Claimed

By LeoGryffin

Percy was idly considering how he hadn't quite gotten used to writing Year Two on his documents that January, when the paper airplane landed on his chair with yet another missive that needed his immediate attention. “Urgent, reply immediately,” the outside of the fine olive parchment read. Tutting, Percy ripped open the envelope and retrieved what was sure to be the latest in a long line of edicts that needed to be verified against existing law and tweaked to fit code if necessary before sending back to Minister Potter.

A slight frisson of annoyance made its way from his brain to his shoulders, which tensed up in response to the newest whim of the Boy King. This pathetic excuse for a anti-Muggle persecution law was not only not necessary, he was very certain it would codify a few things that would further expose the Wizarding world to outside eyes. The idiot – why, Percy could remember when there was a proper Minister, a proper chain of command, good people doing fine work and being placed and promoted of their own merits. Now all of Harry's little sycophant friends were in high places and he, Percy – loyal to the last to Minister Fudge, until the snot-nosed little boy one-upped him and killed Voldemort in broad daylight in front of God and the Queen – was left ajunior bureaucrat in the Department of Muggle Relations. It was the most ridiculous appointment possible for someone with his talents and experience; the only thing worse might have been Sports.

“Oh, you'll get your immediate reply,” Percy muttered out loud, jamming his quill into the pot. He pulled out an equally fine piece of sienna parchment and wrote out a terse receipt, estimating the time for research and writing at three days. Actually, it might take four hours, but he'd learned to overestimate to keep his job safe from the whims of the Boy King. Just because his brother was so far up Harry's arse that he couldn't be extracted with both hands and a wand, did not guarantee all the Weasley family members jobs.

If Percy ware to be fair, and he wasn't in a fair mood, they were all employed again now that Voldemort was gone. If he were to be charitable, which he wasn't at all inclined to be, he'd have to admit that Harry had treated Percy better than he probably deserved after his role in propping up Fudge when he'd steadfastly refused to prosecute the known Death Eaters up until the end. If he were to be completely honest with himself, which he'd nearly forgotten how to do, he'd realize that things actually were much more efficient with that Granger cow in charge of staff assignments and his idiot brother as Deputy Minister.

But making Percy work for Arthur. That was just fucking low. Christ, he'd fucking go work for Ludo Bagman after all before he'd willingly accept this lot.

But he had accepted it.

Well, before the bastard forced it on him. It was Potter's way or the highway.

Now that Percy had completely worked himself into his usual – state of irritation, he decided again that three o'clock was a perfectly good enough time to leave the office. If the bastards didn't like it, they could fire him. He tied the note to the eagle and picked up his cloak and satchel, pausing to minimize the books he'd need for the evening's research and...

Fuck it. No. If they were going to treat him like a piece of worthless slime, why should he continue to display such a pristine and spotless work ethic?

Heartened by his unusually strong resolve this day to Fuck the Man, he dropped his satchel under the old, worn out desk that took up more than half his “office” - he snorted at the ridiculous term, his first office as a junior clerk was twice this size – and headed out the door. He wasn't quite sure where he was going. As long as it was away from the Potter Monarchy and the adoring pussies that all thought he was everything, all was well. So bloody important was the Boy King that they renamed the fucking years. Year One, Year Two, bloody into infinity. What a crock.

Percy was nearly halfway to his depressing little flat seven blocks from the Ministry when he noticed, up ahead, the familiar gait and long hair of an old – adversary? He was never quite sure what Lucius Malfoy was. Of course Potter had been quite convinced of his guilt, claiming he was the main financier of Voldemort's organization. Amazingly, in a world where the bloody Minister of Scarheadedness got every fucking thing he wanted, he'd not been able to produce enough evidence to put the Malfoy family away. Percy was quite sure this had to do with the Malfoy money and influence more than actual innocence, but in any case, Mr. Malfoy had been acquitted of all charges. He was out of a job at the Ministry of course, but that didn't really matter. The job had always been for influence, show, and snooping, but he didn't really need it, Arthur had once told Percy and Ron in passing. There was probably a good deal of truth to that statement.

At any rate, Percy felt his pulse quicken a bit when Lucius stopped at an intersection to cross; as his head turned to look for oncoming traffic, he spotted the tall, lanky redhead on the corner. Percy saw Lucius double-take, then smile a very thin smile.

“Mr. Weasley.”

“Mr. Malfoy. It is...well. Interesting to see you in this neighborhood,” Percy finished lamely, realizing that the “good to see you” was hanging out there like so many knives to the gut.

“Not so surprising, is it?” Even though his clout was mostly gone in Percy's social orbit (such as it was), Lucius was still a very imposing presence. Percy felt his cheeks flush as if he was still a boy in school as the older man regarded him with what appeared to be barely-masked hostility.

“I'm sorry, sir,” Percy said, “I'm not sure why it wouldn't be surprising. We're in the neighborhood of the Ministry, and as far as I am aware you are unwelcome here.”

“Really,” Lucius drawled, his smile tightening as it widened. “Do tell me more. In fact, let's go to the pub down on the next corner and talk more. Shall we?”

It was a nearly hostile tone that would brook no argument. Still, even if Percy felt as if this was some kind of shanghai trick, he couldn't say he was terribly worried. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. He knew that there wasn't anyone who hated Potter more, and a few pints with Lucius in a public place wouldn't kill him. It was something to do, something different, something that would break up the monotony.

And if someone told Potter that he'd been drinking with Malfoy, so much the better. Maybe he'd finally find some value in Percy Weasley if he thought he was cavorting with the enemy. With resolve, Percy nodded.

“You have time?” Lucius said, the smile growing ever-wider. “Shouldn't you be at your desk? Or have you finally gotten wise to Potter and his sham of a Ministry,” he spat the name out as an epithet, “and parted ways with our current leadership?”

“No,” Percy looked at his shoes now, embarrassed. “I haven't. Yet.”

“Ah.”

When Percy looked up, he saw a hint of understanding in the older man's eyes. It was hypnotic, because when Lucius nodded in the direction of the pub, Percy fell perfectly into step with him rather than doing the proper thing and walking home. Lucius nodded for Percy to hold the door; social niceties being what they were, it was expected, and Percy was nothing if not proper.

There wasn't much said for the first half-hour. Lucius looked completely out of place in a rough pub in Percy's drab little neighbourhood. Drinking house ale like fine champagne was even more unsettling, but the silent appraisal Lucius was giving him really threw him off-kilter. Finally Percy could stand no more. “I thought you wanted to talk.”

Nothing. Same thin-lipped half-grin, same appraisal, though it was possible that the smile was slightly more genuine and less ready to bite. Percy couldn't be sure.

“You're frightened of me,” Lucius finally said. “You should be, you know.”

“And why is that? And no, I'm not,” Percy stammered, feeling the flush creep into his cheeks. “You don't have the power or prestige to scare a Weasley now, Mr. Malfoy. Didn't you hear? We won.”

“We,” Lucius sneered contemptuously, “tut, Percy Weasley. Your family. Not you.”

Percy looked at his hands balled into angry fists in his lap. Lucius was right, but Percy hadn't come here to be read like a book.

“Why did you ask me here?” Percy said, trying to regain a semblance of control over the direction of the conversation.

“Because,” Lucius said, looking down at his hands. Percy was hypnotized again watching the elegant fingers tap on the side of the half-empty pint glass. “You aren't Arthur. You aren't your family. And I admire that. A great deal, Percy Weasley, you are in a bad position but you turn it to your advantage. It is an...attractive...quality.”

Percy tried to keep his mouth closed since he was very sure he was being either tested or lied to viciously. He couldn't help the way his lips became more engorged with blood as he contemplated the hungry look in Lucius' eye, and the way the beautiful fingers now toyed absentmindedly with his long hair. Percy's will had already become perverted with a few choice words. “You are not your father. You are not one of them.” Lucius could have commanded anything and had Percy on his knees, when he spoke again.

“I'm afraid I must be going now, Mr. Weasley, I have an appointment. Not all of us can take the afternoon off; working for Potter and your father must have such special advantages. It was...a most interesting discussion for me.” Lucius rose, threw seven galleons on the table and walked out without so much as a backward glance.

Percy tried not to be crushed. He shook himself almost bodily, wondering how a drink with someone so distasteful had become a prelude to wanting to throw himself on the altar and beg for understanding. It was nearly on his lips. “Save me, Mr. Malfoy, save me.” Percy sighed, draining his glass. It was only teatime.

~*~*~

The next day, Percy sat at the same drab desk in the same drab office writing up Potter's brief for his idiotic new law. He learned in Year One that it was pointless to attempt to twist these briefs for the good of wizardkind – everything Potter did was to appease and embrace Muggles. It's not that Muggles were bad or deserved scorn, Percy reasoned with himself, it was simply that they were inferior and should be kept separate. That wasn't so much to ask – he was sure Muggles preferred being kept in their dark little worlds. Look at their news. Never anything of substance. Always covering up the real news. This understanding and love that Potter was all about was a little sickening, to tell the truth, but Percy needed a paycheck and still had a bit of loyalty to the Ministry. Not the Minister, mind. Just the wizarding way of life, which seemed to be slowly crumbling around him.

Percy snorted. By Year Three, he'd be out of a job anyway. He'd be working in some Muggle department store, selling suits off racks. It was inevitable.

An unfamiliar owl swooped in through the door, feathers fluttering wildly. Percy was mildly surprised and taken aback at his grumpy musing being interrupted. “How did you get in here, little fellow?” Percy said, offering a small bit of bacon left over from his breakfast sandwich to the bird. “You must be someone's pet, eh?” Percy took the note off the owl's leg and read it, feeling his face flush and his pulse quicken again.

“I am not going to be made a fool of!” Percy said loudly to the owl, who only hooted softly. “He is planning on making a fool of me, isn't he?”

The owl cocked his head, then landed on Percy's shoulder and hooted again very softly against his ear.

“If you say so,” Percy said, reaching for a piece of his best vellum to reply.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

Yes, seven o'clock this evening will be quite convenient. I am sure I can find the place in Honiton you mentioned, though I confess I've never visited Devon. I'm sure it will be a unique experience.

I am intrigued by your proposal.

Sincerely,

Percy Weasley

~*~*~

Percy was early, of course, and spent some time walking around Honiton before seven. The air was chill with a hint of impending snow, and a bit blustery as he made his way towards the address he'd been given. He wasn't nervous, of course. Just a business proposal, nothing more. Business. Something he could understand and appreciate; something that meant time away from London could never be a bad thing.

He wasn't nervous at all when he knocked on the door of the unprepossessing low building. There wasn't a sign, nor any indication it was the right place, but the address was right. An elf answered, idly sizing Percy up before allowing him entrance.

“If Master Weasley will take a left at the end of the hall, open the silver door and go down the stairs, Master Lucius is waiting for him.” The elf bowed and vanished. Percy slowly walked in the direction that had been indicated, most definitely not nervous despite the low ache in the pit of his stomach and the slight shaking of his hands as he turned the knob to go down the stairs. At the bottom, there was a welcoming fireplace and two chairs pulled up next to the fire, a huge walnut desk and a few other assorted pieces of fine furniture. The room was probably the most tasteful and elegant he'd seen, which didn't say much considering the places he'd spent his twenty-six years. Percy could appreciate the understated drama of the carpet and the marble on the fireplace, which had to be Italian. Yes. Percy could get used to working for a man of such means.

But he couldn't let that influence his decision. Not fear, or hate, or anger. He would be calm, listen politely, and make a decision based on the evidence. He was Percy Weasley and he was most decidedly not ever going to be called someone's sycophant or lapdog. He was his own man.

“Mister Weasley,” a silken voice said from behind him, causing him to wheel around ungracefully and nearly lose his footing. If Lucius noticed, he said nothing. “You're right on time. As I would have predicted, of course. Won't you have a seat? Would you like a brandy, or tea, perhaps?”

“I...” For the first time, Percy's nerve faltered in dramatic fashion. He could neither think nor speak; he had seen the fingers again, and they had made him pick right up where he left off the night before with thoughts that were not wholly on business relationships or revenge against Potter.

Lucius smiled that little smile again, and Percy found it hard to think through the rushing in his head. “I believe a brandy, then. Take the chair on the right; I think you'll find it very comfortable. I shall be back directly.”

There were a couple of brandies, which Percy gulped without tasting; a few pointed questions about Percy's role at the Ministry, which Percy spat vitriol about; and a proposal to make Percy Lucius' manager of affairs at the new business, which Percy accepted blindly without much questioning. Then there was silence, and another round of brandy, while Lucius sat within arm's reach in the next chair, staring at the fire with a hint of triumph in his eyes.

“I feel like I've been hit by a bludger,” Percy finally said. “What just happened?”

The hand that was not folded around a brandy glass came out of Lucius’ lap, touching Percy's, turning his palm over to look at it almost disinterestedly. Almost. “I believe we've come to an agreement. I'd prefer to seal it the old-fashioned way, Percy; I don't believe in these Muggle conventions the Minister has seen fit to put into contracts.”

“Those were my doing,” Percy said softly, feeling heat rise in his groin at Lucius' feather-light touch on his hand as he studied the palm, looking more interested as the seconds ticked by.

“You had no choice,” he finally said, dropping Percy's hand. “I would seal our agreement in blood if you’ll agree.”

Percy was mesmerized as Lucius stood, withdrawing a small but ornate antique dagger from his robes, which he now took off and put aside to reveal a simple white button-up shirt and dark green trousers. Percy tried not to stare, but for a man that was nearly his father's age, Lucius had not let himself go to seed. On the contrary; if Percy had ever had any doubt of his own sexual orientation, it was now laid to rest as he tried to control his hungry stare at his new employer. Dear Gods, if his father saw him now he'd probably kill Percy himself. What was one less child when he was such a disappointment to the family?

As much as Percy had tried to control his gaping, Lucius seemed very aware of the hypnotic effect his movements had on his new assistant. There was a bit of a flourish in his thrust into his middle finger, slicing it just enough to get a good drop of blood. He dropped the blood into a small polished silver goblet Percy hadn't noticed until now.

“Your hand?” Lucius said.

“Oh. Yes,” Percy whispered, holding out his hand to Lucius. Deftly, another drop of blood, this time Percy's, was added to the goblet. But Lucius didn't let go of his hand right away, which caused Percy's already half-aware erection to go full-bore. He was sure Lucius noticed, but he appeared to be as cool as Percy was uncomfortably warm.

“A bit more of the brandy,” Lucius said, emptying Percy's half-full snifter into the goblet, which smoked for a second and then stilled. “The contract is ready. Will you drink?”

Percy was a man in a trance as he lifted the goblet to his now-full lips, savoring the tang of the blood mixed with the sweet brandy. Lucius finally let Percy's hand go to take the goblet to drink, and there was a rush of bright, sparkling magic between them.

“We are now honour-bound, Percy Weasley.”

“We are now honour-bound, Mr. Malfoy. I will serve you faithfully.”

“Of that I am certain, Percy, but you can drop the formality. Lucius. To you.”

“Lucius,” Percy repeated, no longer able to contain himself as he dropped to his knees. The magic had affected him so powerfully that he couldn't sit or stand or think or do anything but look into Lucius' piercing blue eyes.

Lucius hesitated, then put his hands on Percy's head, stroking his hair. “I don't think I’ve asked you to get on your knees. Yet.” The smile was definitely genuine now. “Percy, I don't want you to ever again feel as if you have to bow to Harry's or your family's will. You've had to kiss vile arse for years and haven't gotten your due. You will make decisions here, you will be in charge. You've earned your place.”

He looked so sincere that Percy wanted to believe it all, even though his conditioning, his upbringing screamed otherwise. But it was too late; the magic had taken his soul, was in his blood, and he cried out, “I am yours. Anything for you.”

Lucius knelt, bringing the young man into his arms, cradling him through the difficult throes of the Dark Magic that had been lurking in the potion he'd just had. “In time, Percy. In time. I am going to take you to my bed now, do you understand? You will disrobe and allow me to touch you, to help you through. And then we will never speak of it again. All right?”

Percy looked at Lucius through wild eyes , wanting to crawl inside his skin and do anything and everything, die for him, kill for him, the insanity was already creeping in if he didn't kiss and touch and lick and fuck and be fucked and Merlin he was going to die if Lucius didn't...

Lucius picked Percy up, carrying him with ease into a large bedroom several doors down, through a hidden hallway. “Shhh,” Lucius was saying as if he were a kindly uncle trying to calm a favorite nephew through a bad dream. “I'm here, and I won't let anything happen to you. Do you trust me?” he said as he lay Percy down.

“I need...I need...”

“I know,” Lucius said, disrobing both of them with a wand flick and getting into bed beside him, smoothing his hair. “I know. Percy. I've been through this same magic, I was bound to a master myself...I know what helps. Trust me?”

Percy seemed too far gone to do anything but whimper and moan and reach. Lucius found his mouth, the same mouth the Weasleys all had that had frankly tempted and taunted him for years; Lucius's tongue tasted every part of Percy, his lips and his face and nipples, and Percy stopped him and pleaded and tried to crawl into him. There was no other appropriate phrase for what Lucius was experiencing from the willing young man. He had been through this initiation before; he understood. When Tom Riddle was a younger man and Lucius had found his pull irresistible it had been he in Percy's place. It had been the same offer, the same blood contract and the same Dark Potion. It had been the best love and desire and sick perversion and lust of his life, enough to make him marry that bitch Narcissa Black when it had been deemed necessary to produce an heir. He would have done anything for Tom Riddle, followed him to death if necessary.

And now Percy was his, in the same blood contract. Alone. Nothing between them, and his beautiful freckled, soft yet hard, sweet tasting body, shared with only him. It was right to take pleasure in the grim reality that he would own and command this boy, that the boy clearly hadn't understood what he was agreeing to and...well, so be it. This was the way of this world that they needed to preserve, against Potter's notions of openness and his flighty fancy. Pureblood to pureblood, the magic was irresistible, the pull was so strong...even more powerful than he remembered from his own experience many years before.

Percy cried out as Lucius's lips found his cock, licking the tip in circles before plunging the whole thing into his mouth. Percy nearly lost consciousness with pleasure before he came out of the trance abruptly. He shoved Lucius off and under himself, neatly throwing him on his back and holding him down with the ease of the young.

“Just what the hell is this?” Percy breathed, “you fucking perverted monster. What have you done to us?”

“What is what, Percy?” Lucius said. The tiniest little bit of shame was buzzing around his head now at the fire in Percy's eyes, but he wouldn't let on. He had to maintain control.

“It isn't about me,” Percy said wildly. “I want you to fuck me. Take me, own me, goddamn it Malfoy, do what you brought me here to do.”

“I...Percy...” For the first time, the buzzing shame was getting to Lucius a little. “It is about you, and me, and what we are starting together. My business, our venture.”

“Venture. Fuck. Own me,” Percy said dangerously, “or I will claim you and things will most definitely change. You think I am unaware, don't you? Oblivious to the contract? You underestimate me and my research skills and my knowledge of the law. One of us has to claim the other. I will, so help me, fuck you right up the arse right now and control everything. I doubt that's really what you wanted me for.”

Lucius' spark of shame started to become fear. The tables were turned, and yes, if Percy chose he could ride him to the entire Malfoy inheritance right now. By law--the same law Potter was trying to overturn and change, for God's sake. With this potion, with the trick Lucius had chosen...Percy could literally make Malfoy his. Forever.

“I'm warning you, Malfoy, this is your last chance. Fuck me now and remember the chance I gave you, or suffer me as your master.”

Lucius was quickly, painfully more aroused than he'd been since his first time with Tom Riddle. The thought of not being on his own; being beholden to a master again, and one so young and beautiful and goddamnit, being owned by a Weasley. What would Percy's father say and what would his son say and oh Merlin the thought of Percy owning him was incredibly erotic and what was he saying? What had he said? Had he told Percy to take him out loud?

And suddenly, the question was moot. He felt Percy's fingers, he felt the stretch and he was powerless to stop Percy Weasley from claiming everything. As Percy entered, building to a frenzy, pounding away relentlessly and without mercy or pause, Lucius felt himself come all over Percy's belly as if from a distance oh gods oh gods oh gods yes Percy Weasley, his cries not belonging to himself as he instinctively placed two fingers in Percy's inviting arse, massaging that spot and making Percy scream into his shoulder as he emptied himself in a violent, shuddering moment that seemed to freeze in time.

The contract was complete. Lucius finally broke first, gently moving away from Percy and across the bed to grab his wand. He murmured spells to clean the two of them, then got on his knees on the floor in front of Percy and stared at his new master.

Percy's eyes were closed as he turned on his side away from Lucius, his fists and body rigid. “Percy?” Lucius asked, almost whimpering.

“Why didn't you stop me? Why did you want me to...I don't understand. I thought I knew, but then you surprised me.”

“I wasn't lying when I said you were cut out for more, that we could be more together. I didn't envision this, but I've been owned my whole life, Percy. I am not accustomed to being the master...I thought I wanted it, but now... I've been adrift and...well...” Percy was very surprised at Lucius' demeanor, and rolled over to touch his hair, his face.

“You didn't plan this?”

“No. I thought I was in control but. Well.”

“Then I release you.”

“No!!” Lucius was panicked now, his calm and cultured veneer shattered in front of the son of his enemy. “I don't want to be released.”

“Yes,” Percy said coldly, standing and collecting his things. “I won't have a lover beholden to me. Some things – I just won't do, Mr. Malfoy. I'll report to work first thing in the morning. If I'm going to make my way here, I expect to earn it.”

~*~*~

Percy whistled as he made tea at his flat a few minutes later. “Take that, Boy King. That's one thing you'llnever have – I brought Lucius Malfoy to his knees.” Satisfied that was enough to be getting on with, Percy sat on the sofa, a smirk replacing the dour countenance he'd had since the start of Year One. Year Two was looking much better, indeed.