Cowboys and Angels

moment twenty-four: family matters (august 1991.)

"Do you know why I summoned you in here, Draco?"

The boy swallowed. His voice sounded awfully young. "No, father."

"You do know you are to start at Hogwarts soon?"

"Yes, father. Mother took me out to get my robes and wand the other day."

Lucius nodded; the details were largely inconsequential. "You remember what I have told you about the Boy Who Lived?"

Draco nodded. "Yes, father."

His father rewarded him with a thin smile. "Good. You will come to understand, though, that for the majority of the world he is not their damnation, but their hero. They worship the very idea of him, and ideas can be powerful."

He paused, but like the good obedient boy Draco was, he did not interrupt him. Lucius chose his words carefully. "People often allow their heroes a greater berth in life than they would normal people. And often they will grant their heroes' close friends similar treatment." His eyes flicked over to Draco. The boy was almost terrified simply from being in his father's presence, and still trying ever so hard to please, his mind drinking the words in. Lucius had trained him well.

"I wish you to be Harry Potter's friend, Draco."

His eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he soon controlled himself. "Of course, father." He smiled, briefly, and it was gone. "I'm sure I can manage that."

"Be careful, Draco," his father counselled him. "Potter will not be like Crabbe or Goyle, or Parkinson for that matter. He would not be used to the way in which you usually acquire playmates."

Draco nodded tightly, unquestioning, and after a few moments to assure himself that the necessity of his request was fully imprinted upon his son, Lucius let him go.

In this strange new world, Draco's best and last hope from the fate Lucius had sold him into was Harry Potter. Lucius allowed himself a momentary indulgence to consider whether James would have appreciated the irony, and then he quashed the thought without the slightest hesitation, and turned to his work.

moment twenty-five: passing the torch (September 1991.)

Lucius looked over the field. After arriving at Hogwarts, he and Narcissa had been shown to Dumbledore's office by an obviously annoyed-at-their-presence McGonagall. The old man had given them both tea, chattered inanely, and summoned Draco from class after lunch for a brief family visit as was their right as parents, and indeed, as Lucius was on the Governing Board. Once Draco had had to depart for afternoon class, Narcissa had left to visit with Snape, and Lucius had indulged the pair in their last, desperate attempt at rebellion, if only because the victory would be all the more sweeter when they finally realised they never had a chance of changing what he had made of his son.

Did they not think he cared? Probably not. But he did, more than anything, and that was why he could never show it. Lucius was all too aware of eyes, watching, in the dark, looking for a reason, an excuse to pull him and his down. He had spent nearly eleven years trying to get Draco out of the hole he had dug for him, and he would not let all that planning go to waste because of an accident. His wife may have disagreed with his methods - even if she could recognise them, but they were the only way he knew how.

Once Lucius had been abandoned by his wife, Dumbledore had suggested he invoke his right as Governor to take a tour of the castle and grounds, and finish off with watching Slytherin Quidditch practice following the afternoon session of class.

Which was how Lucius was looking over the field. The team was assembling on the pitch, and it seemed Snape was having words with the person whom Lucius assumed was Captain - probably to warn him about me, no doubt, Lucius thought, and he would have been tempted to laugh, if he let himself do such things any more. After Snape left, the student looked over at Lucius, and started making his way across the wet grass, Lucius striding to meet him, so they came across each other in the middle.

This, then, must be the Marcus Flint Draco had told him about in his letters home: tightly muscled, with a rather brutish gait, and teeth that were, in Lucius' opinion, extremely unfortunate. "Governor." He nodded. "It's an honour to have you here."

Of course it is, you wretch, Lucius wanted to say, but instead he formed a bland smile. "Oh, I'm certain the honour's all mine. I just wished to take a look at the team. I played Beater for Slytherin for a few years when I was at Hogwarts."

Flint assessed him coolly, looking for traces of muscle in his build, and nodded, turning. "Come over and see what we're capable of, then."

Lucius followed him, his mind largely elsewhere, and barely heard the names of each individual member when they were introduced to him. He could see Narcissa, a scarf wrapped around her head, and her sunglasses on, waiting on the edge of the pitch. She looked pale, and wan, quite under the weather, and Lucius recalled the bags under her eyes he'd seen before they'd left the Manor. Probably drank too much last night, he thought, but that's hardly an unusual occasion. Disgust tinged his thoughts, and then he fixed his sights on the small boy standing beside her, their hands clasped together. Draco might not have managed to secure Potter's friendship, and Lucius felt a keen pang at that loss, but there would be other times, other opportunities.

Flint gave some instructions to his team, and they took to the air. Even from the distance of several feet, Lucius could see the sudden joy in his son's face, and the way he lifted his eyes to watch the paths of the fliers. The wheels turned in Lucius' head, and he considered all kinds of new possibilities.