Free Bird

*****

The island was the proverbial get-away: a luxury, an indulgence - a picture perfect means to escape the constraints of life and bask in uninhibited tranquility. It dawned on Lucius that he escaped to his tropical holdings far too infrequently. The healing rays of the bright Pacific sun, already engulfing his spirit in a protective cocoon of warmth, massaged out the tension, anger, and bitterness and replaced it all with carefully cultivated indifference. Here it didn't matter that the Dark Lord he had served had fallen, that his ideals had been tarnished under highly public scrutiny, that he had to buy his freedom after spending months in prison, that his wife had left him, and that his family, even now, struggled to defend their name to a society that still scorned it in the aftermath of a war two years gone. Here he was simply rich, and because of that unlimited - a careless, flagrant playboy coming to glory in the newfound freedom the location allowed.

Such an extravagance had been long overdue.

He knew that in time he would become bored with it, bored with not having to think or strategize, but for now he was content. It hadn't occurred to him until landing here, at his chosen paradise, that he had been so remarkably tired.

Any strategist needed time to regroup, a fact he had almost forgotten under the pressures he had consistently faced, but every wise man learned from his mistakes, and this was a mistake he would never duplicate again. Here lay the strength once taken from him, amongst the sun and surf, not needed or distracted, like the birth of a new day.

All around him was brightness and light: a sky so blue it looked as if it were painted, a boundless sea radiantly reflected the noon day sun, an endless stretch of sand that glittered like tiny diamonds beneath him, but it was a sudden flash of darkness which grasped his attention, breaking him out of his reverie.

There, standing on the sand, throwing stone after stone in the water with a childish glee, was the dark-haired, lithe, and tanned figure of a child-just-recently-turned-man. And it was that figure, above all the natural wonder that surrounded them, which arrested the sunlight - an untainted power radiated off the youth, so potently that Lucius felt it across the distance separating them and witnessed it in the exuberance of the boy's movements.

Lucius was instantly on guard... it couldn't be... yet the youth had disappeared shortly after defeating the Dark Lord with nary a word to even the closest of his friends. The papers had been rife with speculation ever since. But here, on an island resort tucked away from the world? For a brief moment Lucius was certain he was having a sun-induced hallucination, a culmination of the wine he'd had at lunch, and the weariness he felt from the journey... This water sprite, joyfully playing along the sun-kissed shore couldn't possibly be the missing Harry Potter.

Before he could contrive to take control of the situation at hand, the youth turned and sprinted towards a series of villas spread across the length of the beach a mile away. He was too far back to catch the sprite, and there were too many eyes for Lucius to use magic to retrieve him

But it was Potter, he was now certain of it.

A paradox had been found by him, and Lucius could only smile gleefully at the prospects. Oh yes, things were definitely looking up.

*****

He assumed the bar was wizard in nature by the simple title of 'Brew It Up' and the slight tingle he felt to his senses which usually indicated magic was in or around a building. It wasn't the opulent extravagance he was used to in his journeys throughout most of Europe, but it was cool, and clean, and he had been tirelessly searching for three days. He was thirsty, so it would make do in a pinch. At least it was a wizarding club, far superior to the scattered muggle 'joints' that had infiltrated the island since he his last visit. In fact, the little bar was quite charming, in a plebian sort of way. That was, until he stepped inside and got an earful of it's chosen 'entertainment'.

Lucius didn't think that any sound could top the eardrum-tearing wail of a soul deep within the throws of the cruciatus curse, until he had stepped into this island bar and caught sight of a familiar dark-haired youth attempting to play a long, wooden instrument. The contraption was suspiciously muggle-looking in origin, had strings tightly laced along the length of it and was pear shaped with a long, thinner-than-the-body handle.

Yet in the space of a second, the untrained, uncultured sound of the 'music', ceased to be of any importance, for there, sitting before him in migraine inducing glory, was the object of his search.

Another wizard, judging by the wand sticking out of his pocket, sat beside the infamous Mister Potter, patiently coaxing his hands into appropriate positions over the instrument while trying to explain the delicacy involved in drawing music from it, but he, and the three or four other people scattered around indulgently watching didn't matter. His prize had been found, and the possibilities resulting from such a chance meeting were truly limitless.

Delightful visions sprung to his head, everything from dragging the boy back to England and regaining the Malfoy prestige by locating the wayward hero, to plain, simple revenge, planned and extracted for the loss of a war and a Dark Lord.

Before he decided for certain, a little play time wouldn't be amiss, particularly since it was a long time in coming - the past two years had been a constant blow to his pride.

Logic dictated that Harry had hidden himself on this island, running away from all he had known, because he didn't want to be found. Though what exactly he was running from, Lucius couldn't begin to fathom. The boy had single handedly killed Voldemort, effectively eliminating the Death Eater's center of power and ending the war. Had he stayed in England he would have been revered, placed on the annoyingly large pedestal that he had earned. His flight could only be chalked up to some sort of Gryffindor induced stupidity, beneath Lucius' need to understand. Which made the wonderful surprise he had in store for the Boy-Who-Lived all the more poignant.

"Really, Mister Potter, is this some form of secret recruitment for the light that you and Dumbledore have implemented: travel across the globe, torture otherwise innocent wizards with god awful racket until they lose track of all of sense, and follow you blindly through muck and mayhem? Or perhaps you're just that extraordinarily bad at whatever it is you're trying to accomplish, which certainly is not music."

He had meant to shock the boy with his presence, to stun him into speechlessness that would ultimately bleed into fear, resulting in the youth quacking before him. Unfortunately, the damn, maddening child never had been, and never would be predictable.

Instead he simply looked up, unafraid, impassive. The brief surprise that flashed through his eyes at seeing a former Death Eater was neither satisfying nor awe-inspiring. It was as if the boy didn't care he had been found, as if he held no fear or rancor in his heart, and Lucius was just an acquaintance he barely recognized and who was not important enough to merit an emotional reaction.

Anger pooled within Lucius like the accumulation of lava within the pit of an active volcano, but he carefully reigned it in. His mind churned rapidly to find a way to salvage their encounter.

"Lucius Malfoy," Harry Potter replied in a polite monotone, subtly nodding his head in greeting, "fancy meeting you here, as they say."

"Yes, I'm sure they do say," Lucius replied with his typical influx of superiority, pleased at his tone while glancing around him, taking special notice of his surroundings, making note of all exits and the people present.

It was during this perusal that he noticed the waiter, languidly approaching his side while eyeing Lucius, and then Harry, and then Lucius again inquisitively, one eyebrow raised.

"Is there anything I can get you... Malfoy, is it?" he asked, repeating the name that Potter had so freely spoken with obvious interest in its history tied to Mr. Potter, himself. This was obviously someone the boy knew, like the wizard who was teaching the dark-haired man to play, whatever it was that 'thing' was supposed to be. It was rapidly becoming apparent that discretion had to be used, Potter had friends here, and they would probably rush to protect him against any perceived harm. The boy had an annoying habit of inspiring loyalty in those around him.

"I'm not sure you can," he replied in feigned disgust, still quietly assessing, still trying to provoke Potter, and now, by extension, those around him. "But I suppose I will have to make do..."

His voice trailed off when he noticed that finally he got a reaction out of Harry, though a snort of amusement wasn't exactly what he had been looking for.

"God, you're such a snob, Malfoy. Just like your son. You haven't changed at all. It's extremely annoying, like nails on a chalkboard, or, to say it in wizard speak, like a fly in an otherwise perfectly brewed potion," Harry stated with scarcely concealed amusement, eliciting chuckles from the waiter and that dismal failure of an instructor.

Right, so long, painful, extremely torturous revenge it was then... the boy had tried the last of his patience. To think that he, a nineteen-year-old juvenile, not two years out of school, had the gall to insult and degrade Lucius, of all people. His anger was dangerously close to erupting, but again he managed to reign it in, albeit scarcely, knowing his day would come, and soon... very soon.

"You're mistaking snobbery with honesty, Mr. Potter. As is your habit. I see you've changed little as well. Still so reckless. Still rebellious. Although your pursuits have become, shall we say... interesting? Tell me, why is it that I find you here, in a bar, in the tropics, attempting, and very badly at that, to play that... 'object' of yours?"

It was strange to him that it was that taunt, above everything else he had said during the short exchange he and Potter had shared, which would illicit the response he'd been trying to provoke since he first spotted Potter in this land where dreams come true. Anger, passion, something, everything reflected out of eyes as green as fresh spring grass crystallized by the morning dew.

It was the eyes, large, beautiful and hypnotic, which held his attention as Potter stood and approached him slowly, deliberately; most definitely no longer a child, and apparently equally certain he didn't have to answer to anybody.

"Because, Mr. Malfoy," he stated seriously, intently, stopping a mere breath away from Lucius. "I can."

His breath, warm and alive, caressed Lucius' face, his proximity generating heat between them. Like a surge of cackling electricity, it ignited an answering swell of passion deep within the older man's rapidly wakening libido. And just when he had began to marvel at that, Potter was gone, apparating out of the building, right before Lucius' eyes, in a rush of coolness that directly contrasted with the humidity that had been simmering between them.

Very few things startled Lucius Malfoy - a fact he took more than a little pride in, yet Harry Potter had managed it, and quite thoroughly at that.

It dawned on him in the aftermath of their encounter that this paradox had become much, much more intriguing.

*****

Jaded. The boy was helplessly, irrevocably jaded. Perhaps disillusioned with his friends and family, or even Dumbledore, himself. Perhaps cynical in the aftermath of war, and disgusted by the fickleness of their society - not that Lucius could fault him in that. But it was obvious that the boy was thoroughly tarnished by all he had seen in done in his rather short life. It was the only viable explanation for the former hero's self-inflicted exile, and corresponding development of perceptual control. It also gave more depth to the former Gryffindor than Lucius previously thought him capable of.

His vacation had deviated from relaxing to perpetual Potter-hunting, but his fascination in solving the puzzle that was the Boy-Who-Lived was rather all encompassing.

A young man - an extremely powerful young man, beloved by those who knew him, hero to many, adored by even more, with a life of prestige amongst the supposed and self-proclaimed crème de la crème of the wizarding world ahead of him - was actively learning to play the 'guitar' (as he had learned the instrument in question was called), in a bar and throwing rocks into the ocean with the gleefulness of a child while living on an island half a globe away from his home.

Here there was no Dumbledore to run to, no Weasley family to embrace and coddle him, and yet the boy remained sheltered on this island, offering no excuses or apologies for his confounding actions.

Potter's behavior was disturbing, perplexing and infinitely interesting... so much so that it kept him safe, for the time being, from any further attempt by Lucius on his safety and/or freedom.

First he would need to comprehend the boy, perhaps even seduce the answers out of him. Then he would take him kicking and screaming back to England, to spare his family any further ridicule. It was an eye for an eye after all. Potter had inadvertently caused the tainting of the Malfoy name, and Potter would be the one to restore it to its former glory.

That is, if he could locate him again.

Lucius normally avoided social, beach-side, fire-lit, gatherings while vacationing, he found them rather tedious, but the prospect of seeing Potter again drew him out, like a moth to a flame, or rather, a cat to a mouse.

It was exhilarating to see his efforts pay off, for there, before him, with his youthful radiance scarcely masked by the shadows of night in the flickering light of the fire, swayed Harry Potter; subtlety dancing to the steady beat of bongo drums under a bright crescent moon.

For a moment Lucius was struck immobile by the image the younger man portrayed. He was ethereal, luminescent; a windswept god sent down from the peak of Mount Olympus to dance among the mortals, brimming with youth, and passion and an uncontained, remarkably untainted sensuality.

The abundance of stars, glistening brightly throughout the darkened sky, had to be adversely affecting his head, for rarely had another being, particularly one he had once loathed and who was his own son's age, inspired him to get poetic. But the draw was there, potent and strong, it's flow ancient and instinctive.

Chemistry - it was present, he and Potter had it, as their close encounter the other day had clearly shown, it was time, once again, to play, though this time without malice.

Cat and mouse, mouse and cat, who was which? For now, it didn't matter. Not with the moon glowing, the fire roaring, darkness all around, and Potter beckoning to him like the epitome of temptation itself.

"We meet again," Lucius intoned, approaching the younger man with the same intensity that Potter had shown him that fateful day in the bar.

"So we do," Potter affirmed with an amused expression, his eyes glowing like two, bright, flawless green jewels in the fire light, once again without rancor... a brazen spirit tempting fate.

"Tell me Mr. Potter," the older man purred, encouraged, moving subtly closer still, "do you dance now simply because you can?"

"Absolutely," the youth replied with a widening grin, the pupils of his eyes dilating to indicate his own burgeoning awareness.

"Prove it," Lucius challenged, his own smile turning predatory.

Potter - Harry did, and well.

Their bodies moved fluidly together, finding their rhythm individually and then matching it exactly, almost... sinuous... primal; the now familiar heat swelling to swelter between them once more.

And the beat went on. Thump, thump, in time to Harry's heartbeat, thump, thump, in time to his own - the rhythm dictating their motions; the motions dictating their drive. Thump, thump, the sound of flesh methodically pounding against hardened muscle, with the disappointing barrier of clothing cushioning the impact. Thump, thump, the sound of blood rushing rapidly through one's veins as adrenaline crashed through the system...

And the fire continued to burn, alive and crackling, a force of nature in its own right, commanding respect, raging its dominance over the deepening of night.

"Tell me, Lucius," Harry asked, disrupting the hypnotic capabilities of the drums and the fire with his voice, catching his partner off guard. "Why did you come here, tonight, to this party? What is it you thought you'd find?"

"Tell me, Harry," the older man inquired in response, startled yet determined not to show it, his voice far too husky to his own ears, "why is it you're here, on this island, at all?"

"The same reason you are, I imagine... I'm searching for me."

He said it matter-of-factly, yet sincerely, as an absolute truth that made perfect sense, if only to him. Yet Lucius understood, and was intrigued further still. He was surprised to find Harry gently but firmly pulling away from him.

"You can't find me, you're one of them. Lost to your beliefs, lost to a theoretical 'dark' side of your, and others', own making," the boy turned away, lost deep in thought, finally revealing the depth of wisdom earned from a turbulent life, granting Lucius yet another reaction, although one he had not anticipated or sought. "You can't find me, I've barely been able to find myself. I, like you, once bought in to it all, but there is no Dark Lord here and there is no 'Order'. Here there is no Boy-Who-Lived or a Death Eater. Here there is only Harry, a wizard, and Lucius, a wizard. Here there is only blatant honesty, an utter breakdown to the basics of identity, without social class, or blood purity, or manipulations, or heroism, or hypocrisy to hide behind. Yet, you try to bring that here, with you, while I've tried to let it go. Just who are you, Malfoy? Do you even know? Or is the entire basis of your life centered around that which I'm attempting to escape? Does a man exist behind the famed Malfoy name? Is there peace to be found for a man who believes his worth lies solely in his bloodline, and not in his own choices or his own actions? And is there a childhood to be found for an orphaned survivor of the killing curse who never had one? I hate it! I hate it all! And if you think that you're going to somehow drag me back to that rigid, unbending, and stifling lifestyle you've got one hell of a fight in store, because I will NOT come willingly."

While the start of Harry's speech had been earnest, and reflective, the end of it was deadly serious, and intent. Lucius believed that Harry would fight him for his freedom. Lucius also believed that Harry was so firmly encased in his newfound nonconformity that he would defend it with the ferocity of a serpent defending its nest.

Harry *did* have depth. Depth that grasped reality through carefully cultivated farces, and grasped it in such a way that he had developed his own belief system, entirely separate from that which he had been groomed to follow. It was that alone, out of all of the man's deeds, that commanded Lucius' respect for the Boy-Who-Lived, whether or not Lucius personally agreed with his philosophy. For even farces could become truths if they were accepted in the minds of those who believed in them.

He had been right; Harry Potter was jaded. But he was also free, at last - a young bird stretching his wings, jumping from the nest, and learning to fly without aid. Admirable, yes, but it didn't help Lucius at all. Except, perhaps, to make him think.

The situation required much more thought, more comprehension... more time.

This time it was Lucius who apparated away first.

*****

It was comparatively easy to find the wayward hero a fourth time, in almost the exact location Lucius had first spotted him: laying languidly in the sand, hands tucked under his head as a cushion, gazing up at a falling sun which slipped past a distant horizon, leaving an extraordinary display of color and brilliance in its wake.

Lucius seldom took the time to gaze at the sunset. It had always seemed too frivolous, too menial, for a man of his stature and position, yet just this once, for a moment, he gazed at it and imagined what it looked like through the eyes of Harry Potter. With the wonder of a man taking his pleasure in a world he was only now discovering, and with the sincerity of a boy who had known far too much bitterness throughout his life, and now grasped at anything, no matter how trivial or great, which invoked peace.

And by Merlin the sky was beautiful when looked at like that, through eyes both young and old. It was positively celestial; not unlike the person before him... His little water sprite; his passion to conjure; his discovery to claim - own; his conundrum to pick apart, piece by piece, and put back together again.

Words were not spoken when Lucius approached the younger man, nor where they exchanged when Harry became aware that he was there. They didn't need to be. This was, by Harry's standards, an island where the restraints of a structured society did not exist, where life was not hindered by politics or hierarchies, but governed by basic instincts: want, need, discovery - pleasure. He would succumb to that enticement, for now, for he most definitely wanted. It was undeniable, even through the cold, calculated logic he'd tried to cling to during the time that had passed since they had seen each other last.

The rest would come later.

And so he gave in to his wanton desires, sweeping down with practiced grace to lay atop Harry Potter, held up by his hands, and pausing for only the briefest of seconds to signal his intent into those brilliant eyes. All before leaning down further, closing the remaining space between them, to crush his mouth to Harry's in the way an ocean wave crashes to shore - with a force strong enough to make the ground move beneath them.

It didn't surprise Lucius to feel Harry respond with equal fervor, equal strength. They were two potent elements bonding together, forming something new, something different... something powerful.

Harry's lips were soft, but firm, and he moved his hands to grasp the older man's head and mash it closer to him using every ounce of strength at his disposal. Their joining wasn't intended to be tender, or languid, but real, fierce, and stark - the way of their spirits, the way of their nature.

Lucius felt himself grind into the youth with an instinctual drive, overwhelmed by the augmentation of his senses this action caused. The boy was a drug, an aphrodisiac, but by gods and goddesses alike, he felt, and tasted, and sounded, so good.

There was magic brimming between them just as magic flowed through their veins. It was just a simple matter of hormonally inspired intent, combined between the two of them, that transfigured the molecules of their clothing into air. And when flesh met flesh: slick with sweat, burning with desire, smooth, and silky, and hard, their passion ardently built towards its pinnacle, spiking in a culmination of their combined need.

Around them the ocean continued to thrash against the shore, serenading them with the rhythmic sounds of the surf. Below them sand glittered in mass abundance, adhering to their sweat drenched skin, creeping into the exposed curves and crevices of their bodies. And above them the twilight introduced a gently cooled breeze; it's force caressing them as they caressed each other, both of them clinging to their recent state of euphoria.

In the aftermath, as in the moments before the action itself, there was silence, but it was comfortable: unrushed, undemanding, and brimming with a tranquil peace... the type of peace that was only meant to last so long.

"Do you ever wonder," Harry asked, returning to his previous position of sky gazing, his voice distant, as if far away, "what sort of man you would be if Hogwarts hadn't sorted you into a house determined by traits, or if nobody else's belief system had been thrust upon you, or if you were free to socialize or even marry anyone your heart desired, regardless of their lineage?"

"No," Lucius answered, honestly, bluntly; in the way he knew that Harry would be one of the few to appreciate. "I am satisfied with who I am."

"Must be nice," the dark-haired boy retorted with a snort, shaking his head with amusement at an answer so entirely indigenous to the man he had just coupled with. He paused for a moment, seemingly gathering his courage, before he presenting the real question that Lucius had no doubt had been on his mind since the ending of the war. "Do you ever regret, or feel remorse for the deaths that Voldemort and you and your fellow Death Eaters caused during the war?"

The question was again blatantly asked, and thus, like the one before it, deserved a blatant answer. It was Potter who had shunned hypocrisy, after all, and Lucius had no foreseeable reason to withhold the truth as he saw it.

"To a certain degree. Death is always... 'unpleasant' to behold or bestow. It's human nature to be affected by abject violence, no matter how much of it you've been exposed to, even in war... especially in war. But I do not regret the beliefs that precipitated those actions. In life, as in politics, it's kill or be killed. 'Survival of the fittest' I believe a muggle coined it, and, as wizards, we're the top of the evolutionary hierarchy."

He felt rather than saw Harry contemplate his words: mulling them over in his mind while comparing them with what he had come to believe.

"But surely you see the flaw in your position... muggle-borns. Magic babies born to these supposedly less evolved, according to you, anyway," the boy continued in inquiry, though not with any real defensive heat, merely an unlimited curiosity that motivated him to want to be aware of all positions: either to strengthen his own convictions with the ability to knock down those of his opposition, or to understand his enemy. Either way, Lucius' respect for him grew larger still.

"Yes, nature's irony. Varying a design, making it more complex, complete with heightened capabilities, and thrusting it into a world were divisions exist for a very good reason - survival," Lucius couldn't help the twinge of bitterness that seeped into his voice, but then any affront taken towards the name of wizard was one he took seriously. "Muggles *are* less evolved, but they are not unintelligent. They can, and have, killed, and for similar reasons: fear of the unknown, asserting dominance; it's all the same. But the introduction of muggle-borns, combining the two societies with knowledge of both, betrays the weaknesses and faults of both societies, and can potentially breed chaos. Only we have more to lose, for they outnumber us. And they're a bit more prone to not only destroy human life, but the life of anything they don't understand, or that gets in their way: animals, mystical creatures, forests, plants. They would be the ruin of us and the world around us, of all the living things that magic touches."

Lucius wasn't naive enough to believe that he was going to sway the boy's belief, or convert him to his 'side', as it were, something the boy seemed to detest at any rate: labeling, grouping, generalizing, but he did understand that somehow, through his traumatic experiences, Potter had developed a need to understand all things, absorb them into his consciousness, and make his own decisions from there. It was a rare trait to possess, and for that reason, infinitely dear.

"I understand your position, and why perhaps you might think that way, but I don't agree, as I'm sure you knew before you even explained all of that to me," the younger man stated matter-of-factly, intent to speak his own mind while turning to flash his bright green eyes at Lucius. "I believe that all living things have a right to live. I also believe that everyone should be free to learn as much as they can, in whatever subjects interest them. That only knowledge can replace this 'fear of the unknown' as you call it. But not necessarily book knowledge, although that helps, too, but knowledge into how things work, and what things are. Basic life-knowledge, essentially."

Lucius felt a small smile tilt the edge of his lips. He had guessed all of that, and could have recited it back to Harry before Harry had even begun to speak, but it amused him that the man-child had done it anyway. He was feisty, this Gryffindor lion. And a lot more perceptive than their world had previously given him credit for. Perhaps that was the true reason that Harry had defeated the Dark Lord so young and relatively easily, considering he was scarcely a week out of Hogwarts at the time. He had a quiet wisdom that he kept hidden under the veil of his youth, but would manifest itself once in awhile: in truly remarkable ways.

"I intend to take you back to England with me," Lucius announced suddenly, neither arguing with the boy nor giving his position credence... they were past all of that. And like Harry, Lucius understood it. He wouldn't attempt to break the boys spirit: it was too potent, too beautiful, too hard won. His omission was simply a matter of recognizing that it was time to get down to the business between them, personally.

Harry laughed, not threatened, not shocked, more highly amused than anything else, as if he wouldn't put it past Lucius to try, even after what they had just done. He took it back, the Boy-Who-Lived was not just periodically smart, he was very smart indeed.

"You think you'll get me to return with you, how?" he asked with a smirk, deliciously defiant.

"By appealing to your innate courage and the strength of your convictions," Lucius answered in what was, once again, complete honesty. "I won't lie when I say that you returning with me will be of great benefit to me and even Draco. And I truly plan to utilize that to its utmost, among other things. But face it, Potter, running away has never suited you. You've had time to pull yourself together, you've even come up with ideals you have developed on your own. You claim to be disgusted by what you left behind, yet you preach the accumulation of knowledge. The answer is quite simple, go back and demonstrate your position. If it so bothers you that you were idolized and placed into categories you were uncomfortable with, tell the public why, and instruct them on how it is you wish to be perceived. You've done it once before, during your fifth year at Hogwarts, I believe it was. The press, when used accurately, can be an astonishingly useful tool. So can a public office, or a teaching position. Although, granted, there will be those, like me, who disagree with you often."

And like he had known they would be, Lucius' words were absorbed with the intensity deserved. It was, granted, a form of manipulation, but one he knew Harry would be able to accept without resentment, and one he would be able to contemplate with utter seriousness: straight forward, honest, and poignant. Lucius was not playing a game this time. It was exactly what the hero had said he wanted. A show of respect in the sense that Lucius had not approached the event with force, and had not played up Harry's guilt over abandoning his friends and leaving their war torn society feeling the loss of their symbolic security, but by the facts, as they were.

Once again silence reigned supreme. Harry was entirely unreadable. Even after getting to know the dark-haired man in the most intimate way possible, he was surprised by the strength Harry showed in being able to keep Lucius out of his mind. Harry's thoughts were certain only to himself. When Harry did speak again, he said the last thing Lucius would have suspected in the aftermath of their 'confrontation'.

Ever the paradox, this beautiful child... it delighted Lucius to no end.

"What 'other things' were you referring to when you mentioned you planned to benefit from my return so hugely?" Harry asked, in a way that indicated Harry was ready to get down to business between them, personally, and they had already moved past the rest.

In another world, in another time, Lucius would have laughed as well.

"I should have been more specific. When I said that I intend to take you back to England with me, Mr. Potter, I meant that I was taking you with me in the literal sense... to my home, and to my bed." It was merely another truth, frankly spoken. He had found Harry, despite the boy's taunt to the contrary by the fireside that one magical night. He was keeping him.

"And you think you'll get me to return with you, how?" Harry repeated with obvious mirth. He had already accepted his fate, that fact was exceedingly clear to both of them, yet he was unable to go without a little of his trademark stubbornness, even if in jest.

At that Lucius *did* laugh. Cat and mouse, mouse and cat... one of these days he would win this particular war, but in the meanwhile, he'd enjoy the strategy.

"By reminding you, Mr. Potter, that you can."

The End!