Author’s Notes: This fic’s dedicated to Rhysenn, writer extraordinaire (ever heard of the brilliant “Irresistible Poison”?), who planted the idea of Lucius/Harry in my head in the first place and is directly responsible for the weird line of thought that made me come up with this ;D. Oh, and the wallpaper burns belong to Rhysenn.

This fic is not intended to be taken completely seriously. It’s humour, albeit dirty humour *winks*.

“You shall not harm Harry Potter!”

Dobby’s firm voice echoed just slightly against the stone walls of the corridor. To the house-elf, it was only a little magic, though Lucius Malfoy was flung onto his back, onto the floor, in an undignified heap; defeat was an emotion he hardly felt and he loathed it all the more for its bitter taste.

He would have to get up, gather the shreds of his dignity in front of a smirking boy – a child, for crying out loud – who had more luck than wits at his disposal, and go, or rather, limp off. But he could guarantee Potter would pay for his insolence. The odds were against him. They had to be.

Lucius was broken from his thoughts, just as the magic started to fade a little. “Keep him on the ground, Dobby.”

One elegant eyebrow rose in apprehension. No, confusion, confusion. A Malfoy knows no apprehension. Especially not when dealing with arrogant little boys-who-lived.

“Why does Harry Potter want…” the house-elf broke off, and Lucius felt the tell-tale tightening of invisible bonds around his wrist, ankles and waist as the creature worked some more magic on him. Just brilliant. Such an exceedingly bad day, first his plan of unleashing the horror of Slytherin onto all mudbloods had been overthrown, and now he was at the mercy of Harry Potter. Wait! Mercy? Now he felt apprehension.

“There’s something I need to do Dobby. You needn’t watch.”

The little blood that tinged Lucius’ skin with a hint of rosy health left his cheeks. The house-elf gasped and he could just see that despicable creature putting a hand over his eyes. Well, great. Who’d have thought the boy was into torture…

~

Dobby felt – almost – sorry for his former Master. The glint in Harry Potter’s eyes had been dangerous. The Malfoys deserved all kinds of horrible things, but still, even to someone who hated them, and now he was allowed to say it if he wanted, wasn’t he…it was not a very nice thing to hurt them…

There was a light swish, then a clang, as of metal hitting the stone floor.

“Take your hands off my belt, you insolent brat…”

The next sound his former Master made was a strangled yelp.

“Sorry, cold hands.”

Oh yes, that was just like Harry Potter to be considerate. But what was he doing? He wasn’t planning to spank… oh, that was a delicious thought. But Dobby wasn’t going to look. Dobby was a good house-elf. Even if he no longer was, technically.

“I see you enjoyed my little show just now…pleasing reaction to my ankle, this. Does your wife know just what turns you on?”

“You goddamn brat…”

A gasp, a groan… then Dobby couldn’t hear any sound other than the rustling of fabric – was Harry Potter going to spank his former Master, really, properly spank him?

“I’ve still got the wallpaper burns. Ron keeps asking me where I got them. And I plan on paying you back for every single…”

The next word came out rather muffled, as if Harry Potter had something in his mouth. Whatever he was doing though, Dobby could hear awful sounds of pain coming from his former Master. It was horrible. And it got louder and louder, and it seemed that he wasn’t able to breathe properly anymore.

Dobby knew he should look. And perhaps say something. Not because he pitied his former Master, but to save Harry Potter from becoming a bad person. However, he decided it just wasn’t worth the effort, and he was slightly afraid of what he might see. So he kept his eyes tightly closed and hoped his former Master wouldn’t be damaged too much. Even though the wail he let out just then, and the ragged groan of “Potter!” scared him; almost.

A slap echoed in the sudden stillness – only broken by Lucius gasping breaths – flesh on flesh. Dobby cringed.

“Here’s something to remind you of me. My hand on your…”

Dobby covered his ears as well.

~

The elder Malfoy was a fetching sight lying there on the floor, pale face flushed with colour, lips parted, grey eyes darkened and stormy with emotion. Not that marble-etched, intangible beauty anymore; alive, and Harry’s.

Power was a heady feeling. And he had power; a lot of it. Just now, he owned Lucius in a way no one else ever had, or ever would. And he liked it.

“Wipe that smirk off your face!”

“Do it yourself.”

Fury contorted the handsome features and Harry smiled. Licking his lips exaggeratedly, he reached out towards the elder man’s waist, putting his clothes back into place. Scooting behind Dobby, he laid a hand on the house-elf’s shoulder, his voice eerily calm as he said, “You can let him up now.”

Letting out a sigh of relief he hadn’t realised he’d held, the little creature opened his eyes, looking towards his former Master. Rumpled and still breathing heavily as he got up, a fine sheen of sweat on his brow. The punishment had to have been horrible indeed.

~

Lucius brushed his hands quickly down his torso, making sure there were no signs – at least not visible ones – of that insolent brat’s meddling with him. His hair was probably standing on end, but he couldn’t be bothered to tidy it just then, he had to get away first. He was in control. Well, not that he had been until now, but it was good to remember he was in control.

He didn’t know what he said as he stormed out, and he didn’t look back until he sat in his coach – stately black with a silver embossing of the Malfoy coat of arms. He fell back into the satin seats and drew a deep, slightly unsteady breath.

He shouldn’t want to know where someone as deceptively innocent as Potter had learned to use his mouth like that. And he was *not* intrigued; or aroused. And he just hadn’t had the most amazing blow-job of his life; and he did *not* have a burning red imprint of the brat’s hand on his behind. Because he was in control. Always. Even if Potter might have one up on him at the moment. Figuratively speaking.

The End.