ucius had just finished getting dressed enough for visitors when the flames to his study’s fireplace turned green and Snape stepped out of them, in his usual black, smelling not-unpleasantly of a potion laboratory. He took a small object out of his robe pocket and handed it to Lucius.
‘Thank you, Severus,’ Lucius said.
‘The quality of my latest shipment was excellent,’ was all Snape said in return.
‘I have troubling news,’ Lucius said, and Snape looked at him askance.
‘It must be troubling indeed,’ Snape said. ‘Is your tailor retiring?’
‘I mean it, Severus,’ Lucius said, and began to tell him. When he’d finished, Snape was looking as closed as always, his dark eyes thoughtful.
‘That explains it,’ he said.
‘Explains what?’
‘Muggle students have been much more devoid of hope. Not a single muggle-born student has been able to create a Patronus successfully in over a decade. Dumbledore will not listen to me about this, nor do the other teachers find it very remarkable.’
‘Not even Sybil?’
Snape fixed Lucius with a look. ‘Why,’ he said, ‘would I ask Sybil anything. She’s been seeing the end of the world around the corner since time began. I do grasp the gravity of the situation,’ he said, in a more grave tone. ‘What do you plan on doing about it?’ Because they both knew Snape had no power, and Lucius had… a great deal of influence, though less than he’d had before the new millennium’s dawn.
‘Asking certain former colleagues at the Ministry their thoughts seems the first step,’ Lucius said, setting the small object Snape had given him on the carved stone tea-table and tapping his wand on it; it re-Enlarged to its normal size, that of a large second-hand trunk, and Lucius opened it. He’d asked Snape to retrieve Mantis’ possessions for him, as Snape was the only person he knew that could move among muggles with expertise. In particular, though, Lucius sought Mantis’ most prized and valued possession, where was it… ‘Did you retrieve the… ah, here she is,’ he said, finding the little black pegasus poppet, loveworn, listing to one side from being hugged tightly every night for the boy’s entire life.
‘You really do spoil your slaves incorrigibly.’
‘Mantis is not precisely a slave, any longer,’ Lucius said, ‘though I will own—finally, and don’t you dare gloat, you old bitch—that I did spoil them, only because I was spoiled incorrigibly in being given them when I was… altogether too young,’ he sighed, setting the little poppet down atop the rest of the objects in the trunk. There were a surprising number of books, and not very many clothes. Lucius found an arcaform leather case with a lunar moth upon the flap that closed it. Whatever was inside was heavy, and he opened the clasp of the case curiously, finding a deck of cards in a box. They were too large to hold comfortably for playing games…
‘Tarot cards?’ Snape said, peering down at them from where he was standing. ‘He does divination. Muggles do—’ he paused, seeing how quickly Lucius put the cards back, set them down, made the small hand-sign Snape knew was an apology to the gods, or possibly some form of warding away evil, but functionally it was also something he did when he was nervous, as well. He’d almost done it as a tic, during the War; but he’d been very tense, then.
‘He’s an oracle, Severus. We aren’t to touch an oracle’s tools.’
‘He’s a muggle.’
‘He is not a muggle,’ Lucius said firmly. ‘He worships the old gods—’
‘Some of them fancy they do, nowadays.’
‘Perhaps, but how many of them sacrificed their own flesh to the gods? No, Severus, I know you don’t understand, you aren’t a man of any faith.’
It was something Snape knew better than to argue about; it was the one thing a half-blood like himself would never truly grasp, was the actual religious part of Wizarding culture—not without a great deal of study, anyway, and Snape had never been a very spiritual man. But he’d been friends long enough with Lucius, and with Narcissa, and the others, to understand it was important, that it was not simply holidays and rituals but an entire way of interacting with the world, and was an underpinning of wizarding culture that most took so much for granted they didn’t realise it needed protecting and teaching. Those that did were often branded supremacists—or, these days, Resurrectionists, which was a distastefully inaccurate moniker, and particularly insulting given how nearly every former Death-Eater still walking free (and a few that weren’t) had no desire to resurrect the Dark Lord, who had never respected any gods very much.
But you had to sit down and actually learn something in order to understand that, Snape thought cynically.
‘Very well,’ he said, ‘If he is not precisely a slave, then what is he? A guest?’
‘A blessing,’ Lucius said, ‘A gift from the gods, that I must care for, as one cares for a cat that one day one finds in one’s house.’
Snape would not argue that—he’d acquired all of his cats in that fashion, and not even Fenrir Greyback dared harm a cat. It was anathema to any wizard of any kind, no matter if they were squib or muggle-born. Cats were cats, and if they graced you with their presence, then you would be grateful.
‘I suppose you won’t want those Engorging serums then?’
‘Oh, quite the contrary,’ Lucius said, looking up from his perusal of Mantis’ things. ‘I do, and I shall need lactation potions as well, and I’m visiting Evan today, if he’ll have me. Would you like to come? I suppose you and he must collaborate, so you aren’t at cross-purposes.’
‘And the gods… approve of this?’
‘I expect they do, they certainly gave him a desire for me to be his Master, and do as I like with his body, in my usual fashion,’ Lucius said, holding up one of the few garments that was not black, seeing it was a sort of fuchsia-pink hooded tunic, cropped short enough to bare the belly, with paler pink block lettering that said ‘GOOD BOY’ with hearts for each O. Lucius smiled, and held it up to Severus with raise of his brow. ‘See? He wants to be my good boy.’
‘There is,’ Snape said, a smirk dancing just at the corners of his eyes, ‘a pair of short pants that says “Expensive and Difficult” on the arse. In sequins. Rather mixed messages, I should think.’
‘Oh, no,’ Lucius said, now looking for said garment, ‘not especially. All the best and most exotic pets are both—ah!’ he said, finding them. ‘Oh my, they are short,’ he said, but with wicked delight in his tones. ‘What’s this?’ he murmured, seeing a bag of pink and white folded fabric of various kinds that was labelled ‘Angel Dust’. He studied for a few moments. ‘Do you know what “Angel Dust” means?’ he asked Snape.
‘I believe it’s what muggles use to tranquilise large animals.’
‘Well,’ Lucius said, turning the clear bag this way and that, trying to understand what could be in it, why it was sequestered and labelled, ‘that clarifies nothing.’
Snape quirked a brow, watching Lucius go through the trunk, thinking on what he’d said earlier—Lucius admitted when he was wrong much more often than other wizards Snape could name (or work for, he thought, with the long-suffering and universal exasperation known to all eras of man when thinking of most employers)—that was not what gave Snape pause; it was that if Lucius Malfoy had a blind-spot, it was his slaves, which he’d had since he’d been in school—much too young; but (so he had always said, then) it was because he was sexually precocious, and had a large appetite, and so special dispensations had to be made. Snape had no comment for whether that was true or not, but it was a known problem of Lucius’, the fact that his slaves—the three he’d acquired in his youth, anyway—were ill-mannered.
Snape recalled there had been at least one new acquisition before this oracle, named Dream; he’d heard mention of the boy from Slughorn, about how much he was a display of Lucius’ true potential, and how it was nice to see Lucius recovering from the shattered nerves of the War.
‘We’re going to do a sacrifice, likely on the solstice,’ Lucius said, not looking up from what he was doing; his tone was too casual, Snape knew that tone—they all used it with him, when they thought there was something that was going to shock him. Since he’d used the word ‘sacrifice’, Snape thought—and could only think the sacrifices were going to be human, though he was wary of suggesting it, in case he was wrong.
‘Why?’ Snape asked, curious despite his avowed disinterest in religion. He knew Lucius would answer, and further appreciated what that meant—the Malfoys were the most accepting of him into the fold, readily explaining this and that about magical culture to him, wanting him to know, wanting every muggleborn to know—that they would be able to fit in and assimilate better.
Really, both Malfoys would have made very good teachers, and had been excellent parents.
‘The weather, Severus. We must do all we can as mortals, but the gods must be appeased in the doing, or nothing will come of it. I would like it if you attended,’ he added, raising his brows as he found a case full of cosmetics. He took out the tray, looking in the bottom and finding a satin-lined bag with something heavy in it that turned out to be a bright blue godemiche of something rather lifelike in its firmness and give. It was only phallic in the vaguest, most artistic sense, with a slightly tacky, flat bottom, and flaring wider at the head than the base. It was a perfectly normal length, and even the widest dimension wasn’t too deviant from reality; it said volumes about Mantis’ preferences, and Lucius wondered if it was for both entrances, or only one—and if so, which one?
‘I suppose it will be some manner of party?’ but Snape wasn’t entirely sure. He’d never seen his friends both serious and not under Voldemort’s thumb.
‘It will be a gathering, but not a celebration,’ Lucius said, taking the poppet from the trunk before closing and locking it, tapping it with his wand to Shrink it again, and going over to put it in a locked drawer of his desk. ‘I know you have not ever attended a true sacrifice, as they are very rare; and that you value learning. You will not have to participate, we would not expect that of you.’
Snape had often been invited in this manner—to have the privilege of an invitation, to observe, to not have it expected he know how to take part. Some may have taken it as insult, but that was not how it was meant, and not at all how Snape felt about it. In these matters, he still was an outsider, he was not upset at being treated as such. He had earned the trust to know things not allowed muggles, he had earned the trust that he would not use the knowledge to wipe out their culture, which had stood for as long as the ancient woods around their houses.
‘I would be honoured to attend. Is there a dress code?’
‘Black—all black,’ Lucius emphasised, and Snape understood it was literal. Black was the colour of the Chthonic gods, but it was, also, one of the colours of fertility magic. Such a double meaning was not one any other colour could boast, which was what made black such a potent magical hue-concept.
‘You have sacrifices picked out, then? I don’t know what criteria one would use to choose them,’ Snape added, as an invitation to explain it to him.
‘A sacrifice must be a sacrifice. It is a funeral as much as an offering to the gods.’ Lucius took a deep breath, letting it out in the sort of sigh that was heaved instead of a sob. ‘Our favourite slaves—Narcissa is offering Duchess, and I am offering all of mine, less Dream. One for every season of the year.’
‘I see. May I ask if the oracle has anything to do with this?’
‘He does. His coming set off an Incident, though he himself did nothing at all but exist. Why?’
‘I know very little about oracles. Obviously, I cannot ask Sybil.’
‘You can, as it happens. I wish you would respect her more; she may not be very gifted, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have the knowledge. One doesn’t want a teacher of such things to necessarily have great powers.’
Snape gave this the respect of some thought; he had not expected Lucius to argue, which was exactly what gave him pause. ‘Perhaps I will ask her, then,’ he said, already trying to think of ways to do so without alerting her of the oracle’s presence. ‘If that is all, I need to continue preparing for the school year.’
‘Yes, Severus, do not let me keep you. Thank you again.’
‘I shall have the potions ready soon, and be in contact with Evan,’ Snape assured him, and left.
Lucius spent the next hour in writing letters, and planning out the Solstice’s guest list, as well as the more casual party for Draco. He pulled the bell, and handed off the poppet to the footman that answered, instructing him to have the Peony Suite aired out and prepared for use, and to leave the poppet in that suite’s bed, where it could be easily seen. After that, he had Honeywood carry the letters to the owlery, with instructions to tell the kitchens he and Mantis would be eating in his rooms.
When he got to his chambers, Evers met him in the receiving room to give him report of Mantis’ conduct during his first test of character; Evers looked very pleased, which was a good sign, even before he began speaking.
‘Firstly,’ he said, delight underscoring his professionally-neutral tones, ‘he is a very good boy, and I would call him well-trained, but that he has never had anyone train him; he only wants to be spoken to, and reassured, perhaps a little more than you might talk to others. He needs to hear it, in so many words—what you plan to do before you do it, and praise for his reactions. He is very talkative, himself, I think you’ll find him a perfect match for you, sir.’
‘Splendid,’ Lucius said, ‘and the enema? How did he take it? Was it his first?’
‘Not his first, but certainly he hadn’t had any proper ones before; even so, he had some knowledge of what to expect, and a great deal more desire. His body is so pliant, even so. And,’ he said, green eyes sparkling. ‘The potion had some… unforeseen side-effects.’
That expression said they were pleasing side-effects, and Lucius raised a brow, mouth quirking up slightly. Evers, like him, had a streak of drama, and Lucius indulged him with aplomb. ‘Unforeseen side-effects?’ was the proper response.
‘Once it was fully inside him, the sensation of it taking effect caused such relief as to unmask quite the faunish appetite, sir. Quite the faunish appetite, indeed—oh, but with such manners, sir. His obedience never wavered, he pleaded to be bound when he could not obey your orders that he not pleasure himself.’
‘Show me?’ Lucius asked—because Evers was after all a servant, one didn’t use Legilimency wantonly on other people. One usually didn’t, indeed, even ask another person such a thing; but it was often that the Master and Slave-Master had an Understanding about Legilimency, when it came to the slaves.
‘Gladly, sir,’ Evers said, as he often did when the news was gratifying. He did enjoy his job, when the boys were good boys.
And, oh, Mantis was a breathtakingly good boy. Lucius had thought Dream was his most obedient, his most eager, his best boy; but Mantis put him to shame, even in failure. Lucius was almost losing composure just watching Evers’ memory.
‘He will be a good influence on the other boys, I think,’ Evers said, when it was done, and paused at the look that passed over Lord Malfoy’s face. ‘Sir?’
‘I have spoken with Narcissa on the Incident from last night,’ Lucius began, ‘And there are serious matters, beside that insult paid to her, that demand Sacrifice. She is putting her Duchess on the offering table, and she rightly demands retribution.’
‘Ah,’ Evers said, carefully hiding his own feelings, though Lucius knew he would be equally devastated. ‘I see, sir. So, they must… die, and would be best put to use on the altar table?’
‘Precisely so. I am distraught, Evers; but I know she is right, and further… I believe it is the will of the gods, that it be them, for myriad reasons.’
‘May I be privy to the reasons, sir?’
‘You may. First, that the world is in dire peril; our oracle has prophesied something truly terrible that the muggles have done to anger the gods, and we have been geased to come to Gaia’s aid. But the gods must be appeased, of course.’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Second, that I must recognise I have let them become spoiled, and it led to them taking liberties with Narcissa’s honour, which indicates I did not adequately instil respect for their Mistress into them. This cannot stand.’
‘Absolutely not, sir, and the Mistress’ wishes reign supreme in matters of her honour.’
‘Quite so. Thirdly, that as the Incident was caused merely by the oracle’s presence, it must be thought that the gods used him to make certain I would know the quality of sacrifice they demanded.’
‘I see the wisdom in that, sir. How shall I prepare them?’
‘They must be separated from Dream and Mantis, and fattened up for Winter Solstice.’
‘It will be done, sir.’
‘I have moved Mantis to the Peony Suite. He has a chest of possessions, I intend to use them as rewards for good behaviour. You’re familiar with muggle culture.’
‘I do keep up with it for the sake of training, yes sir.’
‘I will go through the chest with you after lunch, while Mantis is with Draco. Does that give you time to arrange things with the other boys?’
‘It does, sir, yes. If I may… the Peony Suite, sir?’ That was one that hadn’t seen use in some time; it was all in pink, as the name suggested, with accents of pale lilac to keep the pink from becoming overwhelming; and very few of their current roster of potential guests liked pink, any longer. Draco had outgrown his love of all things pink when he’d been about seven or eight, and muggles thought pink and purple the most feminine of colours.
‘Mantis likes those colours,’ Lucius said simply, and Evers immediately understood.
‘Is he… a guest now, sir?’ he asked, delicately.
‘If he didn’t so badly want to be a slave, he would be. But you saw him,’ Lucius said, with no little relish, eyeing the door to the bedchamber, where Mantis was sleeping. ‘I think the feline metaphor is apt, as to his status.’
‘I see, sir.’ Evers couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, sparkling in his eyes. Mantis was certainly as playful, as moody, as articulate as a cat….
‘I will see you after lunch, then,’ Lucius said, knowing Evers had much to do in the next two hours or so, and respecting the time that it would take. Evers bowed and took his leave, crossing with Honeywood in the hall, with lunch.
‘I think we shall eat on the table outside, Honeywood,’ Lucius said.
‘Yes, sir.’
Lucius went to the bedroom door, took a moment to gather his composure, sort out and put away the thoughts that were not for the bedroom, and recalled the delicious noises the boy had made in Evers’ memory, before going inside, quietly, to see that Mantis was waiting, still tied to the bed, and no longer asleep.
‘Hi,’ he said.
‘I had so hoped to wake you up with teasing,’ Lucius said, with topspin. Mantis giggled.
‘Do you—I can pretend to be asleep, you wanna come in again?’
What a delightful creature! Lucius chuckled. ‘That sounds like a fun scene,’ he said, ‘perhaps when I know you better. Sleeping boys can’t talk to me, after all…’ He sat down on the edge of the bed, slipping out of his mules and tucking one foot beneath himself as he turned toward Mantis. ‘Evers told me what a very good boy you were.’
Squirming, then outright wiggling. ‘Mmmyes d—Master,’ he said, and Lucius tilted his head, raising his brows.
‘What was that?’ he asked, knowing full well but wanting to draw it out of the boy, show him it was safe—and to know why.
‘I—sorry, I’m still new to using “Master”. I’ll get it, though!’ he said, with forced cheer Lucius didn’t like.
‘Tell me, boy,’ he said, pressing the issue gently.
‘Um… Daddy.’ He braced, used to people jumping to truly awful conclusions. ‘As in “sugar”,’ he couldn’t help adding.
‘Sugar?’
‘Slang for like… when a rich man keeps someone, you know, gives them presents and pays for everything? All that stuff and the money, that’s the sugar. And the kept person is a Sugar Baby. Baby as in like, well, if something is your baby it’s very, very valuable—the most valuable.’
Lucius reached out and, gently, slowly, so the boy wouldn’t startle, moved his hand to trace fingertips down the satiny hair on that pale, much too flat chest. ‘You are a font of information,’ he murmured.
‘Sorry, I can stop—’
‘Did I tell you to stop, boy?’ Lucius interrupted.
‘Ah. Okay. Understood.’
‘What about “Daddy”?’
‘It—it used to be understood, in muggle culture, to be like… Daddy because of the symbolism of it, like… the Emperor card, the archetype of the patriarch, the financial and material stability, and the power…. But, now, people assume that you’re only ever pretending it’s literal.’ He rolled his eyes, huffed in frustration. ‘People have lost the ability to understand figurative speech, it’s fucking awful! I’m a little jumpy because, like… no, I don’t want to literally pretend I’m your child. That’s anathema to me. Like, no hate to people who like that game, but I’m not one of them. My dominant is “Daddy” like in jazz, like…’ he hummed, and then sang, in a velvety baritone,
‘Hey, Daddy!
‘Won’t I look swell in sables
‘Clothes with Paris labels?
‘Daddy! You oughta get the best for me!
‘…you know? Like that. Like a jazz song.’
Lucius was stunned for a few moments at the voice that had come out of him. ‘…You can sing.’
Mantis blinked. ‘Oh. Um. Yeah, I… yep. I sing a lot.’ He expected the topic to be abandoned for the new You Can Sing Oh My God, but to his surprise, Lucius returned to the point, looking thoughtful.
‘ “Daddy”… hmm,’ he murmured, contemplative and still petting back and forth on Mantis’ chest. ‘It has quite a different tone than “Master”…’
‘It—it does yes. Daddy is more playful than Master. More, ummmm… oh! Like, Hades would be “Master”, very formal, very serious,’ he said, making a dramatically serious pursing frown. ‘But like, Hermes would be “Daddy”. Dionysos would be “Daddy”. Himeros would be “Daddy”. Apollo too, at least—at least, to me,’ he added, unsure. ‘But I mean, Apollo’s the god of music, and jazz is the best music, so of course you can call him Daddy. Cats have Daddies, dogs have Masters.’
‘And Sugar Babies are kept, but perhaps not owned,’ Lucius added, partially testing his understanding.
‘Well,’ Mantis said, cautious. ‘I am not trying to negotiate my way out of slavery, I know that wouldn’t work—and I don’t want to be free, anyway. “Free”,’ he said again, and Lucius could hear the way the word dripped with contempt. ‘What a joke. There’s no such thing—especially if you’re poor, or crippled, or mad, or all of the above.’
He looked up at Lucius, then, and his gaze was intense, seeming to see well enough to make eye-contact from this distance. ‘I’d rather some hot, Villainous Wizard who wants to fill me up like a little balloon and fuck me be my owner, than the American Government, which only wants to punish me for existing and kill me. At least you actually want me alive.’
It was so raw and nakedly angry, starkly cutting to the bone of the matter without flinching. That level of insight was always startling—but it was Apollo’s gift. People misunderstood what The Sight really was, they thought Prophesying was all trances and verse and mysticism; but it was, largely, the Unquiet Thought, as the Norse phrased it. It was a sharp eye and a sharper tongue that had no time for sugar coatings or finer feelings. Seers were honoured, but they were also kept well away from normal life—they said uncomfortable truths, at the worst times, and what was said could not be un-said.
Lucius freed the boy from his bonds, and moved over him, needing to kiss that mouth from which such truths poured.
‘Alive,’ he said, between kisses, ‘and thriving,’ another kiss, this one to his neck, ‘and screaming Daddy’s name,’ he bit that long, soft neck, and Mantis gasped, before whimpering obligingly,
‘Daddy!’
‘Oh,’ Lucius said, nuzzling him, inhaling his scent, ‘I do like the way that sounds. Again.’
‘Daddyyyy,’ Mantis said, giggling. Lucius’ hand stroked down one side of his chest, but this time, it didn’t stop, going down, Lucius shifting so he could splay his hand on Mantis’ full belly; Mantis felt quivery with anticipation—what would he do? Would he press?
‘How does this feel, pet?’ Lucius didn’t press; this was the boy’s first enema, it was likely a little uncomfortable sheerly for being such a new sensation, he didn’t want to make the first impression too intense….
‘So good, Daddy,’ Mantis whispered. ‘So, so good, so full and heavy and… and safe.’
Safe? Well, Lucius thought, the poor creature had said he was poor…
‘Do I get this every morning?’ Mantis went on, hopefully. ‘Please say yes, please please pleeeeease…’
This was quite a change, Lucius thought, and laughed, lightly stroking that soft little belly, with its little satiny pleasure-trail. ‘Every single morning,’ he purred, with relish, ‘A little more every time—we must stretch you, train your body….’
Mantis squirmed. ‘Oooh… that’s… nnnn yesplease.’
‘Yes please what, pet?’ he said gently.
‘YespleaseDaddy.’
‘Good boy. The Mistress wants to make your body give milk,’ Lucius said, wanting to know the reaction to that. The wiggling and squirming stilled, and the boy’s features grew thoughtful, serious, and he rolled to his side carefully, pushing himself up to sit, tucking his feet under his thighs.
‘This is one of those things I have complicated feelings about,’ he began. ‘I need to pace, and talk this through.’
Lucius had seen this in Evers’ memory; he had also known more than a few wizards that needed to pace or their thoughts couldn’t move. ‘Of course, pet. I’m here.’
‘I have questions,’ Mantis said, as he got off the bed and to his feet again. ‘First one being difficult to get an answer for, but: Would you still see me as a boy? That’s important. I fought hard, through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered. I am a boy. If I have tits they’re boy-tits. If I have a cunt it’s a male cunt. I’m a boy so my body is male. Period, end of story. Mistress said she was a lesbian. I am not female.’
Hermaphroditos’ child, indeed. And without any complete knowledge of the stories of him, Lucius’ heart broke. ‘If you had grown up here, in our world, you would understand…’ he said, with a fierce and angry grief.
‘Would you?’ Mantis said, fury covering grief and terror.
‘Come here, boy, come,’ he said, and opened his arms, folding them around Mantis gently, pulling him close. ‘You poor creature, all alone in the muggle world… I can’t imagine what they did to make you this frightened.’
‘Mostly gaslighting,’ Mantis mumbled into his shoulder, holding him tightly.
‘You’ll have to explain that word to me.’
‘It’s from this play where a man is driving his wife insane by turning the gaslights down every night and denying he notices anything when she points out it’s darker, and saying she’s being stupid, and making her question her own judgement, telling her and everyone else she’s going crazy and they can’t trust her and she needs to trust him to tell her what she is. The term gaslighting came to be used as shorthand for that kind of abuse. Even if you’re a fighter, like me, it wears you down, constantly arguing with people. You can’t do anything else, gender is the first layer of socialising, and if they get that wrong, then…. I just… I’m sorry,’ he said, pulling back to look up at Lucius again with those big blue eyes. ‘I know I keep acting like I’m cornered.’ He closed his eyes with a pained look, leaning forward to rest his head on Lucius again, hugging himself even though Lucius still had arms around him.
‘It’s because I feel that way all the time. I’m always having to brace for impact, because I can’t read people. All I know is what has happened to me before, but not really why; I can never even predict whether someone is going to treat me the way they treat girls, or the way they treat boys. Usually, no matter if they get my pronouns right or not, they treat me like a girl—and I can tell; but I can’t call them on it. And, especially after surgery and all, it hurts. Socialising while trans is like… death of a thousand tiny invisible cuts.’ He paused, and laughed a little, but bleakly. ‘I didn’t intend that pun, but it’s true.’
Lucius toyed with Mantis’ curls gently and listened, carefully, and tended the fires of his anger, carefully. Dumbledore would have everyone believe muggles were harmless, that fears about them were unfounded; but the old families knew better (Dumbledore ought to have known better, but the man was enamoured of muggles for whatever fool reason), and Mantis was only making clear there were even more reasons to drive them out.
‘That will not happen, in this world. You belong, here. There is no… what did you call it? Trans? You are a Hermaphrodite, a blessed child of a god of love.’
Mantis wanted to believe that.
Wanted to. Couldn’t.
‘And are there Norse magi here?’ Mantis asked, sharply. ‘What do they think of people who don’t fit the gender binary, hm? You have a wife, and you aren’t interested in women. So what’s that about? Not to sound combative, but I haven’t seen a lot of evidence that this world doesn’t have the same gender binary that a lot of cultures have, Christian or not. Norse culture has ergi, Greek culture has kinaidos, and so forth.’
‘In the ancient days, yes,’ Lucius said, very patiently. ‘And because our numbers are so small, we all have obligation to have children; but sex is not merely about what sex you prefer, and the idea of kinaidos, and ergi, are no longer shamed.’ Gods, this poor boy.
Mantis relaxed, finally, something releasing in him; he should probably be crying, he thought idly. ‘I don’t know how to be among other people like me,’ he said, in a small, tired voice, sitting beside Lucius. ‘I joke all the time: what’s a group of witches called? An argument. I don’t get along with other pagans; but that’s because they so rarely are pagan, truly—they’re usually Christians that don’t realise saying you worship other gods isn’t the only part of being pagan.’
‘That’s a Christian word.’
‘I live in Christendom, do you know how hard it is to even talk to you without having Christian references all over my language? Christ—see!’ He covered his face with his hands, starting to cry. ‘I hate it!’ he said, viciously. ‘I hate it and I don’t know what else there is! I’ve been all alone!’
Lucius pulled him close as he wept, not telling him to stop. ‘I know,’ was all he said, softly. ‘I know, pet, I know it hurts…’
It was what his family had always said to him, and he’d always thought it much more comforting than being shushed or told things were alright.
‘You never have to go back,’ Lucius assured him. ‘You never have to leave the Manor. You never have to see a Christian ever again,’ he said, making Mantis look up at him, brush a thumb over his cheek, wiping away some tears, looking into those tear-reddened eyes. ‘You’re mine, Mantis. The gods gave you to me.’
Mantis gazed at him, and Lucius saw he didn’t have faith in that. But gods, would Lucius have faith in anything, after what Mantis had been through? ‘…You… you really believe that.’
‘Don’t you?’ Lucius asked, more to make a point than anything.
‘I…’ Mantis looked away, and his thoughts were again closed. He scrubbed impatiently at his face with the back of his wrist, the heel of his palm. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, sniffling. ‘I’d have to ask Apollo. Can I have a handkerchief?’
‘I’ll do you one better,’ Lucius said. ‘Come on, let’s splash some cool water on your face, and then there’s lunch waiting.’
‘Oooh,’ Mantis said, getting to his feet and following Lucius to the basin, taking the offered linen and cleaning up his tears, before splashing his flushed face. ‘Sounds homoerotic.’
Lucius gave a wicked laugh, from behind him, and Mantis shivered as he felt Lucius’ hands slowly come to rest on his shoulders, spidery, and Lucius’ voice was that sinister whisper again, just behind his left ear.
‘Precious, you have no idea,’ Lucius knew how to play the part of Villain very well. ‘I’m going to feed you until your belly stretches full, taut and beautiful, and you’ll be helpless to stop me… but you don’t want to stop me, do you, my pet?’
‘Noooo, Daddy,’ Mantis crooned, delighted and buzzing all over with pleasure at the sound of that voice. ‘Please stuff me full, please make me eat, please, please, please….’
Lucius’ chuckle was wicked—and very, very pleased, pulling Mantis back against himself, arms wrapped around his shoulders, putting his cheek against Mantis’ hair.
‘That’s my good boy.’