Dark Shines

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Dark Shines | Part Three: Re-Generation

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Pacing up and down his elaborate study, his expensive Italian shoes thudded noisily regardless of the Persian carpet that fell underfoot. The room, adorned heavily with dark wood, Ming vases and leather, spelt wealth to anyone who dared walk into it and the figure pacing was certainly an imposing one – just the way he liked it. But something was off. The usually elegant room held evidence of disarray, smoke from a lit cigar curled above the gold ashtray; a bottle of brandy, its crystal stopper lying haphazardly beside an empty glass, was half drunk. Evidence that the room’s occupant, usually so regal and composed was, well, not.

Lucius Malfoy was annoyed. No, he was pissed.

“Slytherin pride is on the line and what does my excuse for a son do?” Lucius snapped up the cigar and inhaled the potent smoke deeply. “Nothing. Nothing. Nada. Zip! I brought him up the only way I knew how – instilled the ways of the Dark Lord into his every fibre, broke his boyish spirits and mended them with mature, ruthless ambition.” He inhaled again, feeling the thick smoke tickle his throat. “I taught him, not his vapid excuse for a mother. I,” he thumped his chest, “I taught him the only way I knew how. He has, locked away in that sixteen-year old head of his, the most complete and direct way to power. That boy, my son, my heir” – he paused and dropped the ash from the cigar into the ashtray, then inhaled again – “could be the most powerful wizard this world has ever seen.”

Lucius allowed a slight, proud smile to crease his hard features. Once upon a time, it had been thought that he, Lucius, would be in the position that Draco was now in. Handsome Lucius, Hogwarts Head Boy, lady killer and top-notch Quidditch captain; the world at his feet and the ladies at his fingers. After graduation, he’d quickly moved into a position of power in the Ministry of Magic – moonlighting as a Providence for the Commission while spying for Voldemort. Smirking, suave and dead sexy, Lucius Malfoy was on his way to becoming the ultimate double agent and taking his place above them all. Until that…that bitch showed him his Book and changed everything.

This couldn’t happen again. Draco’s fate had been compromised by the appearance of Morgan, pretending to be a Professor of all things, at Hogwarts. Groaning, Lucius leaned forward and stubbed out the cigar, placing his empty hands on the desk. Ashla Morgan, Providence for the Destiny Commission, the most self-righteous woman to set foot on Earth and Little Miss Goodness and Light. Damn. He could see everything he’d put in order for his son thrown into disarray with a simple flick of that ridiculously long hair.

It wasn’t that Lucius was a bad father; he simply wasn’t the best father. Narcissa, in all her bubble-headed wisdom, had told him that once after Draco’s birthday celebrations and Lucius had to admit she had a point – for once. He remembered that night with such clarity it could have been playing in front of him on the pale cream walls. Draco had just turned eleven and had recently received his letter of acceptance to Hogwarts. Not Durmstrang, but Hogwarts.

Grandfather Malfoy had been furious, much like he’d been when Lucius’ father had deferred his education from Durmstrang on Lucius’ eleventh birthday. It is said, that in families like the Malfoys, situations of conflict between the patriarchal figure and their heirs are common and often are repeated time and time again and most times with similar results. But this time, Lucius recalled, this time was different.

Lucius Malfoy the Third threw the parchment at his grandson. “What is this?” he spat, pointing a tapered nail and sporting a murderous expression at Lucius.

“Draco’s acceptance letter to Hogwarts, Grandfather.” The old man’s beady eyes fixed on Lucius’ placid expression. Got to hand it to the old coot, Lucius mused. Three hundred years old and still kicking. Lucius the Third’s skin, pruned and pulled into fleshy tucks, shuddered as he regarded his only grandson angrily. Battle scars, from what Lucius the Forth could only imagine, ran map-like lines down his sunken face and disappeared into the collar of his expensive cloak, appearing again as they ran out of his cuffs and along his narrow fingers. Despite his time-ravaged appearance, this man commanded respect. Hell, he expected it like his morning cup of tea. But this time, this time, Lucius the Forth would stand up for what he believed in.

“I see.” Wheezing, Grandfather Malfoy rocked back in his chair thoughtfully. “But I was under the impression that my great-grandson would be attending Durmstrang, like the many generations of Malfoy men before him.” His voice rose. “Do you expect me to simply take this abomination? This, this complete lack of respect for our families’ traditions and morals?” His fist landed solidly on the table in front of him, causing Lucius to jump. “I will not allow my blood to attend Hogwarts.”

“I attended Hogwarts, Grandfather.” Lucius’ voice was thin but steady. “You allowed my father to send me there, many years ago.” Grandfather Malfoy’s face twisted into something one would assume to be a smile.

“Your father is dead, my boy. All I have is two male heirs and a useless granddaughter, so you can understand the importance of sending Draco to the right…kind of school.” A slurp, as he drunk some tea. “I am a Durmstrang graduate. You, my boy, are a Hogwarts graduate. Albeit, you were seen as a successful one. However, it is I who have been granted partial immortality and seen battles you’d only dream of. And you,” he smiled again, “have a lacklustre position in the Ministry of Magic and a partial alliance to an overlord who was defeated by an infant. Such promise you had, my dear grandson.”

His words stung Lucius to the core. Sweat broke out on his pale brow and he reached into his cloak, pulling out a silk handkerchief to mop his forehead. “You know why I haven’t seen out my potential.” A chuckle erupted from the old man’s body.

“Ah yes. The Destiny Commission.” Lucius the Third picked up his wand and muttered a spell, bringing to his hand a heavy, leather bound volume. “Do you know what this is, Lucius?” Of course he did. That book would haunt his dreams until the day he was killed. Until the day he died. Until the last page of that book was read and was disposed of in the Eternal Fires. A lump caught in Lucius’ throat, but he remained fixed on his grandfather’s sly expression and forced himself to answer.

“Yes, Grandfather.”

“Tell me what it is, boy.”

“It is my Book.” Grandfather Malfoy placed a wrinkled hand on the embossed cover and began stroking it lovingly.

“Yes. Your Book, your volume of the Malfoy Library, as understood and determined under the ever-watchful eye of the Fates and Providences working for the Destiny Commission. It is something, my dear grandson that you are never meant to see. For its pages can change a man, change a man so much that the Book is considered void and a new one must be bound to take its place.” Rocking again, Lucius the Third’s voice took on a note similar to a father telling his baby son a bedtime story.

“The Destiny Commission established itself just over a thousand years ago after the Great Battle. They say it was the Founders, the Hogwarts Founders that decided, in their own selfish manner, that evil and Dark Arts should never find its way into the lives of the children that had survived, so they, along with the Fates, created the Commission. They placed its central location in the hills High Above Us All, in a land where Muggles and magic folk alike could never stumble into its walls and halls. A place so impenetrable, its workers must work out of field offices and are told never to attempt contacting the Fates for fear that this attention would affect their concentrations.” Lucius the Forth sighed.

“I am aware of these facts, Grandfather.”

“Oh yes, I know.” He drained his teacup and continued. “The Destiny Commission, or the Commission as it is known as, was established in an attempt to control the domination of Dark Arts penetrating the children of then and now. Did you know, that every single person, Muggle witch or wizard, has their own Book?” He shook his head in amazement. “Fascinating. These Books, created from the moment of insemination, chart every single second of the subject’s life. From your first word to your first sexual encounter, your first child to your retirement. And finally, these Books chart your descent to your ultimate end.” The Book on his lap was given a hearty pat on his last statement. “Its all here. But sometimes, as I said before, our paths must be changed. That is what the Providences are for. Pure-souled individuals, sent to change people’s lives for the so-called better good of the world. For example.”

Lucius watched as his grandfather adjusted his thin frame in the soft chair before he continued. “Boy meets girl. Boy and girl fall in love. Boy gets bored. Boy cheats on girl. Girl learns, leaves Boy. Boy is now all alone and wiser. Seems like a plain, easy situation where no one wins. Both are lonely and miserable, correct?” The younger Malfoy shrugged, then nodded. “Ah, but au contraire, my dear boy. You see, the woman the Boy sinned with? She was a Providence, sent by the Commission to change not one path, but two. Both the Girl and Boy learnt valuable lessons, and from their brush with the Providence – however inadvertent – they will become better people. You see, we all have those people who change our lives in what seems to be a small way. A man may drop his wallet and have it returned by a Providence, causing that man to think that perhaps there are good people in the world after all. He is then incensed to help others, begin charity work at a soup kitchen in some urban sprawl. From that, his need to help is increased and increased until he quits his job as an accountant and starts a home for abused children, using his skills in commerce to receive financial grants from multi-billion dollar companies that he uses to enrich the lives of children and families the world around. He wins the Nobel Peace Prize. He lives a full, happy life. And all because a Providence gave his wallet back one lunch hour.”

“Its not that simple, Grandfather. You know that.”

“I do. For Muggles, my boy, it is. Their world is tainted with blood, infused with the hate from war and conflict. A glimmer of hope is all they need. A brush with that faceless person, that stranger on the train, bus or street that they don’t even know affects them. And they thank God, or Buddha, or whoever they pray to at night, not knowing their lives are predestined and programmed by a force much larger than their paper Gods. Their Books take up ninety percent of Providence work, my boy.”

“I know, Grandfather. I once worked for them, remember.”

“Yes.” Grandfather Malfoy smiled. “Yes you did. So you are aware that Magic Folk are less inclined to require the touch of a Providence.” Lucius nodded. “Ten percent. Ten percent of all reported Commission work is for witches and wizards. It is not known why. Some believe our value systems are stronger, that they are forged in the minds of our ancestors and are strictly adhered to. Magic folk fear the past, you know. We fear that the blood in our veins isn’t pure enough. We fear that Dark Magic will get into our heads and seep into every orifice of our bodies. We fear, Lucius, that our fathers will not be proud of us. It is that fear that keeps us on the straight and narrow. It is that fear that guides us and keeps us from needing the Commission’s assistance. We are the superior race because of that. Muggles are infected by television and celebrity, by their need for easy money and easy sex. But sometimes,” he stared his grandson right in the eye. “Sometimes, wizards and witches steer clear of their paths. They believe their ancestral beliefs are wrong and set out to destroy the very foundations on which their families are built on. You started to become this way, Lucius. Your work as a double agent for Lord Voldemort was sufficient, but certainly not enough. Your focus began to blur, and it seemed to your father and I that you would be disrespecting the Malfoy name. Do you know why, Lucius?”

Of course he knew why, but he repeated himself again. “Because she showed me my Book.” Grandfather Malfoy smiled triumphantly.

“Because she showed you your Book! Bravo, my boy.” His face hardened again. “You were taught by Albus Dumbledore. A man so infused with contradictions I’m surprised he can think straight. You came away from Hogwarts weak. A droid. Ashla Morgan spotted that and abused you by showing you your future, page by page, day by day, in an attempt to bring you over to their side.” Toothlessly, he sneered. “Stupid woman. She didn’t have any idea what she was playing with. Luckily, I was informed of her illegal borrowing of your Book from the Commission Library and was able to stop her flaunting it around like nobodies business. For you are aware, Lucius my boy, that a Malfoy’s business…”

“Stays Malfoy business,” Lucius finished, his voice missionary.

“Yes. It was unfortunate that she learnt of Voldemort’s plans – how were we to know she personally was taking care of Tom Marvolo Riddle’s Book – and felt the need to go against us even when we offered ever so nicely to include her in the uprising.”

“Ashla Morgan was taken care of. Her life was deemed useless by taking the one thing she knew to be true away from her, Grandfather. Certainly, she continued her work but one is lead to believe in a half-hearted manner,” interjected Lucius.

“I am aware of that, my boy. But the moral of this story is not what happened to the witch who showed you your fate – but what happened to you.” Lucius the Forth regarded his Grandfather with thinly disguised hatred as the old man opened the watermarked pages of his Book. “It reads like a Muggle bestseller. You’re the anti-hero to Ashla Morgan’s saviour.” He snapped it shut hard, the thud reverberating through the high ceiling. “Codswallop. Absolute junk. No Malfoy has a Book like this. No Malfoy would stand to have this, this rubbish” – he heaved the Book at Lucius’ feet – “and still call himself a Malfoy!”

Anger coursed through Lucius’ veins as he stood, lifted his book from the floor and hurled it back at his Grandfather, the man he watched kill his own son in cold blood only ten years before. An arrogant, self-righteous bastard, consumed with hate born years before he had even been born. A man that, after thirty-seven years of his namesake’s unconditional respect had suddenly lost it.

“I am my own person, Grandfather. My father taught me that. He taught my darling sister that too. He taught us not to buy into family propaganda created three hundred years ago. He taught us to believe in the true honour of the Malfoys – the one emblazoned on our crest a thousand years ago while our ancestors fought along side Slytherin and his army in the Great Battle. I am aware of our motivations, Grandfather. I do not deny that the Dark Arts flows in our collective veins. But I will not sacrifice my son’s life by blatantly announcing to all that we are supporters of the Dark Lord! I will not have him hunted down like a dog because of his moral grounds, do you understand? By sending him to Durmstrang I might as well tattoo ‘DEATH EATER’ on his forehead and sentence him to his own early death.” He stopped for a moment, breathing deeply. “My boy will take on the fate this family wanted so dearly for me. He is named for my slaughtered father; your son that was murdered by your own hand – but as I stand here I proclaim to you, Grandfather – he will be taught by me. He will live by the morals of the traditional Malfoys and by my rules. Draco will not be infected anymore by your bitter lies and twisted sentiments, nor will he be ruled by your wrinkled thumb. Do you understand old man? Draco will be attending Hogwarts. And that is final.”

Without even surveying the patriarch’s reaction, Lucius Malfoy the Last gathered his Book from the old man’s feet and walked out of the room. It would be the last time he ever saw his grandfather – Lucius Malfoy the Third disappeared five days later and was never seen again.

Lucius sunk down into a chair, wiping the rogue tears from his face. He wasn’t sad. These were tears of anger, of frustration towards the family he had fought so hard to rebuild in the ways of the old code. He was the patriarch now, the king of the Malfoy Estate. It was up to him to assure that his children and his children’s children where instilled with the same morals his ancestors started those years ago. He became a hardened man, much like his father, reinstating his foreboding presence in the Ministry and re-establishing his alliance to Voldemort. Narcissa didn’t like it one little bit. But Narcissa’s mind was rapidly fading as years went by, Lucius thought sadly, and soon she’d be driven prematurely senile in her attempts to drown out “all the bad, bad things” in her life. A waste, he mused. But to rebuild his family’s honour he was willing to sacrifice along the way.

Narcissa was one thing – she wasn’t his blood after all, but Draco…well, Draco was a completely different fairy-tale. He had allowed Draco a certain amount of leeway at Hogwarts, Lucius mused. Allowed him to associate with those thugs, Crabbe and Goyle, and had even let his passable grades fade into the background. But it was sixth year, the year where the powerful wizards were determined and segregated from the weaker ones, and Lucius had sent his son the owl that day to remind him of his honour and the job he had been assigned in the rebuilding of the family. And what had Draco done? Nothing. Nothing! In rage, Lucius threw his brandy glass across the room and watched its perfect crystal shatter into a million pieces. His plans were similar to that glass; beautiful and clear until spontaneous motion forced it to break apart.

The boy was defying him, he knew. His son was on the path to ruin, just like he was those twenty years ago. History was repeating itself now, with the appearance of Ashla Morgan and rumours of Voldemort’s return to power and it would be a cold day in Hell before he let it happen again to his son – a newer, more foolproof attack would be needed to break Draco’s burdening conscious apart. But even so, Lucius could not help but allow the niggling thought to penetrate his consciousness. What if? What if that seemingly impossible day in Hell occurred?

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“Not everything will work out to plan.” She said it with such certainty it was frightening. Serendipity smiled suddenly. “Some things will. Some things, well,” she shrugged, a delicate motion if he’d ever seen one, and lifted her hair from her back. “We can’t control the weather, can we?”

“I’ve tried.” The laughter came suddenly, shocking his system. “You think that’s amusing?” Serendipity covered her mouth much like an English noblewoman from a Jane Austin novel would have. This woman – if you could call her that – was unbelievable.

“Your complete lack of knowledge when it comes to power always amuses me, you know that.” Dark eyes met his. “Voldemort will return to power and he alone will control the weather. Dark clouds, rain, torrential thunderstorms blasting across the hills of Great Britain with such force it will force the Muggles to batten down the hatches…beautiful scenes…” What was she talking about? Her eyes had glazed over as she began twisting a lock of auburn hair through long fingers that ended in black painted nails. Her alabaster skin was vibrant in the firelight, much like his own, with her coffee-coloured eyes dull in comparison. Apart, they were an influential source. Together, like they were now, the power was incomparable.

She was a Fate. As was he. They were family, cut from the same stone. But despite their un-imaginable ages, his sister remained in a constant state of reverie, still acting the way she had when she was sixteen. It was disconcerting to say the least, and still made him extremely uncomfortable in her presence.

“Serendipity.” He sat on the bed and crawled over to her on his knees. Her pink nightdress was covered in flowers and ribbons and lace. His black pants, white button down shirt and suspenders were almost funeral in comparison. “I can see what you see. But you seem not to be telling the truth to our associates.”

“Are you calling me a liar, Gage?”

“Of course not. I just want to know why you’re doing it.” An expression Gage had never seen before crossed her features, flickering the light on in her dormant eyes. She leaned forward and kissed him gently on the forehead.

“The Founders each left behind a legacy. Salazar Slytherin placed his in the bowels of Hogwarts. Godric Gryffindor forged a sword from the most precious of metals. Helga Hufflepuff created a book filled with extraordinary medicines. Rowena Ravenclaw placed her knowledge and heart in the confines of a gold locket.” She pulled him closer to her. “Two of these legacies have been found and used. One for good and one for bad. The other two will be found soon, Gage. And their abusers must be taught the right way to use their gifts.”

“Sister, I don’t know what you mean! You’re not making any sense!”

“The Founders know the future. The future came to them, that sunny November afternoon in the fields of the Great Battle. If we’re not careful, the past may come to the future. And what will that change?” Gage’s body felt cold. His sister, one who he had long assumed had alliances with the Dark Arts, was obviously seeing more that she was letting on.

“Serendipity, what do you see? Do you see Voldemort?” A dreamy smile crossed her lips.

“I see him in my dreams, Brother. I see his uprising like a nickelodeon picture.” She lay down and smiled up at him, affection evident on her face. “You will not be hurt, my Brother, nor will the Founders. Those who have stood against the progress of our people, the Magic Folk, will fall. Family lines will change. Sons will murder fathers and daughters will slay their mothers. A pretty picture is not clear for many years. A bloodied future is all that swims in my head. And all because of the Boy. The Boy Who Lived and his meddling counterparts.” She giggled. “The infant who bought down Voldemort will become the teenager pitted against him in the grudge match of our times. Not since Gryffindor versus Slytherin has their been a match so worthy of the hype. One will live and one will die – but who?” Again, she daintily shrugged, then closed her eyes, placing a hand on her forehead. Gage’s heart was beating fast.

“Serendipity, you must tell me everything! When will this occur? Tell me!” He shook her gently against the bed, but her eyes remained closed.

“Ashla Morgan was warned not to travel to Hogwarts. Now the blood must be on all of their hands.” A sigh. “Go now, Brother. I need my rest.” He knew that this was the end of the conversation and picked himself up from the bed. “Kiss me goodnight, Gage, before you leave.” Gage turned back, and delicately kissed his sister’s rouged cheek. “I love you, Brother. Never forget that.”

“I love you, Sister.” Quietly, he blew out the lantern on her wall and walked out, his heart heavy. He knew he’d be up all night trying to piece together what his sister had seen – a mismatch of the past and future that made little or no sense at all. Sighing, he ran a hand through short black hair and made his way to the study. Taking out a piece of parchment and sitting at the elaborate desk, he sat down to think.

Hours later, the visions still made no sense. Paired against his own, Serendipity’s visions seemed almost prophetic, something that had never occurred before. It was almost like Serendipity was being channelled, or used by some outside force to act as a human prophet; like her head was being filled with visions from someone or something that was setting out to change the course of the future.

He drew a book out of the bookcase and opened it. It was a registry of all Books that had been considered void for reasons that weren’t related to Providences’ work. Books, like Lucius Malfoy’s, that had been stolen or ‘borrowed’ and given to their subjects for any reason or another and never returned. Certainly, a new one was rebound. But the new edition was never the same and less powerful. What would you do if you had the course of your life printed in front of you? Would you follow it, if you knew the rewards or repercussions? That was often the problem – those who had power and wealth in their future would cut corners to reach that goal pages and pages before they were supposed to, causing the Fates to get confused and the cosmic design of the Destiny Commission to be thrown out of wack, if only for a moment. These void Books were dangerous.

Running a finger down the list, Gage took in a sharp intake of breath. In the last two weeks, three Books had been considered void. Draco Malfoy. Harry Potter. Tom Marvolo Riddle. He shut the book and breathed deeply. Why hadn’t he been informed of this? Unless…unless. Serendipity. Gathering his papers from the table, Gage shoved them quickly into his leather-riding bag, grabbed his coat and left the room. He needed clarity and help. It was time to pay an old friend a visit.

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