'If Thine Enemy...'

{ If Thine Enemy... }

Chapter Four: Affections Dark

'He is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils;
The motions of his spirit are dull as night
And his affections dark as Erebus.'
- Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

The room snapped into focus as Harry put on his glasses. He blinked as the previously blurred furniture sharpened. His mind, too, felt blurred; as though someone had cast a curtain upon it. Fear had helped lift that curtain, but Harry still felt as though he had wool for brains, unable to process the suddenness of his strange surroundings. And his strange host. Who had that man been? And Harry was in his lair... whoever he was. How did he get here?...

Harry looked out the window--closed. As Harry lifted his hand to open it, he felt a crackle of magic burn his fingers. He snatched them back. A ward, he realized. He's trapped me here. The fear began returning, along with the shock of remembering that man's eyes. They had been devouring Harry, even though the man's face had borne no expression. Despite the impeccably trained politeness of the other's voice, Harry knew that expression didn't bode well for him. He shivered as he recalled the feeling of being prey, caught unawares in a hunter's trap.

If he'd expected there to be a garden outside, Harry was disappointed. There was nothing but an expanse of... grass. A pale, unnatural green--all of a level height as far as the eye could see. Far in the distance, Harry could make out the dark outline of what might have been trees--the edge of a forest?...

Suddenly, Harry lifted his hand to his throat as his eyes widened. That grass. That forest. I know this. Where?

He gasped as memory returned; disjointed pieces flitting across his newly-awakened mind. The strangeness of landing on the edge of that forest, the swathe of magically even grass between himself and a distant mansion. The sickness following the apparition; his decision to seek help from the mansion's resident. And then...

Harry gulped, his fingers feeling the ridges of scars at his throat. That spell. He swore.

Turning swiftly around, Harry yanked the dresser's drawer open again. No, his wand wasn't there. The rest of the drawers followed. He found nothing.

With a sinking terror, Harry realized just what he'd gotten into. All they taught children in the Muggle world--to ask an adult for help if one ever got lost. Harry would have laughed if his throat had allowed it.

He was a prisoner. Of that... (Harry gulped again, recalling the sharp silver eyes)... inhuman man. The viciousness of the spell that had caught him could only be matched by the ruthlessness of those eyes. Dark man. Dark magic.

Harry was caught, Merlin knew where, on a Dark magician's land.

No matter how he looked at it, this was the worst day of his life. A life that, he realized, probably wouldn't last very long. No wand, no Dumbledore, no Sirius. Harry was on his own in enemy territory, and he knew it.

'Join me for breakfast,' the man had said coolly. Remembering that peculiar hunger in the grey eyes that had stared into his own, Harry wondered exactly what that meant.

* * *

The hallway outside the room was neither warm nor cold. The walls were bare. For some reason, Harry had expected opulence. The room he'd been in had been rich only in the quality of its bed linen, and the dignity of the dresser. But there had been no other indication of wealth. No paintings on the walls; no chandeliers; no extra ornaments or decorations. The hallway was similarly bare. Harry thought again of the expanse of metallic grass outside, and shivered. The man who lived here obviously did not appreciate frivolousness of any sort. A man, Harry thought, of necessities.

The small figure in front of him turned back questioningly. 'Uhh... sorry,' Harry muttered, and followed. The house-elf had appeared in his room with an armful of fresh clothing and, as Harry later discovered, healing salve for his throat. Harry had tried asking her name, but the small creature had only looked at him with frightened eyes. Eventually she whispered, barely audible, 'Tess, master.'

Harry wondered again what kind of man the owner of this mansion was. The elf had been positively petrified. But before he could ask her anything, Tess stopped in front of an open door. She bowed.

'Let him in,' a cold voice called.

The elf cringed, and looked up at Harry. She whispered in that thin voice again: 'Master goes in, yes? Me going now.'

And with that, Harry was left gaping at the quickly departing elf.

Turning unwillingly, he looked past the door. He was greeted with a room filled with morning light--a vast window with no drapes, facing east towards the newly risen sun. This room, too, was undecorated. Harry's eyes were drawn instinctively to the centre of it; to the large table of gleaming dark wood, with a covered breakfast tray upon it. There were two chairs of the same polished wood. One of them was empty. In the other... Harry's sweaty hands clenched, feeling the absence of his wand keenly.

For there sat his captor--the cause of Harry's erratic heartbeat. The tall figure sat poised, two hands folded carefully on the table. The booted feet rested calmly on the bare stone of the floor. The pale hair was no longer bound, tumbling freely past dark-clad shoulders. A smile graced the harsh mouth; grey eyes looked him over from head to toe, lighting with that peculiar hunger again. Harry resisted the urge to bolt.

'Why Mr. Potter,' the dark voice said smoothly. 'You're looking well today.'

* * *

Lucius couldn't help but feel smug. He had decided to keep Potter confined to this wing; the wing which contained his own bedroom, his study and his personal dining room. This was the plainest wing of the mansion, since Lucius had no tolerance for Narcissa's floral decorations or Draco's expensive trinkets. Such useless clutter was only distracting to the mind--Lucius preferred clean walls and discreet furniture, gleaming in dark wood and sharp lines. Anything that was not useful was a waste of space.

And what a useful thing he had acquired yesterday. Lucius sat down at the table, motioning a house-elf to lay out breakfast. Harry Potter. Lucius nearly chuckled. A useful thing indeed! Today he'd begin the long round of careful wordplay that would lead Potter to inadvertently reveal the information Lucius desired. One way or another, he'd make it work. Potter was a mere child, untrained in the delicate art of manipulation. He'd have no idea of Lucius' carefully laid out plans, or of how to resist them.

Then Lucius saw the small house-elf he'd sent the boy, bowing outside his room. Straightening in his chair, he smiled as he told her to let the boy in. Eventually the slight figure of Harry Potter appeared hesitantly at the door.

Lucius was pleased to note the much improved appearance of the Boy Who Lived. Draco's clothes were nearly the right size--slightly loose, Lucius was surprised to note, although sweat made the shirt's white silk cling to the boy's thin chest. How frightened he is, Lucius thought with pleasure, his hands tightening slightly in anticipation. Still, no matter how nervous, the Malfoy clothes lent Potter's frail form dignity. White silk shirt tucked into black trousers, fitting the slender waist perfectly. A silver button shone at the cuff of each wrist, and the crisp collar was slightly open at the pale throat. Freshly washed hair settled in soft disarray about the boy's face. Green eyes glittered with fear and determination.

Although Lucius had never believed in decoration, it was always a delight to discover a useful thing that was also beautiful. On Draco the fine clothes had always seemed mere clothing--as though Malfoy pride could not possibly deign to present itself in anything less.

But on this boy, the clothes were an ornament--he looked deliciously uneasy in them, as if he'd never worn anything so fine. The sheen of fearful sweat that made the shirt cling to him made the child look even more vulnerable--tightly clenched hands belying Potter's terror. Thin shoulders were set in trembling determination under that fine cloth, barely tamed black hair and green eyes making the shirt's whiteness almost ethereal. Such a frail, determined, frightened thing. A slight wind may blow him away.

Finally Potter stepped in. His breath quickened noticeably as he neared the table. Such an honest, Gryffindor-like declaration of weakness.

Lucius smirked and deliberately looked the boy over. Potter froze.

'Why Mr. Potter,' Lucius gestured towards the other chair. 'You're looking well today.'

* * *

Harry didn't sit down. He'd been stupid enough to apparate here; like hell he'd accept any invitations!

A slight frown appeared on the man's face at this, only to vanish quickly. 'Wouldn't you like any breakfast, Mr. Potter? I can hardly let my guest go hungry.'

Guest, my foot. Harry clenched his teeth as he remembered the spell that had nearly killed him; the rush of Dark magic that had smelled like blood. 'I'm no guest of yours,' he bit out with more courage than he felt. 'Guests are allowed to keep their wands.'

A blonde eyebrow lifted in amusement. 'I see you remember our first encounter,' the man said with a slight smirk. 'It was an unfortunate misunderstanding.'

Misunderstanding!? Harry nearly scoffed. Like bloody Hell. 'You nearly killed me,' he accused. He tried to steady his shaking voice. 'And then you... did something. Put me to sleep or something. Confused me. I couldn't bloody think when you woke me up this morning!'

Grey eyes flashed, and Harry immediately fell silent. The man rose smoothly; dark cloak swirling about him as he stepped forward. Harry instinctively stepped back.

The metal eyes had warmed with unexpected anger. 'You invaded my territory, Mr. Potter. You turned up on my land uninvited.' The man took one step further, then another. He was still smiling, but Harry felt his pulse quicken in fear. The smile was a false one; beneath that silk voice was the threat of steel. 'You are the one who should be answering questions. I didn't nearly kill you; I saved you. As a trespasser you were rightly caught by one of my detection spells. If I hadn't intervened, you would have died.'

The man stopped right in front of Harry. His head was slightly inclined, studying Harry's face. His eyes had that look to them; that look of a hunter. Harry felt himself reduced to prey again. I'm not running, he told himself, but his legs trembled.

Harry forced himself to look up into the man's eyes, nearly flinching at the heat he saw there.

The soft voice continued, relentless. 'You are the one that forced me to defend myself. Can you fault me for that, Mr. Potter? For defending my residence?'

Harry was fully trembling now. He hated himself but he couldn't stop it; the proximity of the man was having this effect on him. His throat was dry, but he forced himself to speak. The man had a point, but Harry knew he was in danger. He just knew. This wizard, he was...

'You're a Dark wizard,' Harry whispered. 'You... that spell... was Dark magic, wasn't it? It's... illegal. You can't... you mustn't. It's illegal. It's... wrong. You are at fault.'

* * *

Lucius was shocked, even though his face betrayed nothing. How did the boy know? Only a Dark wizard could sense Dark magic... could tell a Dark spell apart from any other. How could Harry Potter, the veritable mascot of White Magic, possibly know that Lucius' constrictus spell was Dark?

Everything had been going exceptionally well. The boy's reactions to his intimidation tactics were positively delightful--the fear flowing from that small body was palpable, surrounding Lucius in a dizzying eddy of pleasure. Lucius' very closeness was reducing this boy to pieces--those beautiful eyes were nearly black with terror, the jaw clenched, the voice shaking. Lucius felt the high rush of satisfaction, being able to bend his prey this easily. If Potter was so malleable, Lucius would have what he wanted with no effort at all.

And then the boy had said this. In that trembling, whispering voice, Potter had declared an advantage against Lucius. Potter knew he was a Dark wizard. The question echoed in Lucius' shocked mind.

How did Potter know?

Still, Lucius was determined not to allow this to become a weakness. However the boy knew, Lucius had to turn it to his advantage.

As he stared into those green eyes, an idea suddenly came to him. He smiled again, feeling his composure restored. Let's see how Potter handles this. If this doesn't intimidate him, nothing will.

* * *

Harry was surprised at the man's prolonged silence, and took this to mean that he was right. He felt himself pale at the revelation.

'So... so you are a Dark wizard. A real...' Harry stumbled. 'That means... that means you're also a...'

Horrified realization rippled through Harry. Oh holy shit. Oh no. Oh shit. 'No...' Shaking his head in denial even though he knew, suddenly and with blinding clarity, exactly what this man was. How could he not have realized before? He tried to take a step back, but one of the man's hands shot forth and gripped Harry's arm.

Harry froze. The grip was surprisingly gentle; he could have pulled away if he'd wanted to. But something told him he shouldn't move away; the look in those hard eyes didn't bode well for disobedience.

'No what?' The man's voice had now lost all of its silk. It was no longer smooth--Harry felt it knife through the air, the harsh words clipped. He realized he had looked away. With perhaps the greatest effort of his life, Harry forced himself to look at the man's face again.

He was surprised to see a smile there once more; although this was an entirely different smile. A memory flashed through Harry's mind; the dark shape that had emerged from the air as Harry writhed in smothering bonds, clawing at his own throat. Satisfied laughter echoing around him. Shit, Harry thought as he mourned the absence of his wand again. It's the same thing. Something's going to happen now. Something that makes this guy happy.

* * *

The boy had stilled immediately in his grip. Lucius was satisfied; so Potter knew who was in charge. He saw the thoughts flashing through those transparent eyes; marvelled at how foolishly defenceless those eyes were--completely unguarded, revealing everything in their green depths.

So when Potter shook his head, eyes wide with shock, and whispered 'No...'--Lucius knew exactly what the boy was denying. He could see immediately that the realization of what Lucius really was had weakened Potter--weakened him immediately and almost completely. Potter was denying that he had been captured by a Death Eater.

Now to take the final step--to seal his domination.

'No what?' he asked the boy, no longer trying to hide the menace in those words.

Potter shook his head again, throat moving. Lucius' smile widened as he saw terror stiffening that face.

Slowly, he released Potter's arm. The boy didn't step back, and Lucius felt a brief admiration. Very well then, Mr. Potter.

With his freed right hand, Lucius slowly lifted the sleeve of his left arm; folding the cloak back gradually. Potter's eyes widened as he realized what Lucius was going to show him.

That's right, boy. You want to withstand this? You want to deny what I am? Deny this.

Lucius' cloak was finally folded back to his elbow. Potter had stilled completely now; even his trembling had stopped. His face was frozen in a rictus of shock.

For there, on Lucius' pale skin, gleamed the bottomless black of the Dark Mark.

* * *

Harry stared at it. Ever since the man had started folding back his sleeve, Harry had guessed what he was going to see. Terror had thrilled through him; freezing him in place even though the other's hand no longer held him. His breath had quickened to a point where it had finally stopped--like the rest of him, like time, like the menacing smile of the man before him, like the air that suddenly weighed down upon them both.

The Dark Mark twisted on the other wizard's arm; the black serpent somehow tricking the eye, giving the impression of movement even though Harry could see that it was actually still upon the arm's tense muscle. Harry felt... something indescribable... flood him at the sight of that Mark. Something was crackling around it--magic?... The movement of the snake made him dizzy.

It was beckoning to him. There was something in that Mark--the same thing he'd felt from the spell that had bound him yesterday and nearly killed him--the same thing he felt, in some obscure sense, concentrated like a dark halo about this man. It was something that drew him.

His mind had stopped; all thought ceased. A sickness twisted in his stomach at the sight of the thing that represented his enemy and everything he hated. But it was also accompanied by--

Hunger.

Harry Potter didn't know how. He didn't know why. All he felt was a faint surprise, as he saw his own hand rise with infinite slowness.

To touch that Mark upon the man's arm. To caress it.

* * *

For the second time that day, Lucius Malfoy was nonplussed. The Boy Who Lived threatened to make a habit out of shocking him. A task that, Lucius had always fancied, was impossible.

Out of all the things he might have expected Potter to do, this was the last. He'd expected Potter to break--to give in, to admit defeat. He almost thought he'd won, at the way the boy's eyes had glazed over.

But then a slim hand rose, and Lucius nearly stepped back.

It wasn't fear that had glazed the boy's eyes. Or hatred.

It was desire.

* * *

Lucius stared down at the small hand on his arm. Pale fingers were splayed over the Dark Mark; slowly, slowly, they began moving. Caressing the edges of it; moving along the sinuous body of the tattooed snake. The magic that was charmed into the Mark warmed at the magical proximity of Potter; Lucius felt it warm, through his skin, through his nerves. Igniting pleasure, shivering through his body.

If Lucius wasn't already shocked enough, he might have allowed himself an incredulous laugh. Because there was only one other being who could do that to Lucius through the Dark Mark. The only person who was supposed to do that.

And that person was Voldemort.

The boy was no longer looking at him; was staring instead at the Dark Mark, at the fingers wonderingly trailing that Mark. For some inexplicable reason, Lucius found this highly unsatisfactory. He wanted those green eyes looking at him.

Reaching out his free hand, Lucius cupped the boy's chin and lifted it. The emerald eyes met his, unhesitant. Fear had faded from them--in fact, so had everything else. The exquisite green shone unabated, neither thought nor judgement blocking the inner light that had unnerved Lucius the night before. Lucius felt himself caught, ensnared, with the light in those eyes. Caught by his own prey as magic coursed through the Dark Mark, from Potter's fingers into his skin. Another kind of magic in Potter's eyes. Glazed over--blind--uncaring. The cheeks were flushed; the mouth parted.

Lucius' own mind seemed to have gone uncharacteristically silent. He saw his thumb move gently over that mouth.

The green eyes blinked slowly; Lucius felt a puff warm his palm. 'Oh...' the boy breathed.

Lucius would have told himself to stop had he been able to. This was not his plan. It was not his plan to lose to Potter.

But he knew from previous experience that it was futile. As long as that hand was on his arm, he couldn't move away. Voldemort had perfect power over his minions with that Mark. On the rare occasions that Voldemort chose to use pleasure to exercise control, instead of pain, this Mark was his token.

And Potter had power now. Power over him--Lucius felt it, he hated it. Potter was helpless--utterly bloody helpless--his own body reacting. But Lucius could do nothing. As helpless as his own prey now. Magic thickened the air. Potter's hand was burning a brand into his skin--the spells on the Dark Mark heating and binding them together, shimmering in a haze between them. Potter's breathing was ragged, head tilted into Lucius' caress--eyes never looking away. Such blind eyes. So filled with light. So beautiful.

Lucius's hand moved over the boy's face with consummate gentleness, matching that blind hunger. Memorizing the features by touch--even the spectacles; their cold metal warming to his touch. His other arm was immobile under Potter's hand as though frozen--which, magically speaking, it was.

Then his fingers brushed Potter's scar. A spike of heat ran through him; pleasure almost indescribable; painful. Potter gasped--green eyes widening. Lucius saw the same pleasure flash there, followed by the sting of pain. The Dark Mark burned with a sudden flare of temperature, a spark crackling from Potter's fingers. It rose and twisted--burning Lucius' nerves painfully, splitting along his shoulders and spine.

With a sudden force, Potter wrenched himself way.

Lucius nearly slumped to the floor, the magic dissipating as Potter's hand parted from his skin. He cradled his arm to himself--staring at Potter. Disbelief rattled through him. Disbelief at what had happened--at what had nearly happened.

Potter's eyes were black again--with anger? Terror? Lucius couldn't read them anymore. He saw the pleasure still lingering in the boy's body; mouth panting, hands trembling, erection visible through thin trousers. But the eyes were black. Unreadable. He took one shaky step back, away from Lucius. Then another.

Lucius drew himself up, still cradling his arm. The burn was fading. He should say something. Rectify the situation--regain the upper hand he had had against the boy. But his mind was silent--speechless. For the first time in his life, Lucius sought desperately within his mind and found nothing. The silence that echoed there was deafening--the kind of void that follows a scream.

Potter was still staring at him. Lucius saw his own face reflected in the darkened eyes--slack, weak, wondering. Shaken. He opened his mouth to say something--what?--took a step forward.

But Potter had begun trembling again. 'No...' he whispered, unconsciously repeating himself from before. But this time he meant something completely different, and Lucius didn't know what it was.

'NO!' The boy suddenly shouted, voice ringing through the still air. He stood for one moment more, panting, staring at Lucius.

Then he turned and ran.

***To Be Continued***

Notes: About the quote supporting the title... 'Erebus' is the darkest pit of the Underworld in Greek mythology, the very personification of darkness. Lucius can relate, I suppose.

Next chapter: Things are heating up, aren't they? Exactly who is Harry, and why was he able to activate the Dark Mark as only Voldemort is supposed to do? And were Harry's allies at Hogwarts his real friends, or merely people with their own agendas?

Questions, questions... you'll have to read to find the answers. I *told* you there'd be a plot to this.

I'll try to be done with the next chapter soon--although it may take longer this time. I managed to deliver this one with a two-day gap, as promised, but I'm not sure about the next. Reviews will help speed things up of course. *grin* Just to encourage you, I'll try to put a bit of Snape into the next chapter. Anyone who's reading this fic is obviously a Slytherin-lover.

Please review if you want more!

~THANKS TO ALL THE GREAT REVIEWERS WHO URGED THIS CHAPTER ONTO THE NET! MAY ALL YOUR APPARATIONS LAND YOU IN HAPPY PLACES!!~

Kenna: Are you accepting marriage proposals by any chance?--... Ahem. Sorry about that. I truly do adore your reviews, because you totally understood the imagery I used, *and* you offered a suggestion to improve the fic. Yes, Lucius' looking for light in Harry's eyes is symbolic. After all, he is on the Dark side--and light is the one thing he doesn't have. I also tried to include your idea about explaining Harry's previous wooziness... was unable to do it in the last chapter because of the Lucius and Harry POVs switching at the most inopportune moments, although I managed to work it into this chapter (phew!). If you'll notice, I have Harry accuse Lucius of confusing his mind with a spell--also allude to the wand-forgetfulness here. Hope it wasn't too awkward.

hermionegranger: Aw, shucks... *looks down and scuffs shoe shyly* You're too kind, Hermione! Not sure if the fic is brilliant, but thanks anyway!

Icarus: Your own fics are so well-written, I couldn't believe you'd care to review mine... Thanks so much. That extract you picked out is my favourite too, as a matter of fact. I like visualizing a lot of things about Lucius as metal--voice, eyes, strength of will. Perhaps that's because I view him as a weapon in many ways. Love to write him but... would be afraid to meet him!

Anne Phoenix: Yes, exactly! The colour of Harry's eyes signifies light to Lucius--something that he secretly yearns after, despite being quite Dark himself. (Yes, Dark with a capital D--wouldn't expect anything less of him.) Hope you like what I've done with this chapter, working Harry's eyes into it again. Maybe because I've got a fixation with them myself... damn, I need counselling.

GMTH: Thanks for the compliment--a slow build is exactly what I intended, although I was afraid someone would tell me off for having too slow a build. Not too slow, I hope?

Maeglin and Kathlinn: Here's the slash as promised. *grin*

Slytherin-grl: *chuckle* Don't sit too close to the screen, dear. Sorry I wasn't able to get them to actually eat any breakfast in this chapter--but I hope you don't mind considering that they were doing far more... interesting... things. *cough*

Shinigami: No, Harry isn't a total innocent. I think this chapter shows that he isn't, but also that, in a strange way, whatever lack of innocence he has only manages to make him more innocent. No, wait, I can't put it in words... erm... what I mean to say is, he is quite hapless in the situations life throws at him. He is innocent in a way that will probably never change--he is innocent when it comes to causing harm to others. (At least, the way I have drawn him in this fic, he is.) There are some people who are innocent in this way throughout their lives, no matter what tragedies befall them. They are never malicious, even when they are terrified or angry or bitter. However, others are never innocent in this way--not even as children. You get what I mean? In this way, Harry is an innocent.

xanpetuk: Politics politics politics. I love it! Glad you liked it too... Sorry I couldn't work much of it into this chapter, but the next one does have a good dose of Slytherin scheming once more. (Lucius tries to explain what happened; decides what to do about it.)

Aeryn: Thanks for being a regular reviewer! And for understanding Harry's reactions... I know they might have seemed strange, but it was gratifying to see that you understood them.

Isilme: Oh, you don't know how satisfying it is to hear someone call my Lucius sexy! *chuckle* He is too, but I've got to get Harry to see that now. *sigh* Gryffindors can be so stubborn.

Sorry if I left anyone out... I didn't do it out of carelessness, promise! Just that I'm really exhausted... need some sleep... been writing all night...

Oh, wait, the sun rose a few hours ago. Night *and* day. Will have more responses to my lovely reviewers in the next chapter! Make sure to give your reviews, now...