FIC: Letters From Malfoy Manor (Lucius/Remus)

[hpraremod]

Title: Letters From Malfoy Manor
Author/Artist:youcantseeus 
Prompt: #66: Maybe something for the lord of the manor getting it on with the help trope?
Pairing(s): Lucius/Remus, Remus/OMC, past Remus/Sirius
Word Count/Art Medium: 24,600
Rating: NC-17
Warning(s): Abuse, whipping, master-servant relationship, dubious consent, orgasm denial, mild child abuse/neglect of a non-sexual nature.
Disclaimer:Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Whew. This ended up being much longer than I thought it would be, but I finished it in the end! Thanks so much to my beta, R.
Summary: In 1985, Remus J. Lupin took a job as a personal valet to Lucius Malfoy. He wrote to his werewolf lover about his experiences.

Selection from The Collected Letters of Remus J. Lupin, Volume I, Part 5
Robert Lupin, Editor
Copyright 2067, 2082
Howl Village Publications

Letters From Malfoy Manor

Dear Lester,

I know that after my last letter, you must be waiting with dread to hear from me again, but you needn’t worry yourself. It turns out that fortune does occasionally smile on werewolves. This time, it smiled on me in the form of an advertisement in the Daily Prophet by one Lucius A. Malfoy. I was spending the night under that bridge near Knockturn Alley – the one that my friend James Potter once told me was frequented by all manner of perverts, drug dealers, and Dark Arts purveyors. I can picture you rolling your eyes at this sort of statement and saying Aye, and werewolves and vampires as well. I think I love you for those little acts of rebellion that I could never manage. But I can’t help loving James as well. He was always a true friend to me and even three years after everything happened, I can’t manage to think of him as dead. Don’t roll your eyes.

As I said, I was sleeping under the Knockturn Alley bridge. It wasn’t altogether unpleasant. The weather was unseasonably warm in London and some chaps had started a fire in a rubbish barrel. Our old vampire friends Vel and Parker were there, so it almost felt like old times. I remembered being holed up with them and you and Mary and Carl in that little shit hole of an apartment in Manchester during the war. It wasn’t much nicer than the Knockturn Alley Bridge, if I remember correctly. Anyway, Vel gave me half a cheeseburger that she’d pilfered from a Muggle fast food establishment and a three day old copy of the Daily Prophet that she’d got from a rubbish bin.

Of course, I immediately searched the paper for jobs and I soon stumbled across Lucius Malfoy’s advertisement for a personal valet. The salary was clearly stated in the ad and it was easily three times what any other wizard in Britain would have paid for similar services. If you are wondering why this is, it’s because it’s Lucius Malfoy. I know that you’re indifferent to wizarding politics and high society and all such nonsense, but Lucius Malfoy is an incredibly wealthy, incredibly well-connected wizard who was a known Death Eater. Being a known Death Eater wouldn’t work to his advantage these days.

Anyway, I inquired about the position the next day and with remarkable swiftness, Lucius agreed to interview me that very evening. I Apparated directly to Wiltshire, about two miles away from Malfoy Manor — as close as the Anti-Apparition wards would allow me to get. I walked along a long, limestone path to the Manor. If you've never seen one of these old, wizarding manor houses up close, then you simply must have the experience at some time, Lester. Malfoy Manor is one of the most famous and in the early evening light, its white limestone glowed with a nascent magic.

I knew enough to go to the servant's entrance and was led through the Manor by a near silent house-elf. The inside of the Manor was all stone floors, ancient tapestries, and mahogany furniture. I was shown to Lucius's study which momentarily caught me off guard. It was huge — easily bigger than the entire apartment that you and I shared in Howl Village. But the reason I stared was that the ceiling was enchanted to look like a starry night with the moon hanging full in the sky. It was so realistic that I almost panicked. It was a powerful bit of magic — I've only ever seen that sort of thing at Hogwarts.

I was so enthralled with the house that I almost didn't see Lucius Malfoy standing near the window with his hands clasped behind his back — but once I saw him, I couldn't take my eyes off him. I only vaguely remembered Lucius from my Hogwarts days as an older Slytherin prefect who was rather disliked by most of the Gryffindors. The man I saw before me was tall, with the stiff, straight-backed posture that I always associated with purebloods. His long, rather pretty blond hair was tied back into a neat ponytail and his mouth was curved into a sneer. As he turned, I saw that his hand gripped a silver cane — unusual in a man who couldn't be older than thirty.

"Mr. Lupin," Lucius walked over to his desk. "Please sit down." He gestured to an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair positioned in front of his desk.

I sat, intensely aware of my wrinkled and patched robes. Lucius was wearing velvet dress robes of the deepest blue with fine leather boots that I just knew were dragon-hide. His velvet hair tie probably cost more than everything I was wearing.

"I apologize for my appearance. It was raining." There had been a bit of a mist in the air as I walked up the path to the Manor.

Lucius looked me over, his mouth curving upward. "I see."

I flushed, feeling lower than dirt. Lucius took out a crisp parchment that I recognized as my CV. "Perhaps I should apologize as well, Lupin. For the late hour of this interview. I am a very busy man and servants are supposed to be accommodating, wouldn't you agree?"

He smirked and I dunked my head. "Yes, sir," I said, knowing instinctively that he'd want me to call him "sir."

"Good." He smoothed out my CV. "Now. You're interested in being my valet. Can you tell why you think you'd be a good fit for the position?"

I was interested in the position because Lucius was paying three times what most wizards paid their manservants. I suspected this was because no one wanted to work for a man who had been rumored to be in Voldemort's inner circle. But of course I didn't say any of this. "Yes, sir," I said. "I've worked as a servant in the past and I find that it suits me. I'm dedicated, hard-working, and well-educated. I've never been a personal valet before, but I'm a fast learner and I'm sure that I could easily pick up whatever you needed me to learn."

Yes, I can talk bullshit with the best of them, Lester.

Lucius snorted, but I could tell that he was interested. "You are rather well-spoken for one of your class. I like that in a manservant. Your CV states that you graduated from Hogwarts?"

"Yes, sir."

"And how many N.E.W.T.s did you achieve?"

"Six."

Lucius's eyebrows shot up and I knew why. Most men with six N.E.W.T.s wouldn't be seeking employment as domestic servants. My circumstances are rather unusual, after all. "What subjects?"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Care of Magical Creatures, Transfiguration, Ancient Runes, and History of Magic," I said.

Lucius's eyebrows went even higher. "Not a particularly easy course load."

"No. I've never done things the easy way." I'd once thought that attaining as many N.E.W.T.s as possible would help me find decent employment after Hogwarts.

"It's a shame you didn't take Potions, though," Lucius said. "It's always a useful subject. Which subject was your best?"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts. I scored highest in our year at it."

Lucius chuckled and stroked the head of his cane. "Yes it's a ... fascinating subject, isn't it? Tell me, Lupin, are you a devotee of the Dark Arts or are you interested purely in the Defense side?"

I managed a polite smile. "I'm mostly interested in the Defense side."

"A shame. I imagine Severus was incensed that you scored highest in Defense."

I glanced at him sharply. I hadn't thought he'd remember me well enough to know that I was in the same year as a rather unpleasant boy named Severus Snape.

Lucius sensed my surprise. "Yes, I remember you. You're that little boy who used to run around with Sirius Black and James Potter all the time."

I stiffened. You know I don't like to think of those days anymore because everything with Sirius and James ended so badly. "I'm not a little boy."

"No, no," Lucius said, looking me over in a way that I didn't exactly like. "You're all grown up now."

I reminded myself that Lucius was offering to pay three times what I would have earned with any other wizarding family.

Lucius looked back down at my CV. "I see that you worked as tutor for the Hargreaves' children. Their youngest isn't at Hogwarts yet. Why did you quit working for them?"

"Mrs. Hargreave preferred a governess for her daughter," I lied. I could hardly tell him that the Hargreaves had begun to suspect my lycanthropy and I had quit before they could confirm their suspicions.

"Hm," Lucius sniffed. "And you worked as a butler for Albert Bulstrode? Bit of glorified term for that family. I'm surprised that they could afford to employ any human servants."

"Yes, sir," I said. "Just between us, that's why Mr. Bulstrode decided to let me go. Financial concerns." I silently thanked Lucius for providing me with another believable excuse for my frequent shifts in employment.

Lucius smiled, looking positively gleeful. "I'll bet you were his only servant."

"His only human one, sir," I said. "Mr. Bulstrode owned three house-elves."

Lucius put my CV down on his desk and looked at me, keenly. "What's your blood status?"

"I'm a half-blood." I wasn't surprised by the question. Everyone knows that the Malfoys care about such things. Besides, it’s not the first time I've been asked such a question during a job interview. I also knew that my half-blood status wouldn't work against me. Half-bloods are preferred for jobs as servants, Lester. Men like Lucius Malfoy would say that purebloods shouldn't lower themselves with such work, but they would balk at the idea of having Muggleborns in their homes.

"Who is your nearest Muggle ancestor?"

"My mother." I decided that if Lucius said anything impolite about my mother, I would get up and leave, no matter how much he was offering to pay.

But Lucius merely sniffed, his lip curling slightly. I could practically hear his thoughts — that I was filthy, born of a Muggle, even if not technically a Muggleborn. But he didn't say anything about my mother. "I trust you can provide documentation showing your wizarding ancestry?" he asked.

"Of course." I was prepared, having been asked to provide such documentation for some of my other jobs. I found it rather depressing that Lucius hadn't asked for proof of my N.E.W.T. results or references from my previous employers, but he did ask me to prove that my father was a wizard. I reached into my satchel and pulled out my birth certificate, my father's birth certificate, and my father's lineage papers, so kindly provided by the Ministry of Magic.

"Your father's parents were from France?" Lucius asked, looking over the parchments.

"Yes. They're considered a rather old, pureblood family there. Though there aren't many of them left."

Lucius sighed. "It's a shame how so many of the old families have diluted their bloodlines."

Diluted them by producing half-bloods like me, he meant.

"Do you maintain a relationship with your father's family or did they disown him when he married your mother?"

The question may have been rude, but Lucius asked it without any apparent rancor. It was quite common for pureblood families to do such things, so I supposed it was a reasonable enough inquiry.

"They didn't disown him for marrying my mother. But I don't have a relationship with them." Have I ever told you that I haven’t seen my grandparents since I was five years old, Lester? After I was bitten, they told my father that he should have me put down like an animal. He never spoke to them again.

"That's a shame," Lucius said, fiddling with that damn cane again. "Contacts are such useful things."

"Yes. They are."

Lucius handed me back my father's lineage papers. "This seems in order. You know ... you and your friends had a bit of reputation for trouble-making at Hogwarts. I knew about it and I was much older than you. I trust that you've left such youthful follies in the past?"

"Of course." I wanted to tell him that fighting in a war and losing everyone who was dear to you would do that to a person. I wondered if Lucius knew that I had been in the Order of the Phoenix. I wondered if he cared. I knew he was a Death Eater, but I also suspected that he was the sort of person who always put himself first.

"I suspect that your friends got you into trouble a good deal in those days," Lucius said.

I wished to hell that he would stop talking about my friends because two of them were dead and one of them was in Azkaban for killing the other two. I briefly consoled myself by picturing how many times James Potter would have hexed Lucius or punched him in the face had he been present for this interview. "They did," I said. "But I got into some trouble all on my own as well."

"Don't we all," Lucius said, with a smile. For some reason, I found his smiles more unnerving than his frowns. He looked me over thoughtfully. "Do you know what quality is most important in a manservant, Lupin?"

I shrugged. "Enlighten me."

"Discretion."

I sucked in a breath, wondering what secrets Lucius needed kept. "I'm very good at keeping secrets." Of course, I'd already proved this statement wrong by divulging sensitive information about Bulstrode, but Lucius wouldn't see it that way. Men like him see themselves as so superior to almost every other living being that they never consider that you could betray them.

Lucius leered at me. "I suspect you are. When can you start?"

I blinked, hardly believing my ears. I had given up any real hope of him actually hiring me near the beginning of the interview. "Immediately. Tomorrow." My voice sounded shaky, the prospect of a bed and warm meal making me feel weak.

Lucius nodded. "Very well. I think I may find some use for you, Lupin. Your Hogwarts education undoubtedly means that you're literate and I am in desperate need of someone who can handle my correspondence. That will be a big part of the job. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes," I said, quickly, unable to believe my luck. I hadn't imagined Lucius would set me to doing anything as dignified as writing letters.

"Very good," Lucius said. "You'll live in a room in the Manor, of course. You may bring your personal belongings tomorrow morning. I can provide house-elves to help you move if you like."

"That won't be necessary, sir," I said. My current possessions consist of a few ragged clothes and personal items thrown into a knapsack.

Lucius had taken out a small book which I realized was a day planner. "I can spare some time around 4 p.m. tomorrow afternoon to further explain your duties. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes, sir," I said. "Sir ..." I had nearly forgotten to tell him the most vital piece of information.

"Yes?"

"I must have several days off every month. It's a family thing."

Lucius sighed. "We'll get to that tomorrow, Lupin," he said. "Yes, of course you can have time off. All my human servants get 30 days per year. You may use your days in any way you like, as long as you inform me at least two weeks in advance. In addition, you can use up to 10 additional days for sickness. You will not be paid for any days you do not work. Is that acceptable?"

I quickly did the arithmetic in my head. Thirty days would give me two to three days per month for the moons with the possibility of using some of my sick days if the moons were more taxing than I thought they'd be. It would probably be enough. "Yes," I said.

"Excellent. Bring your things tomorrow morning. Make sure you use the servants' entrance."

Lester, I am employed! It's amazing how quickly fortunes can change. Write to me soon and let me know how things are going for you in New Zealand. Are you settling in well enough?

Yours,
R.L.

*

Dear Lester,

I know that I just wrote you a letter, but I simply must write again. Please stop fretting over your own writing. It doesn't matter to me if you are "unlettered" as you put it, I'm always happy to hear from you. I know that you haven't had my advantages when it comes to education.

Yesterday morning I brought my things around to the Manor. It was all slightly less intimidating by daylight. The Manor was still huge and white, but it no longer glowed and it seemed less magical somehow. I was so eager to have a real bed to sleep in, that I arrived at the first hint of dawn, my knapsack slung heavily over my back. I was shown to my room by a different house-elf than the one I'd seen earlier.

The room itself was nothing special — it was small for the Manor, but bigger than the last bedroom I'd slept in. It contained a bed, a dresser, a mirror, and a chest of drawers. A small bathroom with a shower was attached. Everything was clean and serviceable, but rather plain. To me, it looked like heaven. My meager possessions only filled two drawers in my dresser.

Rather to my surprise, my room was on the second floor of the Manor with an excellent view of the grounds. By the morning light I could see the rambling rose garden, the fine cobblestone pathways, and the numerous white peacocks that ran roughshod over everything. In the distance I could just make out what I thought were stables. When I looked in the other direction, I could see a perfectly maintained Quidditch pitch. Yes, Lester, the Malfoys actually have their own Quidditch pitch.

Deep blue robes had been laid out on my bed. I quickly recognized them as a servant's uniform, and put them on over my Muggle clothing. In the closet, I found two more sets of blue robes as well as some smart, black boots. I was done well before four o'clock, when I was supposed to meet with Lucius, but I stayed in my room, not knowing whether or not Lucius would want me wandering about the house by myself.

At a quarter till four, a house-elf Apparated into my room and informed me that he would be showing me to “Master Lucius's” chambers. This time, I was not taken to Lucius's office, but rather to a lavish sitting room where Lucius lounged on a sofa, drinking something that looked cool and sweet out of a long glass. There were several doors in this room, one of which was open enough that I could view what I presumed was Lucius's bedroom. I was surprised to learn how close my room was to Lucius's chambers as I'd assumed that servant's quarters would be in a different part of the house.

Lucius put his drink down on a tray held by a nearby house-elf with a sigh. "Ah, Lupin. You do clean up nice."

"Thank you, sir."

"So. We shall begin with the house-elves.” Lucius snapped his fingers and three more house-elves immediately joined the one holding his drink. Two of the elves appeared to be elderly, one was young-ish, and the fourth was little more than a child. I thought that all four were male, though it can be difficult to tell with house-elves. "I own thirty-seven house-elves, not counting juveniles."

I looked at the four elves before me again. I’ve never heard of a single family owning thirty-seven house-elves before. What did one even do with that many? "Impressive, sir."

"I know," Lucius said. "These two are Corny and Cap," he gestured at the two older elves. "They are brothers. And this one is Dobby." He gestured at the third elf. "These three serve my person exclusively. You will be in charge of them, though at the moment they know their jobs better than you do. I arise every morning at 5 a.m. sharp at which point I expect my bath to be drawn, my robes to be pressed, my boots to be shined and placed at the foot of my bed, and my newspaper and cup of espresso to be placed on a tray at my bedside. The elves will perform all these tasks, but you will supervise them. You will likely have to arise at around 4 a.m. to do so. If anything goes wrong, you are responsible as well as the offending elf. Is that clear?"

He looked at the house-elves rather more severely than myself when he said this. "Yes, sir," I said.

"Wonderful. I take breakfast in my sitting room at 6 a.m. except for Sundays when I eat breakfast with my family in the dining hall at 8 a.m. On those days when I take breakfast in the sitting room, an elf will come from the kitchens with my breakfast tray. I expect you to inspect the tray to make sure the food on it is acceptable. Corny will help you learn what is acceptable."

The old elf bowed so low that his nose nearly touched the ground. "Corny would be honored, Master."

Lucius ignored him. "I spend the hours of 7 a.m. until 10 a.m. on weekdays answering my correspondence. You will assist me in this task. Depending on the amount of correspondence involved, I may have you continue at this task even if I have moved on to something else. On weekends, I typically spend the hours of 7 a.m. until 10 a.m. going over the grounds. I breed magical peacocks, you know."

"I'd noticed, sir."

I could already see that Lucius definitely wasn't a spontaneous sort of fellow. How was I ever going to keep his schedule straight?

"Do you have any questions, thus far?" Lucius asked.

"Just one. You didn't introduce me to this elf," I nodded at the child house-elf who was now rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

"This is Knob," Lucius said, with a wave of his hand. "He's yours."

I blinked at Lucius. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, I don't mean literally , of course. But he is assigned to you. He's a juvenile who I want to train to be my son's personal servant when he's a little older, so I'm going to have him practice on you. He'll draw your baths, iron your clothes, fetch your meals and do anything else you need him to do. He should come when you call him, no matter where you are."

"Oh." I wasn't sure that I was comfortable with the idea of having a house-elf at my beck and call. A vivid memory of Sirius Black at fourteen years old assaulted me, how he'd call out the name of one of his family's house-elves — Nargle or Jelly or Kreacher, usually — and make a ridiculous demand for something that the elf was clearly forbidden to provide him such as cigarettes or Firewhisky or Muggle wank magazines. He'd watch as the elf paled and shook and began to bang its head against the furniture then he'd dismiss it with a lazy wave of his hand saying: Oh, what good are you, anyway?

Perhaps I should have known that Sirius was a bad person.

"You may discipline him as well," Lucius was saying with a sharp look at Knob who had stopped bouncing and was now regarding me with a wary expression. "Actually, you may discipline all four of them once you learn the job sufficiently well. I use physical discipline with my house-elves and you may as well."

I swallowed, not daring to look at the elves in question.

"You may ask any house-elf in the Manor for assistance and they should give it, provided that it doesn't interfere with a command given by myself, my family, or one of the other human servants."

"Er ... how many human servants are there, sir?" I asked.

"Six, counting you," Lucius said. "Mervin Melone is my butler. I also employ a chef, a groundskeeper, a nanny, and a maid. Melone is your superior and you are to see him about receiving your payment every month." Lucius paused and licked his lips before continuing. "My wife's name is Narcissa and my son is Draco. You are to obey any command that Narcissa gives you that does not directly conflict with your duties to me. But remember that you are my personal valet. Technically, you should obey Draco as well, but use some discretion ... he's only four years old and is rather spoiled."

"Of course, sir." It was difficult to picture Lucius Malfoy with a child.

Lucius continued to regale me with the minutiae of his daily schedule for a good hour. I was sure I'd forget half of it before the day was done, but I supposed I could ask the house-elves for advice provided that Lucius hadn't rendered them so terrified of me as to make conversation impossible.

When he finally finished telling me about my many duties, he looked me over in a sharp, cruel way. "I'll be needing your wand, Lupin."

I blinked at him, in askance. "My — my wand?"

"Yes. In order to make it a servant's wand. I'll give it right back."

I hesitated. I'd heard of such things before, but I'd never worked for a family that required it. The creation of servile wands is considered by many to be old-fashioned at best and barbaric at worst. A wizard's wand is a very personal item and can become closely tied to his magic over a period of years. Asking to use another wizard's wand for anything other than a dire need is considered a major faux pas in many circles. If I allowed Lucius to make my wand into a servant's wand then he'd become its master just as much as I was. He'd be able to use the wand as if it were his own and I wouldn't be able to use the wand against him, even in self-defense.

I didn't like it, especially considering Lucius's history, but I wasn't about to leave. I handed over the wand.

Lucius smiled and took out his own wand. He muttered a few words and dark bands shot out his wand and encircled mine. I knew that what I was seeing was Dark Magic and I tried not to care. The magic faded and Lucius pocketed his own wand, but continued to stroke mine in a rather suggestive manner.

"Are you finished, sir?" I finally asked, in a sharper voice than a servant should use.

"Yes," Lucius said, but he didn't hand back the wand. "Wands are such unique things, wouldn't you agree, Lupin?"

"Yes." I watched as he twirled my wand in his hand.

"This is a fine one." He looked down at my wand. "An Ollivander's product?"

"Of course."

"Cypress," Lucius commented. "Ten inches?"

"Ten and one-quarter. With a unicorn hair core."

"Hm," Lucius said. "Have you had it since you were eleven?"

"Yes."

"It knows you well, then. And it will come to know me well."

He handed me back my wand. I couldn't look him in the eye.

Don't worry about me, Lester. I can handle Lucius Malfoy well enough.

Yours,
R.L.

*

Dear Lester,

My first days at Malfoy Manor have proved even more surreal than I expected.

My first official morning on the job, I was awoken at promptly 4 a.m. by a high voice that seemed to fill the whole room.

"Knob is very sorry, Mr. Lupin," the voice said. "But you is needing to get out of bed if you wants to make it to Master Lucius's chambers on time."

I blinked and sat up, blearily. I'd never been a naturally early riser and 4 a.m. was an ungodly hour as far as I was concerned. I wanted to tell Knob to wake me in another ten minutes, but that seemed wrong, somehow — to use another living being like a Muggle alarm clock. Instead, I rolled out of bed, my feet sliding into comfortable woolen slippers that I was quite sure I'd never owned. I looked down at them in confusion.

"Knob is laying out Mr. Lupin's slippers like a good house-elf," Knob squeaked. His voice really was extraordinarily high in pitch. I'd never met a child house-elf before, but I supposed that most of them probably shared that characteristic.

"Er ... yes, very nice," I said. "Thank you, Knob."

Knob's huge eyes became even larger. "Mr. Lupin is thanking Knob. But Knob is not worthy, Knob is not ..."

"Did you fetch my breakfast?" I interrupted. I knew that Knob had — I could smell it — but I wanted to distract the elf from his line of thought before he started harming himself as I knew elves from nasty families were wont to do.

The elf screeched, loudly. "Oh, yes, Mr. Lupin. And Knob will serve you if you like."

"No time," I said. I spotted a glass tray on my bedside table and lifted the lid to reveal a breakfast of toast and jam with poached eggs.

"Is it good, Mr. Lupin?" Knob asked, anxiously. "I can bring something different, if Mr. Lupin requires it."

"No, it's fine." It was too early to eat much anyway.

By the time I'd scarfed down my breakfast, got dressed, and made it back to Lucius's bedroom, it was nearly time for Lucius to rise. I opened the door to Lucius's bedroom to find his elves moving about their various assigned tasks with an incredible amount of silence. I decided that in the future, I'd use muffling spells so that I too could move more silently.

I stood near the doorway, unsure of what to do with myself because the elves all seemed to know what they were doing and Lucius had only told me that I was supposed to "supervise" them. Finally, the one named Dobby looked up and gasped. "It's 5:02," he said, looking over at me and shaking.

"Uh," I said.

"You is supposed to wake Master Lucius up, Mr. Lupin," Dobby said.

"Oh — uh, right," I said. I approached Lucius's bed, feeling faintly ridiculous. His long hair fanned around his head like a white-blond flag. For the first time, I noticed how handsome and young his face looked; how he had a perfectly shaped mouth and the type of high cheek bones that I've always found so attractive in men. His attractiveness is normally muted by his awful personality, Lester.

"Mr. Malfoy," I said in a firm voice. "It's time to wake up." He was wearing a mask over his eyes. At the sound of my voice, he immediately removed the mask, opened his eyes and said; "It's 5:03, Lupin. Tomorrow you'll wake me at 5 a.m. sharp."

I blinked. "Yes, sir."

He sat up, not looking one bit sleepy. I wondered if he'd been awake the whole time. "And don't ever call me Mr. Malfoy. You may call me Lord Malfoy or sir. Or master if you're so inclined." He smirked.

"Of course, sir. I apologize." I'd already guessed as much, I'd just been caught off guard by the situation.

It was a Sunday, meaning it was the one day of the week when Lucius ate breakfast with his family. I suspected that it was for this reason that Lucius dawdled for over an hour in his bath and then spent another hour reading his newspaper while I hovered nearby, silently, waiting for him to need something. At around 7:15, he arose from his chair and said; "I'll get dressed now, Lupin."

He walked over to his wardrobe where the house elves had hung some completely white robes. He ran his hands over the robes, speculatively. "These are fine. I wear white on Sundays only. Gray on Mondays and Tuesdays. Blue on Wednesdays and Thursdays. Black for Fridays and Saturdays."

The man was obsessive. "Of course, sir."

"Master Malfoy," a croaking voice said behind Lucius. I realized that it was one of the older house-elves — Cap, I thought. All three of Lucius's elves had been in his quarters this whole time, but they'd been so quiet that I'd forgotten about them.

"Yes?" Lucius asked.

"Mr. Lupin didn't check Master's robes this morning. Mr. Lupin —"

Lucius casually kicked the old elf who doubled over and promptly started wheezing.

"Sir!" I objected.

"If I want a report on Lupin's abilities, I'll ask for it," Lucius said to the elf, ignoring me completely. "Away with the three of you. I'm sick of looking at you."

The three house-elves immediately Disapparated with three loud pops. Lucius turned back to me. "Tomorrow you'll remember to check my robes," he said.

I swallowed and nodded.

Lucius held his arms out from his side. "I'll get dressed now."

I stood there, staring at him like an idiot, before realizing that he meant that I should actually undress him and then put his robes physically on his body as if he were some sort of king.

"Yes, sir," I muttered, taking out my wand.

"Use your hands, Lupin. I don't fancy losing any buttons."

I looked at him, wondering if I should be insulted at the intimation that I didn't know how to perform a simple undressing charm.

"Well, don't be shy," he said with a smirk.

I let out a long breath before grasping the belt to his dressing robe and undoing it. It slid off his shoulders to reveal black silk pajamas with a multitude of buttons. I moved closer and began unbuttoning his pajamas. As I did so, I was very aware of the small distance between us. Even though I'm quite tall, Lucius was taller and he loomed over me as I worked on his buttons.

I stripped him down to his underwear which there was thankfully quite a bit of — his chest and most of his legs were covered. I slipped the white robe over his head and buttoned it up the back. Lucius surveyed himself in the mirror. I rather thought that white wasn't his color.

"This is satisfactory, Lupin," he said, at last.

Breakfast was noisy. And by "noisy" I mean that Lucius's son Draco, a rather chubby little boy of four years, kept up a constant racket of banging his silverware against the table, demanding sweets loudly from his nanny and his mother, and screaming at the top of his lungs when he was denied anything. At one point, he started throwing oatmeal.

Lucius's wife, Narcissa, was a tall woman with the Black good looks who alternated between trying to appease her son and daintily eating tiny pieces of food, all while ignoring Lucius completely. Lucius, for his part, was able to ignore his son's behavior with an aplomb that I found unnerving. He just sat at the head of the table elegantly eating his eggs while Draco drenched his servants in oatmeal. I stood silently behind Lucius's chair, only moving to serve Lucius.

Toward the end of the meal, Lucius looked over at his wife. "I don't believe you've commented on my new manservant, my dear." He gestured for me to come forward and I reluctantly took two small steps in his direction. "This is Lupin. What do you think of him?"

Narcissa looked up, slowly, her eyes surveying me with utter disdain. "Young," she said.

"Hm?" Lucius asked.

"I think he looks young. Just like the last one. Just like Draco's nanny." She gave Lucius a meaningful look. The nanny in question, who was indeed a young woman with long, yellow hair, stopped in the middle of wiping oatmeal from Draco's cheek, blushed, and looked down. I wondered what I was missing.

"Oh, he is rather young," Lucius said. "But I think he'll suit me well enough. Lupin went to Hogwarts, you know. He would have been a couple of years behind you. He was friends with your cousin Sirius, I believe."

I sucked in a breath. I hadn't heard Sirius's name mentioned so casually in several years.

Narcissa's cold eyes raked over me once again before turning back to Lucius. "I know who he is," she said in a withering tone of voice. That was the end of the conversation.

After breakfast, Lucius set me to answering a seemingly unending pile of mail, most of which had to do with various unsavory political causes and charities. Lucius loomed over me the entire time, critiquing my handwriting. Despite not having worked very hard, I was completely wrung out by midday when Lucius left the Manor for a social luncheon.

I sat at a small table near Lucius's desk with my head in my hands, wondering how I was going to be able to stand this job, these people. I must have stayed that way for about fifteen minutes until I heard a noise at the door. I looked up to see Draco Malfoy regarding me, his little head tilted sideways, a toy dragon clutched in one hand and a toy wand in the other.

"Uh ... hello," I said.

"Where's my Daddy?" Draco asked.

"He had to go out."

"Where?"

"To lunch."

Draco's lower lip jutted out, dangerously close to crying. "But he promised to play with me today."

"Oh. Well. I expect he'll be back later." I haven’t had much experience with such small children — the kids I'd tutored were considerably older.

"Bring him back," Draco said, imperiously.

"What?" I asked, with a panicked laugh. "You know I can't do that, Draco."

"Can too. You have to do whatever I say because you're only a servant. And you have to call me Master Draco. Father says so."

He seemed to have a decent grasp of the situation. "I know your Daddy wouldn't want me to interrupt him."

He pointed his wand at me. "Crucio!" he shouted.

I reflexively jumped aside, my heart pounding at the sound of the Unforgiveable Curse. A bolt of bright green paint shot out of Draco's wand and hit my arm. The child ran, giggling, behind a stuffed chair. I swore, softly, as I looked down to see the paint splattered all over the robes Lucius had given me. No doubt I would be blamed if Draco had managed to ruin my servant's robes.

"Master Draco!" a female voice called from the hall.

"He's in here," I said.

Draco's nanny ran in looking flushed and out of sorts. She looked at me and then at Draco hiding behind the chair. "Did he get you, Mr. Lupin? I'm awful sorry about that."

"He pretended to cast the Cruciatus Curse," I said, thinking that this was information that Draco's caretakers might want to know.

The nanny sighed. "He does that. Knows Avada Kedavra as well, the little bugger does."

My expression must have communicated my dismay, because Draco's nanny hastened to assure me that it was only a toy wand and that Draco could no more cast an Unforgiveable than a Muggle could. I already knew this, of course, and I felt slightly silly as the girl gave me her reassuring little speech.

"Is he going to do it again?" I asked, glancing at the boy who was still hiding behind the chair.

"Who can say? Master Draco, you come out from there right now, you hear?" But she spoke with the air of someone who knew that her command would not be obeyed.

Draco giggled and wormed his way further behind the chair.

"I think he likes you," she said. "He's trying to play with you. If he was scared or angry, he'd be screaming up a storm."

"This means he likes me?" I asked, gesturing to my clothing. She laughed and started to say something when Narcissa Malfoy walked into the room.

"Clara," Narcissa said, in a severe voice. "I've been searching the house for my son. What on earth is he doing in Lucius's office?"

Clara flushed bright red and dropped into a sort of half curtsey. "I'm sorry, ma'am. Draco got away from me. He was probably looking for Master Lucius."

Narcissa looked at her coldly. "I've told you to keep him out of this room. My husband keeps important documents in here."

"Of course, ma'am."

Narcissa bent down to look at Draco behind the chair. "Draco, honey. Come out from there." She spoke in a cooing voice that was so different from the hard voice she'd been using with Clara that I almost laughed in surprise.

"No!" Draco said. "I want to play with Daddy."

It took about ten minutes of cajoling and promises of sweets to get Draco out from behind the chair. When he finally crept out, I expected Narcissa to pick him up bodily and take him to his room, but the Mistress of Malfoy Manor simply handed the child off to Clara and then turned to me. "Mr. Lupin. I wanted a word."

Well, what could I do then but follow her into another one of the Manor's seemingly endless foyers? This one was near the garden and seemed to be made mostly of glass and crystal expensive enough to pay your rent or my rent for a decade. Narcissa sat down in a crystal chair. I expect that she knew how striking she looked against the glass and the flowers.

Have I ever mentioned Narcissa Malfoy's legendary beauty? In our Hogwarts days she had long, black, perfectly curled hair that flowed down her waist. Her eyes were a cool blue and her features finely carved as if from stone. Nowadays, her hair is white-blonde, but her beauty no less striking. Half the wizards and witches in the country claim that Narcissa Malfoy spends thousands of Galleons a year on beauty potions. The other half claim that she's secretly a Metamorphmagus (a talent which runs in her family). I'm rather inclined to think that neither theory is true. Narcissa was born a Black and I've never met a Black who wasn't nice to look at.

Narcissa didn't offer me a seat, but merely looked up at me, as imperious as any queen on her throne. "Mr. Lupin, I have to ask you ... are you sleeping with my husband?"

I must confess that I wasn't expecting her question. The idea that Lucius Malfoy would entertain sexual thoughts about me borders on the ridiculous, wouldn't you agree? Still, as I gazed upon her lovely, slender face, I could see the absolute sincerity in her eyes. As I'm sure you know, there's nothing quite so dangerous to someone of the servant class as a jealous wife.

I looked her in the eye, trying to project gravity and honesty. "No, ma'am."

She arched a delicate, blonde eyebrow. "Do you wish to sleep with my husband?"

I couldn't help but flush under her intense scrutiny. "Of course not, ma'am."

She snorted. "Then I suggest you resign your post here. If you stay, then you'll end up in my husband's bed sooner or later."

I squirmed awkwardly on the spot, making every protestation that I could conceive of. Finally, Narcissa raised a pale hand and I ceased my objections as suddenly as if compelled by magic.

"I love Lucius very much, you understand." I searched her face for some hint of irony, of the bitter, jealous wife, but I didn't find it. I do believe she meant it. "But he does have his vices. You seem like an intelligent man, Lupin. Do you really imagine that Lucius hired you for your skill?"

"I — he mentioned my education and my experience and —"

"He hired you for your looks and your reputation," she interrupted.

It seemed to me that she was talking nonsense. "My looks? Ma'am, I couldn't hold a candle to you." It was true too. I like to think that I'm not unpleasant to look at, but I'm no Narcissa Malfoy by a long shot.

"True," she said. "But Lucius enjoys variety."

I swallowed. It was an uncomfortable situation for a new servant. If I protested too much, I risked displeasing my new mistress by contradicting her. If I didn't protest enough, then I confirmed her suspicions. "My reputation, ma'am?"

She examined her fingernails with an almost bored air. "Your reputation for taking up with men."

You can imagine how aghast I was. Of course you and I both know that I do occasionally take up with men, but I didn't think I had a reputation for it. Certainly not the sort of reputation that would have reached the ears of Narcissa Malfoy. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, ma'am."

She didn't believe me for an instant. "So you and Sirius Black weren't lovers?"

She was regarding me with a keen, knowing look, twisting a rope of flawless emeralds and pearls idly around her finger. I couldn't retain my distant, disdainful attitude with Sirius lingering between us. Even now, just the mention of his name is enough to unnerve me.

"Oh come now, Lupin," she said. "Why do you think Albert Bulstrode fired you? Not that Bulstrode would object to a bit of buggery himself — did he ever proposition you?"

Mutely, I shook my head.

"Ah, well. But a convicted mass murderer — it does leave a certain sour taste in one's mouth, wouldn't you agree?"

I didn't say anything — I was too afraid that I'd snap at her or do something else to risk my employment. I've always assumed that Bulstrode fired me because he suspected that I was a werewolf, but you've always said that I burn through jobs remarkably quickly even for one of our kind. I guess we now know why! Sirius Black.

I know you'll despise me for saying it, but I still can't hate him. No matter how many ways he's hurt me, I can't hate him. I try every day, but I was so very in love with him. Besides, it's always been difficult for me to hate things that aren't myself.

But back to Narcissa Malfoy. I stood there, in that little glass room, watching her twist that damn string of emeralds that probably cost more than I was worth around her little finger. "I need this job, ma'am."

I didn't think it was possible for her to look any colder, but her face became so much stonier, that I wondered if the Metamorphmagus rumors were true after all. "I see. And are you a prostitute, Mr. Lupin?"

Naturally, I told her that I wasn't.

"Good. I didn't take you for one. But my husband's will is strong."

"I have no designs on your husband, ma'am."

She gave a long-suffering sigh, almost of ennui. I know that you've probably never had a Black condescend to you before, but it's an experience that everyone should have at least once in his miserable life. The superiority! The aloofness! The pure snobbery! Every pureblood family in England has attempted to imitate the upturned nose, tilted chin, and snarl of disdain that Narcissa Malfoy showed me that afternoon, but none of them can do it quite like a Black. Even Lucius Malfoy can't manage it.

"Do you have any diseases?" she asked, after a long pause.

I blinked, believing that she'd somehow sniffed out my lycanthropy. "Diseases, ma'am?"

"Venereal diseases, Lupin," she said, impatiently. "Goodness knows that the last thing we need."

"No! But I'm not going to —"

"Yes, yes, you're a paragon of virtue, I'm sure." She waved a hand in dismissal.

You must promise that you won't hate me if I end up sleeping with him. I don't want to, of course, but Malfoy Manor is a good deal better than the Knockturn Alley bridge, however bright a face I tried to put on it in my previous letters.

Yours,
R.L.

P.S.
Lucius agreed to an advance on my first paycheck! The Malfoys are many things, most of them unpleasant, but no one would ever call them cheap. I'm enclosing a few Galleons for you. Don't object! God knows you've lent me enough money over the years. I hate thinking of you all alone in New Zealand with barely a Galleon to your name.

*

Dear Lester,


Thank you so much for your previous letter. It's strange — I never could have talked to my old friends about the possibility of prostituting myself to Lucius Malfoy. This was not because I didn't trust them, but simply because they were not werewolves. I was always so desperate that they not think poorly of me. I know that your lip is curling now and if you were here beside me, you'd tell me that I need to stop trying to be a good little werewolf, a tame little werewolf, but you are not me and I am not you.

What I'm trying to say, clumsily, is that I appreciate what you wrote to me. You're right — all werewolves do end up selling their bodies eventually. Not always for sex. Sometimes for magical or medical experimentation like you are doing in New Zealand right now. Sometimes we sell pieces of our bodies due to some Dark Arts purveyors’ fascination with them. If I were to go into a certain shop in Knockturn Alley and let some weirdo cut off my cock, I'd get paid enough Galleons to live well for a decade or more. Sometimes we sell the right to control our bodies during transformations. This is the one thing I know I'd never sell. I'd be too afraid someone would use my transformation to turn an enemy into a werewolf. I know that you probably feel differently, but you don't particularly mind being a werewolf.

Anyway, Lucius hasn't tried anything yet and I'm half convinced that Narcissa was being paranoid. I am, however, completely convinced that Lucius is fucking Clara, his son's pretty nanny, which perhaps accounts for Narcissa's suspicions. I had been working at the Manor for the space of three days when I found Clara in Lucius's bed one morning. They were both asleep and I thought I shouldn't wake them, but I remembered Lucius's rebuke when I woke him up only a few minutes late and thought that I better follow his instructions.

As always, he opened his eyes at my words. Lucius spared no more than a glance for Clara as he made his way to the bath. The young woman slept on and I stood, awkwardly, unsure of what to do with myself. Lucius emerged from his bath a few minutes later and looked contemptuously down at his lover. "Wednesdays," he said, as I helped him with his clothing. "I fuck Draco's nanny on Wednesdays, just so you know. She's supposed to leave when I'm done with her, but you know women. They're not talented at following instructions. Clara!"

The girl was up like a shot at the sound of her name, blushing as she looked at me and attempting to cover her rather sizeable breasts with one hand. I've never particularly favored large breasts on a woman. I looked away so as not to further embarrass her.

"Don't be surprised if you see her here in the future, Lupin. For Merlin's sake, girl, put some clothes on!" Clara gaped.

After she left, Lucius informed me, quite candidly, that he had sex with his wife on Friday nights and sex with any number of partners the rest of the week.

The next day, I was able to speak to Clara privately on one of those rare occasions when Draco was taking a nap. I played the new servant, looking for any hint about his master's temperament and desires. She answered my questions as best she could — really, she seems like a nice enough girl. Finally, I got up the courage to ask her about her affair with Lucius.

"Would you deny that man anything he wanted, Mr. Lupin?" she asked.

I didn't know how to answer that question. "So you're just doing it because he's the master?"

She blinked. "He didn't force me, if that's what you're saying. But he is the master and all that. And it's not such an unpleasant duty. He's nice-looking, wouldn't you say?"

I must confess that I blushed.

"And he's not bad in bed neither, if you favor the forceful type." She grinned.

"So you're not in love with him or anything?"

"In love? With Lucius? Merlin, no! I'm just looking after myself."

"And it doesn't bother you that he's married?"

She snorted. "He'd find someone else if not me. That man will never be faithful to his wife. Besides, I'm married too and it don't bother me none. My husband, Bob, he knows about Lucius."

"You're married? But you look so young." She couldn't have been older than eighteen, but I suppose you know better than I that wizards and witches who can't afford Hogwarts often marry very young.

"Not that young," she said. "Bob knows that I need this job if we ever want to save up enough to buy our own place and have our own family and all."

"Do you like children then?"

"Most of them," she said, with a rueful glance at the door to Draco's room. "I have four younger brothers."

"Four? That must have been quite the childhood. I grew up alone — I mean, an only child."

She would have told me more, but at that moment, Draco started screaming her name. She smirked. "You watch yourself around Lucius, you hear?" Those were her parting words to me.

The only other really notable thing that's happened is that Lucius has got me cataloguing his vast collection of Dark Arts' artifacts, most of which are kept in a secret room in his basement. Lucius asked if I had any problem handling Dark Artifacts and I told him that I didn't. James always had a strong aversion to anything Dark Arts, but as werewolves, Dark Magic flows in our blood, breathes from our mouths, and powers our very heartbeats. It's not that I'm a fan of the Dark Arts — but I can't exactly escape Dark Magic, can I? My only fear was that something would blow up on me, but I always excelled at Defense. I'm probably less likely to hurt myself than one of Lucius's house elves would be.

Secrecy charms prevent me from divulging the exact content of the Manor's basements, but there's some pretty wild stuff down there. Don't worry, I'll be careful.

Yours,
R.L.

*

Dear Lester,

Your letters talk a lot about the tourist spots, but much less about what they're actually doing to you down there. I toss and turn during the nights, worrying about you. How was the moon last weekend? It was fine for me. Lucius didn't suspect a thing and had no trouble giving me time off from work — seemed incensed that I might suspect him of going back on his word, in fact. I do despise the Ministry holding cells, but as I can't afford to buy a piece of sprawling countryside at the moment, there's not much else I can do.

Things here have settled into a dull routine which is just the way I like it. Lucius is an arrogant prick, even for a Death Eater, but I knew that when he hired me. He always pays me on time, and that's all that matters.

I had a bit of a scare on Easter Sunday. The Malfoys are the type of wizards who attend church services on Christmas and Easter — and naturally they're Magus Orthodox. Lucius decided at the last moment that he wanted me to go to church with them, on the off chance that he needed someone to wait on him during the service, I suppose. I was very distressed. I know the Magus Orthodox church uses all sorts of spells and incantations to make sure that "Dark Creatures" can't enter through their doors. Apparently, the spells aren't that effective, though, because I got in just fine.

The church was huge, though all the seats weren't full. I have these vague memories of my father taking me to his Magus Reformed church when I was very small, before I was bitten, but I'm quite sure that it wasn't nearly this grand. Lucius Malfoy's church looked like it was built about 700 years ago. The entire ceiling was made of moving stained glass, depicting scenes from the Bible. The glass darkened when the sun got bright — a feat not equaled in any Muggle church. And the wealth! I think the candelabras must have been made of solid gold! You would have been sorely tempted to pocket one of them, my dear, which is why you don't do this sort of work.

As a servant, they seated me way up in the rafters where the pews were rather beat up. But I could look down and see the entire congregation, all dressed in their rich robes. The women all wore those old-fashioned pointed witches' hats in a variety of colors. Narcissa had on a perfectly ghastly one in a pale shade of purple and Draco wore matching robes (Lucius had flat out refused to wear anything other than his Sunday whites).

Sirius went to this church as a child. I can remember seeing a picture of him when he was a kid, wearing altar boy robes and looking perfectly miserable. His mother still attends services here. I saw her. When I was a kid, I remember thinking that she was beautiful, but now she looks about a hundred years old. Clara, who does like to gossip about "her betters" as she calls them, claims that Mrs. Black is addicted to potions and quite insane. Mrs. Black saw me as well, but she pretended that she hadn't.

The minister was rather a good orator, but as he was Magus Orthodox, he soon started going on about wizards' God-given authority over the Muggles, blah, blah, blah. My eyes glazed over. About halfway through the service, Draco started to squirm and it wasn't long before he went from squirming to screaming. The Malfoys hadn't seen fit to bring Clara with them to the church. They had brought Narcissa's ancient maid, Gretchel, who was snoring in the seat beside me, but after a moment, my wand buzzed angrily in my pocket. Lucius has begun to summon me that way at all times of the day and night.

So of course I had to run down in the middle of the sermon with about a thousand eyes on me and collect Draco from his parents. I spent the rest of the service sitting on a bench outside with Draco and trying to get him to calm down. I'll admit that I finally bribed him with half a chocolate bar that I had left in my pocket. Sweets are one of the few ways of appeasing that child.

"Daddy will be cross with you because you didn't come and get me soon enough," Draco observed, quite matter-of-factly, as he stuffed my remaining chocolate in his mouth.

"Well. That's between me and your Daddy isn't it?" Witches and wizards had started filing out the cathedral and I kept an eye out for Lucius and Narcissa.

"He might beat you." Draco didn't sound like he'd be particularly sorry if this happened, but he didn't sound particularly glad either. He said it as casually as if he were discussing the weather.

I reminded myself that Lucius was regularly violent to the house-elves and that Draco had probably witnessed house-elf beatings on more than one occasion. "Your Daddy can't beat me. I'm not a house-elf."

"Know that," Draco said, starting to look sulky again.

"Why didn't you just behave yourself in church?"

"Don't like boring old church."

For once, I rather sympathized with the kid. "But you looked so handsome in your dress robes." This was stretching the truth a bit — Draco dress robes were the hideous shade of purple Narcissa had picked out to match her hat, but I figured I needed to distract him.

Draco shook his head. "Didn't."

"You didn't? Why not?"

"I'm fat." Draco crumpled up my empty chocolate wrapper and placed it in my hand.

I blinked. "You're not fat." He was rather fat, but it seemed sad that he thought of himself that way at such a young age.

"Do you have more chocolate?" I didn't. Draco didn't throw a tantrum about it, which was an improvement from his normal temperament.

About three minutes later, Lucius came storming out the church. "For Merlin's sake, Lupin, next time make yourself useful and get Draco before he makes a scene in front of all of decent society."

I stood up. "I'm sorry sir. There were a lot of stairs."

"A lot of stairs," Lucius mumbled absently. "Well, hand Draco off to Narcissa's maid for now. I'm having drinks with an old friend and you're going to attend to me. And I want to get away before Narcissa tries to make me have dinner with her family or something ridiculous like that."

"Of course, sir."

I was half afraid that I would have to confront Narcissa and answer her sharp questions about Lucius and his whereabouts, but I was able to give Draco over to Gretchel with relatively little strife. Lucius Apparated me side-along to the manor home of Pierpont Parkinson, an aging pureblood who is quite influential in politics at the moment. At least, that’s what Lucius tells me.

The Parkinson place was plenty grand, with huge, sweeping staircases and lots of turrets, though I didn't find it as arresting as Malfoy Manor. Lucius and three other gentlemen ended up drinking expensive brandy and smoking cigars in a lounge on the main floor. Of course, I ended up serving them, though I thought it was far too early for brandy and I knew that Lucius didn't normally smoke cigars. Servants aren't paid for their opinions, Lester.

Pierpont Parkinson obviously suffered from some form of emphysema and kept coughing and wheezing between each puff of smoke. Pierpont's son, Pucell, had a horrible little mustache and wore so much product in his hair that the smell of it gagged me several times as I was serving the drinks. The other gentleman in the room was an Avery of some persuasion who was about a hundred years old and who soon fell asleep on the Parkisons' dragon leather sofa. I was the only servant in the room — not even a house-elf in attendance, which was odd. I knew that the Parkinsons had a full staff.

"I was surprised to see you at service, Malfoy," Pierpont said after several drinks. "I always thought that your family practiced some form of paganism."

Lucius stiffened. I knew that this was a sensitive topic for Lucius because the worship of the Roman gods has gone completely out of style even in these wealthy pureblood circles. "We do traditionally. But there's no harm in getting with the times, in my opinion."

"He's hedging his bets for the afterlife," Pucell said, with a sly smile. "A true Malfoy."

"Here, here," Pierpont said, with a laugh. He clinked his glass against Lucius's.

Lucius managed a forced laugh. "In all seriousness, sir, I think that the church is a fine influence on my family. My wife first convinced me to go a few years ago. Her family are all longstanding members, even though the Blacks had traditionally revered the old gods as well. I enjoy the sermons. None of this Muggle-loving nonsense that you hear in most wizarding institutions these days."

Pierpont laughed, but his laugh quickly turned into a coughing fit. When he'd recovered, he unfortunately started speaking again. "I'll drink to that, Malfoy. The trouble is all these bloody half-bloods in government. If you denounce the Muggles and Mudbloods for the animals that they are, then you've just insulted their mummies or daddies."

Lovely man, Pierpont Parkinson. As if that little tirade weren't bad enough, his eyes slid toward me to let me know that his words had been for my benefit. I could feel myself blush, though there was no reason why I should have been embarrassed. Parkinson was the one who was behaving like a beast.

"I quite agree," Lucius said, smoothly. "And don't worry about my boy Lupin. He's a half-blood, but discreet."

Yes, Lester, he actually introduced me as his boy.

Pierpont coughed again. "It's not that I have anything against the half-bloods," he said. "It's just that in my day, they knew their place."

"I agree," Lucius said. "Some families — my wife's family, for example — are far too rabid in their desire to avoid any contact with half-bloods, but I've always found that half-bloods do have their uses. Lupin here, for example, has proved to be an excellent valet."

Pierpont laughed. "A valet, is he, Malfoy? I wish my valet looked like him."

The two Parkinsons exchanged sleazy grins. Lucius frowned for a moment, before smiling a slow, secretive sort of a smile. "I'm sure you do, Parkinson."

Of course we both know what all this means. I don't want to discuss it at the moment, Lester. Don't pressure me. Lucius hasn't tried anything yet.

Yours,
R.L.

P.S.
Don't let all this talk of religion get your hopes up. I'm still an atheist.

*

Dear Lester,

I'm sorry that you've been feeling sickly lately. I hope it's nothing to do with the experiments they've been doing on you. Perhaps the moons have just been bad for you lately? I've always envied you your easy transformations. I know that the transformations often take a heavier toll on bite victims like me than they do on born werewolves like you, but I can't help but be a little jealous. I sincerely hope that you feel better. I worry about you.

I'd be there for you in an instant if I were allowed to leave the country, but we both know how difficult it is for a werewolf to obtain a travelling papers. Remember when we first met and you didn't believe me when I said I'd been to France? I'd just got back from a post-Hogwarts three-month romp around France and Germany with James, Sirius, and Peter. Unlike my friends, that was the only time I'd ever left Britain. As I recall, you flat-out refused to believe that the Ministry would allow a werewolf to leave the country for no better reason than a holiday. But really, Lester, that's only because you've never been friends with a Potter or a Black. If you could see how easily those types of people get favors done for them, then you'd have no trouble believing it at all.

I'm glad you're getting to see at least a little of the world. I find your stories of New Zealand amusing. I suppose I'm trying to see a bright side to letting a bunch of Potioneers experiment on you. I know you're making loads of gold, but I hope you know that you're more important to me than a whole Gringotts vault.

Nothing much has happened on my end, but I'm pretty sure by now that Lucius has some sort of seduction in mind. Three days ago, he asked me to join him in his evening bath. Not like that — not quite. He'd been in the middle of reading a Daily Prophet article and he claimed that he wanted me to keep reading it to him as he took his bath. Anyone else would have just finished the damn article and then taken the bath, of course, but Lucius is quite obsessive in insisting that everything be done at a certain time.

Lucius's bath tub is a huge, round, and made of black marble. I tried to look elsewhere as Lucius disrobed completely and stepped into the water, but I couldn't help but get a look at his naked backside. I will say that he's fit. You should see his arse, Lester. An arse like Lucius Malfoy's should be in a museum somewhere.

Once he was seated in the water, Lucius made a great show of leaning his head against the rim of the tub and closing his eyes. The water came up to the level of his chest and I could just see his pink nipples peeking above the bubbles. His chest was pale, but toned, and he had a small amount of fair, blond chest hair. Naturally, I observed all this while pretending not to notice Lucius at all. I am a passable servant.

"Read, Lupin," Lucius said, after several minutes.

I read him the article which was about a cache of Dart Arts artifacts that some Muggle archaeologist had stumbled across in Egypt. I knew that Lucius was probably thinking of acquiring some of these artifacts and I hoped that he wouldn't ask me to go to Egypt with him. Surprisingly, Lucius didn't speak while I was reading the article, but he did hum under his breath. Lucius always hums when he's in a good mood. The house-elves positively sag with relief when they hear him humming.

When I was finished reading, Lucius stood up, quite abruptly, and stepped out of the tub. He made no move to cover himself or to dry himself off. Water and soap dripped from his body onto the marble floor. He walked over to stand in front of me. I was seated in a chair that I'd gotten from the other room and Lucius's prick was just about level with my eyes. I tried not to look, but it was literally right in front of me, Lester. If you want to know, Lucius is big, but not as big as most werewolves.

"Lupin," he said.

"Hmph?"

"Get a towel and dry me off."

"Yes, sir." My own voice still sounded quiet to my ears. I stood up, grabbed one of Lucius's fluffy, white towels and promptly began patting his body with it, trying for the least amount of contact possible. I've dressed Lucius a hundred times by now but the drying was quite different. I'd never seen him completely naked. I got down on my knees in order to dry his feet and legs.

"You look good like that, Lupin," Lucius said. I looked up to see him smirking down at me. I always thought that being naked connoted powerlessness, but somehow Lucius managed to exude power.

"Thank you, sir," I said, but I didn't take the hint. Lucius didn't try anything else. Apparently, it's to be a slow seduction.

Nothing else of interest to report other than Lucius has informed me that I now know my duties well enough that he expects me to discipline the house-elves. I do hope that he doesn't expect me to beat them.

I have to say that I didn't enjoy your last letter as much as some of your others, Lester. I wasn't looking for a sermon and I frankly find werewolf religion ridiculous. Why am I an atheist? Do logic and common sense mean nothing to you? From previous conversations, I'd say no, so let me tell you a story instead.

When I was five years old, the minister at my father's church quietly informed my father that I wouldn't be able to take communion. Magus Reformed doctrine holds that werewolves are possessed by demons which I suppose is a slight improvement over Magus Orthodox which holds that werewolves are demons. My father, upon hearing this, wanted to try an exorcism. I think I've told you that my parents tried every half-baked "cure" for lycanthropy that there was during this period of my life and I suppose that this was just one more for them.

I still remember the minister informing me that I was filled with demons and that this was the reason for my painful transformations which were new to me at that time. I still remember him telling me that if I believed hard enough that God would take the demons out of me. The exorcism ritual was the standard — darkened room, lit candles, a clear potion (Muggles would use holy water which would be just as useless), and the priest hissing in Latin while making vaguely ominous hand gestures in my direction.

I know that you're probably fuming by now, Lester. You hate the priest for telling me that my lycanthropy is a form of demon possession that needs to be cured by the likes of him. You hate the church for refusing me the same privileges accorded to the other parishioners. I know how your mind works, Lester. But you have to understand that my father and I were disappointed for an entirely different reason — we were disappointed that the exorcism didn't work.

Think that over for a bit, my dear. I know you're an intelligent werewolf.

Yours,
R.L.

*

Dear Lester,

It's happened. I've had sex with Lucius.

He didn't go about it at all like I thought he would. Last night, he came into my room. I never thought Lucius Malfoy would lower himself enough to walk into a servant's bedroom. And anyway — I spend about twelve hours a day serving him. I would have thought he would have fucked me on his own time.

I must have been asleep when he came into my room, because I awoke with an unsettled feeling to find Lucius seated in the wooden chair beside my bed, looking down at me. The unnatural light of a Lumos lit his face and I saw that he was holding my wand in his hand. I wondered if he'd been sneaking into my room at night for weeks. I'm such a heavy sleeper that I probably wouldn't have noticed.

"Sir," I said, sitting up, blearily. "Did you need something?"

But Lucius just sat there with his arms crossed, a slight smile stealing across his features. "Your room is rather messy, Lupin. Do I need to have words with Knob?"

"No," I said, hastily. "It's my fault. I prefer to see to my own things, but I haven't been doing such a good job lately." In truth, I had forbidden the house-elf from touching my clothing or riffling through my knapsack, afraid that he'd be able to sniff out my lycanthropy. Even though Knob is quite young, house-elves are generally more perceptive about those sorts of things than their masters, I've observed.

Lucius shrugged. "It's your room. But an organized man is a successful man."

"Yes, sir." I looked at the pile of dirty clothes in the corner and the papers and books on the desk. All your letters were carefully put away, but it made me nervous nonetheless. "What was it you needed, sir?"

Lucius said nothing, but his eyes shifted to the empty space in my bed. He moved my wand slowly downward, his eyes trailing over what he could see of my body, which wasn't much. I was only wearing my underwear, but I was also almost completely covered by a blanket.

Looking down, I scooted an inch or two closer to the wall, making room. I didn't look at Lucius as he stood and then settled down onto the bed beside me. The light shifted and I knew that he'd placed the wand onto the nightstand beside my bed. The moonlight streamed in through the window — four days till the full. My breath came heavy and quick.

Lucius brushed a lock of hair away from my face with surprising gentleness. I still didn't look at him.

"I couldn't sleep," he said.

I laughed, shakily. "I didn't know you had trouble sleeping."

"I don't, usually."

"Your conscience doesn't keep you up at night?" I asked, looking up at Lucius in surprise. I know that this question may seem likely to offend him, but I blurted it out without thinking. I often have trouble sleeping at night when I think of all the things I did during the war and I know that Lucius probably did far worse things than I did. He was a Death Eater, after all.

Lucius just smiled. "Never." His hand moved to caress my face and I didn't push him away.

"You never think about the war?"

"Rarely."

I thought I was doing all the right things when I joined the Order of the Phoenix as an eighteen-year-old. So why do I wake up screaming at night, remembering the people I've killed while Lucius Malfoy sleeps peacefully? Why did I so eagerly agree to give up everything for a society that actively despises people like me? None of it did me any good — I couldn't protect the people I loved.

Lucius slowly pulled the blanket away from my body. I wished that I'd worn newer underwear, though Lucius looked appreciative enough as it was. "How do you want it?" I asked.

Lucius regarded me with appraising eyes. "On your hands and knees will be acceptable."

I nodded and got into position. I was apprehensive but a little excited as well. I hadn't had sex in months, not since you left for New Zealand. I'm not the sort of fellow who pulls pretty girls or pretty boys at the bars every other night like you do, Lester.

I had worried that Lucius would be some sort of sadist, but he was really quite businesslike about the whole affair. He was still heavily clothed, but he didn't take off his robes, just parted them enough to take out his cock. He pulled my underwear down to my knees and after a moment, I heard the words to a familiar lubrication spell. He slipped a slick finger into my arse.

"All right?" he asked.

"Yeah."

He slid another finger into me and I moaned out my pleasure. Even though I couldn't see Lucius's face, I could feel him smirking. "Like that, do you Lupin?"

"Yes. Fuck. Lucius," I moaned.

He pulled my hair — not hard enough to really hurt, just hard enough to let me know of his displeasure. "You call me sir," he said. "I thought we'd already established that."

I looked around at him to see that he was utterly serious. "Yes. Sir." I should probably confess that calling him sir sent a thrill of pleasure straight to my cock. I honestly don't know what's wrong with me sometimes, Lester.

After Lucius had lubed me up, he climbed onto the bed behind me. I closed my eyes as he thrust his cock slowly into me. Lucius fucked me with slow, near-mechanical thrusts. He didn't make a sound, other than his heavy breathing. I felt like a thing, Lester, a thing to be used by him. Of course, that's not to say that I didn't enjoy it. I felt my cock growing increasingly hard as Lucius thrust into me. Figuring that he wouldn't try to pleasure me in any way, I began stroking myself, but Lucius smacked my hand away when he noticed.

He didn't give me any warning before he came, just shot off in my arse. After he pulled out, he stroked my cock until I came. It didn't take long. He sat on the bed beside me for a long time, saying nothing. Finally, he buttoned his robes.

"Mondays," he said.

"What?"

"I'll fuck on you Monday nights, Lupin. You can stay late after I finish my nightly bath. Make sure that you prepare yourself."

I must have gaped at him like a fish. "This Monday is my day off, sir," I managed.

Lucius laughed. "We can move it to Tuesday for this week, then."

I nodded, numbly, even though I knew that I wouldn't particularly feel like sex on Tuesday, which was two days after the full.

"You did a good job," Lucius said, standing. "I'm quite satisfied."

I wondered if he talked to all his lovers like that.

After he left, I started feeling sorry for myself and I even cried a little. I don't think I've cried since the funerals after the war. I didn't even cry when I was sleeping under the Knockturn Alley Bridge. I don't know what's wrong with me lately, Lester. I did rather enjoy the sex, but afterwards I felt bad about allowing Lucius to use me like that.

It's strange — I know that Sirius must have been using me for sex for a long time, but I never felt that way when I was with him. There were times when he made me feel like I mattered — I know this doesn't sound so extraordinary, but it really is quite amazing. I've so seldom felt like I mattered. Why can I see through Lucius so easily, his every word and gesture revealing him to me as the dangerous prick that he is? Why could I never see through Sirius like that?

Forgive me Lester. I know you dislike my extended whining about Sirius.

I'm sorry if I was a bit sharp with you in my last letter. You know that I adore you despite your religious convictions, I was merely attempting (poorly) to explain my own lack of faith. Please don't stay angry, it would kill me if you stopped answering my letters. You're the only person I write letters to now.

You know, I never could have told my old friends what I just told you about Lucius in this letter. I've tried to picture myself writing this same letter to James or Peter or Sirius and I just can't. I could never have told them that I had sex with Lucius Malfoy because I needed my job as his manservant and that he made me feel like a thing and that I cried afterwards. I can picture vividly in my mind how they would have reacted. James would have tried to give me money. Sirius would have threatened to do some sort of violence against Lucius. Peter would have blubbered half-baked apologies about the state of wizarding society as if he were somehow personally responsible for it.

But secretly, they would have each thought less of me for having sex with Lucius. And I could never stand for them to think any less of me, Lester. I always had to be the good one, the responsible one, the nice one, the pure one — because to be anything else would just prove me to be the beast, the monster that nearly all of wizarding society claimed that I was. The fact that they knew that I was a werewolf only made me more determined to prove that I was nothing like one.

It was the same with most people, even my parents. Perhaps especially my parents. It must have been so different for you, Lester, growing up with werewolf parents, werewolf grandparents, werewolf brothers and sisters. Having non-werewolf parents and a father who happened to be a pureblood wizard has afforded me many advantages when compared to others of my kind — I don't pretend that it hasn't. It got me a Hogwarts letter, after all. But there are times when I envy you your werewolf family. You never had to prove your humanity to your own mother and father.

I shouldn't complain. My parents did far more for me than most parents of werewolf children. I suppose I'm just in a maudlin mood after Lucius's visit.

Please write soon.

Yours,
R.L.

*

Dear Lester,

Thank you for writing. I'm sorry that the trials have been having such a negative effect on you. If you're that sick, I really think you should drop out of the program. I know that you're particularly attached to these experiments because it's Wolfsbane — something that could actually help werewolves — but you don't need to kill yourself for werewolfkind. And I'm sure those Potioneers don't give a damn about what happens to one foreign-born werewolf who happens to have a negative reaction to their freaky hyped-up Wolfsbane.

Things here are going about a well as can be expected. Lucius fucked me Tuesday before last and last Monday just like he said he would. The rest of the time, he makes no sexual advances towards me, nor does he show any indication that he even thinks of me as a sexual being. It's almost unnerving.

There was an interesting development at Sunday breakfast the other day. I knew that something was up when a house-elf placed a small bowl of oatmeal in front of Draco. Draco hates oatmeal and frequently flings it around the Manor's fine dining room. What was different about the other morning was that Draco's oatmeal was not accompanied by sugar, honey, maple syrup, chocolate, doughnuts, pastries, or other sweets. Naturally, Draco started shrieking bloody murder and throwing oatmeal. A glob of it hit me right in the face.

I expected the house-elves to bring out the sweeties, but Narcissa merely glanced at Lucius who gave her a small nod. "Nibbly," she said, calmly, "please bring my son another bowl of oatmeal."

"No!" Draco shouted.

Narcissa stroked his hair, gently. "Draco, sweetie, you've got to eat your oatmeal. If you eat your all your oatmeal, perhaps you can have some chocolate."

Nibbly the house-elf placed another bowl of oatmeal in front of Draco. He promptly threw the entire bowl across the dining room. It hit the wall beside me and slid down the wall.

"Now Master Draco," Clara tried. "Oatmeal is good for you. And you mustn't ruin your parents' dining room."

"Nibbly," Narcissa said, faintly. "Another bowl."

The house-elf bowed and hastened toward the kitchen. Draco was completely hysterical by this point, tears rolling down his red face. After a minute, Nibbly brought out another bowl of oatmeal and placed it in front of Draco. Draco picked up the bowl to fling it, but before he had the chance, Lucius stood up, picked up his own plate of breakfast and threw it across the room. He could throw much harder than Draco and the fine china shattered into a million pieces when it hit the wall. Lucius slammed his cane down against the table.

"Throw it!" he roared at Draco. "I dare you."

I was shocked, Lester. I'd never seen Lucius show any sort of emotion whatsoever during Draco's tantrums. In fact, he tended to completely ignore Draco during these times and to allow Narcissa, Clara, and the house-elves to deal with the unpleasantness. Draco's little mouth dropped open as he sat with his bowl of oatmeal comically poised in one hand.

"That's what I thought," Lucius said, when Draco didn't throw the bowl. "From now on you will stop these childish displays and you will conduct yourself with the dignity befitting a member of the house of Malfoy. Am I making myself clear?"

Draco's mouth snapped closed as he looked up at Lucius with wide eyes. Despite Draco's all-around bratty-ness, I felt rather sorry for him.

"You're going to be eating plain oatmeal for some time in the future," Lucius said. "And there will be no sweets between meals. There will be no dessert after dinner. And that's because you're fat, Draco. Malfoys are not fat. Are you a Malfoy?"

Draco was now crying remarkably silently into his oatmeal. He managed a small nod. I now felt really sorry for him.

Apparently, Clara felt the same. "Sir," she said, "do you really think —"

Lucius turned on her. "Don't tell me how to raise my son, girl!"

Clara looked down at the table. "Yes, sir." I noticed that Narcissa's lips were drawn into a thin line, but she said nothing. I've never seen her contradict Lucius openly.

"You'll eat that oatmeal or you'll eat nothing for breakfast," Lucius said, sitting down. "Nibbly! Bring me another plate!" Lucius turned to me and ordered me to repair the china. As I was cleaning up, I saw Draco quietly push his bowl away.

I know that you probably want more details about Lucius in the bedroom and less about Draco's eating habits, but I'm not ready to talk about that yet. I was so glad to see your letter! I was getting desperate for correspondence. Do you know that I actually sat down and penned an entire letter to Sirius the other day? I even signed it "Moony" in the looping script that I favored during my Hogwarts days. The letter was a lot of confused ramblings on my part and of course I didn't send it. I'm told that prisoners can sometimes get mail in Azkaban but they can't send it. Anyway, I'm supposed to hate Sirius now so I can't go sending him mail, can I?

At any rate, he's probably completely insane by now. He was probably completely insane to begin with.

There I go talking about Sirius again! You can ignore these parts of my letters if you like, Lester. Please write again soon.

Yours,
R.L.

*

Dear Lester,

Lucius has been in a horrible mood lately. I didn't think it was possible for Lucius to be any more of an arse, but it turns out that I was wrong. The other day he found a huge ink stain on his Sunday robes. They were completely ruined, of course. He started screaming at the house-elves before determining that Cap, the house-elf responsible for hanging up his robes, was the one to blame for the stain. He could have just as easily blamed any of the laundry elves or myself, but I suppose that Cap was the most convenient. I expected the old house-elf to start punishing himself, but he held himself with surprising dignity as Lucius questioned him.

"Cap does not know how the ink stain got there," Cap said, bowing deeply. "But Cap will be happy to take any punishment that Master Lucius sees fit to assign."

Lucius kicked the old elf across the room. Cap began coughing.

"Sir," I said. "We don't know that Cap had anything to do with the stain. It could have happened at any time."

Lucius turned on me. "Really Lupin? I'm beginning to think that you had something to do with it. Perhaps I should deduct the cost of the robe from your pay."

The robe probably cost more than I made in a month. I looked at the floor. Cap glanced at me resentfully as he struggled to his feet. "Cap is proud to serve the House of Malfoy. Cap doesn't mind being kicked by Master Lucius. Cap is —"

"Yes, yes," Lucius said. "Shut up you wretched creature. Get out of here. All of you."

There were three pops as Lucius's three elves popped out of his study. I turned to leave, but Lucius snapped his fingers. "A word, Lupin."

I looked at him, knowing that this wouldn't be a pleasant conversation. "Have you ever owned a house-elf?" Lucius asked.

I offered him a minute shake of my head.

"No," Lucius said. "Of course you haven't. I've owned over a hundred in my lifetime, starting when I was six years old and my father gifted me my very first elf."

"That's very impressive, sir."

"My point is that I know how to handle them. They aren't men, Lupin, and you can't treat them as such. I know that they have magic, but that doesn't make them wizards. They are magical creatures. No better than animals. You have to constantly remind them of their place. Is that clear?"

"Crystal clear, sir."

Lucius quirked an eyebrow at me. "Do I detect a note of sarcasm, Lupin?"

I don't know why he chose that moment to notice that I often don't tell him what I really think.

“Not at all, sir.”

Lucius looked at me with a hard expression on his face. “Take the afternoon off. Without pay. I’m sick of looking at you.”

The feeling was mutual. “Yes, sir.” I refused to apologize as he obviously expected me to do.

This all sounds bad enough, Lester, but it was only the next day that I learned the full extent of Lucius’s barbarity. The next morning, Cap was conspicuously absent from early morning duties. Lucius completely ignored the elf’s absence as he went about his morning routine. Finally, I managed to ask one of the other house-elves, Dobby, about the whole affair.

“Cap is not being able to attend to morning duties, Mr. Lupin,” the elf said, glancing shifty-eyed in Lucius’s direction. Lucius was humming to himself and reading the Prophet, in a good mood for once.

“Why?” I asked, in a low voice.

“Cap is bruised badly, sir,” Dobby whispered. Then he clasped his hands over his enormous ears and began rocking back and forth.

“For staining Lucius’s robes?” I hissed, outraged. I had seen Lucius kick around the elves and I didn’t approve, but somehow it had never occurred to me that he could seriously damage one. House-elves always seem so resilient to hurt, so eager to punish themselves, that I guess I’ve always assumed that they don’t feel pain quite as much as other people. But of course, a lot of people assume the same thing about werewolves.

“Cap didn’t stain the robes, Mr. Lupin,” Dobby said. “House-elves has to punish themselves when they displease masters, and Cap didn’t punish himself.” Dobby immediately began banging his head against a nearby iron table. House-elves have to punish themselves when they speak ill of their masters.

“God and Merlin above, Lupin,” Lucius said, without looking up from his paper. “Shut that thing up.”

I glanced over at Lucius. “Right away, sir.” I immediately pulled Dobby from the room and shut the door behind me. I had to stop him from banging his head against the wall several times before I could get him to speak.

“Lucius knew,” I said. “Lucius knew all along that Cap didn’t do it.”

Dobby looked at me. His eyes were enormous, even for a house-elf. I realized that he was even younger than I initially thought — barely past adolescence. He didn’t speak and I took that as confirmation enough.

“Who did stain the robe?” I asked.

Dobby clasped both hands over his mouth.

“You?” I asked.

Dobby shook his head. There was only one person the house-elf would be so reluctant to name.

“It was Lucius,” I said. “He did it on purpose?”

“Sometimes Master tests to see if we is good, obedient house-elves.”

Even phrasing his statement in such an oblique manner caused Dobby to start banging his head against the wall again. “Stop, stop,” I said, pulling him away. “I order you to stop banging your head against the wall.”

He immediately stopped, but began rocking back and forth again. “Dobby tries to be a nice house-elf and bring honor to the House of Malfoy. But Master Lucius is —”

“A bully,” I cut him off. “Master Lucius is a bully.”

Dobby pulled his ears in distress. “You can’t — you mustn’t make Dobby —”

“You don’t have to say it,” I said, knowing that Dobby would have to punish himself harshly if he said any such thing.

Dobby stopped pulling on his ears. Looking into his eyes, I could tell that he knew it was true. He knew that Lucius was a bully. I know that you’re not acquainted with many house-elves, Lester, but it was really quite remarkable. Most house-elves believe that their masters walk on water no matter how nasty they really are.

I tried to check on Cap that afternoon, but was told that I was too big to fit into the house-elf quarters! I hope he’s alright, even if he never did like me.

I wish you were in Britain, Lester. I miss you most around the full moon. I think I need someone who loves me around those times — and you’re the only one who even comes close to qualifying these days. I’m sorry that those Potioneers are insisting on being so aggressive with their trials. I know that refining the Wolfsbane could change both our lives, but I don’t want you to be a victim of their experiments. Some of the side effects sound dreadful. At any rate, it’ll be over in a few months, right?

Hope to see you soon.

Yours,
R.L.

*

Dear Lester,

Since you insist on being a pest about it, I’ll give you the details about Lucius’s abilities as a lover, if you could even call him that. Lucius is a very methodical, meticulous man, Lester, and it shows even in the bedroom. After that first time, he only fucks me on Mondays at 10 p.m. sharp (or Tuesdays if Monday happens to be one of my days off). He always fucks me up the arse and he only seems to know three positions — me on my hands and knees with him behind me, me on my knees with my face planted in a pillow and him behind me, and me bent over the bed with him behind me. It’s getting rather monotonous. I wouldn’t mind being on top for a change, but I know the chances of that ever happening are astronomical.

He usually strokes me off, sometimes as he’s fucking me, sometimes afterwards. He’s sucked my cock twice, although he never allows me to come in his mouth. I’ve sucked his cock about a hundred times, although he always eventually pulls out and bends me over. He rarely speaks to me during the act. Usually, I leave his room directly after he’s finished with me, but sometimes I stay in his bed for an hour or so.

The other night, just to see how he’d react, I told him that I wanted lie on my stomach while he fucked me — I knew better than to ask for anything radically different from what we’d been doing. He stared at me, coldly. “I don’t remember asking what you would find arousing, Lupin.”

I smiled, wryly. “One usually gives some thought to what one’s lover would like.” We were sitting on his bed. I had already undressed, but he was still mostly clothed.

He just laughed, arrogantly. “You like it when I make you do what I want.”

I gulped. “No I don’t.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Your cock says otherwise.” He reached town to take my cock in his hand. I had grown quite hard over the course of our very short conversation. “Don’t be embarrassed, Lupin, your kind are always this way.”

For a moment I thought he meant werewolves and my heart began beating faster, but Lucius continued talking. “All you half-bloods and mudbloods bitch and moan about how you want equality, but you really love being bossed about by purebloods. And do you know why that is, Lupin?”

Mutely, I shook my head.

“Because you know it’s your natural place. And that’s why nothing turns you on more than having me talk to you like you’re my little bitch.”

I almost laughed at him, but I was faintly disturbed as well. A part of me is afraid that he is right about me, Lester.

In general, Lucius has been in a better mood of late. He has taken quite the interest in Draco over the last few weeks. I’m not certain that this is a good thing. Draco adores Lucius but is also a bit afraid of him, I think. Anyway, Lucius often walks about the grounds with Draco in tow, lecturing about the long, illustrious Malfoy family history (always framing the Malfoys in the best light, of course) and puffing his chest out self-righteously. It’s positively nauseating. It’s even more nauseating how Draco tries to imitate Lucius’s every gesture.

The other day Lucius interrupted me as I was cataloguing the Malfoy artifacts (I still haven’t finished — the task is unending) to inform me that he intended to sack Clara and hire Draco a male tutor.

I was in the middle of brushing a great deal of dust off a broken crystal ball and I sneezed, loudly. “You’re going to terminate Clara, sir?” I asked when I recovered. “But Draco seems rather attached to her.” In truth, I’m rather attached to her myself — she’s probably the closest thing to friend that I have in this place. She’s rather brash, but she does have a personable way about her.

“Yes, yes,” Lucius said, shaking his head. “That’s part of the problem. The child has been coddled by women for far too long. At this rate he’ll turn into a woman himself. He needs a man to be firm with him. Besides, it’s past time that we began preparing him for Hogwarts.”

I paused before speaking. “I could tutor him, sir. I’ve tutored children before.” I allowed myself to get my hopes up. Despite Draco’s tantrums, I’d far rather spend my days with him than with Lucius.

Lucius shook his head. “I have far too much need of you myself, Lupin.” This wasn’t exactly true — half my job could be performed by house-elves while the other half could easily be accomplished by Lucius himself. Lucius kept me on as a status marker.

“Of course, sir,” I said.

“Of course, I may begin asking you to take on some of Clara’s ... duties.”

I glanced up at him sharply. I had a feeling that he wasn’t talking about tending to Draco. “Of course, sir.”

“And I’d like you to conduct some preliminary interviews. I don’t want to waste my time on anyone unsuitable. I’m looking for someone firm, masculine, with a proper sense of pureblood decorum even if he’s not a pureblood himself. And someone talented at magic, of course.”

“Of course.”

So now I have to find Clara’s replacement! I wonder if Lucius will want someone young and attractive who he can fuck once a week. It might mean him fucking me less often — I’m not sure whether this is something I desire or not.

Draco is still on his diet and he no longer paints the walls with oatmeal. The child just sighs despondently into his oatmeal and glances at his father as he spoons it about his bowl. He doesn’t appear to have lost any weight. I think that both Clara and Narcissa sneak him bonbons on the sly.

The other day, I asked Lucius how long Draco would have to remain on his diet.

“Until he’s not fat anymore,” Lucius said. “I would have thought that was clear.”

Lester, I have to ask you — do you think any less of me for working here? I know you told me before that you didn’t, but do you still feel that way even knowing everything I’ve told you? I sometimes think much less of myself and I didn’t think my opinion of myself could get much lower.

Yours,
R.L.

*

Dear Lester,

Things have blown up a bit here. I should probably start by telling you that I’ve conducted several interviews to find Clara’s replacement — all without telling Clara, of course. Most of the tutors I’ve interviewed have been dreadful old men who harrumph loudly about the degraded state of our youth these days. They’d probably suit Lucius perfectly if they were a little more fuckable.

As far as all that goes, Lucius has been after me like a hound lately. It started one night several weeks ago when Lucius called me into his study as he was enjoying his 8:15 brandy. “Lupin. Narcissa has been ... cold ... of late. And you know I’m getting rid of Clara.”

“And?”

“And I have needs.”

I didn’t bat an eyelash. “Should I come to your rooms two nights a week, sir?”

“That won’t be necessary. I wouldn’t want to cut into any more of your personal time. No, I’ll just have you on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. I often need to let off some steam when I’m working anyway and this will give me an outlet.”

“I see.” I didn’t object and that was as good as an agreement.

So now, every morning at precisely 11:30, I stop whatever I’m doing and go to the bathroom to prepare my arse for Lucius’s cock. At 11:45, he bends me over his desk, pulls my robes up over my waist, and pulls my pants down to my knees. Sometimes he slaps me on the arse with the flat of his hand two or three times. And then he fucks me.

He doesn’t attend to my needs during these sessions, Lester. He doesn’t even allow me to touch my own cock. I’m required to grip the edge of his desk with both hands. Sometimes, he calls me his whore or his bitch as he’s fucking me. Sometimes, when he does this, I pretend that he knows I’m a werewolf and that’s why he talks to me the way he does. This makes the experience both more arousing and more bearable. Don’t scold me, Lester. I know it’s sick, but I can’t help liking what I like.

Afterwards, Lucius allows me to clean myself in the bathroom, but he rubs a cool unguent all over my cock that makes it numb for several hours. He says that he wouldn’t want me to feel distracted from my early afternoon duties. Bastard.

One morning, Narcissa walked in on us. Lucius was buried inside me. I was moaning and hard as I often get during these sessions. When the door to Lucius’s office opened and I saw Narcissa standing there, looking down on us coldly, I began to rise, but Lucius pushed me back down against the desk. Narcissa didn’t acknowledge me.

“If you’re quite done here, I wanted a word about our son,” she said to Lucius.

“I’m not quite done here,” Lucius panted.

She sniffed and slammed the door. A few minutes later, when Lucius had finished with me, he went to find her.

Draco’s birthday party was yesterday. It was a huge affair, with every wealthy pureblood child near Draco’s age invited to cavort about the Manor. There were clowns and Pegasus rides and floating candy floss. Lester, I remember you telling me once that your parents could never afford to give you birthday parties or presents. I wasn’t quite that unfortunate, but I had no friends my own age until I went to Hogwarts and my parents couldn’t afford much more than a cake and few modest gifts.

You cannot possibly imagine the lengths that rich purebloods will go to in order to ensure that their children have better birthday parties than all the other little purebloods. I've seen the bills, Lester. Lucius spent over a thousand Galleons on this party. Think of that. You could buy a small house. The party was held in the Manor's sizeable ballroom and the decorations alone cost a small fortune.

Of course, I had to attend the party because Lucius was there and Lucius always has me follow him about the Manor like a shadow. I sat patiently through the troop of rather artsy performing clowns and then watched as Draco opened about three of his presents before getting tired of the whole affair and sulking. Despite the Malfoys' extravagance, Draco didn't appear to be having a good time. I've never seen a child refuse to open his birthday presents, but I guess that's a side effect of having everything.

Eventually, Lucius wandered off to talk to some of the other fathers and I was left mercifully alone. The children, all of whom were dressed in uncomfortable looking robes, began breaking off into groups to play games. I knew that Lucius would probably want me by his side at all times, but I decided to slip away. I hate the way that Lucius shows me off to his male friends, the way they all wink and nudge him as if they know he's sleeping with me.

I stepped out into the hallway and considered lighting a cigarette, but I knew that Lucius would kill me if he caught me smoking inside his precious Manor. After a few seconds, I saw a flash of movement from under one of the long tables that adorn the Malfoys' corridors. The table was covered by a tablecloth, but the movement was such that I knew there had to be someone under there. I pulled back the tablecloth. It was Draco.

"Master Draco," I said. "What are you doing out here? You should be in the ballroom playing with your friends."

"Don't like them," Draco said, looking up at me.

I lowered myself to sit on the floor beside him. He has managed to lose a little weight in the last few weeks and his face has a leaner, less babyish shape to it. He's beginning to look like Lucius.

"Why don't you like them?"

"They're mean and stupid and poor and not as good as the Malfoys."

I almost laughed, but looking at his grave little face, I stopped myself in time. "No one is as good as the Malfoys, I'm sure," I said, smiling wryly. "But insulting people is no way to make friends."

"They don't like me," Draco said, picking at his sleeve.

"Why not?"

"You know, Lupin," he said.

I could think of about a thousand reasons why Draco might have trouble making friends but looking at his face I could practically hear the words because I'm fat dripping off his lips. "Well," I said, "I think you should at least give the other kids a chance. You look quite dashing in your dress robes and if you're nice, I'll bet you'll make a friend."

Draco shrugged. "Wouldn't. Father said."

At that moment Clara came bustling out the door and seeing Draco under the table, she put her hands on her hips. "Master Draco! There you are! You need to come in so we can cut the cake."

At the word cake, Draco momentarily perked up only to deflate again a moment later. "I'm not allowed to eat cake."

Clara frowned. "Yes, and you've been doing so well at your diet lately, darling, but it's your birthday. Of course you can have cake on your birthday."

Draco smiled, tentatively. I'd never seen him look so meek before, at least not around anyone but Lucius. "Really?"

"Really," Clara said. "Now come on."

Draco crawled out from under the table, dusted himself off and took Clara's hand. "Come along, Lupin," he said, in a haughty voice so reminiscent of Lucius that I had to smile.

I followed them back into the ballroom where a group of house-elves were floating out a huge, four-tiered cake decorated to look like a Quidditch pitch. An itty bitty Snitch buzzed around five huge candles which were burning with a blue light. Draco's eyes went wide, impressed with something for once.

Draco was surprisingly gracious as Nibbly cut the cake and placed a piece of chocolate in front of him. The mood lightened as each of the children was handed a piece of cake. After some time, Draco even began talking to the little boy beside him who was none too thin himself. I thought the whole thing was a rousing success, but I soon heard Lucius and Narcissa arguing from behind me.

"He's just a child!" Narcissa hissed. "It's his birthday, Lucius."

"I don't care how old he is," Lucius said. "He's a Malfoy and Malfoys know self-control."

Lucius strode forward and sat down across from Draco. Draco immediately put down his fork as if he knew what was coming. "Draco, what are you eating?" Lucius asked in a smooth, carrying voice.

Draco looked down at his plate, now almost empty. "Cake," he muttered. "Clara said —"

"Is Clara your Father, Draco?"

"No, Father." People were starting to notice something amiss and were turning around to stare at Draco and Lucius.

"I thought we'd talked about stuffing yourself like a little piglet. You've got food all over your face! Do you want our guests to think you're a disgusting, fat hog?"

Draco had a smudge of icing on his cheek, Lester, which he quickly wiped away. Clara had noticed what was going on and rushed forward. "It really is my fault, sir. I told him he could have a piece of cake."

"I'll deal with you later," Lucius said, giving her a threatening look.

"Lucius, for God's sake —" Narcissa began.

Lucius held up a gloved hand. "Don't make a scene, my dear," he said and then proceeded to lecture Draco about his eating habits for a good fifteen minutes until the child was thoroughly humiliated.

Do you know what just occurred to me, Lester? Draco is the same age as Harry Potter. It seems so strange — when I think of Harry, I think of a messy-haired baby cradled in Lily's arms. But out there somewhere is a little boy, who is four, almost five years old, with a lightning shaped scar on his forehead and no parents. I wish that I could have done something for Harry because James gave me so much and I sometimes feel like I was an inadequate friend in comparison. I know you don't hold with werewolves having non-werewolf friends, Lester. In many ways, you're right. But James Potter is the only friend I've ever had who knew I was a werewolf and never, not once, tried to use it against me.

But I can't help Harry Potter. I can't help anyone, not even myself. Harry's living with Muggle relatives in an undisclosed location. I only hope that he's happier than Draco Malfoy.

This morning, Lucius called Clara into his study for a private talk. She didn't come out for about an hour and when she did, she was crying.

"What happened? Did he sack you?" This was what I'd expected because Lucius had already been talking about hiring Draco a tutor.

"No. I quit. I've put up with a lot from that man. You have no idea. Things no one should have to put up with, servant or no."

"I know." I looked at the floor and thought of all the things I'd endured from Lucius.

"You have no idea." She wiped a tear from her cheek. "You're still in the honeymoon period. But I won't — I won't help him starve a small child."

"It was awful," I said, referring to the party. "But it was just a piece of cake."

"This isn't just about the cake. Lucius thinks that Draco isn't losing weight fast enough. He just told me that he's going to make Draco start skipping meals. And I just — I can't. The kid already cries and begs me for food."

"He needs you," I said, quietly. "Draco. He needs you."

She shook her head. "There's nothing I can do to protect him — Lucius would have sacked me rather than change his mind. I know he's been looking for a reason to get rid of me anyway." She gave me a sidelong look as if she were aware of my role in finding her replacement.

Clara has spent all afternoon packing and Draco has been crying in his room. It's been a rather bad day, all things considered.

I'm so pleased to hear that you're coming home, Lester. I know that you'll feel better once you're in England. As soon as you get here, I want to take a weekend off and spend it with you. But in answer to your earlier query — I don't think I can quit this job quite yet. Lucius has a hold on me that I can't explain.

Hope to see you soon.

Yours,
R.L.

*

Dear Lester,

I don't know where to begin. I know that you'll be furious when you read what I have to tell you, but I've always tried to be honest with you. At least, as honest as a person like me knows how to be.

Lucius has conquered me, Lester.

It began much like many other days at Malfoy Manor. I woke Lucius as usual and he actually seemed to be as good a mood as he's ever in. He even complimented my hair which I'd recently had cut. The morning went well — I didn't see much of Lucius because he was busy interviewing potential tutors for Draco.

It wasn't until dinner that there was a disturbance. Lucius had several guests to dinner and I could tell by the quality of the wine that they were people who Lucius wanted to impress. A few minutes of conversation revealed that two of the men were high Ministry officials. Lucius was in top form — he can be charming when he wants to be, Lester, he just so rarely bothers with his inferiors. Narcissa was graceful and elegant and sat near Lucius quietly, like a lovely statue. The house-elves served roast pheasant in a delicious looking cream sauce. I wondered, idly, if there would be any left for my own dinner later that night.

As often happens when Lucius and his friends get drunk, the conversation soon turned to me. "And how's your new manservant working out, Lucius," a heavyset man by the name of Horatio Huggins asked. He gestured in my direction.

Lucius smiled, slyly. "Lupin is satisfactory. Very good at writing letters. And he has many other talents, of course." He exchanged sneers with several of the other guests.

"Yes, I imagine that he does," Huggins said with a laugh. "And does he enjoy working here?"

Lucius's smile widened. "Why don't you ask him yourself?"

I silently cursed Lucius. "All right," Huggins said. "You — servant —" he snapped his fingers at me. "Do you enjoy working here?"

I stepped forward and schooled my expression into indifference. "Very much, sir."

"I see. And do you find Lucius to be a ... harsh master?"

Narcissa's cheeks were flushed though her pose was as still as ever. I felt my own face heat up, feeling vaguely ashamed. "The Malfoys have been very kind to me, sir."

"Was Lucius kind to you last night?"

"I think you've had a bit too much to drink, Horatio," Lucius said, with a chuckle. Of course, everyone knew what was going on but Huggins was being far too blunt about it.

"Lord Malfoy is always kind to me," I said, smoothly.

"Lupin isn't just a pretty face," Lucius said. "He attended Hogwarts. Six N.E.W.T.s"

Horatio laughed, loudly. "A well-educated catamite."

"Horatio," Lucius said, in warning.

Horatio hiccupped. "Is he a Mudblood?" he asked, obviously still referring to me.

"As if I would have such a creature in my home," Lucius said, sounding truly offended for the first time that night. "No. He's a half-blood. I verified it."

"Good, good," Huggins said. "You can't be too careful these days. Georgina and I hired a private chef with all the proper credentials only to find out that he was a Mudblood. Imagine! One of those kind cooking our very food."

Lucius nodded gravely. "That's why we are being very exacting in hiring Draco's new tutor. We wouldn't want him exposed to improper wizards or their ideas."

For a moment, I sighed in relief, believing that the conversation had turned away from me and toward the general pureblood bigotry that seemed to permeate every event at the Manor. But then, Huggins turned back to me.

"Servant — Lupin," he said. "Is your father a Mudblood?"

Everyone looked at me. It wasn't exactly a polite question to ask even a servant. After several moments of awkward silence, I recovered enough to say: "No. My mother was a Muggle."

Huggins made a noise of disgust. "I'd get rid of him if I were you, Lucius. Born of a Muggle is the same as Muggleborn. That's how I was raised, anyway." I clenched my hands into fists, trying to keep my temper.

"I was aware of his ancestry when I hired him," Lucius said. "Lupin knows his proper place in the world and I appreciate that in a man."

"But just think," Huggins went on, "he could be kissing his filthy Muggle mother with that mouth and then kissing y—"

"My mother is dead," I snapped.

Lucius shot me a furious look. As a servant, I wasn't supposed to speak unless spoken to and to interrupt one of his pureblood guests was one of the worst things I could have done, no matter that the guest happened to be making an arse of himself. There was another awkward silence which Narcissa interrupted by ordering the house-elves to bring dessert.

I thought this would be an end to it, but Huggins just didn't know when to shut up. "And what did your mother die of, boy?"

"Leukemia," I said, getting angrier and angrier as I thought of my mother slowly fading away, always sick from the treatments. She's another person who gave up so much for me and I was able to give her so little in return. Toward the end, she was so small and slight that I could lift her with one arm even when I was weak from the full moon.

"Leu — what?" Huggins asked, drunkenly.

"It's an illness that's common in the Muggle world."

Huggins turned to Lucius with a look of triumph on his face. "You see, Lucius? You see?! These Muggles are all riddled with diseases. This boy spent nine months in a Muggle womb. You don't want that in your bed. You could catch anything."

I snapped. "Leukemia is not a fucking venereal disease!" I yelled.

Everyone stopped eating and talking and looked at me. I knew immediately that I'd gone too far. Lucius just regarded me, coldly. "You may leave the room, Lupin," he said.

I turned to leave. But Horatio Huggins just wouldn't fucking shut his mouth. "Of course, I'm sure that he has many talents that a lusty young man such as yourself would appreciate." He chuckled and winked at Lucius. "His kind always do. It comes of being born of the lustful and unnatural mating between wizard and Muggle. It's really a form of bestiality if you think about it —"

Lester, I whipped around and drew my wand on him.

The room went utterly silent. Of course, I wouldn't have actually hexed him. I'm not daft enough to think I would be excused for hexing or cursing my employer's guest. And I'm no Sirius Black to solve all my problems at wand point. But still, I stood there for several seconds with my wand pointed at him.

"Expelliarmus." With a lazy flick of his wand, Lucius disarmed me. I haven't let a simple disarming spell get the best of me since Hogwarts, but my servant's wand was all too eager to obey Lucius's command.

There were a few more moments of silence which Narcissa finally filled by saying; "Lucius, are you going to allow this circus to continue?"

"Of course not, my dear. Lupin, that will be quite enough."

Without excusing myself or apologizing, I turned and strode from the Manor's dining hall. I spent the next several hours pacing about my room, sure that Lucius was going to sack me and wondering if I should go ahead and pack my bags. The only interruption during this period was my house-elf, Knob, bringing me a dinner of beef and potatoes which I did not touch.

It was after ten o'clock when Lucius finally entered my room. We stared at one another for a long time, me sitting on my bed and him looming over me. Finally he said; "Do you have any idea — any concept — of how much you have just embarrassed me and this family?"

I laughed, the polite servant pretense that I usually maintained melting away like butter. "Is it anything like having some bastard say that your dead mother is an animal and your father must have been into bestiality because he loved her?"

I really thought I was going to do it in that moment, Lester. I really thought I was going to stand up to Lucius.

A thin line appeared between Lucius's eyebrows. I think he was actually trying to puzzle out how I must have felt. Lucius so seldom puts himself in someone else's shoes that it must have been a novel experience for him. "I was dealing with it, Lupin. It wasn't your place to say anything."

"Wasn't my place," I repeated, shaking my head. "Are you going to sack me or not, Lucius?"

Lucius raised his eyebrows. "You are quite insolent. Surely you realize that I can't allow your little outburst in there to go unpunished? But no, I'm not letting you go."

I rolled my eyes. "What's my punishment to be then?"

He smiled in that cruel way that comes over him sometimes. "Come with me."

He led me out onto the grounds. It was dark, but the moon was out and it cast a pale glow across the landscape. I couldn't imagine where we were going until Lucius led me around the back of his stables. I could hear the Pegasi softly breathing behind me, but Lucius didn't enter the stables. Instead, he rested his hand against a long post and then called for his three house-elves. They appeared in front of me with three loud pops. Cap was holding a long, thin whip.

Even then, it didn't occur to me what Lucius had in mind until he said; "Undress, Lupin." He took the whip from Cap's hand.

I looked at him in horror. "No. I'm not some slave that you can whip. I'm not one of your fucking house-elves."

"You're right," Lucius said, fingering the whip. "You can quit. Are you tendering your resignation?"

I opened my mouth to tell him yes, of course, but I couldn't say it, Lester. I couldn't.

"That's what I thought," Lucius said with contempt. "Take off your robes."

I took them off. Even though it was summer, I shivered. I tried to ignore the three house-elves looking on with wide, saucer-like eyes.

"Pants too," Lucius said.

I took off my pants, throwing them onto the dewy ground.

"Come here," Lucius said.

I walked towards him. Lucius stood aside and took out my own wand. "Incarcerous," he whispered and ropes shot out of his wand, wrapped themselves around wrists, and bound me to the post. There were a few agonizing moments of silence and then the sound of the whip slicing the air before hitting my back with a sharp crack.

As the first lash hit, I was angry. I was so blindingly furious with Lucius that the wolf in me came out a bit and I struggled against my bindings, nearly yanking them free from the post. Lucius raised the whip again and brought it down for another lash.

By the third lash, I was beginning to really feel the pain. We werewolves are more used to pain than most people, Lester, but the slash of the whip against my bare skin was a peculiarly focused sort of agony.

By the fifth lash, I was crying, no longer angry in the least. I heard Lucius chuckle under his breath.

Around the time of the seventh lash, something strange and wonderful happened, Lester — I gave in. Not merely in body, for I had done that long ago, but in mind, in spirit. I accepted that I was going to allow Lucius to beat me. I accepted that Lucius believed he was a hundred times better than me and that for nearly every purpose that mattered, he was right. I accepted the idea that I would probably spend the rest of my life sucking up to people like Lucius Malfoy and hiding what I really thought. I accepted that I had no limits, that there was virtually nothing that I wouldn't allow this man, this tyrant to do to me.

It was as if a gigantic weight that I'd been carrying around with me my whole life had been lifted.

By the tenth lash, I was hard.

After the tenth lash, Lucius released me. I stood, shakily, before him. I was crying, afraid that my legs would no longer be able to support me. I faced Lucius. He put his hand on my hard cock.

"I thought you might get like this, Lupin," he said. "But tonight wasn't about sex. It was about discipline." I was intensely aware of the house-elves looking on as he touched my cock. Then, he reached in his pocket and took out the cooling unguent that he'd used on previous occasions to prevent me from having an orgasm. He rubbed it on me, slowly, leisurely.

"He's not to have any healing potions until tomorrow morning," Lucius informed the elves. "Cap, you should tell his elf that he can have a mild healing potion for his back with breakfast." Lucius turned back to me. "Lupin, you can have tomorrow morning off to recover, but I'll expect you back in my office by noon. Is that clear?"

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, sir."

Lester, please don't be too disappointed in me, but I've decided to stay with Lucius for a little while. He is quite willing to allow me to do so and yesterday he even applied a healing salve to my back himself before kissing me on the lips. It was the first time he'd ever kissed me on the lips. In a strange sort of way, I feel that I am his, that I belong to him in a way that I've never belonged to anyone in the past.

It isn't love, Lester, but it's no longer just about the money either. It's not just about sex, although I am perhaps more attracted to Lucius than I've led you to believe. I don't know how to explain it other than to tell you that all my life I've been surrounded by these wealthy pureblood types. My father was one, though his family disowned him. When I came to Hogwarts, most of my friends were from rich pureblood families. My first love, Sirius Black, was heir to the purest family in wizarding Britain and he broke me in ways that Lucius Malfoy will never manage.

I know that for you, such people are largely an abstraction. You live in a werewolfish world where Wizarding society oppresses you and yet you rarely meet those who benefit most from your oppression. You haven't really known these people and you certainly haven't loved them.

I have. And yet all my life I've been waiting for the other shoe to drop. I've waited for my friends and family to tell me what they really think. That I'm an animal. A monster. A mudblood or as good as. Fit only to serve. That I'm nothing. I've waited for them to wake up and see me the way the rest of the world sees me.

When I voice my feelings of inadequacy, the response from my pureblood friends has always been the same. They tell me I'm just as good as anyone. That I should ignore what other people say. That I should prove society wrong by being a good werewolf. That I should fight for equality.

I've been through a war and I'm so very tired of fighting.

Lucius is a relief because I always know what he's really thinking about me. He thinks of me as an inferior, a servant, a dirty half-blood. He doesn't know I'm a werewolf, but if he did then I have no doubt that he'd think of me as a disgusting animal. If I stay with Lucius, I don't have to carry the weight of proving myself to be just as good, brave, and intelligent as any other wizard. I don't have to fight. I can just lie back and allow Lucius to treat me like rubbish.

That's the best I can explain it, Lester, though I know that I can never make you truly understand. You're brave and fierce and you fight so ceaselessly for our kind. I've always admired that about you. I still love you and hope to see you when you finally come home.

Please forgive me.

All my love,
Remus Lupin


Notes on the Second Edition

When I published my grandfather's collected letters fifteen years ago, I wasn't expecting the outpouring of enthusiasm and support that the collection received. Remus Lupin was, after all, a figure of minor importance in the First and Second Voldemort Wars who was mostly known for his connection to Harry Potter. I supposed that the collection would be of interest to historians of the Voldemort Wars and perhaps to curators of werewolf history. I certainly knew that the letters were invaluable to my family and I wanted to publish them for this reason alone.

The first volume of the collection became a best seller and the second volume topped the non-fiction charts for wizarding books. Remus's frank discussions of his sexuality at a time when queerness was heavily stigmatized made him a hero to the LGBTQ community, his willingness to write about lycanthropy at a time when most werewolves were all but illiterate made his letters invaluable to the Magical Creatures community, and his tragic life's story which encompassed both of the Voldemort Wars made his letters a fascinating read to all. Most readers of the collection find the now famous Sirius Black letters to be the most compelling. Certainly, the letters that Remus Lupin and his lover Sirius Black exchanged in their youth and again after Sirius escaped from Azkaban Prison in 1993 are unmatched in their wit and passion. But they've never been my favorites.

I've always preferred the Lester Vines letters. I believe that Remus was honest with Lester in a way that he wasn't honest with anyone else. This conclusion is supported by the letters themselves. In the letters, Remus often wrote about how he could tell Lester things that he could never tell his other loved ones because Lester was a werewolf. He tells Lester that he has tried to be as honest with him as a "person like [Remus] knows how to be."

Unfortunately, not one letter from Lester Vines to Remus Lupin from the period of time when Remus was employed at Malfoy Manor survives. This absence is peculiar. For a man who was often homeless, my grandfather was meticulous about his correspondences. He preserved his letters no matter how trivial the subject matter and no matter how much he came to dislike the letter's sender. Even letters written to him by Peter Pettigrew survive, several of them reprinted in Volume I, Part 3 of this collection.

So what happened to the Lester Vines letters? It is a question that I have asked myself many times over the years and I can only suppose that Remus left them at Malfoy Manor when he tendered a hasty resignation in November of 1986. But if that is the case then it almost certainly means that Lucius would have read the letters and would have found out that Remus was a werewolf. If Lucius had known such a thing then he surely would have attempted to use it against Remus in the intervening years. Yet there is no indication in Remus's writings that Lucius ever did so. Did some lingering affection for Remus keep Lucius from revealing his secret? Did some sympathetic house-elf hide the letters from Lucius? Or perhaps Lucius did use Remus's lycanthropy against him in some way that is not revealed in Remus's writings. I'm afraid that we must content ourselves with never knowing the truth.

Very little is known about Lester Vines other than what is revealed in Remus’s letters. Like many important figures in Remus's story, Lester's life was short and tragic. Lester was born in 1956 to werewolf parents, Holland and Lydia Vines. We know that he was the seventh of eight children, all werewolves, although at least three of his siblings died during childhood. Lester was raised in the notorious vampire-werewolf slum district in Manchester known as Howl Village. He appears to have had no formal education which was not uncommon for werewolves of the time.

Lester spent his young adulthood working with various werewolf activists groups and was co-founder of the Sons of Dark Moon, an early militant werewolf rights organization. Lester met Remus Lupin in 1977, shortly after Remus finished Hogwarts. By this time, Remus had already begun his early work for the Order of the Phoenix, much of which involved trying to recruit werewolves like Lester to the Order's cause. Perhaps surprisingly, Lester hit it off with the much milder Remus almost immediately. I believe that Remus and Lester each found the other both confusing and intriguing — they saw in one another how different their own lives and experiences as werewolves could have been if things had gone differently.

It is unclear at what point Remus and Lester became lovers. There is no definitive proof that they were sleeping together before the end of the First Voldemort War in 1981. We do know, however, that Remus and Lester developed a close friendship during this period when Remus was growing apart from his Hogwarts friends. We also know, from Remus's letters, that Remus's close relationship with Lester soon became a source of jealousy and suspicion for Remus's then-lover Sirius Black. Were Sirius's suspicions correct? Was Remus sleeping with Lester and Sirius during the same period? This is yet another thing that Remus's letters remain silent about.

However, it is clear that by early 1982 Remus and Lester had become lovers. The post-war period was a time of vulnerability for Remus. He'd lost most of the things that he held dear in the war, was unemployed and mostly unemployable, and seems to have been suffering from some form of depression. Lester offered Remus a place to live and a friend to listen and this seems to have been enough for him to earn Remus's love.

Like many werewolves of the time, Remus and Lester spent the mid-1980s working at a series of odd jobs and temporary employment opportunities. They shared with one another when they could. I don't believe that their relationship was ever sexually exclusive, at least not on Lester’s part. Lester, like most werewolves of the period, did not adhere to traditional wizard sexual mores and didn't think much of monogamy. To a certain extent, Remus agreed with his views, but Lester's frequent liaisons with both men and women would become a source of tension between the couple.

By the time Lester agreed to participate in the now infamous Auckland Wolfsbane Trials, the couple had been evicted from their Howl Village apartment and were alternating between living with friends and living on the streets. The dire circumstances under which Remus and Lester were living makes Remus's willingness to work for Lucius Malfoy, a former Death Eater, much easier to understand. It must have been incredibly difficult for Remus, who had been exposed to a life of relative privilege, to not only live on the streets but also to see the only person who was there for him at this period of his life volunteer his body for dangerous experiments.

Remus would work for the Malfoys for nearly two years, a relatively long period of employment for him. By the time Remus resigned in 1986, Lester's health was already failing. Much has been written about the Auckland Wolfsbane Trials which were represented to the werewolves involved as an attempt to refine and improve the Wolfsbane Potion, but which were actually an excuse to test dangerous and controversial potions on werewolves who were considered disposable test subjects.

The particular cocktail of potions that Lester was given wrecked his immune system and left him weak and barely able to move. Although Remus rarely wrote in the late 1980s, it appears that he effectively became a caretaker for the increasingly weak Lester during this period. The couple was better off financially during these years, partly as the result of the Galleons Remus had saved when he worked for the Malfoys and partly as a result of the rather large amount of money that Lester was paid to participate in the Wolfsbane Trials. In 1986, Remus and Lester moved into a small flat in Diagon Alley that was a step above the sorts of places they'd lived in together previously. Remus continued to take odd jobs, but by this time Lester had grown too weak to work. Lester would grow weaker and weaker over the next three years. Lester Vines died in late 1989. By this time, he'd been bedfast for almost a year and was barely able to speak. He was only 33 years old.

Out of all of Remus's writings, Letters from Malfoy Manor have proved to be the most controversial. Indeed, when my father and I began putting together this collection nearly twenty years ago, my father was reluctant to include these letters in the collection. I believe that one of the reasons for my father's reluctance was a fear of angering the powerful Malfoy family. Certainly, these letters present the Malfoys in an unflattering light.

Much has been written about Lucius Malfoy, including a biography published in 2030 and a substantial chapter in An Abridged History of the Family Malfoy. Many historians have presented Lucius as an ambiguous or even sympathetic figure due to the fact that his support of Voldemort sometimes seemed half-hearted. However, the Lucius who emerges from Remus's letters is a tyrant; arrogant to his friends, thoughtless to his inferiors, brutal to his servants, and cruel even to his own family. It is little wonder that the Malfoy family has denounced these letters as a pack of lies.

Was Lucius Malfoy really as cruel as Remus's letters make him out to be? I confess that I do not know. As I have stated elsewhere, my grandfather was rather a good liar. Did he make Lucius appear more brutal than he truly was in an effort to downplay his attraction to the man? Perhaps. But I think it just as likely that Lucius Malfoy, a man who was central in the formation of the Death Eater movement, really was just as horrible as Remus makes him out to be.

In many ways, Remus's descriptions of Lucius's behavior match what we already know. Lucius's brutality towards his house-elves was so extreme, even by the standards of this era when house-elves were slaves, that it has been mentioned by everyone from Death Eaters to Harry Potter to the former Malfoy house-elves themselves. Lucius's extramarital affairs with servants and underlings are also extremely well documented and are not disputed even by the most pro-Malfoy historians. Even Draco Malfoy, when writing about his eating disorders, vaguely alludes to early formative experiences involving his father as being a source of his affliction. In reality, the various cruelties that Remus accuses Lucius of have already been documented — they have just never been documented with the level of detail and context that Remus gives them.

The other reason that my father was reluctant to publish Letters From Malfoy Manor was Remus himself. I believe that my father was afraid that these particular letters would cast Remus in a poor light. That Remus's willingness to allow himself to be physically, verbally, and sexually abused by the likes of Lucius Malfoy would tarnish his legacy.

It is true that Remus's self-hatred centered on his lycanthropy as well as his occasional condescending attitude toward other werewolves have caused some werewolf groups to denounce his letters as toxic. While I understand why these groups don't wish to see werewolves presented in such a way, I believe that to judge Remus's letters so harshly is to ignore the reality in which he lived.

Remus lived before the Werewolf-Vampire Equal Employment Statute, before Hogwarts was integrated, and before widespread use of the Wolfsbane Potion. Remus lived in a time when it was quasi-acceptable for doctors and family members to suggest to his parents that he be "put down" like a sick animal. He lived during a time when his professors taught methods of killing werewolves as a standard part of the Defense curriculum. He lived during a time when most people, upon hearing of his lycanthropy, refused to speak to him and even his loved ones were a little afraid of him. It is little wonder that Remus struggled with a low self-image. I cannot blame him for it.

I have always felt a special connection to my grandfather. I am a werewolf. I was born with lycanthropy, much to the surprise of my parents, neither of whom was a werewolf. Thus far, I have been the only one of Remus's descendants to inherit his lycanthropy — neither my father nor my sisters nor my sisters' children are lycanthropes. My father first allowed me to read Remus's letters when I was only nine years old — although some of the passages were wildly inappropriate for a boy of my age. At the time, I didn't know any werewolves and I believe that my father wanted to give me some sense of connection to others like me as well as some pride in myself as a werewolf.

I read Remus's letters repeatedly and voraciously throughout my teenage years and young adulthood. You could say that I became obsessed with them. I imagined myself living his experiences. I was an eleven-year boy holding that impossible parchment in my hand and trembling — a Hogwarts letter addressed to a werewolf; a miracle. I was fifteen and my heart ached as cruel, beautiful, wonderful Sirius Black gave me my first kiss. I screamed with Remus when the Potters were murdered in 1981 and grieved with him when he lost Lester in 1989. I felt his pain as Lucius Malfoy whipped him like a slave. I even felt his dread when Nymphadora Tonks told him she was expecting his child and experienced his absolute terror at the idea that his son or daughter would be a werewolf like him.

I've always admired Remus. Despite everything that he experienced, he still spent much of his life fighting Voldemort's oppressive regime. And although he had a good deal of trouble standing up for himself, Remus was unfailingly brave when it came to standing up for his friends. Remus was at the forefront of the anti-Voldemort movement. He never wavered in his support of the Order of the Phoenix and never hesitated to place his own life in danger if met making others safer. He recognized Voldemort's anti-Muggle prejudices as inherently evil despite the fact that Voldemort promised to make the world a better place for werewolves like himself. He risked his life and made countless sacrifices in order to ensure that Muggleborns were treated equally despite the fact that most wizards, including most Muggleborns, wouldn't have done the same for him. And in the end, Remus Lupin sacrificed his life standing up for what was right.

I have always been proud to be his grandson.

Robert Lupin, Editor
July 17, 2082

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