Lucius Malfoy And The Gift Of Mercy

Chapter Six

By Libertine

       

Two weeks later, Draco Malfoy was standing outside Hermione's front door, banging a fist heavily against the wood. He cut a rather remarkable figure in the middle of the busy Muggle street, a tall, thin man in a black robe which came down to his ankles. Those who passed by him noticed the anger in his silver-eyed glare, and wisely gave him a wide berth.

Hermione watched him from the top floor of her house, and wondered exactly how long she'd have to wait before he went away. But it didn't seem as if Draco had any plans on leaving. After half an hour of cursing and wall-slamming, he squatted down on her porch, apparently ready to wait until someone came home.

Hermione took pity on him. She went downstairs and opened the door.

"Good grief, Draco – what are you –"

Draco jumped a foot, covering his face with his hands. Hermione tutted, shaking her head.

"You act as if you've never seen a naked woman before."

Draco whined.

"You –have- seen one, haven't you?" Hermione asked, lofting an eyebrow. She noticed a small crowd was forming around the porch – Muggles had a tendancy to oggle when so much flesh was exposed to them. Sighing, she gripped Draco by the elbow and pulled him inside. He yelped, but offered no resistance.

Closing the door behind her, Hermione leant her back against it, and stared at him.

The last time she'd seen Draco in the flesh had been almost two years ago – at the crater above the remains of Dragon Rock. He'd lost weight since then, she observed – weight he couldn't really afford to lose. His features were even more pointed, his skin paler. He looked sick – as if all the life had been drained out of him.

Probably via his dick, Hermione thought, ungraciously. She folded her arms.

"What do you want, Draco? I'm fairly busy right now, you know –"

Draco wasn't looking at her, but his reply was sharp, haughty. "Where's Harry."

"I've no idea," Hermione lied. "I'd have thought he was with you."

"Bloody hell." Draco began to apply his sharp nails to Hermione's wallpaper in frustration. Hermione neatly intercepted his wrists before he could do any real damage, and held him fast. Draco let out a whimper, but relaxed a little in the shackles of her hands. Hermione felt an overpowering desire to assume her dominatrix persona and force him to his knees – she resisted with an effort.

"If you don't know where Harry is," she said shortly, "I think he'd probably prefer it that way."

Draco grunted. "So you do know where he is," he said.

"I didn't say that," Hermione snapped, her voice suddenly commanding. "Don't you dare put words in my mouth. On your knees, bitch."

Draco looked at her.

"Hee hee," said Hermione. "Just my little joke."

"Listen – Granger," said Draco, after a heavily pregnant pause – long enough for him to convey exactly how disgusted he was at Hermione's comment. "I need to find him. I mean – he left everything he owned behind. I figure someone must have caught him, or done something to him.. I'm sure he's in danger. He's never stayed away for more than three hours before, and it's been two weeks since he left."

"Perhaps he's not coming back," Hermione suggested.

"He always comes back," said Draco, with a confidence it was clear he didn't feel. He pulled his hands free of her. "Always."

"Maybe he's found someone else," said Hermione, sneering. "Someone who doesn't treat him like shit."

Draco glanced around the room. The decor rather reminded him of his father's dungeon. "You're one to talk," he said, smarting.

"Perhaps. But I get paid for it."

"..sickening," Draco muttered, wiping his hands conscientiously on his chest. "Granger – I know you know where he is. He wouldn't have gone without telling you. So – I'm going to be nice – I'll give you a choice. You either tell me now, or I fill your bathtub with boiling oil."

Hermione smiled, dryly. "Too late for that, I'm afraid," she said.

"Fine! How about this then – I'll call your local library and tell them exactly what sort of customer you are. I don't think they'll let you borrow any more books once they know what you do in your spare time, eh?"

"Go ahead," said Hermione. "The head librarian is currently upstairs, locked in my closet – but I can let him out for a few minutes, if you two would like to have a chat about my personal activities."

Draco frowned. "Was that a bluff?" he asked.

"Try me."

Draco's lips curled into a smirk. "I would," he sniped, "if I wasn't sure you'd overcharge me."

"Hardly. I give a discount for blondes."

"Granger –"

"Call me Mistress H. And no, Draco. No matter what you say, I'm not going to tell you where Harry is."

Draco lost it. "Listen, you twisted little whore –"

Hermione jerked open the door. "Out, Draco," she said – amazed at how calm she felt. "Otherwise I promise you that boiling oil won't be the only thing in my bath shortly. If you get my drift. Which I'm sure you do."

Draco growled at her – actually growled, his pale face caught in a suddenly feral aspect, his lips peeled back from his teeth. "You'll get yours, Granger," he hissed.

"Trust me," Hermione replied, "I'm getting mine plenty. I think your problem is that you just aren't getting enough, anymore." With a sharp bump of her elbow, she caught Draco offbalance, sending him stumbling through the door, a wavering, angular figure gusted in black satin. Shocked into silence, he glowered at her from the pavement, his fingers curled tensely into the fabric of his robe.

Hermione shook her head, sadly. "I don't know what your problem is, Draco," she said, "but I bet it's bloody hard to pronounce."

Draco opened his mouth to scream a tirade of curses at her, but Hermione closed the door before they reached her ears.

       

"Oh for goodness sake, Lucius," said Narcissa. "Can't you put that cigarette out?"

"For my own sake, I think not. My cigarette is beautifully made, gives me great pleasure, and is silent," said Lucius, cooly. "You, my dear, possess but two of these virtues. And in a trying time such as this, I do hope you'll forgive me my eccentricities."

"I suppose you're right," said Narcissa. "Rather you satisfy your oral fixiation above the table, rather than below, hm?"

"Don't make me bite you," Lucius murmured. He rolled his hand across her chest, a finger dipping breifly into the curve of her cleavage – uncaring of the girl who watched them both, figeting uncomfortably on her leather chair at the sight of such unashamed flirtation.

Narcissa cooed at him, a coquettish smile coiling across her lipstick-darkened mouth. She was, Lucius reflected, still the most beautiful woman he'd ever met, and the only person who'd ever truly understood him. She knew of his affairs – just as she knew of his – and at times he'd even stopped to watch her many lovers curl clumsily in and out of their marital bed.

At other times, he joined in.

They were more like sister and brother, really – they'd transcended the usual binds of a monogamous relationship, and what they had was crueler, colder, but ultimately loyal. They no longer felt it necessary to whisper words of love to each other. Instead, with every breath, every gesture, they demanded the other's complete loyalty, if not their fidelity. I own you, Lucius would snarl into her, his teeth pressed to the curve of her shoulderblade. No, Narcissa would hiss back, her slim frame clamped about his. I own you. And caught inside her, trapped in the pit of her body, Lucius would have to agree.

Occasionally they chased the same men, or the same women. It was a little game they played, a tease-and-torture, a battle of the sexes over the same turf. She'd beaten him to Serverus and Sirius – but he'd managed to win over Remus Lupin, and even James Potter had come to him, eventually. They marked their winnings on the posts of their bed, a notch for each triumph. Lucius' side, he was always quick to point out to her, was far better whittled than hers.

He nibbled lightly against her cheek, and moved away. Flicking the ash from his cigarette into the cup of a house elf's hand, he approached the fretful girl, who still sat on her chair, twisting her fingers into her skirt. She was pretty, Lucius mused – in that blonde, elfin way that all Malfoys were.

"Well, Kaylena," he murmured. "How are you feeling?"

"..rather nervous," the girl admitted. "But – ready, I think." She forced a smile.

"To procreate, hm?" said Lucius. "Draco shouldn't be long. Infact, if he takes any longer, I'll be forced to transport him here. I did make it very clear to him that today's meeting would be – of high importance. To me, and Narcissa."

"You are ovulating, aren't you?" said Narcissa, mildly.

Kaylena flushed scarlet. "Yes, ma'am."

"Congratulations," said Lucius. He glanced up – he'd heard the sudden sound of a downstairs door slamming. "That would be Draco now," he murmured. "You'd better go into his bedroom, now, Kaylena. Try to look – appetising, won't you?"

The girl jumped to her feet, and performed a quick curtsey. "Yes, sir." She dashed out.

"A little too – submissive, to be a true Malfoy, wouldn't you say?" said Lucius, once she was gone.

"You should have stopped to count her toes," said Narcissa.

"Touche, my dear." Lucius yawned. "Hopefully, she'll grow out of it."

"Perhaps. But then, I've been saying that about you for years, love," Narcissa purred.

"My stars. We are quite catty, today, aren't we? What have the elves been putting into your drinking bowl?"

"Hush, Lucius. Otherwise I won't show you what I've got for you to play with."

Narcissa smiled, and reached into the pocket of her robe. Lazily, she withdrew a small, crystal ball, spinning in within her hand with an easy grace.

"You didn't," said Lucius, impressed despite himself.

"Of course I did, love. How could I resist the temptation to witness the conception of our grandchild?"

"Naughty," Lucius demured.

"My love," said Narcissa, with the steamy elegance of a succubus, "you don't know the half of it."

       

Draco crashed into his room to find a naked girl on his bed.

Needless to say, this took him somewhat by surprise. He did a double-take, blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. She was still there, blonde and worried looking, spreadeagled on the covers. Draco paused – trying to work out what on earth she might be doing there. A thought struck him. He inspected her feet.

"Oh," he said, relaxing slightly. "You're my cousin."

She nodded, biting her lip.

Draco groaned. His mind was filled with Harry-thoughts, and he wasn't in the mood to deal with his father's coercive designs on a heir. He wondered faintly if losing Harry had been part of Lucius' plan, too. It was quite easy to lay the blame on other people, if you put in the effort..

"What did Lucius say to do with me?" he asked, shortly.

Kaylena blushed. "He said I had to seduce you," she admitted. "He said it would be tricky, though – given that you're.." she trailed off, nervously.

"Gay. Yes," Draco snapped. "I can see that would rather be a problem. Did he tell you to get me drunk first?"

"No," Kaylena said. "But if you resisted, he said that I should knock you out and have my, um, way with you." Her ears were burgundy.

"Some day," Draco muttered, throwing himself onto the bed, "we're all going to look back on this, laugh – and quickly change the subject." He began to pull of his boots.

"So – you're going to do it?" Kaylena asked, hardly believing her luck.

"I don't really have much choice, do I?" Draco tore off his socks. "It's either that or lose my Buffy collection." He glowered, suddenly. "Father plays dirty."

"Oh. Um. But will you be able to do it?"

"What do you mean, will I be able to do it?" Draco ripped off his robe, almost tearing the seams in his frustration. He hadn't the will to challenge his father, not with Harry so far away. It was best, he felt, to get this whole sordid affair over and done with as soon as possible. Then he'd be able to leave the manor for a while, and find his errant boyfriend. It had to be Ron, he'd surmised – the Weasley boy was the only friend Harry had left. Harry was with Ron, bloody Ron with his foot long.. the idea of that didn't bear thinking about.

"I mean – being gay and all," said Kaylena. "I mean." She looked away. "Do you – er. Really do that thing with gerbils?"

Draco rolled his eyes at her. "Yes, surprisingly enough. I have five up my arse right now, as it happens."

Wearing only his boxers, he sat himself down between her spread legs, and stared down her body, appraisingly. She was – nicely made, for a woman, he had to admit. Lucius had good taste. If you liked the Veela type.

"You can't magick up a pair of glasses and dye your hair black at short notice?" he asked.

Kaylena blinked. "I guess – I could try," she muttered, reaching across to the bedside table for her wand.

Draco waited, patiently, tapping his fingers lightly against a bare thigh. Kaylena, nerve-wracked, began to chant a few incantations, casting illusion after illusion on herself.

"No, the hair's shorter," Draco commented. "Scruffier. And green eyes. And a scar – a zigzag – yes, that's right. And glasses – perfect. Oh, and you forgot.." he touched her skin, just below her stomach.

"I – what?"

"Come on. You want this to work or not?"

"I –"

She did it. Draco smirked. "I think you're giving him a little too much credit, there," he said.

Kaylena made a few amendments.

"Better."

She stared up at him, still biting her lip, with Harry's green eyes. It was an almost perfect likeness, Draco thought – she must have seen pictures of Harry somewhere.. well, of course she had. Since Harry left, Draco had stuck every picture he had of the man on his walls – a hundred thousand Harrys lined the room's edges, smiling and waving at Draco and his Harryized cousin.

"So?" she said, in a small voice.

"So what?" Draco snickered. "I'm ready – are you?"

"Well, yes.."

"Then what are you waiting for?"

"Well, you – sir –"

Draco grasped her buttock, and hefted her in a meaningful way. "No. Not like this," he snapped. "Roll over."

       

In the study, Lucius and Narcissa stared, agast, into the crystal ball which reflected the transgressions of the cousins. Finally, when he could bear it no more, Lucius tore the ball from Narcissa's hands, and flung it against the wall. As it shattered, the couple stared at each other, their pale faces twisted in anger and dismay.

"The little bastard," Lucius hissed.

"Love – it is his first time, after all," Narcissa murmured, trying to soothe her husband. "You have to expect that he might – get it wrong at least once. Try to be patient with him.."

"What do you mean, be patient with him?" Lucius snarled. "I've been patient enough. But anal sex does not a grandchild make."

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