Title: Thrown
Author: Unravels ( )
Furniture: Throne.
Rating: R (darkfic, sorta)
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes: Guys, I tried, I really tried to come up with an interesting H/D storyline featuring ÔŅĹa throneÔŅĹ that did not involve some kind of twisted sexual power struggle. I did try, but in the end... I failed. I just donÔŅĹt see how itÔŅĹs possible. Maybe itÔŅĹs just me. ;) Anyway, hope you enjoy...
Thanks: Nuria Jihan, the bellydancing almost-beta and partner in crime. To the Armchair gang, for once again kicking me till I wrote something. And thanks to Martin for pointing out the inspiring lyric, which granted me the illusion of plot. :P
"Seize the throne, and seize the mantle, and seize the crown,
Cause I am what I am what I am what I am what I am."
-ÔŅĹLoverman,ÔŅĹ Nick Cave
When I finally entered the throne room he was already there, of course, sprawled across the great chair itself in that careless way that means heÔŅĹs off his guard. Or maybe just that he wants everyone to think he is. I suspected the latter, under the circumstances, but maybe the thing had gone to his head more quickly than most. I wasnÔŅĹt stupid enough to think he could ever be lumped into the category of ÔŅĹmost.ÔŅĹ
He was facing the opposite way, however, legs up on one jewel-encrusted armrest, and I took it slowly coming in so I wouldnÔŅĹt startle him. I noted in some corner of my mind that the rest of the room was a wreck, in contrast to the glittering object on the dais and its oddly disheveled occupant. Gold and plaster had been ripped in great shreds and chunks from the walls and ceiling, to litter the green marble floor with charred dust. Ancient stone columns had been blasted to tiny pieces, and the remains of what must have been a very beautiful painting hung in burnt tatters on the east wall. I could still make out a buxom nymph on one side, her arms outstretched in supplication to the new lord of sky, sea, and land. Apparently Voldemort had fancied himself a Renaissance royal in his last madness ÔŅĹ not really what IÔŅĹd have pictured for him. As a man who had chosen "the Dark Lord" as his tagline, Voldemort had never struck me as the type to appreciate old-fashioned European splendor.
On the other hand, beautiful as it had once been, this room had no windows.
Dragging my thoughts back to the task at hand, I gathered myself to confront the figure on the throne, which still hadnÔŅĹt moved at all despite my loudly crunching footsteps over the debris. Standing as straight as I could, I stopped about 5 meters from the back of his head and tried to look imposing.
"Potter." My voice rang out strangely and I wondered if he would even recognize it as mine.
"Malfoy," he acknowledged slowly, drawing it out like he was tasting a new dish and wasnÔŅĹt sure he liked it. "I have to say I never expected theyÔŅĹd send you, of all people." Maybe it was just a long-standing reflex from being in close proximity to Potter, but I felt personally insulted by this.
"And whatÔŅĹs wrong with me, that makes it so unbelievable?"
"YouÔŅĹre not exactly known for your abiding concern for humanity," he said, sounding bored. "Or for me in particular. Or for the side of Dumbledore and the rest of them, for that matter. But I knew theyÔŅĹd send someone in eventually. This chair is too valuable to them to let me drain its power with my ÔŅĹdelusional fantasiesÔŅĹ. He laughed a little, and I wondered what kind of information heÔŅĹd really heard, and how heÔŅĹd heard it. No one had been in or out of this room in three days; I knew, because there had been people watching ever since VoldemortÔŅĹs demise. What was less clear was how much heÔŅĹd discovered about this chair, and whether its power was indeed illusory, as the Order had believed, or all-commanding, as the Death Eaters had claimed. The fact that it was consumingly addictive was not in question.
I was inching around to the front of the throne, trying to see if he had his wand with him now that it appeared he wasnÔŅĹt going to hex me immediately. It was there, spinning in his careless fingers while he continued to stare at a point on the wall over his bare feet, which still dangled over the armrest.
"But if they know the value of this chair, they must also know what kind of power it actually gives me," he continued. "Maybe they want to know how willing I am to use it." He turned his head thoughtfully to finally look at me. "Maybe they just figure youÔŅĹre expendable."
I was ready to retort that I was nobodyÔŅĹs puppet and that even they werenÔŅĹt so stupid as to send someone in to take the throne by force, but the look on PotterÔŅĹs face brought me up short. I just stared at him. I saw a cold malice there that I recognized ÔŅĹ more than recognized, I was intimately familiar with it, having practiced it in the mirror for hours at a time as a frightened little bully at school. But IÔŅĹd never seen it on Potter ÔŅĹ fury, vengeance, hatred, yes ÔŅĹ but this... it was like looking at someone else. I realized I had forgotten what I was about to say, and worse, IÔŅĹd taken half a step back without noticing. Furious with myself, I kicked at a fragment of golden door handle near my foot and tried to remember my strategy.
"You know, they say that chair doesnÔŅĹt do anything but mess with your mind, Potter," I tried, walking casually forward. My jangling nerves screamed at me to stop, but I was determined not to show any fear. "WasnÔŅĹt that kind of the point? The Dark LordÔŅĹs downfall, an inflated sense of his own invincibility?"
"YouÔŅĹd really like to know if thatÔŅĹs the truth, wouldnÔŅĹt you, Malfoy?" Potter asked with a creepy smile. "It would make quite a difference if I was actually incapable of carrying through on any threats. Care to test me out?" I kept walking, but couldnÔŅĹt bring myself to get any closer to those glittering eyes, so I veered left and ended up closer to his feet, still propped up in that lazy way that didnÔŅĹt fool me for a second. I could feel my annoyance with his arrogant act hardening to anger, growing stronger with every passing second. How dare he try to put this ÔŅĹuntouchable princeÔŅĹ facade on with me, of all people? He was playing my game, and after all those years of watching as the world groveled at PotterÔŅĹs feet, IÔŅĹd be damned if I was going to let him beat me at this, too.
Trying to provoke a reaction, I reached out on impulse and ran the back of a nail up the sole of his right foot, heel to toe. It wasnÔŅĹt until heÔŅĹd whipped them off the chair with a hiss and his wand appeared suddenly at my throat that I realized IÔŅĹd actually been bracing for an explosion. IÔŅĹd be lying if I said I wasnÔŅĹt terrified, but at least I was too tense to flinch.
"You must really want to die in here, Malfoy. I donÔŅĹt remember saying you could touch me."
"And I donÔŅĹt remember saying you could jab your wand through my neck, but that doesnÔŅĹt seem to have stopped you," I retorted, shocked at how normal I sounded. I suppose years of desperate posturing gives you a certain mask of confidence that never quite fades, no matter what kind of nightmares you end up facing.
"IÔŅĹm on the throne. I make the rules. I make all the rules from up here." He grinned again. "IÔŅĹm the king of the world!" he said in a singsong voice, and laughed at some private joke that was apparently beyond me.
"Well, your majesty," I said mockingly, "it canÔŅĹt be much of a treasure if you canÔŅĹt even get off of it to punch me in the face." This was obviously one of the more idiotic things IÔŅĹve said in my life, considering that ÔŅĹ one: it sounded like something Weasley would say, and two: he could have easily hexed me from across the room. But I was banking on the fact that Potter had always instinctively fallen back on crude, Muggle ways of fighting when he was angry. I just wanted to get him off of that damned chair...
He just gaped at me for a moment, then laughed even harder, as though heÔŅĹd just heard the best joke of his life. I decided the demented nutcase thing really wasnÔŅĹt a good look for him. And in future it could only lead to bulging eyes and sallow skin from long-term plotting in bad lighting.
"ThatÔŅĹs the problem with the powers of darkness, isnÔŅĹt it, Malfoy? TheyÔŅĹre just not very portable. It isnÔŅĹt like I havenÔŅĹt tried, you know ÔŅĹ you see what happened to the room when I tried to force spells onto this ÔŅĹ thing," his eyes hardened for a moment, "ÔŅĹ to make it move. And, of course, to the surrounding countryside." I looked around at the destruction of the room, and any doubts IÔŅĹd had about the illusory nature of the throneÔŅĹs power vanished. There was no way a single wizard could have inflicted the kind of damage IÔŅĹd seen in a 3 mile circumference of this building without help. Everyone had assumed it had happened in the climactic battle with Voldemort ÔŅĹ but then again, no one had been present at that battle except for Potter. I knew I had to think carefully about how much I could reveal to him, exactly how to put this--
"Actually, Potter," I said casually (oh, I was good at casual), "I heard somewhere that there is a way to take it with you. But your friends on the outside all seem to believe that was just baseless propaganda, and IÔŅĹm certain theyÔŅĹre right. Their intelligence on the subject is the very best, after all."
He stared at me hard, seeming to consider this for a moment, then dismiss it. HeÔŅĹs hooked, I thought. HeÔŅĹs just changing tactics. Stupid transparent Griffindor. Even the prized throne of SlytherinÔŅĹs heir isnÔŅĹt enough to drill any real cunning into you.
"Well, itÔŅĹs not like I really need it, anyway. I can do everything necessary from right here." He resumed his relaxed position and looked at me very unpleasantly, and I felt a cold tingle run up my spine. "Especially with you here to take care of things for me."
"IÔŅĹm not going to run your errands," I responded before I could stop myself, but Potter seemed to have expected this.
"IÔŅĹm not suggesting you do. IÔŅĹm suggesting that since I havenÔŅĹt had any company lately, and youÔŅĹre obviously so anxious to get your hands on me, you could give my toes a little massage. ItÔŅĹs been such a chore getting rid of Voldemort that I could really do with a little relaxation." He actually wiggled his toes at me as I backed away, repulsed.
"You have got to be joking," I choked out, but when I looked back at his face and saw the snigger waiting to come out, it became clear that he was joking, and that the joke was at my expense, as well. Most of my considerable store of rash anger came flooding back. "YouÔŅĹve got no claim over me, Potter, and while weÔŅĹre at it, no claim over that throne."
"Well excuse me, but as the Boy Who Lived Twice, I believe I do have a certain prior claim on any artifacts left behind by the defeated enemy."
"Surely you donÔŅĹt actually buy into that crap."
"Stop changing the subject. You could massage something else, if you prefer."
It took me a moment to understand what he was getting at, and I felt my jaw drop open once I was certain I did. I absolutely couldnÔŅĹt believe what I was hearing.
"Christ, Potter, when did you get to be such a pervert?" I demanded, my voice rising. "YouÔŅĹve never wanted me anywhere near you! What the hell has happened to your miniscule excuse for a brain?"
"Power corrupts," he said flatly. "Just do it."
"I donÔŅĹt want to touch you," I replied in disgust.
"Oh, I think you do." He smiled, and turned his wand on me, and I gritted my teeth, waiting for some kind of super-Imperius to gloss away my conscious will, lifting it from my mind with the slick, cold touch of sorcery.
Nothing happened.
"Now," Potter said, sounding very satisfied with himself, "I think you want to come and kiss me."
I began thinking very fast. I wasnÔŅĹt being compelled. Somehow, Potter had lost his connection with the chairÔŅĹs power, though apparently he still felt the illusion of the magicÔŅĹs support. He was off his guard for real this time, and if I played along a bit...
"All right," I said, and stepped onto the dais, keeping my expression neutral.
"Take your time," he said, one corner of his mouth lifting a bit.
I stepped right up to the edge of the chair, and looked at him for a moment, hoping that my hesitation would go unnoticed. Potter had relaxed back into the throne slightly now that he believed me to be mesmerised, or whatever it was. He was smiling a little and running his fingers slowly along the chairÔŅĹs arm, looking up at me through half-lidded eyes with utter confidence. I supposed this was his attempt at seduction, though I donÔŅĹt know why he bothered when he thought he could have me do whatever he liked. And the attempt wasnÔŅĹt entirely unsuccessful, I admit. But still... Harry Potter, master of deviant temptation? Please. I may be the type that goes for power, but this was really asking a bit much.
I leaned into his half-smirk and kissed it, eyes and mouth closed. His lips were cold, but not unpleasantly so. Maneuvering forward a little I pressed slightly harder, but didnÔŅĹt move any more as I wasnÔŅĹt sure I should touch him. Not getting any reaction, though, I finally opened one eye a crack to check that he was still paying attention. He was staring at me coldly and I jerked backward reflexively, wondering if IÔŅĹd done something wrong.
"Malfoy. Do you really not have an ounce of passion inside that bleached head?" I just stared at him, aware that any retort I made would give me away, but it was a very near thing. Bleached head, indeed. "Try again," he commanded, resettling himself against the cushioned chair back, "like you mean it."
For gods sake, I thought, here I am, come to claim the throne of Voldemort from the inept hands of Harry Potter, and he is trying to give me lessons in seduction. Not to mention the hair insult. I was tempted to drop the whole charade, but he was still too wary of me for me to find an opportunity to gain the upper hand; throne or no throne, this boy had somehow defeated Voldemort. There was no point in taking stupid chances now. Also, there was no way I was going to let Potter think I couldnÔŅĹt kiss.
I dove in again, wrapping my fists around his ragged robes and dragging him forward. This time when our lips met, he let out a small, surprised sound from the back of his throat, his mouth opening instantly, and his hands came up to brush my neck. Once I was sure he was cooperating, I relaxed a little, allowing my fingers to walk their way over his chest and slide up into his hair. He made a little ÔŅĹmmmÔŅĹ noise, relaxed and lazy, and pulled my head up so he could kiss my neck. He was extremely good at it, as well, and as his lips moved on my throat I could feel the world outside of the perimeter of the throneÔŅĹs dais beginning to get very hazy. I couldnÔŅĹt believe I was actually getting turned on by this. He was still sitting while I leaned over him, but heÔŅĹd worked a leg around one of mine and my knee was half-on the edge of the seat, between both of his as he moved to run his lips along the edge of my ear. He was extremely good at that, too, and I discovered I was actually fighting to keep control of myself when he spoke.
"So, Malfoy," he whispered conversationally, "WhatÔŅĹs this about moving the throne?"
I mentally revised my opinion of Gryffindor cunning. He knew exactly what he was doing. I took a moment to marvel again at how much heÔŅĹd changed, and then at how much it reminded me of myself. I understood now why heÔŅĹd bothered with the seduction ploy ÔŅĹ he was enjoying himself, toying with this power like a stalking cat.
But still, he was new at this game. I was playing at being cunning when I was 8 years old with a legacy to manipulate. When he was 8 years old heÔŅĹd been sitting in a cupboard, deluded by morons into believing that he was a Muggle.
"I saw it in a book," I replied, trying to pretend I wasnÔŅĹt breathing heavily.
"What book?" His teeth grazed my ear while his hands started looking for a shortcut through my shirt.
"Manifestations of Sorcery, in my fatherÔŅĹs library," I said, leaning into him a bit more. He shoved me away so suddenly that I stumbled and almost fell over. "Accio Manifestations of Sorcery!" he yelled, and within ten seconds the book had sailed through the still-open door and smacked into his hand. IÔŅĹd expected this, if not the rude shoving away bit ÔŅĹ under normal circumstances, Malfoys do not get rejected. Clearly an overload of simulated dark power was making him delusional.
"Find it," he ordered, and I obediently took the book and flipped to the description of the throne. The object was much older than the Dark Lord, and believed to have been made by Grindelwald early in the 20th century. I didnÔŅĹt think heÔŅĹd be interested in its history, however, or its mysterious disappearance after GrindelwaldÔŅĹs defeat ÔŅĹ clearly Voldemort had found a way to retrieve it from wherever it had gone. "Read me what you found," he said, leaning back again as though it was storytime at the Summit of Evil. I cleared my throat and read:
"...Older legends relate that the power of the throne may be removed by way of a core talisman, leaving only the illusion of great power behind. Others, of course, believe that the chair is, in fact, powerless, and illusion is all it ever granted to any who laid claim to its authority."
"Well, we know thatÔŅĹs not true, donÔŅĹt we?" Potter mused, as I closed the book and placed it on the floor.
"We do," I said, stepping up to the throne again. Distraction, that was what was needed. I thought I knew how best to divert his attention.
"A talisman, hmm... what could that be?" he asked, but not as if he was expecting an answer. I stood close to him and reached out, caressing the skin inside the collar of his torn shirt with one finger. He sighed and looked up at me with that half-grin IÔŅĹd seen before. It was even sexier than it had been the first time. I wondered for a moment if I was going crazy. "Want more, do you?" he said. "ThatÔŅĹs all right, so do I. We can look for it... laterÔŅĹ," he trailed off as I climbed onto his lap, knelt over him and tilted his head back again for another kiss. I had wondered if by sharing the throne I would gain any of its real or imaginary benefits, but apparently Potter would have to be completely removed. If I could just get a bit further up towards the back...
I changed positions under the pretense of pulling off his robe. I started groping for the bottom of his shirt as well, but he pulled me back onto his lap and got to mine first, pushing it up to my neck where it bunched in sweaty folds of expensive silk. He was kissing his way down my chest, biting a bit while his hands worked up and down my back, and yes, you guessed it, he was extremely good at that, too. I wondered where heÔŅĹd learned all this and decided quickly that I didnÔŅĹt really want to know. Better to just not think about it, to pull off our shirts the rest of the way and drag my lips along his shoulder...
"Draco." It was very soft, but it was unquestionably my name. I looked down, but he didnÔŅĹt seem to realize he was speaking aloud, or else he considered me too much of a zombie to respond. He jacked his hips against me and I let out a hiss that surprised no one more than myself, but he was positioned too awkwardly to get any real leverage. "Draco," he said again, and pulled my mouth down again to meet his.
I shifted again, briefly scrabbling towards the back of the throne once more, and then PotterÔŅĹs hands were at the waistband of my trousers, fumbling for the button, and suddenly absolute power didnÔŅĹt sound quite as important as it had twenty minutes ago. IÔŅĹm sure I said his name as my own hands roamed lower, and he started murmuring little nonsensical things into my ear, fragments, of which there was probably more but only inside his own head. I caught "...this time..." and "...so much..." and tugged on his hair to make him kiss me again.
I wondered how long heÔŅĹd wanted this and said nothing. I wondered how long IÔŅĹd felt the same way. Perhaps, like me, he hadnÔŅĹt realized what he wanted until the power to act without consequences was put into his hands. I certainly had little to fear from my actions, except perhaps my own death, but I had accepted that risk long ago. I felt like the world was falling away, all my former concerns and responsibilities melting into irrelevancy. It felt almost as if I was already dead.
HarryÔŅĹs hands had worked through almost all the barriers separating us, and his breath was coming in harsh gasps as his caresses grew more urgent... and... no. I canÔŅĹt, I thought to myself. IÔŅĹve worked too hard for too long on this. I had to act, now, while his guard was down, while he was half-dazed and dependent on my touch. Logically, I knew this was true but it was so, so difficult. I told myself I could have Harry all I wanted once I got what I needed. And what on earth was so complicated about this? I let my frustration with my own weakness grow until I could almost pretend it outweighed the desire to stay where I was, and at last with a final wrench I shoved myself backward, grabbing Harry by one arm and flinging him off the dais in one movement.
I didnÔŅĹt allow myself to look at him at first. I started scrabbling at the back of the throne, fingers digging for the compartment I knew was hidden there, had to be there, all my research had pointed to this spot. "You really ought to do your homework a bit better, Potter, if you want to be the king of the world," I panted. "I only read you half the passage in that book." Even as I perched half-on, half-off of the throne, I could feel the magic beginning to affect me, a heady rush of confidence and energy that spurred me on and kept me talking. I risked a glance backward to see my fallen enemy, and there he was, just as IÔŅĹd wanted to see him for so many years, utterly confounded. He still sprawled raggedly on the ground with all that messy hair in his face, and if I had the urge to go and comfort him and smooth it back and heal the places heÔŅĹd been hurt, it was suppressed by the power invading me. "IÔŅĹm not working with Dumbledore," I spat, finally detecting the faint edges of a door in the arm of the throne, "and IÔŅĹm not here to save the world from your delusions. IÔŅĹm here for myself, and when I get that jewel, that talisman, as it was so aptly described, IÔŅĹm going to take what I want ÔŅĹ for myself." I leered at him again as my fingers worked the door open. It was beginning to give, but slowly, obviously not having been opened for almost a hundred years. Harry was looking up at me sideways through his inky hair, but his confusion seemed to be fading. Good. I wanted him to understand what heÔŅĹd lost.
He stood up slowly, watching me calmly as I inched the door open. I smiled at him triumphantly and he smiled back, which seemed utterly right since things were obviously going so well. I thrust my hand into the dark opening and felt around inside.
It was empty, of course.
It began to dawn on me slowly how monumentally stupid IÔŅĹd been, but it was too late. Harry was reaching into his pocket... that boy always had a pocket for priceless magical jewels somewhere, and why hadnÔŅĹt I managed to get his trousers off? He pulled out a bright green jewel, just lighter than an emerald and alive with power, and held it up.
"Ah," he said. "I had wondered what that was for."
I felt the false power within me falter a little in the presence of the real thing. Rational thought was coming back, and I awaited with it the familiar sensation of having lost. Of seeing him watching me, the hero triumphant once again, with a glittering sphere clutched tightly in his hand, looking like the cat that swallowed the snidget. But the feeling didnÔŅĹt come.
I suppose I really should have been more upset. But really, didnÔŅĹt I know that IÔŅĹd be getting what I really wanted anyway? If you have to lose to win, do you still win? It was probably a side effect of that gaudy piece of furniture, but I just didnÔŅĹt give a damn anymore. I grinned at him suddenly.
"Well. World domination. Shall we get started, then?" I suggested.
He nodded, and I could see that he was focusing his will. It felt like the entire universe was narrowing down to a single point of convergence, which was Harry staring at me with those jewel-colored eyes. I half-hoped that one day IÔŅĹd be lucid enough to tell him that the mind-control thing really wasnÔŅĹt necessary, but then again, IÔŅĹd seen enough of Harry enjoying control to suspect that he already knew. He pointed his wand at me at last, I looked directly into his face, and everything else vanished.
"...it could only lead to bulging eyes and sallow skin from long-term plotting in bad lighting." I know I have read something like this before, but canÔŅĹt remember where ÔŅĹ maybe it was another fic? IÔŅĹm sorry my memory is crap ÔŅĹ if anyone can tell me what itÔŅĹs paraphrased from IÔŅĹll add a note. Same if you catch anything else ÔŅĹ my brain is a cesspool of H/D and I canÔŅĹt remember whatÔŅĹs mine anymore. :/ Though I suspect repeated viewings of ÔŅĹThe Princess BrideÔŅĹ was responsible for the "Am I bluffing about the power? CÔŅĹmere and find out, big boy" part.