[From Litha to Lammas]: Take This Man, R, Harry/Lucius, 1/6

[lomonaaeren]

Title: Take This Man
Pairings: Lucius/Harry, past Lucius/Narcissa and Ginny/OMC, references to canon pairings
Content Notes: AU (Harry is the twin of the Boy-Who-Lived), angst, fake dating, violence, references to past violence and minor character deaths, dysfunctional family, references to child abuse, emotional abuse
Rating: R
Summary: AU. Harry knows there are both advantages and disadvantages to being the twin of Ian Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, who defeated Voldemort three years ago. Harry never anticipated that one of the disadvantages would be Lucius Malfoy offering him a formal courtship—and his brother insisting he has to accept, to spy on Malfoy and see what he’s been up to since the war ended.
Author’s Notes: This story is part of my “From Litha to Lammas” series of chaptered fics being posted between the summer solstice and the first of August. It should have four to six chapters. Please mind the content notes.



Take This Man

“No. It’s for you.”

Harry stared in silence at the scroll of parchment dripping with red and gold ribbons and sealed with a raised LM in blue and silver wax. He’d received it from an owl, recognized the seal, and taken it immediately to his brother. It only made sense that Lucius Malfoy, if he wanted an alliance or approbation from the Potter family, would write to Ian Potter, the Defeater of Voldemort.

“I—what?” Harry asked helplessly, and turned the scroll over. The ribbons made his brain shiver with a pang of memory, but he couldn’t bring it into focus. Ian probably knew. He’d had a very different upbringing than Harry.

“Just read it, Harry. I’m sure he’ll explain.” Ian collapsed into the chair across from Harry, his arms folded. The lightning bolt scar on his forehead stood out red and puckered in the sunlight pouring through the window of the Longbottoms’ yellow sitting room. “Unless you’d like me to do it for you because you’re afraid.”

Harry flinched and unrolled the damnable thing.

He scanned part the first paragraph, which was just flowery nothings of the sort that Ian was much better at interpreting, and then flinched again, this time enough to make the chair lift up on its legs and thump down. “What the fuck.”

“Harry.”

Ian disapproved of language like that. Harry didn’t apologize, though. He just picked up the scroll and waved it around. “Are you aware of what this is?” he yelled.

“I was able to guess from the color of the ribbons, but why don’t you tell me.”

Harry glared at Ian. “It’s an offer for a formal courtship.”

“Yes.” Ian yawned a little. “The colors of the ribbons advertise that. Since there are two of us and using ribbons of the Potter colors wouldn’t distinguish between us well enough, he uses the colors of your Hogwarts House. I would expect you to have known this, Harry.”

“What childhood lessons did I get?”

Ian sat up. “I’ll hear no criticism of Augusta.”

That conversational path was old and well-trod and would only end in shouting if Harry pursued it, so he turned back to the fucking marriage proposal that Lucius Malfoy had sent him for some reason. Harry only knew the man as a former Death Eater. He’d turned on Voldemort when the Dark Lord killed his wife, but that was at the tail end of the war. He had no reason to want to court Harry.

No, correction, he had every reason in the world to want to court a Potter, if the Malfoys’ reputation was still in tatters after the war. But he had no reason to court Harry.

“I’ll refuse, of course.”

“You’ll do no such thing.”

Harry stared at his brother. Ian stared back, unyielding. Harry was shorter than Ian, he had more scars, his black hair was wilder and he had green eyes while Ian had blue, but Harry thought that the deepest difference between them was that inflexibility that came up at the least convenient moments.

“Tell me why you want me to court a Death Eater, brother.”

“Former Death Eater.”

Harry just raised his eyebrows.

Ian sighed and leaned forwards. “I don’t trust Malfoy,” he said. “The death of his wife makes a good story, and he did do some work against Voldemort near the end of the war. And since then, he’s maintained the cover. Donations to St. Mungo’s, threatening to disown his son when the younger Malfoy took up Muggle-baiting, making all the right statements, supporting a Muggleborn candidate for Minister.”

“You think it’s a cover.”

“Wouldn’t you? After the way he abused his house-elves, the way he hurt her.” Ian’s fist twisted into place near his chest. “Not that he was the one to cause me the most terrible pain in relation to her, of course.”

Harry looked down.

Ian caught his breath and went on more calmly. There were few times that he wasn’t calm. “Nundus don’t sweeten their breath just like that. But no one is close enough to tell us otherwise—except Draco, and you know he would never turn on his father. He’s been on his best behavior after his threatened disownment. This is our best chance to see what Lucius Malfoy’s really up to.”

“You want me to date him—”

“Courting, Harry, it’s called courting.”

“Fine, court him—”

“He would court you.”

Harry counted to ten in his head. “You want me to spy on him.”

“Yes.” Ian made a quick motion of his hand when Harry opened his mouth to protest. “I wouldn’t ask you to do this if we had another good option, like I said. But we don’t. You might as well do this and make sure that you learn all you can. Perhaps we’ll have enough to arrest him, at last.”

“It—just seems disrespectful, somehow, to violate a tradition like that. Isn’t that’s what you usually say?”

“You’re a half-blood who wasn’t raised pureblood. It’s fine.”

Harry sighed and stared at the scroll. He didn’t really want to do this. But he also knew that his brother wouldn’t let him hear the end of it if he didn’t.

Oh, Ian wouldn’t yell at him. He never did. He would just give Harry a quiet, steady, disappointed look, and then refuse to talk to him for several days. Augusta and Neville would follow his lead, and since they were the only other inhabitants of the Manor, Harry would be left by himself unless he wanted to depart.

He didn’t, really. Not with an entire family of war heroes dedicated to a blood feud against him.

“You realize that you’re going to have to tell the Weasleys the truth about this?” he asked, looking up. “Since they hate me, and they hate Malfoy. If you want me to really make a good pretense of a courtship, you can’t let them interrupt me while I’m out with him.”

Ian grimaced a little, but dipped his head. “A logical point. I’ll tell them.”

Harry relaxed and nodded. Then he sighed and reached for the scroll. He supposed he had no reason not to enter this courtship. Like Ian said, it would give them a good chance to get eyes on what Malfoy was doing, and Harry wouldn’t have to take it particularly seriously. He didn’t have the pureblood background that Ian did.

And he wasn’t dating anyone right now. Why would he be? Everyone knew what he had done.

“Thank you, Harry. I won’t say that this will make up for everything, but it will help.”

“Sure,” Harry said unenthusiastically, and went to write his reply.

He did have to ask Ian, before he sent his own letter off, what color ribbons he should use and what kind of wax seal. Ian smiled kindly as he gave his response. He was always kind. Harry shouldn’t resent him as much as he did.

He still did, as he watched Hedwig fly off with the scroll.

*

“Thank you for agreeing to meet me here, sir.”

“Please don’t call me sir, Mr. Potter. I think we should involve first names, don’t you?” Mr. Malfoy stood up from the chair he’d been sitting in, in front of the Leaky Cauldron’s fire, and bowed to Harry. “For you.”

Harry blinked a little as he took the cluster of yellow flowers from Malfoy. Daffodils, he thought. “Thank you?” he asked, and then winced as his voice spiraled up into a question. Ian wouldn’t have sounded like he was asking a question.

Malfoy laughed quietly. “A first courting gift,” he said. “They have many meanings, but rebirth and a new beginning are one.” He reached out and took Harry’s left hand, raising it to his lips, holding Harry’s eyes all the while. “I find myself hoping that you will take them in that spirit.”

Harry just stared at him. Then he flushed and averted his eyes. “Thank you,” he repeated more firmly. “You said that you had a particular place planned for this courtship outing. Please feel free to escort me there, sir.”

“What did I say, Harry?”

Malfoy wasn’t moving. Harry breathed out slowly. Then he said, “Please escort me, Lucius.”

“I like the way you say it.” Malfoy was smiling at him, a deep, rich, slow smile, of the kind that Harry couldn’t have ever imagined would be directed at him. He held out his arm, his elbow crooked. “Please take my arm.”

Harry did. He’d read the right way to put his hand on it in one book on courtship, but he’d given up and not read much else because he couldn’t convince himself this was real. He’d thought he would get to the meeting place and Malfoy wouldn’t be there. Some sort of prank to play on Ian made as much sense of Malfoy’s motivation as anything else.

“Shall we?”

Harry nodded, and let Malfoy steer him out into the bustle of Diagon Alley.

As Malfoy led him through the street, there were stares and mutters. Harry straightened his shoulders. He would carry his share of them.

“I will not let anything harm you while you are with me, Harry.”

Harry’s eyes shot sideways to Malfoy. He nodded. “Thanks.”

Malfoy gave him that same smile, and led him into a side street off Diagon that Harry had never explored. It wasn’t like he had ever been here for more than a day at time when he was still attending Hogwarts, and since then—

Since then was since then.

He studied Malfoy as they walked, since mostly he’d seen the man from a distance before this. Malfoy was taller than Harry—who wasn’t?—with shining blond hair that concealed any grey in it well. He had lean muscles that made Harry wonder how much he dueled, and he wore silver-grey robes that flashed and shimmered with an illusion of running water.

“I hope that you’re enjoying what you see, Harry.”

Harry flushed as Malfoy’s eyes met his, not much less grey than his robes. Caught. “I think you’re beautiful,” Harry replied, and Malfoy’s lashes fluttered a little as if Harry had surprised him. “But it makes me wonder more whether you mean to court me.”

“Don’t tell me that you don’t possess a mirror.”

“I do, which is why I’m asking.”

Malfoy gave him a quick glance this time, his eyes narrowed. Harry felt a swoop in his stomach. On the one hand, if Malfoy was going to dismiss him, he could go home. On the other hand, it would be to face Ian’s disappointment.

“I see,” Malfoy murmured, but what he saw Harry didn’t know, since he went briskly on. “I wished to court you in part because of a Diviner I visited two months ago. I was wondering who would allow me to find joy again.”

“A Diviner?” Harry repeated slowly. Divination was divided into several categories, but he didn’t know much about them, since he’d never taken that class. He did know about Seers, since one of them had spoken the prophecy that had defined Ian’s life.

And, indirectly, his.

He hoped that he hid the spasm in his face as Malfoy focused on him. “Yes. Diviners handle small and personal questions, while Seers gaze into the future of the great and the changes that will affect all the world. I wished to know who would allow me to find joy again.”

“You said that already.”

Harry flushed in the next second and thought that this was probably the end of the courtship, but Malfoy only laughed, an affected sound that made Harry wonder what his real laughter was like. “So I did. The Diviner read her cards and gave me your name.”

“My name? I didn’t think tarot cards worked like that.”

“On occasion, they do. They enveloped her in a vision, and she saw a golden cloud in which your name was written.”

Harry frowned in thought as Malfoy led him through a door dripping with decorations the way his courtship scroll had been dripping with ribbons. “And you decided that the best way to figure that out was to offer to court me? Not just ask me if I knew someone who could make you happy?”

“I chose to do what I thought was the most expeditious route.”

Harry relaxed a little. It didn’t sound like Malfoy was deeply invested in this courtship. Most likely, he would stumble across someone who really could make him happy while they were on one of their outings or something.

“What did I say to affect you so?”

“Oh, I was nervous before, but now—Mr. Malfoy, you don’t need to pull my chair out.”

“I did request to be done with the last names.”

Harry sighed and sat down in the chair, which had a cushion on it that made the ones on the Longbottom dining room chairs seem like stone. “You did. Sorry.” He laid the daffodils on the table beside him.

“Why did you relax like that?” Malfoy asked, and sat down in the chair across from Harry. The table was in a dusky little nook overhung with gleaming branches that looked as if they were made of emeralds and agate.

“I was nervous before,” Harry repeated, to gain some time, while he picked up the menu. It was a sheet of parchment as slick and transparent as crystal, which he internally rolled his eyes at. “But it makes sense to me now. I’ll be the one to lead you to the person who will make you happy. You don’t want to court me, but you offered to do it because it was an acceptable way to go out in public with me.”

“Why would you assume that I did not wish to court you?”

“Because you called it expeditious, why do you think? And this menu is in Latin. I can’t read it.”

Harry waited to see what Malfoy’s response was, as he blinked. This was another chance for him to end this farce, because Harry had just insulted him and had obviously proven that he was less cultured than Malfoy expected.

“I thought you would have had Latin lessons as a child.”

Harry’s tongue tangled up behind his teeth. He wanted to tell Malfoy the truth, which wasn’t unexpected. He always wanted to tell people the truth. But Ian had pointed out that talking about the Dursleys would inflame anti-Muggle sentiment just when their world was trying to heal. So Harry let most people think that he had been raised by Augusta Longbottom, the way Ian had been.

“Um. I wasn’t very good at them.”

Malfoy inclined his head and tapped his fingers against the table. The menu in Harry’s hand shimmered and turned into an English one. “You need not act as though I will run away any minute, you know.”

“But you could.”

“Not until the end of the outing, Harry. It would not be politic.”

Harry relaxed a little more. “Politic,” “expeditious,” and all the rest indicated that Malfoy’s heart wasn’t involved. He didn’t have to worry about hurting the man’s feelings with spying on him. “All right.”

“Did you want me to take those?”

Harry followed Malfoy’s gaze to the daffodils, which he had carried automatically through the streets to the restaurant. “Sure. Not that I don’t like them, but I don’t really know what to do with them.”

“It is my fault, for not showing you the Preservation Charm on them. They will remain as fresh as they are now until you can place them in water.”

“Really? Cool.”

A smile flitted over Mr. Malfoy’s face, before he turned his attention to the daffodils and conjured a crystal vase, without water. He slid the daffodils into them and lightly pushed the vase across the table to Harry. Harry caught it with one hand and admired the flowers for a moment. He’d had few enough gifts in his life that he valued the ones he did get.

“I enjoy it when you smile like that.”

Harry blinked at Malfoy, and then felt a blush creeping up his cheeks. “Right,” he murmured, and ducked his head. “I—thank you, Lucius.” The man was a hell of a good actor, if he was able to pretend like this in order to find the person the Diviner had really recommended to him.

“You are welcome. Now, tell me what you would like.”

Harry ended up picking pasta primavera from the extensive menu, and Malfoy chose a French dish with a name whose pronunciation Harry couldn’t even guess at. A sparkling mist formed over the table when Malfoy spoke their suggestions aloud, and then drifted away. Harry reckoned it would bring the dishes soon.

“Now, tell me about yourself.”

Harry turned his best smile on Malfoy. This was the kind of conversation where he had to be careful, since he couldn’t give Malfoy a lot of information on his childhood without “inflaming anti-Muggle sentiments,” as Ian would put it. “I don’t know that there’s much to tell, Lucius.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I’m a lot like my brother. If you know about him, you know about me.”

“I find that hard to believe. I have never spent more than a minute in the younger Mr. Potter’s company without feeling the urge to have a strong drink of Firewhisky. Whereas you are charming.”

Harry stared, unsure whether he should laugh or assume a serious expression. In the end, he just tilted his head and accepted the compliment. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome. But I still want to know more about you.”

The sparkling mist came back to their table and formed their dishes, as well as a glass of water for Harry and one of red wine for Lucius, out of thin air. Harry took the moment as they settled their cutlery and got ready to eat to also settle his mind and come up with a few possible answers to the question.

“Well, I am like my brother in one way,” he said as he sipped the sparkling clear water. “I really like Quidditch. What Quidditch team do you follow?”

That was good for a few minutes of conversation, and then Harry was able to ask about a Quidditch game that Lucius mentioned having seen in the past, and then he talked about a book he’d recently read on the history of goblin rebellions, and Harry contributed a few anecdotes from Binns’s class, and it was simple and easy. The food was good. But all too soon, Lucius laid his spoon aside and said, “You are remarkably skilled at deflection.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course you do.” Lucius looked graver than he had since the beginning of the meal, and Harry tensed a little. Had he figured out that Ian had wanted Harry to use this “courtship” outing to spy on Lucius? “I keep asking you what you are like, and you keep changing the subject.”

“Would you believe that I don’t like talking about myself?”

“Of course I would. But I am asking you anyway. If all goes well, this courtship will lead to marriage. Should not husbands understand each other?”

It was unfortunate that Harry had picked up his water glass right before that, and started spluttering as water slid down his throat the wrong way. Lucius cast an easy charm that opened his throat, and Harry nodded and tried to use his napkin to mop up the water that had got on his robe, ignoring the embarrassment that slid through him. “Thanks.”

“Did you not understand the rules of courtship?”

“One thing you should know about me is that I’m not a pureblood.”

“Anyone can understand the books, Mr. Potter.”

“Sounds like you’re going backwards on your own requests, Mr. Malfoy”

Lucius blinked, and then smiled. Harry sat up a little. He was sure that this was the man’s real smile, ready to cut like a dagger. “Very well, then. Harry. Why come on this courtship outing if you did not think that you could marry me?”

“I thought it would be interesting to find out what you wanted. I never believed you were serious about marrying me, so you must have some other motivation.”

“Why would I not be serious? You did not know about the Diviner, I concede, but many people might think I had a good motivation in wanting to bind myself closer to the Potter family.”

“Marrying me wouldn’t help you do that.”

“Why not?”

Shit. Lucius might think Harry was good at deflection, but Lucius was really good at leading questions that were going to get Harry in trouble if he didn’t watch out.

Harry gave a deprecating smile and leaned back in his chair. “Well, my brother and I have had a number of public arguments in the last few months. You won’t get on his good side by courting me.”

“How would you describe your brother, Harry?”

Relentless. Self-righteous. Utterly dedicated to the reform of magical society. Infuriating.

Harry picked up his glass of water and sighed a little. “He’s smarter than me, Lucius. He’s handsomer, more famous, a better Quidditch player, a better duelist. I used to be bitter about that, but it’s hard to be bitter about facts. He’s altogether a better person than me.”

Lucius leaned slowly back in his seat. Harry wondered if he was reconsidering his decision to court Harry, or reconsidering what the Diviner had told him.

Good.

But Harry had to admit he would miss being treated like he mattered, focused on the way Lucius did, smiled at the way Lucius did. It was only another piece of evidence that he was a worse person than Ian, of course. Ian wouldn’t have been tempted. He would have flung the flowers back in Lucius’s face and laughed when Lucius objected.

I am not my brother.

“On what grounds do you judge goodness?”

“All of the ones that I just told you?”

“I wonder.”

“Well, wonder all you like. It doesn’t mean that you’re going to get a different answer than the one I gave you.”

“Would you, in private, I wonder.” Lucius gave him a speculative look. “Where you could be sure that no one would overhear you, and you might be rewarded, not shunned, if you criticized the shining paragon that goes by the name Ian Potter.”

Harry knew he flushed again. But he just shrugged. He hoped that Lucius took that as uncouth behavior and ended the date. Outing. Whatever.

Being treated like he mattered didn’t matter against how he knew his brother would treat him as a result of this.

Lucius nodded as though Harry had answered the question more thoroughly than he had. “This has been pleasant, Mr. Potter, but I suppose I should let you return to Longbottom Manor.”

Harry nodded back. Relief and disappointment entwined ran through him. The switch to last names seemed to signal that Lucius wasn’t going to continue courting him. “Thanks. Do you want the daffodils back?”

Lucius seemed to recoil without moving. “Why would I want that? Are you disdaining my courtship gifts this soon?”

Harry stared at him helplessly. Lucius stared back, his nostrils flaring the way Snape’s used to do when Harry existed in his general vicinity. Harry finally shook his head and said, “Well, you’re ending the courtship, so I thought maybe—”

“I am most certainly not.”

“You called me by my last name!”

“Because the outing is ending, and it would be inappropriately intimate to continue calling you by your first name when we are not prior friends and are no longer speaking about intimate matters.”

“Purebloods are ridiculous,” Harry said, before he could consider the lineage of the man sitting across the table from him.

But Lucius broke into laughter, and stood with his hand extended. “Perhaps you should be thankful that you are not one,” he said, and waited until Harry grasped his hand before he pulled Harry close. Harry could feel the heat brewing between their chests. “Although it is not your blood that interests me.”

Harry felt his face flush hotter than the gap between them. He tilted his head back far enough that he could look Lucius in the eye and said, “Of course it is. Without my connection to the Boy-Who-Lived, you wouldn’t be courting me at all, would you?”

“I remind you that the Diviner saw your name in her cards, Harry.”

“Now who’s being inappropriately intimate?”

Lucius’s smile flashed across his face, and he stepped back, until he was only holding Harry’s hand. He bowed over it, and while Harry didn’t feel his lips, he did feel the warmth of his breath. He was sure that his face was completely red.

For the first time, it occurred to him to dart his eyes around the restaurant. But it seemed that every table was in a nook like the one theirs had been, although some of them were guarded by rocks or flowing water with wards rippling about it instead of trees. Harry relaxed a little.

“If you become my husband, you must become used to being in public with me.”

“Yeah, but not necessarily with you kissing my hand.”

“Negotiations already?” Lucius released his hand and offered his arm the way that he had when bringing Harry down Diagon Alley. “I do look forward to the moment when we begin talking about our contract, Mr. Potter.”

The heat burning in Harry went out in a flash of steam as the cold water of the contract idea poured over it. He wasn’t sure that he’d ever get married, but if he did, he knew it wasn’t going to be with any bloody contract controlling his actions.

He looked up at Lucius with a winsome smile as he gathered the vase with the daffodils in it. “Just you wait.”

It seemed that Lucius noticed something off in his response, because his brow puckered. But he just inclined his head and escorted Harry out of the restaurant and back towards the Leaky Cauldron. Harry did remember something from the courtship books about how the suitor was meant to accompany their “beloved” back to the point where they had met them.

Beloved. Right.

*

It happened as they had rounded the final corner to the Leaky Cauldron and Lucius already had his wand out to tap the necessary pattern on the brick wall.

The curse came from above, a shattering red light that was aimed straight at Harry’s neck. Harry dived without thought, tugging Lucius along with him, and heard Lucius swear as they rolled across the cobbles. The daffodil vase miraculously didn’t crack.

As Harry fought his way back to his feet, he heard people screaming and crying. He took a quick look around. It seemed that mostly, the crowd was afraid, since all he could see were small wounds on cheeks with blood streaming from them. No one was down. No one was dead.

“What was that?”

Harry glanced sideways at Lucius. “That was the Weasleys. Probably George Weasley, from the spell.”

Lucius stared at him. He had dust in his hair, although it almost vanished against the gleaming blond strands, and he made a little helpless gesture, as though he could make Harry make more sense that way. “What? The Weasleys are friends of your brother’s. Why would they…”

“I got their sister killed in the Battle of Hogwarts.”

Lucius looked at him, a deep, penetrating glance that made Harry flush for less flattering reasons than had happened in the restaurant. Then he said, “That would explain some of your brother’s enmity towards you as well, would it not? From what I have heard, he considered Ginny Weasley the love of his life.”

Harry nodded. He didn’t feel like saying anything else. He was as limp as the rags that the Dursleys had used to hand him to clean. Why would he think that he could have a normal life? He was a murderer.

And not a murderer like Lucius, with the political skills and the Galleons to get forgiven after a war. He was just a plain, regular criminal who hadn’t paid attention at the wrong moment and hadn’t managed to stop Ginny as she rushed forwards—

He cut himself off.

“You grow ever more intriguing, Mr. Potter.”

Harry stared at Lucius, ignoring the pops as the Aurors Apparated in and spread out, casting healing spells and calming down the witnesses enough to speak to them. He knew they wouldn’t catch George. The Aurors always mysteriously just managed to miss the Weasleys. “What? Anyone sane would be backing off now!”

Lucius had a slight, pleased smile on his lips that wasn’t one Harry had seen before, either. “Perhaps you have heard the Death Eaters called mad?” He offered his arm again. “I will see you safely to the Floo.”

And he really did, marching Harry into the Leaky Cauldron and watching calmly as Harry cast the Floo powder into the flames. Harry looked back at him and shook his head wordlessly before he stepped into the fire.

As he whirled back to Longbottom Manor, he wondered if maybe Lucius was looking for his next murder victim. It would make more sense than most of what had happened today.