Property Is Theft

"Harry Potter has given Biddy a hat!"

The tiny house elf whirled round in a giddy dance, the floppy felt hat hanging like a dead rodent between her over-large ears.

"Shh!" Harry hissed nervously. "Quiet! If Malfoy finds out about this before we're gone..." His stomach did a series of nasty flips when the elf gasped in fright and sped down the corridor.

"If Malfoy finds out about what?" a tightly controlled voice asked behind him.

Merlin, I'm so dead, Harry thought, frozen to the spot. He'll death-curse me for sure this time, and to hell with the consequences. Hermione can put my name down as a martyr to the Cause.

Reluctantly he turned to face Lucius Malfoy, who stared down at him from his two inch advantage in height. The former Death Eater's appearance was impeccable as always - black robes, black-and-silver cloak and black gloves. His expression was something else entirely. If he had given Harry a baleful look when he'd picked him out amongst the troop of Aurors sent to search Malfoy Manor for Dark Artefacts, it was nothing compared to the fury that dominated his sharp features now.

"What would you prefer me not to find out, Mr. Potter? That the famed hero of the wizarding world abused his authority as an Auror by invading my private quarters? That he robbed me of yet another house-elf, not to mention presenting it with my best hat?"

"Er..." Harry had killed Voldemort and worked as an Auror ever since, but in Malfoy's quietly seething presence he felt distinctly like a twelve-year-old.

"My, my, Auror Potter, what will your superiors say to that?"

Oh fuck! Harry thought. Arabella is going to do worse than kill me!

He cursed his Gryffindor impulsiveness that had made him throw Malfoy's infamous hat to the poor elf when he encountered it polishing silver in the antechamber. Well, theoretically he was authorised to confiscate any of Malfoy's possessions, but the practical problem was that a house-elf did not even remotely resemble a Dark Artefact...

Great job, Potter, turning a routine raid into a continuation of your personal vendetta.

"Or perhaps," Malfoy continued mercilessly, "you will be able to use your glorified name as the one who destroyed the Dark Lord to convince the authorities to overlook your transgressions - again. After all, why bother if famous Harry Potter decides to rob a former dark wizard?"

Harry felt a flush creep into his cheeks.

"I'm not hiding behind my name!" he snapped angrily.

"Oh, of course the public will not hold you responsible, Mr. Potter. They will probably chalk it up to the subversive influence of your radical lover."

"Hermione isn't..." Harry swallowed 'my lover', because it was definitely not any of Malfoy's business. For a short while, he and Hermione had tried to drown their grief over Ron's death at the hands of the Dark Lord in each other's arms, craving some kind of normalcy. It had not lasted. Hermione threw all her considerable passion into becoming the enfant terrible of the wizarding world, reserving the tender side of her nature for the bedroom, and although Harry, restless after years of warfare, was not at all sure what he was looking for in a lover, comfort wasn't it. They had gone back to being friends without so much as a blink.

Though of course it was easy to mistake them for a couple, considering they both resided at the Dumbledore School and were bringing up Hagrid's and Madame Maxime's orphaned baby daughter together. The mainstream wizarding press, at least, had not caught on to their break-up yet.

"That's no way of to speak of the Deputy Headmistress of the Dumbledore School of Magic," Harry replied coolly.

Malfoy just snorted.

"A Deputy Headmistress under suspicion of treason against the magical community, of a school that runs roughshod over every aspect of wizarding law, you mean?"

Ah, yes, Harry thought gleefully, it still rankles that we've taken the clout away from Hogwarts.

The wizarding world had taken to peace with all the eagerness of an old ministry official taking to retirement. The fact that Malfoy had been reinstated as a Hogwarts school governor once more was but one sign of conservative backlash that had gripped the wizarding world after Voldemort's defeat. Dumbledore had run the Order of the Phoenix from Hogwarts during the last two years of the war, and in the aftermath it had seemed as if the headmaster's close cooperation with various magical species had terrified the governors and the Department of Magical Education more than the Dark Lord himself. And Dumbledore's death had allowed them to tighten the rules of admission considerably.

A decision which had so enraged Acting Headmistress McGonagall that she had resigned. Together with Hermione, she had opened her own educational establishment in Magic Alley, just off Diagon in the very heart of wizarding London, not to mention under the very noses of a highly offended Ministry. Harry had yet to find out what annoyed them most: that the generous Dumbledore Trust had gone to finance their project, that the Dumbledore School of Magic was open to all beings - human or not - desiring to study the Magical Arts, or that the president of the infamous House Elf Liberation Front, Hermione Granger, was appointed as Deputy Headmistress. Not to mention the fact that they had attracted pupils from various important families: Gabrielle Delacour, Foal, son of the famous centaur astronomer Ronan, or young Grabfist, sole heir to the Chairgoblin of Gringott's Board of Directors.

And now he had to resolve this situation before it erupted into yet another public scandal which neither he nor Hermione could afford.

"All right, Malfoy," he said acerbically. "I think I can afford to reimburse you for the elf without flaunting my hero status."

"Do you?" Half-closed pale eyes blazed with undisguised contempt. "Do you truly think that whatever pitiful family fortune has been passed on to you will be enough to make up for decades of magical bonding and duty?"

A surge of anger swept through Harry, both for the dig at his parents and the mere fact that he was standing here, being put on the defensive by a former bloody Death Eater who had escaped Azkaban only because he'd changed sides just in time when Voldemort's downfall was evident.

But Malfoy was dangerous, and Harry had manoeuvred himself into a very precarious position. Most of the notoriety of the House Elf Liberation Front stemmed from the idea - however ludicrous - that its members would invade the homes of respectable wizarding families and drag out their elves kicking and screaming. That image figured prominently in anti-HELF propaganda, and while he, Hermione and the others had frequently made fun about the stereotype, here he had gone off and done exactly that. Malfoy would be drooling over the opportunity to exploit the incident for all that it was worth.

"What the hell do you want, Malfoy?" he snarled.

The calculating eyes narrowed, sending shivers down Harry's spine. Malfoy stepped up until they were almost nose to nose, and Harry had to fight the urge to draw back. Malfoy noted the involuntary flinch and smiled suddenly.

"What do I want, Potter?" He crossed his arms and studied Harry with a mockingly contemplative expression, as if he actually had to pause to think of something evil. He circled Harry slowly, and Harry had to suppress the urge to pull out his wand. Malfoy wouldn't attack him - he already had the upper hand. He wasn't stupid. But Merlin, he was unnerving! The hairs on Harry's neck stood up when Malfoy leaned in so closely that his breath ghosted over Harry's ear.

"I want to unwrap you from those robes and kiss you senseless. I want to chain you to the wall and whip you 'til you bleed. I want to tie you to the bed and fuck you until you don't know whether to beg for mercy or for more. I want to make you scream and plead and moan until you don't have an ounce of strength left. That, Potter, is what would begin to recompense me for what you owe me."

Harry felt his eyes widen and his mouth opening in shock. His hands trembled. He had faced death threats - and Voldemort! - with aplomb, but Malfoy's low and threateningly seductive drawl stole the breath right out of his lungs and seemed to communicate directly to certain lower parts of his anatomy.

Which did not make sense - or maybe it did. It was the first real challenge to come his way since the Dark Lord had fallen. Malfoy had a point - the whole wizarding world seemed to conspire to keep its hero happy and out of harm's way, no matter how outrageous his behaviour. Hermione bore the brunt of public disaffection with their HELF activities and the Dumbledore School, even if she thrived on it, while Harry could do no wrong. Even Snape had gone so far as to ask at the Hogwarts Reopening Ceremony whether his memories still gave him trouble. Sure, he had done so with an almost wistful undertone, but it had seemed like the ultimate betrayal.

And there was something appealing about Malfoy's - Lucius Malfoy's - quiet menace. He would not coddle him for sure, but then again, he might simply kill him... Toying with danger was one thing, flirting with hell quite another. Surely he wasn't seriously considering this. Was he?

Harry shook his head to clear his mind. Malfoy seemed to take it as an answer, and snipped his fingers.

*Pop!*

Another, slightly bigger house elf dropped out of thin air and bowed nervously at the dark wizard's knee.

Just how many of them are there? Harry wondered.

"Ask the Auror-in-command to come up here," Malfoy ordered. I have a complaint to make."

Malfoy would use this incident as additional publicity against the school. It would further incriminate Hermione and HELF. The Dumbledore School of Magic was their dream - keeping Dumbledore's ideals alive while pulling the backwater society of the wizarding world into the 21st century. If they were closed down, Malfoy - and people whose closed minds were easy prey for him - would have won.

Harry's two-year contract as an Auror had almost run out. He looked forward to teaching Defence Against The Dark Arts for McGonagall side by side with his closest friends. He would never forget Dobby's ugly, eager face as he was trying to transfigure a match into a needle with the new wand Harry and Hermione had bought him - illegally, of course - in Knockturn's 'Wands Without Questions'. He could not let them down.

"Wait!" Harry called out nervously.

"Have you changed your mind, Mr. Potter?"

Yes, there definitely was something intensely predatory in those pale eyes. Harry swallowed hard.

"I've considered your... proposal, Mr. Malfoy."

Of course, Hermione would kill him if she ever found out. But then Hermione was facing a public inquiry because of her contacts with the militant Goblin War Party, and she didn't need the additional bad press about inciting the addled Boy-Who-Defeated-You-Know-Who to illegal pursuits. And if he was absolutely honest with himself, challenging a wizard as powerful - and dangerous - as Lucius Malfoy excited him. Addiction to danger - perhaps the final legacy Voldemort had cursed him with.

"I accept." Another deep breath. "When would you like me to... visit?"

"Oh, tonight would do just fine, I think," Malfoy drawled, his smug expression betraying how much he liked to have come out victoriously.

Harry nodded, with a very queasy feeling in his stomach. Which was not remotely anticipatory, he told himself sternly. He made to leave, but Malfoy held him back.

"While I'm aware of Gryffindor propensities to honesty," he said, "I'm sure you would not mind if we formalised our... contract?"

Harry shot him a dirty look, more from having his honesty called into question than because he had really entertained the thought of not showing up. He pulled out his wand and drew the X-shaped Rune of Binding into the palm of his right hand. It glowed faintly as he held it out to Malfoy. The older wizard raised Harry's hand to his lips and brushed them over the sigil to seal the agreement. Bowing his head in acknowledgement, he stepped back and waved the now redundant house elf away.

Mind working furiously, Harry called back. "Mr. Malfoy?"

A questioning eyebrow rose. "Second thoughts already, Mr. Potter?"

"Not that, Mr. Malfoy. But considering Slytherin propensities to dishonesty, I would like a guarantee that I will leave our... encounter... unharmed."

The sarcastic eyebrow rose another notch. Harry sighed and amended, "Without lasting physical damage, then."

"Yes, that should do, Mr. Potter. You have my word."

Now it was Harry's turn to cock an eyebrow. Malfoy growled in exasperation, pulled of his glove and threw it aside to reveal his naked palm. The impatience behind the movement seemed to suggest that Malfoy wanted this deal to come to pass very much. He sketched the rune onto his own palm and Harry bowed his head to reciprocate the kiss, hiding his insidious grin against the cool fingers.

When Harry looked up, however, Malfoy could not overlook the hilarity that lightened up his face. The former Death Eater understood when a breathless, squeaky voice piped up from around his knee.

"Master has given Grizzle a glove!"

Malfoy's aristocratic face seemed set in stone when he glanced down at the house-elf, who clutched his discarded glove blissfully.

"You will pay for this, Potter!" he promised darkly, hand closed so tightly around his mahogany wand that Harry expected the wood to snap at any moment. He grinned back, savouring the elation of victory.

"Oh, I'm counting on it."

~ ~ ~ finis ~ ~ ~

Acknowledgement: The title is attributed to Pierre-Joseph Proudhon (1809-1865), French political theorist - thanks again to ari stottle for digging up that information.

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