Summary: Lucius Malfoy decides that he'd like a pet wolf.
Warnings: Bondage of a non-sexual nature, and references to torture.
Word Count: 9,607
A/N: Written for hydaspes's arth_hp Brushstrokes and Broomsticks ficathon. Inspired by Michaelangelo's Captives (found here and here). Many thanks to amberry for beta-ing and helping me work through the characterizations.
“Well, well. What have we here?” The man’s tone of voice was very much reminiscent of a cat with its paw firmly clamped on a mouse’s tail. Only Lucius Malfoy could have pulled off that particular tone so smugly. The blonde gazed down at the crumpled form at his feet, his eyes alight with amusement.
He stood with Crabbe Sr., Goyle Sr., and Walden Macnair as they surveyed the damage that had been 12 Grimmauld Place. Only the portraits of Mrs. Black and some of the more notable dark witches and wizards remained unscathed. The entire place was in a shambles; broken furniture and scorch marks everywhere.
Lucius flicked his wand and a length of rope expelled from its tip, binding the prone figure wrist and ankle though the unconscious man had not so much as twitched as they had stood there. The blonde’s eyes darted between his companions. “I’m taking this one as a souvenir,” he told them. You have your orders. Have whatever fun you like with the survivors, but there are to be no witnesses.” He didn’t wait for affirmation before kneeling and grasping a fist-full of sandy hair and Apparating to Malfoy Manor with his prize.
With a quiet grunt, Lucius released the man to the floor of the nondescript dungeon room he’d appeared in. It was no more than a cell, with four grey stone walls, a battered yet sound English oak door, and containing a bed, a toilet, a small table, and a sink. Everything was spotless, however; not even a hint of rust on the bed frame though the room was dank and stank of mildew.
Lucius gazed down at his prisoner impassively, nudging him with the toe of a dragon hide boot. He was gratified when the man uttered a weak groan and tried to curl into a fetal position. This was ultimately unsuccessful due to the rope that tied his wrists tightly at the small of his back and even his most minor of movements increased the pressure there. With a groggy hiss of pain, he slowly began to come to, bleary amber eyes absorbing his surroundings. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Where am I?” From his position on the floor, he was unable to see more of the blonde than his kneecaps, but his eyes slid shut with horror upon recognition of the man’s smooth voice.
“Considering the situation, I think that I will be the only one asking any questions, though you should be able to figure out the answers to those two by yourself.” Lucius crouched down to look his prisoner directly in the face. “I am not an unreasonable man.” The bound man snorted and was promptly backhanded before the blonde continued. “Good behaviour is rewarded, disobedience severely punished.” Silver eyes glinted maliciously as they took measure of the captive. “I don’t suppose you’ll take the easy route and simply give in?” Lucius teased.
“I’d rather die,” came the retort, amber eyes glaring defiantly up at the blonde. The expected punishment never came.
Lucius’s eyes shone with mirth. “Yes, well, that was one of the options, but I decided I could have more fun with you this way. After all, I can amuse myself only so long if I kill you,” he murmured nonchalantly. “No, you’re going to stay alive. And to be honest, I would have been disappointed if you had made it simple.” Ignoring the growl that rumbled in the man’s throat, Lucius searched through his prisoner’s robes until he found the man’s wand. He smirked as he stowed it in his pocket and rose to his feet. “I always wanted a pet wolf,” he teased, before Apparating from the room.
Remus emitted a fierce snarl at the man’s parting words. When, seconds later, his bindings loosened and dropped from his wrists and ankles, he picked them up and flung them against the far wall furiously. He couldn’t believe he’d been placed in this situation. He’d been the first one attacked when the Death Eaters had ambushed them, and he hadn’t even had the opportunity to fight back, a concept that made him burn with resentment.
He brushed through his hair with a sigh and sat on the bed. Trepidation curled in the pit of his stomach at the thought of Lucius meaning to break him. The mere idea was abhorrent. “I’ll make him kill me,” he muttered to himself. “I’ll never submit to the likes of him.”
The next day, Lucius Apparated into the cell bright and early, a house-elf appearing seconds later beside him, carrying a tray. The house-elf set the tray on the small table beside Remus’s bed without a word and then disappeared with a crack. “You’re not fooling anyone,” Lucius murmured amiably when the man in the bed didn’t so much as stir.
Remus had been lying on his side, facing the wall, but when the blonde spoke, he sighed and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. He didn’t so much as spare a glance in Lucius’s direction.
Lucius pretended he hadn’t noticed the other man’s indifference. “Eat quickly,” he muttered, pushing the tray closer. “We have work to do.” His lips curved into a cruel smirk.
Very deliberately, Remus turned his head and spat into the food on his tray. There wasn’t even time to react before Lucius had taken hold of the man’s collar and yanked him to his feet. Not an easy task considering the two were nearly the same height. Remus grabbed the wrist of the hand holding him and began squeezing, glaring into Lucius’s eyes defiantly.
“You think you’re a match for me, Wolf?” Lucius sneered softly. He began to run the back of a finger along the side of Remus’s face before promptly backhanding him. He felt the grip on his wrist tighten, and in an instant, Lucius had his wand out, the tip pointed at the base of his prisoner’s throat. “Perhaps you’d like to rethink your present course of action,” he breathed. A low growl rumbled in Remus’s throat, but after a few moments, he relinquished his hold. Lucius’s lip twitched. “Good.” He flicked his wand and a pair of chains and shackles appeared and rooted themselves in the ceiling right above the other man’s head. “Put them on,” he commanded, his eyes sparkling.
This was too much. Remus folded his arms across his chest and set his mouth in a firm line, his eyes cold and defiant. “No,” he snarled.
Lucius shrugged, and with another flick of his wand, the other man’s arms were raised above his head, his lean body stretched out as he struggled to maintain his footing. “It’s too bad you’ve such a problem with authority,” the blonde murmured, circling his prisoner and toying with his wand. “Although I must admit that I’m going to enjoy this much more than if you’d just given in.”
Practically hanging from the ceiling due to the shortness of his chains, Remus still managed not to look as helpless as he felt; a certain glint in his amber eyes said that though he looked the part of the victim, was in fact a victim, he would not act that part. “I will never give in to the likes of you,” he snarled, edging forward enough that the metal shackles began to dig into his wrists.
“You don’t say?” Lucius murmured in an amused tone. He muttered a spell and, an instant later, his wand had transfigured into a six-foot bullwhip complete with five leather flails at the end. He gave it a test swing and didn’t miss Remus’s slight wince when the whip cracked in the air right beside his left arm. The blonde raised an eyebrow at his prisoner. “I don’t suppose I could change your mind?”
“We’ll see.” Lucius’s lips were a smirk as he swung the whip again, landing a rather light blow across Remus’s shoulder blades that did little more than open five slices in the man’s robes and redden the flesh it had struck. Nevertheless, it had stung, and though Remus’s body trembled, the man’s countenance never changed, nor did he make a sound. “I see you are a veteran to pain. I’m glad I will not have to go easy on you.”
Remus snorted. He didn’t believe for a second that Lucius would have “gone easy on him” even if he were unaccustomed to pain. “Involuntary transformations are extremely painful,” he muttered. “I can take anything you throw at me.” Inwardly, he wasn’t so sure, but his voice didn’t so much as quaver.
Lucius stored this information away for later use, his brain already devising possible exploitation of the knowledge. Without another word, he began whipping Remus in earnest, small thrills racing up and down his spine once the man finally could hold back his pained cries no longer. However, despite the fact that Remus’s robes were shredded, his back covered in angry red welts and several deep gashes, he was barely emitting more than whimpers.
Finally, though he didn’t really want to, Lucius stopped. The whip reverted back into his wand. He flicked it at the shackles holding Remus up, and without their support, the man sank to his knees on the floor. He was clad only in trousers now, his robes in ribbons around him. Lucius tucked his wand away and crouched down in front of Remus, lifting the man’s chin with a finger. “Not so smug, are we?” he chided, licking his lips lightly at the exquisite pain he read on his prisoner’s face, even though the man was trying to hide it. Lucius was seasoned in the art of torture, however; he could tell Remus was hurting.
The feel of his blood dripping down his back had muted Remus’s defiance, though it was still there, boiling just below the surface. He didn’t respond, instead averting his eyes while struggling for breath. The pain of his wounds had sapped what strength he had left. His head was almost completely supported by the fingers beneath his chin. Let Lucius think that he had won; Remus would give him a nasty shock.
The blonde, however, had no illusions that Remus was broken. He pulled out his wand again and cast a healing charm upon Remus’s back. However, the charm he used simply closed the wounds and removed the welts, leaving the man with the pain. He’d feel it for a few more hours before it faded and there wouldn’t be any scars.
“Your lunch will be served to you in a few hours,” Lucius breathed softly. “I suggest you eat it.” He released Remus’s chin and the man’s head sagged under its own weight. He rose to his feet fluidly, and in the next moment, he had Apparated from the room.
Once the blonde was gone, Remus crawled over to his bed and heaved himself upon it with the last of his strength. He collapsed onto his stomach, his nonexistent wounds still aching as he drifted into an uneasy sleep.
Remus was awakened by the crack of a house-elf appearing in his room a few hours later, switching his breakfast tray with one bearing his lunch and then disappearing without a word. This time, he resolved to eat the food he was given, knowing that if he didn’t, Lucius would just place him under Imperius and make him eat that way. His only hope was to remain defiant enough that the blonde got bored and killed him, because there was no other way Lucius would ever let him die or escape. He would never give the blonde the satisfaction of his submission.
He was underestimating Lucius, however. While the blonde was indeed a highborn pureblood, unlike most of his class he wasn’t afraid to invest a bit of work into something if cunning alone wasn’t enough. Lucius wasn’t an amateur to torture, and he knew that, above all, the subtle art of breaking a person required patience. For this situation, he had nothing but time.
The fact that Remus had specified that his transformations were involuntary had sparked Lucius’s interest. Not so much that the transformations were involuntary, because werewolves were considered deplorable creatures and those that actually embraced the inner beast were rare, but instead that Remus had actually taken the time to point out that his transformations weren’t voluntary. Lucius inferred from this that his prisoner probably found his affliction more abhorrent than most.
The blonde knew that at the rate he was progressing with Remus that it would be years at least before he made any significant headway, and he was likely to kill the man before he ever managed to break the other’s will. However, Lucius was beginning to develop a plan that would be far more effective than physical torture. While he was indeed patient enough to work with Remus for years, if he believed he had found a faster way, he was still Slytherin, and he was going to take it.
Lucius knew of several potions that could make a man act like an animal for a short period of time. He wondered what would affect Remus more: physical torment, which he apparently had endured most of his life, or the routine mental anguish intensifying because he was forced to be an animal more often than even his affliction had caused.
Lucius imagined that, since Remus had specified his transformations were involuntary, mental torture would be far more effective than anything he could do to his prisoner physically. It was about six months after Lucius had acquired his “pet” that he actually decided to implement such drastic measures. Remus was still as defiant as ever, and even halving the amount of food the man was given hadn’t taken the fight out of him.
The blonde had gradually been increasing both the length of his “training sessions” with Remus as well as their intensity and still the man spoke to him with condescension and continued to wear a smirk on his face even as he had to force the expression through the agony of his treatment. Lucius couldn’t help but admire the man for his strength of will, though it was a matter of personal honour that he manage to break it.
Lucius, in a fit of boredom, even tried some far more creative methods than he had ever before implemented. One day, Remus had spent a good portion of the afternoon suspended from the ceiling by six meat hooks imbedded through the muscle of his back. Of course, any potential scars were taken care of immediately. On another occasion, Lucius had cast a hex on Remus that made the body think it was dehydrated, and then had chained the man just out of reach of a large pitcher of sparkling clear ice water. Remus had not said a word the entire day, though the blonde could tell that the man felt as though he were dying from the inside out. That day Lucius had not allowed the house-elves to even feed his prisoner, but the next morning Remus was unchained when he woke, and he received breakfast in addition to the pitcher, which kept refilling itself.
Unbeknownst to Lucius, however, of all the things the blonde had done to Remus, only one had any other effect other than to make the werewolf hate the Death Eater more. Every full moon that Remus had spent as a captive in Malfoy Manor, he had been relocated to a larger cell that resided deeper in the dungeons. It was not nearly as well cared for as Remus’s little room. The cells in this part of the dungeons were three walls of bars, so that prisoners could see their neighbors on either side.
As far as Remus could tell, he’d always been placed between the only other denizens of this section of the dungeons. On one side was a very thin and emaciated house-elf that Remus imagined had committed quite a crime to be placed beside him. On the other side was a woman he didn’t recognize, though from her manner of dress, Remus knew she could only be a Muggle.
The nights of the full moon, Remus was simultaneously tortured as well as used as an implement of torture. Lucius never gave him Wolfsbane Potion, so when he transformed, he was all animal. However, the blonde did give him a memory-enhancing potion so that he would remember everything he did. Even without the potion, he would have remembered quite a bit, but this way, Remus could smell the reek of fear as he leapt at the bars of the cage, trying to attack the woman behind them, for days afterward. He always seemed to go for the human more than the house-elf, the wolf’s attempt to spread the affliction. Worst of all, he could remember the taste of blood from the live rabbits Lucius would throw into his cell in order to slake his bloodlust.
However, what bothered Remus most of all, more even than his lack of control, was the fact that the wolf tried to attack Lucius the least. He blamed it on the fact that the blonde never stank of fear, but, as long as the wolf had been with him, Remus had to admit that much of its motivation remained a mystery to him. He had begun to dread the full moon more than he ever had in his entire life, but even that form of torture, as horrible as it was for Remus, didn’t hold a candle to what the man would soon endure.
Lucius Apparated into Remus’s room a few days after the fifth full moon the man had spent captive within the bowels of Malfoy Manor. He carried with him a pewter goblet steaming with the ominous vapour of some unknown fluid. The house-elf that usually accompanied the blonde carrying breakfast was noticeably absent.
“It has been six months since you first came here,” Lucius told his prisoner, as though this were a momentous occasion. “I have brought you a gift.”
Remus quirked an eyebrow at the blonde from where he lay on his bed. He eyed the goblet warily, but didn’t utter a word, expecting more of an explanation. He had learned from experience that it was never a good thing when Lucius brought him a potion to drink; though he also knew it was impossible to refuse. However, he wasn’t going to receive any explanation. The blonde simply held out the goblet, his expression expectant and a tad anxious. Remus didn’t like it one bit. He sighed quietly and shifted into a sitting position, taking the goblet in two hands and staring into it. If he refused to drink it, he would be placed under Imperius and compelled to do so; something that Remus found far more disgraceful than simply shouldering his torture and getting it over with.
After several moments’ hesitation in which Lucius began to wonder whether Remus would drink it willingly, the man finally lifted the chalice to his lips and drained it in one gulp, grimacing slightly at the sour flavour. He set the goblet aside and awaited whatever new torment Lucius had devised for him.
He didn’t notice it immediately. It seemed as though his heart was beginning to beat faster, or perhaps he was just more sensitive to it, awaiting the potential side-effects of the potion he’d drank, because it seemed to be getting louder as well. He thought he could see the pulse pounding at Lucius’s throat, but no, the blonde had backed away upon Remus’s acceptance of the goblet, and he really wasn’t near enough. He certainly couldn’t smell the other man’s excitement as he waited for the potion’s effects to take hold. That was impossible, after all.
However, though there had been no popping of joints or itch of sprouting hair, Remus could not deny that his train of thought was slowly becoming more instinctual, relying upon the senses that he was no longer trying to rationalize away. His eyes focused upon Lucius, and he was horrified to realize that his first thought of him had not been of the man who had imprisoned him, but of the man who had liberated him.
As Remus tried to make sense of this in his head, he could sense that a part of him felt that the blonde was liberating him. He gradually recognized that this part of him was the wolf; the beast he had been trying to control for nearly forty years with only mixed results. As the wolf fought for control, aided by the potion that pumped through Remus’s body, the man realized how little progress he’d made, if he could be undone in a single day. His last thought as his mind was overtaken was of desperation that with Lucius on the wolf’s side, he was fighting a losing battle.
Lucius watched Remus, the man’s expression confused before giving way to gradually dawning horror, and then finally an inquisitive look that bordered on feral. The blonde kept his wand at the ready as he slowly stepped forward, not at all frightened, but wary of the man’s unpredictability in his current state. Remus began edging forward as well, sliding off the bed to the floor and inching forward on hands and knees.
The blonde chuckled quietly at Remus’s behaviour, eliciting a growl from the man’s throat. He sat back on his haunches, gazing up at Lucius uncertainly. “Well, come here,” the blonde murmured indulgently.
Remus emitted a quiet warning growl as though he were insisting that he make up his own mind. Finally, he closed the distance between them and began sniffing at Lucius’s robes. He recognized the scent as the same man who threw him rabbits and stood close to the bars of the cell he was locked in without fear. Instinctively, the wolf also knew that this man was the reason he was in control of the body he was housed in, despite the fact that the moon was weeks away.
When Lucius extended his fingers down towards the man, they were sniffed briefly before Remus ran his tongue the length of one and then continued to scrutinize the blonde. Lucius chuckled quietly, running his fingers gently through his prisoner’s sandy hair. It amused him to see Remus acting upon his basest instincts, and pleased him that the wolf was acting so passively.
“Good,” he murmured softly, continuing to caress through Remus’s hair. The gesture was rather more affectionate than would normally be expected, but neither seemed to notice. “I can arrange for you to have more control over the body you possess. Would you like that?” Lucius asked, as though carrying on a conversation with a man who was sniffing at him was an entirely commonplace occurrence. He moved to sit on the man’s bed, and was pleased when Remus crawled up beside him. His attention was completely focused on the blonde, and he rested his head on one of the man’s thighs, listening carefully as he spoke.
“I could do it,” Lucius murmured, “but of course I would need your help. Never lessen the pressure these instincts have on him. Influence his thoughts and guide his actions as much as you can even when he is not affected by a potion or transformed fully. Show him the benefits of succumbing to his basest urges.” The blonde’s voice was a throaty purr, low and full of suggestion. He didn’t think about the ridiculousness of what he was doing; in effect seducing the dormant half of a man’s personality in order to subjugate the entire person. His only thought was for his goal. It would be amazing if he could bring Remus to act this way all the time; to have done what no one had before: tame a werewolf.
Remus had been listening carefully, his attention riveted, and once Lucius finished speaking, he emitted a quiet yet excited whimper, an affirmative sound. Though he understood perfectly, the wolf was unaccustomed to being in control of a human body, and was incapable of human speech.
“I will give him another of these potions in a week’s time. I want you to wear him down from within as I continue to do the same to his body.” Lucius’s eyes glinted with dark satisfaction. “It will not be long now; he must realize that he is out-numbered. There is no way he can fight himself and me. Not when this is exactly what he needs,” he murmured to himself, caressing through Remus’s hair idly. He looked down into the man’s amber eyes thoughtfully. “The potion will be wearing off soon; I didn’t brew it very strong.”
Remus didn’t need the blonde to tell him that, however. The wolf could already feel his senses dulling; the human conscience fighting for control. The wolf released his hold immediately, knowing that if he did this he would be able to retain a bit of control since he would not have been forced to relinquish it all.
Lucius watched the man’s expression with amusement, still stroking through his hair as he waited for Remus to realize where he was. It didn’t take long. The man’s countenance was relaxed for a few seconds, before he looked up and recognized Lucius’s pale face gazing down at him. He jerked away quickly and rose unsteadily to his feet. “What the hell did you do to me?” he growled.
The blonde laughed, rising to his feet as well. “Nothing that a part of you did not want,” he responded. His eyes twinkled at the fury he found on Remus’s face. “See you after lunch,” he teased, and in the next moment, he was gone.
Remus growled at the taunt and sat heavily on his bed. Something about Lucius’s tone of voice told him that the blonde had not been lying; the satisfaction about being able to say the words without them being a lie. That concept bothered him more than the idea that Lucius had done something without him being in control of his faculties. He sighed as he tried to get his thoughts in order, still disoriented from the potion. As he curled upon the bed, his mind kept centering on the two different voices in his head. One was telling Remus it hadn’t been as bad as he thought it was, and the other was telling him to rip Lucius to shreds the next time he saw the blonde. His mind was in a jumble; the man could not work out which was his conscience and which was the wolf.
In the weeks that followed, Remus became gradually more haggard. He had hoped with the introduction of the potions, as abhorrent as they were, that Lucius might lay off on the physical torture. To no avail. The blonde would not give Remus the slightest advantage, knowing that the double dose would be far more effective than either the potions or the torture alone would be. Plus, even when Lucius was not assaulting his senses in one way or another, he endured an almost constant barrage of disturbing thoughts which he knew could be attributed to the wolf, though lack of sleep made it impossible to stave them off.
Whereas the first six months of his imprisonment Remus had gotten a decent amount of sleep since he had little else to do when he wasn’t eating or being tormented, after the first time he took the potion that gave the beast control, he got next to none. It was as though every day was the day before the full moon; Remus walked around in a haze, deep circles under his eyes, his skin tone sallow. He had barely any appetite, and even when he did, he hardly ate.
Lucius could see that the man was wasting away, but he held out on force-feeding him through use of Imperius or giving him a Sleeping Draught, believing the man was on the verge of breaking. Indeed, he didn’t understand why Remus hadn’t yet given in. He knew the man wasn’t sleeping, plagued by dreams nightly; he’d been monitoring his prisoner’s behaviour since the week of his arrival. He’d been anticipating a breakthrough for weeks, but Remus just kept growing more and more emaciated, his figure continuing to thin even after the blonde didn’t think the man could become any more gaunt.
Finally, in an act that was half desperation and half impatient, Lucius imposed a schedule for Remus that was the strictest the man had yet endured. The week before Remus’s ninth full moon to be spent in Malfoy Manor, the blonde began feeding him even stronger doses of the Bestiality Potion, giving the wolf free reign of Remus’s body for two or three hours each morning before devising the cruelest and most creative tortures for the span of the afternoon, never ceasing until it was time for his own dinner. Then, after picking at his own meager rations and nursing wounds and aches that Lucius had already healed, Remus would lie awake most of the night, plagued by dreams of bloodshed and violent sex that the wolf implanted in his mind whenever he let his guard down.
Even with the additional pressure, Remus never caved to it. Lucius was growing frustrated, and he couldn’t deny that he was a little worried as well. The afternoon before the full moon, he could not even bring himself to hurt the man. The hours of torture were replaced by the strongest dose of potion yet, lasting most of the afternoon. Lucius’s instructions to the wolf were simple. When Remus transformed that night, he wanted the wolf to relinquish enough of his control that the man’s conscience would still be aware of everything that occurred, though not in a position to alter anything. The hope was that the man would finally realize what he was missing and succumb to the force of nature he had become so many years ago.
That evening, Remus was so weak he didn’t even try to protest as Lucius practically had to carry him down to his cell, so much of the man’s weight was supported by the blonde. However, though his body was weak, Remus’s mind remained fairly cognizant, and he noticed several things as he was lowered to the stone floor. The first was that his usual companions, the house-elf and the Muggle woman, were nowhere to be seen. The second was that he could see no cage of rabbits, which had always been prominently displayed to give Remus an idea of what he was in for. The third, and most worrisome, was that as Lucius locked the cell, the blonde was on the same side of the bars as he was. Remus wasn’t sure which prospect bothered him more: that the beast might finally succeed in taking a life, or that it might make an exception in this case.
“What are you doing?” Remus hissed, his voice hoarse from lack of use. Indeed, now the only times he ever did use his voice were when Lucius asked him a direct question or during those times when he could not help but vocalize his agony. At this point in time, however, Remus was gazing up at the blonde as though the man was insane. Surely any sane wizard would recognize the unpredictability of a transformed werewolf. Most acted as though even in their human state, werewolves were a danger to society. Such confidence could only be viewed as either ignorance or arrogance, and in Lucius’s case, Remus was inclined to believe it was a combination of the two. Though he knew that Lucius and the wolf had an understanding of sorts, he couldn’t conceive of the idea that the bloodthirsty beast would not attack the man given the opportunity.
Lucius did not respond; he simply sank to the floor on one side of the cell to wait. Remus, on the other hand, staggered to his feet and put as much distance as he possibly could between the two of them. He knew this would do no good, no matter how much space he put between them, if there wasn’t some sort of barrier in that space.
All too soon, Remus could feel the changes beginning to take hold. He doubled over as his bones began to pop and rearrange, his jaw lengthening. He was used enough to the transformation that he didn’t scream, but the pain was positively maddening. The agony that was the reshaping of his head was the worst; it felt as though his skull were trying to split apart from the inside. He felt his shoulders narrow and the joints realign as his hips shifted to better support a quadrupedal animal. He moaned as the itch of sprouting hair bombarded his senses but all he heard was a very canine sound, half whimper, half growl. He hadn’t even noticed when his trousers had been torn asunder.
However, even as he felt his mind begin to retreat, the wolf’s instincts taking control, Remus knew something was wrong. Though he had no control of the body he was inhabiting; indeed, could not even force his eyes to blink, he was still completely cognizant of what was going on. He could see through the wolf’s eyes, sense what the beast was thinking, even as he felt himself rise smoothly to his feet. It was like being the passenger on a motorcycle. He was just along for the ride, now.
The man within the wolf started as his eyes rested on the blonde who was still reclining against the wall comfortably, staring back at the animal wearing an inscrutable look. He winced inwardly as he heard himself emit a low growl. This was it. He was going to commit his first murder, and worst of all, he was going to be completely aware of it. As much as he hated the blonde, as many times as he had wished for the man’s death, he could admit to himself now that this was not how he had wanted it. He wasn’t sure he could live with himself with another man’s blood on his hands, in addition to the considerable guilt he already felt for Sirius’s death. He wished, at the very least, that he didn’t have to be conscious for this. At least then he wouldn’t have memory of what he was going to do.
Lucius chuckled quietly as the enormous sandy-haired wolf blinked at him. He could hear a distinctive rumble from his throat, though the sound seemed more confused and curious than threatening. “Well, come here, my pet,” he coaxed. “You have spent time with me in human skin; why should fur be any different?”
The blonde watched carefully as the wolf hesitated, obviously contemplating this. Lucius took it as a good sign that the animal hadn’t immediately attacked upon transforming. Of course, the wolf had never really attacked him overmuch, even before he had begun giving Remus the Bestiality Potions. He hadn’t known to what he should contribute this, but he was confident that he wouldn’t be harmed, and his wand remained out of sight in his pocket. He stayed absolutely motionless as the animal finally began to approach him, and only once the wolf was within arm’s length and had bowed his head slightly did Lucius raise his hand and let his fingers run through the creature’s silky fur.
Remus was in shock. He didn’t understand what was going on. Why was the wolf behaving in such a way? True, he could only recall vague snippets of the time he’d spent under the influence of the Bestiality Potion, but he was certain this wasn’t right. In all the things he had ever read about werewolves, not once could he recall a situation like this. A transformed werewolf spelt only danger for any human who encountered him. Of course, he had also never heard of a wizard spending extended time with a werewolf in the manner that Lucius had with him; it was seen as extraordinarily unorthodox. Still, no matter how much Remus thought about it, he couldn’t rationalize it away, nor could he deny that what Lucius was doing felt good.
“Good,” the blonde murmured as he caressed through the wolf’s fur, massaging behind his ears as the animal’s amber eyes began slowly to drift closed. It hadn’t been easy to get to this point, and he wasn’t sure yet what effect this was going to have on the human Remus, but he found just the simple gesture of petting a werewolf that was not under the influence of Wolfsbane Potion extremely satisfying. “Perhaps you’d like to go hunting?” Lucius murmured thoughtfully, evoking a happy yelp from the wolf as he sprang away and began prancing back and forth excitedly, a hungry gleam in his eyes. “Yes, I daresay you’ve been cooped up in the mansion for nearly a year now…far too long.” Lucius’s eyes sparkled as he watched the wolf dance around, rearing up on its hind legs occasionally. His lips curved into a genuine smile at the sight of the creature acting so reminiscent of a puppy. “A few things, though.
“I would ask that you return to me before you transform back, first and foremost. I have no doubt the human you share a body with would run at the first chance he got, and I must admit, I’ve grown rather fond of the both of you.” The wolf bowed his head, a gesture Lucius took to mean that the creature understood and agreed. “Second, and perhaps more importantly, I must inform you that there are a small quantity of Muggle homes spread out nearby.” The wolf, as though sensing Lucius’s next words, bared his teeth in a growl.
The blonde, understanding the wolf’s meaning, quickly interjected. He carefully ignored how ridiculous he must look, explaining himself to an animal. “No, you misunderstand. I am not asking that you ignore your instincts; only that you exercise some manner of caution. The last thing I want is for you to be caught.” His lips curved into a devious smirk. “Leave no witnesses.”
Remus couldn’t believe his ears, although he realized he should have expected this sort of thing from Lucius. Not only did the blonde intend to let loose an unsafe werewolf, but he was encouraging him to wreak havoc as long as he wasn’t caught. Leave no witnesses. He shuddered. It was a moment before he realized that this was because of the wolf’s anticipation rather than his own disgust.
After he’d been let out of the Manor, the evening passed as a blur for Remus. There were not words for the relief he felt that the wolf had not managed to attack any humans. Indeed, the only Muggle they came across retreated into a well-lit house just as the wolf picked up her scent, and thought better than to attack a house he could smell contained at least six other people.
Instead the wolf had contented himself with chasing conies and even a doe at one point. The rabbits were too quick for him in the dense forest, but he was able to out-manoeuver and overpower the deer, and he spent a great deal of the evening feasting on his kill.
As averse as Remus was to killing, he couldn’t deny that he had enjoyed the hunt and the feel of the wind rushing through his fur as he ran. He had to admit, it had been one of the most enjoyable evenings he could remember, except for the nagging fear that the wolf might attack a human. As he thought about this later, he got the distinct impression that the wolf had held off for his benefit; to show him the joys of the night without traumatizing him. He knew the wolf probably could have handled a house full of Muggles, after all.
Finally, footsore and exhausted but happy, the wolf dragged himself up the front steps of Malfoy Manor moments before the sun was due to rise. His mouth was still full of the taste of raw venison as he scratched at the door. Despite the early hour, a house-elf answered almost immediately. Its entire body shook with trepidation as it led the way through the manor and into Lucius’s private study.
The blonde might have slept at some point that night, but as the wolf slowly entered the room, the door shutting behind him, the man was wide-awake and waiting. He noted with some satisfaction that the animal had rust-coloured stains on his muzzle. “Happy hunting then?” Lucius teased. The wolf licked his lips and yawned in reply. “Come and rest,” he murmured, gesturing to the spot beside him on the couch.
The wolf leapt up and had barely gotten himself comfortable when the transformation seized him. He lay quite still, his cheek resting on Lucius’s thigh, as his muscles spasmed, bones cracked and reformed, hair retreated, until Remus was left lying nude on the couch, curled up beside the blonde. “What did you-“ he began, but the wear of the transformations was too much, and he lapsed into unconsciousness before he could finish speaking.
Remus blinked fiercely as sunlight poured in on him. The sun…he hadn’t seen it in nearly a year, and he sat up quickly at the realization. Almost instantly, he was disoriented, and he gazed around quickly trying to place himself. He didn’t recognize the room he was in at all.
He was lying in a large Elizabethan-style bed that was dressed in smoke-grey, soft Egyptian cotton. He sat up, and as the expensive bedding shifted against him, he realized he was completely naked under the sheets. He pulled them up around his hips as he looked around, searching for some hint of clothing. The mahogany-wood armoire that stood on the opposite side of the room looked promising.
Still feeling self-conscious and uncomfortable in an unfamiliar room, Remus bunched the sheet around his waist as he stood, and held it there as he moved to the armoire and pulled it open. Within he found robes in several different colours and fabrics. He frowned. They all looked to be his size. What sort of game was Lucius playing now? He quickly selected a set of basic black ones and pulled them on, leaving the sheet on the floor as his eyes returned to flickering around the room. What now?
Remus’s gaze lit on the door. He couldn’t imagine that Lucius would have left it unlocked. However, in the months that he had spent in Malfoy Manor, there had been only one constant: he never knew what to expect from Lucius. So, when the knob turned and the door pulled open soundlessly, he wasn’t really that surprised.
He gazed up and down the corridor; there were no signs of life. The walls were cold stone, much like his cell’s had been, though better cared for. Except for the bright sunlight shining in from large, floor-to-ceiling windows, Remus found that it was very much what he had expected of the interior of Malfoy Manor. He passed slowly into the hallway, increasingly surprised by the fact that it appeared as though no one was going to try and stop him from leaving.
Because he didn’t have his wand, Remus was perhaps twice as wary as he normally would be as he moved silently down the deserted corridor. He could defend himself physically, but that would be made easier if he wasn’t caught unawares.
He tried door after door, but it seemed as though the only the one that had been unlocked had been the one to the room he’d been sleeping in. Finally, the last one before what looked like a magnificent entrance hall yielded. “Come in,” murmured the only voice he had heard aside from his own in the past ten months. So. Lucius had been waiting for him. Suddenly Remus was struck with the wild idea to make a break for the huge doors he had glimpsed at the other side of the entrance hall. That thought quickly died. He knew he would never make it, or if he did, the doors would be locked. With a resigned sigh, he pushed the door wide and entered, his head bowed slightly in shame at his own submission.
“I wondered if you would wake before dark,” Lucius murmured teasingly as Remus entered the room, obviously pleased. He gestured to the wingback beside the one he was seated in. “As it is, it is nearly time for dinner.” He looked Remus up and down slowly. He couldn’t tell if it was the contrast provided by the brand-new black robes the man wore, the quality of the light he was framed by, or the fact that he had transformed the night before, but Remus looked far paler than usual. Lucius also had to admit that the cut of the robes made the man look very thin. He decided that regardless of temperament, Remus would be receiving normal-sized meals again.
Without realizing what he was doing, Remus sat in the chair that had been indicated. When he noticed, he looked faintly disgusted with himself. “What was that, Malfoy?” he demanded. “What are you playing at? You planned that last night, didn’t you?” The accusations were unfounded, but at the same time, he knew they were true.
“As a matter of fact,” Lucius admitted, a smirk twisting his lips. “How does it feel to know that a part of you is loyal to me? That I can give that part control whenever I see fit? Why, I imagine that with continued exposure to Bestiality Potion, the effects could become permanent.” While there was no proof of that, Lucius found it a rather interesting bluff. He lowered his eyelids, his voice becoming a sensual purr as he thought about Remus’s behaviour the night before. “I don’t understand why you don’t just give in,” he breathed. “Is it really so bad to live only for your most primal desires; to surrender to them? I daresay I wish I had your excuse to do so.” He licked his lips slightly. “You were beautiful last night, you know.”
Until he heard that last statement, Remus’s first response was that of righteous indignance. Of course he didn’t want to surrender to the beast within! He had been fighting these urges most of his life; to give in now would be to undermine the very essence of what he had been fighting for all these years. But with Lucius’s last words, he faltered, all his thoughts leaving his mind as a disconcerting flood of warmth spread through his body.
“I don’t understand,” Remus murmured softly. No one had ever told him anything like that, not even Sirius, James, or Peter, who had been closest to him when times were toughest. To hear such a thing from someone like Lucius shocked him to his core. If his dearest friends had never said such a thing, then he certainly hadn’t expected it from a man who had never shown anything but the utmost disdain for werewolves and seemed to find Remus’s affliction almost like a game.
Lucius read the man’s thoughts from his face, and he edged forward in his chair. “No one has told you such before, but I, I, have learned the beauty of your affliction.” His eyes burned with passion as he gazed at the other man. “You are mine, whether you choose to acknowledge it or not, and I guard my possessions jealously. It has been many months since I have tolerated any to speak ill of werewolves in my presence, due to my affinity for the one I have acquired.”
Remus’s face contorted with still more intense confusion. Was this a ploy? A tactic to blind him to Lucius’s true intentions? It was likely, considering whom he was dealing with, but he couldn’t get past the sincerity he found in the blonde’s tone, nor the small voice speaking in his ear, telling him that, above all, he wanted to believe these words. “Why?” he breathed. “After all this?”
“It was just a game at first,” Lucius admitted. “But as time went on, I found myself obsessed. Scarcely could I think about anything other than how I might finally succeed in bending you to my will; to see the beauty and power you possess acting on my behalf, for my pleasure, and for my pleasure alone.”
Remus would normally have been outraged by those words; indeed, part of him wanted to rear up with indignance. He was quelled, however, by that same small voice as before. It told him to focus not on the blonde’s words, but on their underlying message: Lucius was infatuated with him. The hunger in those silver eyes was difficult to ignore.
Lucius watched his prisoner carefully, trying to gauge the man’s reaction. While his words were in fact being used as a well-played hand of cards, neither could he deny their truth. The past several months, he had been consumed with the obsession of taming a werewolf.
Then, as he saw the uncertainty beginning to melt from Remus’s face, he leaned forward even further, reached out one hand to place a finger beneath the man’s chin, and guided his head forward.
Though very little strength was put behind the gesture, Remus felt as though he were veritably pulled from his chair, until he was kneeling beside Lucius’s, their faces very close indeed. The blonde’s breath was sweet and pleasantly warm on his face, and it smelt faintly of amaretto. He looked up at the man through his eyelashes, trying to will himself to stand, to argue. But that insistent little voice kept him rooted in place; his face was upturned, his lips slightly parted.
“Do you want me?” Lucius breathed, their mouths nearly brushing as he spoke, they were so close. His fingers moved from Remus’s chin to run through sandy hair, his caress searching yet simultaneously needy.
Remus wanted to shout, ‘No!’ This was the man who had held him captive for nearly a year. Lucius had half-starved and tortured him, and now was playing on his emotions. How on earth could he possibly be attracted to his captor? That same small voice subdued his outburst from gaining purchase, however. Despite the lack of viable explanation for it, he did want the blonde. Slowly, as though in a trance, he nodded, his eyes locked on Lucius’s face.
“Tell me,” the blonde persisted. “I want to hear how much you need me.” Lucius’s voice was nearly desperate with his desire now. After all the work he had put into his prisoner, if the man didn’t submit now, he didn’t know what he’d do. It seemed like, if Lucius could not manage to subjugate the man by now, because truly no one else had ever lasted this long before, perhaps he was a lost cause.
Remus was barely even able to hesitate. Those lips were so close he could nearly taste them; his head was fully of the rich scent of mingled amaretto and anticipation. “I need you,” he murmured, his voice carrying a note of pleading in it.
Still those lips stayed out of range, tantalizing in their closeness. Lucius wanted to give in; badly, but he would not until he had Remus fully in his control. “You are mine?” he inquired.
“Yours,” came the instant reply, punctuated by urgency, nearly a growl.
The response was near immediate, the action as much a physical claim of possession, binding as any legal contract, as it was a kiss. Except that he had been yearning for it, the ferocity of the kiss nearly took Remus by surprise. He moaned quietly, surprising himself by his own instantaneous submission. Lucius nipped at his lips, and he lapped at the blonde’s in return.
The blonde was delighted with this turn of events, and his fingers clenched in the sandy hair, caressing the scalp beneath it. He broke the kiss far too early for both of them. “You have no idea how much this pleases me, my wolf,” he murmured softly, his breath hot and harsh over Remus’s face and throat. “You will be rewarded for this admission of your place.”
Remus was not given a chance to inquire of this before their lips were crushed together again. Lucius edged out of his chair and pressed the other man to the floor beneath him. Pale fingers made short work of the buttons that held the prisoner’s robes together, and the blonde’s teeth found the flesh of Remus’s collarbone, making their claim. The sandy-haired man moaned quietly, arching, and the small part of him that still objected was pushed away as something far more instinctual awakened fully within him.
Instead of just whispering, this voice was now guiding him, and Remus’s fingers now flew through the buttons of Lucius’s robes as though they had a mind of their own. The blonde didn’t appear to have any arguments against this forwardness, however. He parted Remus’s robes, yanking down the sleeves, as his own were removed, the efficiency surprising.
There was the quiet hiss of two intermingled voices as robes were flung aside and heated bodies finally pressed together. Lucius didn’t care that his captive’s teeth were marking him, it wasn’t permanent, and he was too busy doing the same to Remus’s body. His fingers were tight on the other man’s hips, aligning them. He was too impatient after months of waiting for this to prepare Remus. Besides, from the nearly feral growls rumbling in the man’s throat, Lucius knew he was just as anxious.
With a groan that was echoed by Remus, Lucius drove himself slowly into the body beneath him, the action gradual so as to not tear, but insistent nonetheless. The blonde remained motionless for but an instant before he drew out and then began to thrust.
Remus emitted a shuddering gasp; clinging to the body above him as though it were is salvation. It wasn’t exactly pain; he was accustomed to far worse, but more an uncomfortable pressure. He gritted his teeth, bearing down upon the intrusion, and was gratified by a low moan from the blonde. He wrapped his arms tightly around Lucius’s waist, encouraging contact and forcing the man’s stomach to stroke along his cock as he was thrust into.
As his hips moved, Lucius’s mouth trailed up from Remus’s collarbone to his ear. His thrusts became more pronounced and deliberate, the friction to his prisoner’s erection increasing. “Come for me,” he hissed, running his tongue along the shell of the other man’s ear.
It was that impassioned tone combined with the increased pace against him that did it, and with a cry that was more howl than human Remus came, shuddering against the body above him as it continued to pump into him. A few seconds later, in result of the continued pulsations of Remus’s body around the cock within him, Lucius moaned his own release. He collapsed on top of his prisoner-turned-lover, his teeth finding the man’s collarbone and biting down sharply. “Mine,” he growled against Remus’s flesh.
The part of Remus that was still willing to argue seemed to have vacated premises, because all he could do was nod slightly in response. Most of what energy he had had left after the night before was now completely sapped. He clung to the body atop him, his mind full of the irrational fear of rejection. He couldn’t realize that rejection by Lucius had been what he had desired all along; he was too completely enthralled. The lone part of him that had still recognized that point had been pushed out by the wolf the second it had lost its grip on Remus’s mind.
When both their bodies ceased shuddering, Lucius slowly rose and curled back into his chair, not bothering to redress. Remus knelt beside the man’s chair as he had been, his eyes drifting closed as slender fingers caressed through his hair idly.
“You shall be rewarded for this, my pet,” Lucius murmured thoughtfully. Remus remained silent. He’d thought that that had been the reward. “You shall be moved to better accommodations, now that there is not need for constant surveillance.” The blonde’s expression was thoughtful. “That hardly seems adequate, however; I would have done that anyway. The location of those accommodations shall be your reward. You shall sleep in my bedchambers.” The truth of this was that it was not meant so much as a reward as it was insurance that Remus would not relapse. If the man were in the constant presence of his master, there would be little opportunity for him to question his subservience.
“Yes…” Remus trailed off uncertainly, his hesitation obvious. What was he to call the man? To use his surname would be far too crass, considering the relationship they shared, and yet considering the way he had been addressed by the blonde, his first name was not appropriate either.
Lucius, seeing the warring thoughts on the man’s face and recognizing their source, thought a moment before favouring Remus with an understanding, if somewhat devious, smile. “You will address me using the words, ‘My Lord’,” he instructed softly.
Remus gazed up into the blonde’s face, though his search was internal. Not finding even a trace of his former defiance, he nodded. All that remained was a wolf’s obedience to an alpha that had displayed continuing dominance relentlessly for nearly a year. His voice was quiet yet unmistakably adoring when he spoke. “Yes, My Lord.”