A Study of the Mind

A Study of the Mind- Chapter 4- No One Mourns the Wicked

I had an order.

That's how it started, as an order like any other one.

At first I didn't want to do it. As I'm sure you could imagine my shock upon first receiving the order.

He had told me it was to make up for my first major failure under him. I readily agreed; I would do anything to make it up to him.

When he told me I had to kill someone, I thought 'Oh, no big deal; I already killed that Chang girl. How hard could it be?'

How hard was it, you ask? Ha. I'd like to see your reaction when Voldemort tells you the only way to get back into his good graces is to kill your own father.

My initial reaction was 'How the fuck am I going to go home without plotting his death every waking moment?' That was the reaction that was broadcasting itself in my brain. The one that I spoke to the finally embodied Voldemort was 'Yes, my Lord.'

You probably think I'm crazy, but what else could I say? 'I'm sorry Voldemort, but I think you've finally gone off the deep end' or 'There isn't enough power in the entire world that would make me kill my father'? I knew he'd lost it if he was willing to kill off my father.

To you, it's most likely something good. I mean, after all of the shit my father did, basically screwing over the Ministry and such, the wizarding world could benefit from the death of Lucius Malfoy. And I'm sure now we have, but let's assess the facts, shall we?

To start off with, not only was he the most influential man in the wizarding world, besides Dumbledore and maybe Potter, he was Voldemort's lap dog so to speak.

He was the top Death Eater and the leader of the 'Death Eater inner circle'. An elite group of members in their hierarchy consisting of my father, Aunt Bella, Nott, Parkinson, and that louse Pettigrew.

Technically, Pettigrew was like Voldemort's lap dog, always at the 'Entity's' beck and call to do whatever tickled his fancy on that particular day, but if Voldemort said 'Jump', my father would reply with 'How high?' In a sense, my father did resemble Pettigrew; he was that desperate to gain power, at any cost.

In terms of power over the wizarding world, Lucius could floo up Fudge, make some asinine request like wanting chocolate mousse because the house-elves couldn't make it to save their lives, and at least five minutes later, Fudge'd show up wielding a mean glass of chocolate mousse. Well, I'm sure that my father wouldn't floo Fudge for some mousse since I'm the one with the sweet tooth, but you get the idea. I always felt that they should just get rid of Fudge and elect my father Minister of Magic; he had the entire Ministry twirled around his perfectly manicured pinkie.

Enough about that, though, I'm sure that you already knew about my father's power, right? I thought so. Getting back to what I was saying before I went off into that tangent, I hadn't a clue as to the motives behind killing off my father. Or why Voldemort chose me to do it instead of Pettigrew or Parkinson. I always found it rather queer. Many who later saw me commit the murder supposed it was to make an example out of my father. By killing him, it showed that even someone who is perceived to be the most valuable one of all is in the end expendable. Bullshit. That's right, bull-shit. Voldemort knew just how fucking valuable my father was to the cause. If he wanted to make an example, he would have used Crabbe or Goyle; those neanderthals were more than expendable. You know, even to this day I have yet to figure out why my father was chosen to die.

It still haunts me. How I killed my father, that is. I had spent weeks carefully planning; waiting for the right time.

I had considered many ways in which I could kill Lucius. One involved poison, but that seemed too cowardly. Another involved using 'Avada Kedavra', but that one was a tad too humane for my liking, and I am a bit of a sadist. I went through countless others as well. Every time I found a method that I could deem perfect, though, it always had a small flaw within its trappings.

One thing was for sure: I wanted my father to see me when I killed him; to let him know that I was brave enough to complete the task bestowed upon me.

In the end, I decided to kill him at a Death Eater meeting, allowing Voldemort to see me commit that abominable crime himself...

-End of Summer 1998-

"Draco, are you ready? The Dark Lord is expecting us soon, and you know how he gets when we're late."

"Yes, Father. Mother is informed of our outing tonight. She sends you her love and says good-bye as well."

"Oh, how thoughtful of her," Lucius spoke with a slight hint of boredom. "Come now, boy, I should hate to imagine what it would be like if I had to call you for a third time."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry for keeping you and the Dark Lord waiting."

"Enough of your childish apologies. I shall be waiting for you." With a loud 'pop!' Lucius Apparated, leaving Draco in his father's study, going over the plan in his mind.

He had pre-arranged everything from the beginning. Even his own father, a very observant man at that, hadn't noticed the small signs: Draco's skittishness, his mysterious disappearances, and even Narcissa's sudden happiness.

Draco couldn't help telling his mother what Voldemort requested of him. She was his support system and if she didn't support this, then he would emotionally shatter in the process. Naricssa had helped him every step of the way, from choosing the right day, to getting the murder weapon Draco was currently fiddling with.

He fingered the small 35 mm pistol in his pants pocket. He took it out and examined it once more, running his hand over the silver metal, reminding him of the molten gunshot metal eyes that he shared with his father. He locked the gun, ensuring that it wouldn't go off in his pocket and placed it back in its silk-lined home.

Not five seconds later, Draco disappeared with a 'crack!' transporting him to his father's impending doom.

Before he knew it, he was in Parkinson Manor, the home that tonight's meeting was to be held in. He took a quick glance around to find his father. Draco caught a bit of the white-blond hair that could only be Lucius' from behind the black hood and mask of one of the many figures. He wasn't curious as to whom the rest of tonight's participants were though; he already knew who would be there.

Draco proceeded to veil his face with mask and hood, but stopped short. Voldemort had told him he had to be spotted easily among his followers. Draco remembered this just in time too; it seemed that the Dark Lord was making his way into the low lit living space.

Strangely enough, it was at this time that Draco noticed how different Voldemort truly looked. He was a slight mixture of his former 16-year old self and what he looked like during Draco's fourth year. His face still had the high, chiseled cheekbones that Draco himself possessed and the jet black hair that almost looked blue when looked at from a certain angle, but it wasn't coiffed; more like a long, shaggy mess. Yet, he no longer had those protruding obsidian eyes; they glowed red or yellow now. His skin had no trace of colour whatsoever. It was that of a pure snow white, making his eyes and hair stand out more. Draco thought that he might actually be rather handsome if it weren't for the ghostly or demonic vibe he got from him.

Just like Voldemort had planned for, Draco was spotted easily among the rankings and summoned forward to speak with the Dark Lord.

Face to face, they proceeded to speak in hushed tones. Although Draco knew who would be at the meeting, no other Death Eater knew of this plan.

"Is everything prepared?" Voldemort asked with a slight hiss.

"Yes, my Lord." Draco briefly flashed Voldemort the weapon in his pocket in response as well.

"Ahh, yes. I forgot you were using a Muggle device. I am anxious to see how it will be put to good use, young Draco," Voldemort stated in smug satisfaction.

"You will soon enough, my Lord."

"Excellent. Then let us not waste any more time. You know what you need to do." Voldemort dismissed Draco with a slight wave of the hand as Draco began the search for his father.

The Dark Lord prepared to call the room to attention, requesting that Lucius and Draco step forward from the rest of the pack without their masks or hoods.

Lucius immediately sank to his knees in front of the Dark Lord, like a worshipper at an altar. Draco silently bowed and searched Voldemort's face for any signs of commencement. The Dark Lord gave him a slightly feral smirk; his sign. No sooner than Draco saw that, he brought his right elbow down on Lucius' skull; a weak Lucius was easier to kill in Draco's mind.

Lucius looked up, stunned, into his son's face. As he got up, Draco gave him a blow to the stomach followed by a sharp hook to the nose. Draco thought he heard cracking, but continued his blows relentlessly. After a good ten minutes, he had gotten Lucius to the ground, a look of panic and a slight fear present in the elder man's eyes. It was at that time that Draco pulled out the pistol, noting the growing fear in his father's eyes.

Draco unlocked the pistol and took out a white monogrammed handkerchief out of his pant's pocket, bending down in the process. When things couldn't get any weirder for him, Draco began talking to his father, cleaning his face all the while.

"Do you find me sadistic? You know, I bet I could fry an egg on your head right now, if I wanted to. You know, Father, I'd like to believe that you're aware enough even now to know that there's nothing sadistic in my actions. I've had this whole little situation planned out for a while now, too. Even Mother helped me. She was the one that got me this lovely pistol that you're so desperately staring at." Draco flashed him a brilliant smile. "But don't think that I woke up one morning and said 'I think I might kill my father today'. No, you can give credit for coming up with this little task to the wizard that you've been worshipping for the past, what? 20-25 years? Let's go with 25."

He stood up to his full height, satisfied with the cleaning job on his father's face. He raised the gun, poised to shoot, but then he paused, saying one last thing to the man that he worshipped.

"No, Father, at this moment, this is me at my most masochistic."

"Draco, I've-"

But Draco never got to hear Lucius' last words since just at that moment, a gunshot rang through the air, silencing him forever.

Lucius Gabriel Malfoy was dead at age 50. Shot in the head by his 19-year-old son.

I went completely Muggle for this one, even down to where I shot him.

Yeah, I know. I'm a bit of a sick fuck. My thoughts at the time were 'If I'm going to kill him with a Muggle weapon, why not do it Muggle every step of the way?' I had no idea that I would get so involved.

Where I shot my father though, well, I got the idea from some Muggle religion. Christianity, I believe. You see, I shot him square in the forehead, know as the 'brand or mark of Cain.' Know as such because God marked Cain after killing his brother Abel. The mark is supposed to be the mark of a murderer. I told you I was a sick fuck during the planning stages.

In case you're wondering, we held a funeral. Mum and I only felt it was necessary to make Father's death seem as normal and the family as grief-ridden as possible to the press. We told them that he died of heart failure. We left it to the press to twist it however way they wanted to. He now resides in the Malfoy family mausoleum on the manor's grounds.

It was only after Lucius died that my aunt, Sophia, decided to make another appearance.