Dividing the Spoils

Note: Written for the lovely Mad Maudlin as a good-by gift as she's embarking on a two-year tour of duty in the Peace Corps. She will be missed a lot! Post-DH fic – contains spoilers!

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Lucius Malfoy received them in a small reception room rather than in the vast hall that Harry had been dragged into during his first 'visit' to Malfoy Manor. He was quite glad for it. Even now, on a sunny mid-afternoon with light streaming through the windows, the clammy atmosphere of the place felt like a slimy film on his skin. As if he could still sense the echo of Hermione's screams. Beside him, Ron looked admirably unfazed.

Malfoy rose from behind his ornate mahogany desk which was, apart from the rich brown-golden carpet, the only reminder of affluence in the room. A simple wood-cut lampshade clashed with its silver hook that certainly at one point had held an elaborate chandelier, and there were dark squares on the walls where paintings had once hung. Draco, who was seated on the plush couch, didn't look up.

"Take a seat," Malfoy offered.

Rather than taking the chairs in front of the desk Malfoy was pointing at, Harry slid onto the couch next to Draco, while Ron sat on the young man's other side. Draco kept his back very rigid and made no move.

Malfoy steepled his fingers. The haunted expression which had been etched onto his features by the experience of getting on Voldemort's bad side and having his wand destroyed had not faded entirely yet, no matter how hard he tried to appear nonchalant.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley?"

On Draco's other side, Ron snorted quietly.

"I'm not so sure if it's going to be a pleasure," Ron drawled, in such a good parody of Malfoy's voice that a grin curled up the corner of Harry's mouth. "You see, there have been reports that you're up to your old tricks again, Lucius. Two hundred galleons to St Mungo's Spell Damage Ward, one hundred to the Albus Dumbledore Foundation, a generous contribution to the restoration of the Wizengamot's Governing Chambers..." Ron turned his head to look at the bare walls. "Looks like you've had to sell quite a few of your remaining assets after the Provisional Government froze your Gringotts accounts for reparations."

Malfoy's jaw tightened. "You can't possibly mind my contributions to the restoration of the magical community, Weasley."

Harry leant back against the headrest of the couch. His shoulder touched Draco's arm, who shivered almost imperceptibly.

"Ah, you see, those aren't the problem," he pointed out. "We're a lot more worried about the bags of galleons with which you bribed Aubrey Whorffle from the Provisional Department for Magical Law Enforcement, or the set of crystal cauldrons that went to Madam Friedwind from the Legal Advice Committee of the Wizengamot, or all those paintings that you sold to gain the ear of the Reparations Panel. Not to mention the Cursed manticore-bone cane handle that somehow found its way into the hands of Unwin Boodle from the Reopen Azkaban Initiative..." Harry shook his head. "A cane handle, Lucius? Are we getting desperate?"

Lucius face tightened further, and Harry could see that he was gripping the armrest of his chair so hard that his hands trembled. "If you had any proof of those... absurd allegations, you'd have come with a squad of Hit Wizards," he sneered feebly.

"Ah, but Hit Wizards are hard to come by at the moment," Ron took up the ball again. "And strangely enough it seems to be Harry who ends up hearing all those weird stories, with there being no Ministry and the provisional government having its hands full with important things. But this business of clawing your way back into a position of influence while you're supposed to be under house arrest and reflecting on your crimes has to stop." Ron smirked tightly. "So we've decided to... take out an insurance policy on your future good behaviour," he added.

"And what might that be?" Malfoy asked, trying for nonchalance and not quite getting there.

Harry smiled as coldly as a year of war and a half of chaos afterwards had taught him. From the nervous flicker in Lucius's eyes, it was quite cold. "Draco," he said plainly, running his hand over Draco's bare arm and feeling gooseflesh under his fingertips. "We saved his life – twice – in the Battle of Hogwarts. He owes us a life debt. We're here to collect it."

Harry looked down at Draco's bowed head and fought the urge to touch his soft hair. Then he realised that he had every right to follow his impulses, and wound a pale strand around his finger. His eyes met Lucius's, and he acknowledged the raw hatred he saw there with a small nod.

"My wife saved you from death at the Dark Lord's hands!" the former Death Eater hissed. "If Draco owes you, you owe us!"

Harry nodded again. "I do, indeed, owe a debt to Madam Malfoy. A debt I have every intention of honouring." He reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out a roll of parchment, stamped with the official seal of the Provisional Magical Government. He watched Lucius unfurl and scan it quickly; a frown began to crinkle his forehead while he read.

The full pardon for Narcissa Gemma Malfoy, née Black, and the reinstatement of all her confiscated possessions had been amazingly easy to secure. The mere fact that The Boy Who Triumphed had declared himself in her debt had been enough to sway – or at least silence – even the most dogged opposition. The power vacuum that went hand in hand with the destruction of the Ministry and the fact that half the Wizengamot had either actively supported Voldemort's regime or fled the country to safe havens on the continent had dragged Harry to the centre of public attention and given his words a power that was almost law. He could probably get away with murder if he wanted to. It made him truly understand for the first time how a younger Dumbledore must have felt – it was so tempting to abuse that power for the right reasons. Truth be told, he was abusing it right at this moment, he thought. He let go of Draco's hair.

"My debt to Mrs Malfoy is paid," Harry said softly when Lucius had finished reading and was looking up, his expression torn. "Draco's is not."

Lucius's eyes flickered to Ron. "He owes a life debt to you, Potter – not to Weasley."

"Life debts are transferrable," Harry said lightly. He'd spent a week poring over the frayed parchments Hermione had unearthed from the depths of Hogwarts' Restricted Section. The extremes to which life debts could be taken had shocked him, way more than Ron who'd read through the more outrageous sections with a smirk. The things he'd be allowed to do with Malfoy kindled a fire low in Harry's stomach, yet more proof of how seductive abusing one's power could be. He wouldn't do it – but the possibilities still made his head spin. "Draco owes me twice over, and I've invited Ron to collect. He helped save him anyway."

An ugly flush of colour suffused Malfoy's pale face. "So you expect me to watch you drag my son and heir through wizarding society on a leash to boast that he's enslaved to you?"

"Whoa, Malfoy, hold it!" Harry leaned forward, capturing Lucius's hard eyes with his. "Just because that's what you would do doesn't mean everybody is quite so depraved. As long as you behave yourself, we will be perfectly discreet about it. His house arrest will be transferred to the flat I share with Ron, but that will be the extent of it." He shook his head. "For god's sake, we've talked about it beforehand – it's not as if I'm going to drag him off and force him in public."

Draco had no real choice, of course. A life debt refused could literally kill. But Harry wouldn't - wouldn't! – have demanded this of him if he hadn't agreed to share their bed.

For the first time, Lucius looked directly at his son. "Is it true, Draco?"

Draco lifted his head, nodded. "Yes, father." The look the two Malfoys shared was fraught with implications, none of which Harry could decipher. "They offer me protection, in return for your acquiescence."

There still appeared, even half a year after the battle of Hogwarts, weekly proposals of how to deal with the surviving Death Eaters and other supporters of Voldemort during the Dark Lord's short reign. Snapping their wands and depriving them of their magic were among the most merciful suggestions. Harry taking Draco into his motley household at Grimmauld Place would shield him from the brunt of public hatred. He fought down the sudden impulse to take Draco's hand, as if that could comfort him.

"And what makes you think that I would actually do your bidding, Potter, when all you offer me in return is confinement and having to watch my son... used by the pair of you?"

"I'm afraid you've given away just how much you care about Draco in the last year of the war," Harry replied. "I don't think you'll risk his safety just to improve your position."

"It seems as if you leave me no choice, doesn't it?" There were small, bitter lines around Lucius's mouth for a moment. If anything, he looked tired. "How long are you planning for this... arrangement to last?"

Harry exchanged a quick glance with Ron. A life debt could be exactly that – for life. But they weren't that cruel, were they?

"Four years," he said, intimately aware of the way Draco's tightly balled fists loosened in relief. They had not discussed that part beforehand. "After that, you can marry him off and have him produce little pureblood Malfoy heirs for all I care. But four years will give the wizarding world enough time to rebuild and safeguard itself against your little schemes, Lucius." His mouth set into a sharp line. "I'll make personally sure that they will."

Ron leaned forward, drawing Lucius's attention. "If you fuck up, Malfoy, or get up to your old tricks again, fer... Draco here will pay. And if you think Harry will be to squeamish to hurt him, keep in mind that I'll be there – and I won't."

It was as if Ron's bluntness conjured a spark of fire back onto Lucius's face. He cocked his head. "I'm sure you will, Ronald," he murmured, eyes half-closing in challenge. "As Mr Potter has pointed out, though – a life debt can be transferred..."

Harry's neck prickled with unease, and he saw Ron and Draco exchange a quick, confused look before Lucius licked his lip with the tip of his tongue and recaptured Ron's attention as if nobody else were in the room.

"What if I'd propose three years of bondage for my son, in exchange for taking over his... services to you, Ronald?"

Harry sucked in a shocked gulp of air, loud in the sudden, thrumming silence. Oh nonono! he thought, his mouth opening to protest. Ron's head whipped around, and his keen, sharp glare silenced Harry more effectively than a spell could have. This was madness – Malfoy was goading Ron, somehow elevating the Malfoy-Weasley feud into something more intimate and personal even than the battle Ron had fought with Draco since their very first encounter on the Hogwarts Express. But Lucius wasn't Draco; even damaged by Voldemort and disgraced in the eyes of the wizarding world, he was a different calibre of menace entirely.

Harry wanted to scream his protest, but couldn't. This wasn't his battle – it was Ron's. He returned Ron's hard look, swallowed, closed his eyes for a second, then nodded.

"I accept." Ron's voice rang in Harry's ears, and he let out the desperate breath he'd been holding.

Harry opened his eyes again and found Draco staring at him with the same incredulous shock he was feeling himself. Though it must be worse for Draco, listening to his father making such a deal with his school enemy. He shrugged helplessly. The wild, satisfied expression on Ron's face and Lucius Malfoy's lazy, provocative smirk made his stomach flip.

Yes, they'd set out to curb Malfoy's revived ambitions, and this would give them – would give Ron! - even more control than blackmail with Draco's happiness at stake would have provided. But Harry couldn't help the foreboding that those two might tear each other apart in the process. He wasn't sure what scared him more - Ron being unable to control Lucius even with the entire arsenal of a life debt at his perusal, or that he would.

"Very well," Lucius acknowledged and bowed his head to Ron in a way that was all mockery. Ron returned the gesture, and there was no doubt in Harry's mind that Malfoy would pay, and dearly, for this afternoon's developments.

Harry dropped his head into his hands and groaned. It was going to be three very long years!

~ finis ~