simply: Lucius Malfoy was dangerous, and Harry knew it - he felt it.
He was dangerous in a way that Draco with his schoolboy pranks could never be,
and it was visible in his bearing, in the way he moved, in his words, and most
especially in his eyes, those silver grey eyes which were looking at Harry now.
‘You’re not going to tell me, are you?’ Harry said at last, grudgingly, feeling
a response from him was expected.
‘Is there a reason why I should?’ Malfoy gave that condescending little smile
again, which brought forth another burst of irritation in Harry, who very much
wanted to do something to wipe it off Malfoy’s smug face.
‘Oh I don’t know - how about common courtesy? You’re the one who’s wasting my
time at the moment.’
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and there was the briefest pause in
his movements before he dabbed at his mouth with a snow-white napkin. ‘Is that
so,’ he murmured in reply, his tone implying it was rhetorical.
Harry felt a small sense of triumph inside, which he was careful not to let
show on his face. He’d hit a nerve, clearly. He’d known that this Malfoy, just
like his son, was not in control of his emotions as much as he might like,
wasn’t as composed. It meant that he could be provoked, and he could be baited.
If Harry could do that, could anger him enough, it was very likely that Malfoy
would do something rash, something which Harry could use to have him removed.
Many would consider the idea of baiting a wizard such as Lucius Malfoy a
foolhardy adventure indeed, but Harry had done stupider things in his lifetime,
and was of the opinion that Malfoy probably already had some kind of plan in
mind for Harry, and that Harry was better off taking the initiative than simply
waiting for it to happen. He had never been one for patience, would rather rush
ahead and face the consequences.
And he would do the same now.
‘How’s Voldemort?’ He suddenly blurted out.
Lucius did very well in hiding the fact that Harry’s question had startled him,
but Harry had been watching closely, and Harry had noticed the immediate
tension in the man’s face, the tightening of his jaw, and the deliberate way
he’d placed his cup on his saucer before speaking.
‘An unusual question, Mr. Potter, but I do not think the topic appropriate.’
Harry smirked. ‘I don’t see why not. It’s what connects us after all - and I
don’t know what else we’d have to talk about otherwise. He’s going to lose, you
know,’ Harry told him forcefully, ‘and so are you. He’s powerful, but he’s no
match for Dumbledore, and the Death Eaters are no match for the Order.’
Malfoy froze for a single moment, his grey eyes locked hard and fast with
Harry’s and Harry held his breath, wondering if he’d be able to dodge fast
enough or recognise whatever curse Malfoy threw at him now, for surely, surely,
he wouldn’t allow such an insult to his master or his pride go unpunished.
And then, to his complete shock, Malfoy relaxed, and his grey eyes lightened in
humour. He laughed softly, and it made his face seem more approachable – more
human.
Harry’s eyes widened, taken aback as he was. ‘You don’t care?’
Malfoy gave an elegant shrug of one shoulder. ‘Should I?’ he questioned.
‘You’re a Death Eater,’ Harry answered, saying the obvious. ‘He’s your Lord.’
‘Perhaps,’ Malfoy conceded. ‘But allegiances are not always as simple you seem
to think. A Malfoy works only for themselves, and we will survive, no matter
who comes out victorious.’
Harry digested those words in silence. He could believe that a Malfoy would
place themselves and their family first, but that Malfoy wasn’t as loyal to
Voldemort as he’d always thought…?
‘Then why join him?’ he asked, genuinely curious.
Malfoy’s smile was sharp. ‘Oh, don’t think for one second that I am good, that
I will ever be one of your Light wizards, tame and muggle-loving. There is a
reason I became a Death Eater, after all, and although the circumstances have
changed, the essence of my belief remains. The Dark Lord showed a path, once,
even if it has since grown unclear.’
Harry nodded, purely to give some kind of response, if not show agreement; he
was still trying to get to grips with non-fanatic Malfoy.
‘Is that why you didn’t try to find him after he disappeared?’ he asked.
Malfoy quirked a single eyebrow, as if somewhat surprised by the question, and
inclined his head. ‘How astute of you to realise.’
‘Then why continue to fight for him?’ Harry persisted, unsure why, but knowing
that he wanted to understand this, that he wanted to understand Malfoy. Here
was a man he had met only in battle – whether the battle of wits and words of
his twelve year old self, or in the dark of the Ministry the night Sirius died
– and this was the first time they had ever been so civil, so open, and he
wished to take advantage of it. ‘Why are you answering my questions?’
Lucius just smiled enigmatically, ignoring the first question, but answering
the second: ‘Because I have nothing to lose, and something to gain.’
Which, Harry supposed, was answer enough. It wouldn’t hurt to tell Harry that
Malfoy wasn’t as loyal as he appeared, for it would only become known to
Dumbledore and those of the Order – who would not reveal or spread it further
lest they cause him to change his mind; they were more likely to try enticing
him to their side.
Harry snorted softly, and shook his head slightly in amusement. How clever of
Malfoy.
‘Just to make sure…you’re not going to hand me in to Voldemort?’ Harry
repeated.
Malfoy let out a sigh which Harry assumed was the kind of sigh a noble would
give when bored of inane questions, and said: ‘As I have already made clear –
there is no benefit to it.’
Something inside him relaxed, then, and he loosened his hold on his wand just a
fraction and settled back into his chair, taking the time to eye some of the
food spread out over the table, all of it delicious looking to his now-hungry
stomach; he wondered whether it would be a good idea to actually eat some of
it. It was a shame for it to go to waste after all…
Before he could talk himself out of it, he reached out and took a hunk of soft
bread, and some smoked pork to go with it, bringing it over to the plate in
front of him, tearing a chunk off and slipping it in his mouth.
Malfoy watched him with easy grey eyes, taking a sip of his drink.
‘I notice you said nothing of yourself,’ he said conversationally.
‘Pardon?’ Harry responded, not sure to what Malfoy was referring.
Malfoy set his glass to one side and leaned towards Harry, his expression
becoming ever so slightly more intense.
‘When you mentioned the defeat of the Dark Lord – you mentioned the strength of
Dumbledore and of the Order, but not of yourself. You give yourself too little
credit,’ he chided gently.
‘Um..’ Harry replied, unsure of how to take such a compliment from Malfoy of
all people. Having lived with the Dursleys, he’d never really learned how to
respond to compliments, and then in the Wizarding World, it was less
compliments and more mindless fawning, which he was even less prepared to deal
with.
‘It was luck,’ he answered at last. ‘And my friends helped a lot.’
‘Mm,’ Malfoy acknowledged, but there was a glint in his eyes which said he
didn’t quite believe that, and Harry couldn’t help the weird feeling that
suddenly sprang up in his belly – a kind of embarrassed pride that a Death
Eater like Malfoy thought he was someone special.
Of course, that didn’t stop the suspicion that came with it. If Malfoy was
complimenting him, that meant he wanted something. He was almost fully
convinced Malfoy was telling the truth about not wanting to hurt him or abduct
him for Voldemort, but it didn’t explain what he did want. Harry wondered if
he’d tell him should he ask; he thought not, but then Malfoy had been strangely
open with other things.
‘What do you want?’ he asked again, this time less demanding, more curious,
with just a tinge of wariness.
Malfoy’s eyes gleamed silver, and Harry was at once confused by the expression
he could read in them; it looked almost like…hunger, but that couldn’t be
right; no one looked at him like that. He almost wished he was a Legilimens, so
he could read the other’s thoughts, but that strayed too far into memories of
Snape and lessons and too many bad things he didn’t wish to remember.
Still…
‘What are you looking at me like that?’
‘Am I making you uncomfortable?’ Malfoy replied demurely, though his mouth
stretched into a half-smile, letting Harry know that whatever he was doing, it
wasn’t all accidental.
Harry debated for several seconds whether or not to say what was on his mind,
but in the end Gryffindor bull-headedness won out.
‘You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re looking at me like you want
me.’ He raised his chin against the absurdity of his own words.
Malfoy’s smile widened. ‘And would that be so unbelievable?’
Harry was stunned into silence for a long moment, before he burst out with:
‘Don’t be stupid. You’re married! And I’m the same age as your son,’ he added.
Malfoy gave an elegant shrug. ‘Age is relative to experience, I always find,
and tastes vary. Although you are perhaps younger than I would normally prefer,
something tells me that I would find you quite… delectable.’
Harry felt the flush of embarrassment creep up his neck and into his cheeks,
and he fought hard to maintain eye contact.
‘You’re provoking me on purpose,’ he accused.
Malfoy’s laugh was musical and full of amusement. ‘Oh, I should hope so,’ he
replied. ‘But it remains true. Don’t tell me you haven’t taken advantage of
your many admirers, many of whom I’m sure would be most willing to indulge your
fancies.’
‘I’m not like that,’ Harry muttered, turned his face away. He’d thought of it,
of course, when the offers had started coming his way… but something hadn’t
felt right.
‘Loyal to Miss Weasley, then?’ Malfoy continued. ‘And how well does she suit
your tastes?’
Even phrased so politely, the meaning behind his words was obvious, and Harry
felt his cheeks grow redder. He refused to answer, but that seemed response
enough. Malfoy let out a long sigh, his gaze raking over Harry.
‘Untouched,’ he murmured, but it didn’t sound like he was mocking Harry. ‘Such
a waste.’
Harry glared, some of his defiance burning through his unease. ‘I don’t think
it’s any business of yours.’
‘Oh, but it could be.’
Harry’s eyes widened, almost not daring to believe the insinuation. When he’d
first seen Malfoy, he’d feared for his life, not his – his virtue, for lack of
a better word.
‘You’re insane,’ he blurted out.
‘Am I?’ Malfoy didn’t seem offended at the slur, just gave a little chuckle. ‘I
assure you, you would find me a very…proficient lover.’ His tongue curled over
the last words.
And Harry, just for a moment, tried to picture what it might be like – to be
with someone properly, feel their body against his, and to kiss them and come
with them. He’d never experienced that – just fantasies while he wanked in bed
late at night, images from the porn mags that Seamus liked to share with his
dorm-mates, and the few heated make out sessions with Ginny, which never went
far because Ginny wasn’t like that, and their relationship was so off-and-on
Harry was never quite sure where they stood.
Like most young men who had yet to have sex, even the opportunity of it made
interest and heat flare inside him, almost unconsciously.
Then he remembered that this was Malfoy, a Death Eater, and someone who had
tried to kill him in the past and –
‘It’s wrong,’ he declared, but the heat remained inside him, crawling under his
skin.
Malfoy kept his gaze on him, and then he was rising to his feet with measured
movements, slow and graceful, and he stepped towards Harry around the table.
Harry was frozen in place, and Malfoy’s hand stretched out, fingers brushing
gently across the top of Harry’s hand – the one that held his wand, and he
could say a spell any time, could push him away, except he didn’t.
‘What thoughts are running through your mind, I wonder. Are you imagining how
it would feel to have my hands on you, stroking your hard length, or perhaps my
mouth, soft and wet heat…’
Now that Malfoy had said it, yes Harry was. His eyes glanced at Malfoy’s hand
still gently brushing his hand, fingers long and pale against Harry’s tanned
and rough skin, then fixed upon Malfoy’s mouth, those lips curled upwards.
Part of him knew exactly what Malfoy was doing, manipulating him in this way,
and yet the rest of him couldn’t help but succumb to it.
‘You can have it, you just need to ask for it,’ Malfoy whispered.
Harry hesitated, tension coiling inside him, a voice in the back of his head
screaming at him the reasons why this was such a bad idea, but his eyes caught
by Malfoy’s heavy half-lidded stare, like a snake’s, he thought idly, drawing
him in…
‘Please,’ Harry begged, the word almost drawn out from him against conscious
thought.
Malfoy’s smile was sharp, the flare of pleasure and delight in his eyes
obvious, and before Harry could change his mind, Malfoy’s hand had moved up to
grip his wrist, and Malfoy’s face was pressing closer, and then his lips were
touching Harry’s.
It was a surprisingly gentle touch at first, just a momentary brush of a mouth
against his, the surprising sting of sourness from the wine Malfoy had been
drinking, and then Malfoy tilted his head to the side, changed the angle, and
went in deep.
Nothing like the wet kisses of Cho’s, or the girlish sultriness that Ginny
favoured, Malfoy was direct and forceful, his tongue laying claim to Harry’s
mouth, stealing Harry’s breath.
Harry dropped his wand, his hand twisting around in Malfoy’s grip to hold onto
his wrist, the other reaching up to press against Malfoy’s shoulder, just to
keep balance. He felt Malfoy’s lips twitch against his in what might have been
a smile, and then Malfoy’s mouth left his, and his free hand was undoing the
buttons of his shirt, and Harry felt a momentary flare of panic at the thought
of what Malfoy would say about his slightly scrawny, scar-littered body.
Malfoy said nothing, but his smile remained, and his eyes showed heat, and
Harry didn’t think about it any more.
‘Lean back,’ Malfoy ordered, and Harry looked at him, confused, but Malfoy just
smirked, and dropped to his knees in front of Harry’s chair.
The surge of lust was instantaneous, and Harry’s eyes went wide.
He’d said it, but he couldn’t actually be meaning to…?
But he was, Malfoy’s hands deftly undoing the buttons of Harry’s school-
uniform, pulling them down below his knees, followed by his briefs, and then
Harry was exposed, cock hard and leaking at the tip, surrounded by black hair.
Fingers trailed along his flesh, and he gasped, aroused and sensitive all at
once. No one else had ever touched him here, and certainly no one had ever
taken him into their mouth, engulfing him in heat and sliding muscles of tongue
and lips. The touch of Malfoy’s mouth around him made him bite back a moan, his
eyes fluttering, unsure whether to close and enjoy, or stay open and watch. In
the end, he did a mixture of both, eyes half-closed and head thrown back
against the wooden chair. His hands clenched, unsure where to be or what to
hold, eventually gripping the armrests.
Malfoy’s tongue and lips were doing things which Harry couldn’t quite
determine, except that they felt so good, and made the muscles in his legs
tremble, spread wide as they were for Mafloy to lean between, the skin on the
inside of his thighs twitching with every brush of Malfoy’s long hair; his toes
in his plain black shoes curled at a particular vigorous suck; his mouth parted
wide and he gasped in quick breaths.
He wasn’t going to last.
He wondered what he should do, should he warn Malfoy, or was Malfoy expecting
him to come like that? The uncertainty made the sensation of impending orgasm
ever sharper, but Malfoy seemed to sense it, and he pulled away, one hand
coming up swiftly to wrap around the base of Harry’s cock, and Harry’s cock
throbbed, so close, but denied.
‘Turn around, and kneel on the chair.’
Malfoy’s voice was husky, and Harry would describe it as exactly what “sexy”
should sound like, if he didn’t think it was such a mundane word to describe
the man on his knees. ‘What?’ he asked stupidly, his scattered thoughts having
difficulty understanding the man’s words.
Malfoy repeated his instructions, and Harry understood it just fine then, and
also what was about to happen next, and his mouth was suddenly dry and his
breathing still quick.
He wasn’t sure that was what he wanted, but Malfoy stared at him, daring him to
refuse, and so Harry didn’t, just scrambled to his feet awkwardly, turned
around and knelt on the chair, his trousers still bunched around his knees, his
shirt undone and dangling by his sides, the ends tickling against his stomach.
He felt the rustle of clothing as Malfoy rose to his feet, and then his hands
were clasped softly in Malfoy’s grip, placed on the back of the chair. They
moved away, and nudged his legs wider apart.
‘There,’ Malfoy told him, and Harry’s heart was pounding in his chest, half
thrill at this unknown and dangerous thing he was doing, half fear at the very
same.
Malfoy whispered a spell, and Harry startled as he felt a rush of magic inside
his arse, something he had never felt before, and was certainly too weird to
describe, and on the heels of it another spell that seemed to fill him with
something slippery and made the muscles of his anus relax when all he felt was
the need to clench against the strange sensation.
‘Oh god,’ he mumbled, his breath catching in his throat, wondering what on
earth was he doing, what on earth was he allowing to happen.
‘Shh,’ Malfoy crooned softly behind him, ‘you’re doing so well.’
Malfoy’s hands settled on his shoulders, squeezing gently in reassurance,
sliding down his tense sides and coming to rest on his hips, and then Harry
felt him step closer, and he must have undone his trousers at some point,
because it was his bare cock that slipped in the crack between Harry’s arse
cheeks, thick and hard and hot.
Harry trembled.
‘Have you ever been penetrated before?’ Malfoy whispered softly.
‘No,’ he choked out.
‘Good.’
He didn’t wait, and Harry let out a stifled cry as Malfoy pushed into him, a
long forceful thrust that had him all the way inside. There was a small flare
of pain and discomfort, the feeling of something being where it shouldn't be.
Harry tried to buck away, but Malfoy’s strong hands on his hips kept him in
place.
He knelt there unable to move, cheek pressed against the rough wood of the
chair, Malfoy’s body pressed against his back. His arms ached, his legs
quivered, and all he could feel was the cock impaling him, throbbing hotly
inside him, the muscles of his anus twitching around it.
Soft hair brushed against his cheek and warm lips touched his ear. ‘Breathe,
Harry,’ Malfoy whispered. ‘Feel me inside you, stretching you open with my
cock. I own you, and I will always own you. There can be others, but I will
always be the first. You’ll never forget this.’
And Harry knew it was true.
One of Malfoy’s hands left his hip, curled around his front and took hold of
Harry’s own shaft, softened at the abrupt penetration, but quickly hardened
once more with a few deft strokes of Malfoy’s hand. Harry turned his face into
his arm, whimpering softly against his own skin.
The hand felt so good, and as long as Malfoy wasn’t moving, he could almost
ignore the fact that Malfoy was buried deep inside him (almost, but he was
there, inside him, claiming him in the most primitive of ways) but then Malfoy
shifted his hips, and it wasn’t so much moving in and out, as gentle rocking
against and inside him, and although it was weird and intimate, there was
something good about it too, a certain angle creating sparks of pleasure inside
him that went straight to his cock.
Then, too, there was something very containing about being surrounded by
Malfoy’s larger frame, about being held and pleasured.
That it was Malfoy just added an extra stir for everything that the man was and
represented.
He began to move against Malfoy, panting softly, his eyes closed, and gave
himself over to it, chasing those tingles of pleasure, feeling that slippery
slide in and out.
‘Yes, just like that,’ Malfoy uttered, somewhat breathless also, and it spurred
Harry on.
He wasn’t sure how long it was until he was once again on the verge of orgasm,
his skin tingling, his balls tightening.
‘I’m…’ he began, but couldn’t finish.
‘Yes,’ Malfoy hissed in his ear, his hand tugging on Harry’s cock, twisting
unexpectedly at the tip, and Harry let out a cry as the sensations overwhelmed
him, and he came, his semen splattering on the chair in front of him, gushing
over Malfoy’s hand.
Malfoy let out a soft grunt, and his hips snapped forward, pushing Harry
further against the chair, his muscles protesting slightly, but he was feeling
too good to care. Several long, hard strokes, and Malfoy came too, in silence
except for a long sigh of contentment, so dignified, and Harry felt him still
behind him.
Harry expected him to move away straight away, but Malfoy remained inside him
for a few more moments, hand still gentle on his hip. He inhaled, and withdrew
with a soft squelching sound, stepping away; Harry heard the rustle of clothes
and the murmur of a spell.
His muscles protested as he came down from the chair, and he grimaced at the
sticky feeling at both his front and back; his legs were wobbly and he almost
wanted to sit down, but the ache making itself known in his arse made him think
it would be a bad idea.
He wasn’t sure what to say or do now that it was over, and he was almost afraid
to even look at Malfoy.
What a stupid thing he’d done, he couldn’t help but think. He lifted a hand to
his throat, swallowed hard; it hadn’t quite hit him yet. Whether he’d come to
regret his rash decision, it was too soon to tell, but he knew for sure he
wouldn’t be able to tell anyone – they wouldn’t understand.
He glanced to the side and found his wand, lying by the foot of the chair, and
he quickly cast a few cleaning charms before he sorted his clothes out once
more. With his clothes done up again, he felt a bit more confident, and turned
to face Malfoy.
The man was dressed again too, his clothing and hair immaculate, as if nothing
had ever happened.
There was a look in his eyes that hadn’t been there before though, something
Harry couldn’t decipher, but knew was important.
‘It has been a most…invigorating experience, Mr Potter,’ Malfoy said. ‘I very
much look forward to watching who you become.’
It was an unexpected compliment, and Harry wasn’t sure what to say, so he kept
silent.
Malfoy’s lips quirked upwards, understanding more than perhaps even Harry did.
‘Until next time, Mr Potter.’
And then he was through the door, and Harry was left alone, still reeling.
                                    - DEER-
 
Lucius walked along the corridor, his cane idly twirling in one hand, his mood
remarkably bright.
Who’d known young Harry Potter could be so… tempting.
As he was passing a doorway, a movement made him pause, and he straightened his
back and blanked his face as he met Dumbledore’s gaze. He tightened his
Occlumency shields, just in case.
‘Mr Malfoy, what an…unexpected pleasure. I have only just been informed of Lord
Purdletrod’s unfortunate accident and your voluntary fulfillment of his
duties.’ Dumbledore’s voice was as ever slow and measured, but his eyes behind
his half-moon spectacles were suspicious, not enough to be obvious to most, but
Lucius was not like most others.
‘Indeed,’ he answered easily. ‘It was just fortunate I was available at such
short notice.’
Dumbledore ignored that statement. ‘As I understand it, you have just had lunch
with young Harry.’
‘Hardly young, any more,’ Lucius replied demurely, but the glint in his eyes
contradicted his innocent statement. ‘He is quite a special individual, as I’m
sure you know.’ Dumbledore looked momentarily uncertain, and Lucius had to hide
a smirk. He continued: ‘A pleasure seeing you, as always, Headmaster, but I
must be off.’
Dumbledore gave no reply, just stepped out of the way.
Lucius continued walking, letting out a jaunty whistle, and resisted the urge
to look back.
Interfering old fool, think on that.
Harry would eclipse him, of that Lucius had no doubt; the old Headmaster and
the Dark Lord too.
And Lucius found himself uncharacteristically gladdened by the prospect.
He Apparated from the gates with a smile on his face.
 
- fin -
 
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