The Inescapable Cell

Author's notes: I wrote this in the summer of 2006, and originally posted to my Livejournal in July that year. Thank-you to several friends who helped me make it what I wanted it to be: dreamer_marie reassured me about the Dumbledore characterisation, cutecoati persuaded me that Lucius and Albus had a little more to say to each other, LilyAyl provided a detailed and purple-pruning beta critique, and Lazy Neutrino offered some thought-provoking feedback over coffee.

The Inescapable Cell
- by Chthonia -

"Ah, poor Lucius," I said to Harry, the night Horace's long-buried memory finally confirmed my suspicions about Tom's diary. No doubt he thought it was mere rhetoric – Harry has not yet learned to step aside from hate, despite his fierce ability to love. But I did indeed mean what I said...

People forget that I saw Lucius Malfoy grow up, that I've watched his pride struggle with his passion since the very first time he walked into the Great Hall. I watched him as he learned to shoulder the weight of family history and parental expectation, just as I've seen how he's passed that burden on to Draco. And I was there when he strode away from Hogwarts, ready to carve his way in the world with never a doubt he would do so. Who could fail to be moved by the sight of such bright ambition trapped in a drab grey prison cell?

Not that Lucius would thank me for my pity. Nor would I expect him to.

* * *

"Come to gloat, old man?"

He stays seated on the floor of his cell as the door grinds closed behind me. His prison robes sag, making him look older than his forty-two years. But his sneer fits perfectly.

"Not at all, Lucius," I say. "Even were I inclined to do so, I have far more pressing demands on my time."

For a moment the sneer twists into a scowl, then he looks away. Ah... perhaps I should have avoided that reminder of his enforced idleness. It's so easy to forget to think of such things, when there is so much else to think about...

"I hope you won't mind if I sit down? These old bones can get awfully tired when they have to stand for too long."

His lips curl in a mirthless smile as he waves his hand towards a bench hewn from the stone wall. "Be my guest."

I ease myself onto the seat; it is immediately obvious why Lucius prefers the floor. But even if it would not have been supremely tactless, I couldn't conjure up a more comfortable chair: I had to check in my wand at the security gate. Which is just as well – I do not want to risk him seeing my withered hand. He might not guess what it means, but Voldemort would.

I did bring something else though... Now, where was it? I thought it was in this pocket, but... Ah!

"Chocolate?" I hold out a bar of Honeydukes' Honeylicious Surprise.

"No, Albus, I do not want chocolate."

I shrug, and break a piece off for myself. Even without the Dementors, Azkaban can chill the soul.

"So, to what do I owe this entirely unwelcome honour?" Lucius asks.

"There's no need to be quite so inhospitable when someone takes the time to be concerned for your welfare."

"And since when have you had any interest whatsoever in my welfare? You hate me – just as you've always hated Slytherins."

"On the contrary, I have always considered hate to be a tedious waste of time and energy."

He snorts. "Oh, of course. I suppose you came here to preach about love."

"No. I came to talk to you about Draco."

He wasn't expecting that. He actually turns his head to look at me.

"You have nothing to say to me about my son."

I let out a sigh. "Speaking as Headmaster to parent, I had hoped that our regrettable political differences would not overshadow the concern we both share for the welfare of your child. I merely wished to assure you that I will always act in Draco's best interests."

He throws back his head and laughs, that half-crazed laugh of Azkaban. It chills me now as much as it did when I first heard it from Morfin Gaunt, those many years ago.

"What do you want, Albus?" He flings the words at me with contempt, sane now – or as sane as Lucius Malfoy will ever be. "Did you really think you could impress me with your threadbare Gryffindor idiocy?"

"What makes you think I want to impress you?"

He lifts his chin. "You're here."

"I've told you why I'm here."

We watch each other for a long, silent minute. He is the first to speak.

"You can't win, you know."

I shake my head. Why must Slytherins always think in terms of winning?

"No," I say. "Not on my own. You and I have that in common, I think."

Lucius looks down at his hands, lacing and unlacing his fingers. I wonder how much he knows about Draco's mission? I can't imagine Voldemort would miss the chance to hand him such a weapon with which to torture himself. As for what he supposes I know of that... I doubt I will ever learn.

His nails, I see, are long and slightly misshapen now, except for the two he has bitten back in a ragged semblance of his former grooming.

"Draco misses you," I say.

"That is irrelevant," he replies. "You will find nothing to criticise in his performance whether he misses me or not."

"You needn't pretend you don't care." I keep my voice soft. "Not to me."

He sneers. "You're wasting your time, Albus. You won't get to me through Draco – and you won't get to Draco through me, either."

"Yet you really wish him to make the same choices you did? It must be difficult, being unable to support your son in such turbulent times."

"I don't need your pity!"

"No," I say slowly, "you need your own. There is no weakness, Lucius, in admitting one's mistakes."

"Indeed not," he retorts. "The only weakness is making them in the first place."

I hold his gaze. His eyes darken as two red spots rise in his cheeks. He pushes himself up and stalks towards me.

"Get out!"

I don't move. Lucius Malfoy has never been a threat to me.

He glares down at me. "Whatever you do," he says, aiming each word like a curse, "you will never tear Draco away from me!"

"Good," I say. "That loyalty is what will save him."

"Oh, spare me your cryptic platitudes," he snarls. "Get out!"

I smile – it will infuriate him, I know, but I find I cannot resist. Lucius always did try to hide his lack of control by trying to control everything around him.

"There may yet come a time when you will be glad to depend upon those 'platitudes'," I tell him.

And I stand to leave. His powerlessness is clear enough here. There is little point in underlining it.

But when I reach the door, I turn back. I will likely not see Lucius Malfoy again, this side of the Veil.

"I'm sorry," I tell him.

As the cell door closes, he is watching me. I cannot read his expression.

* * *

Why did I go to Lucius that day?

There's the reason I gave myself, of course: I went to plant a seed. There is no victory in allowing a man to throw away his soul, and Lucius is no Tom; he may have ripped his soul again and again and again, but he has not severed it from himself. And despite it all, he has not turned his back on love. His love may be warped by pride and hate and fear, but it is there – and where there is love there is hope.

He should have learned that lesson many years ago.

Was there something I could have done differently, something that would have stopped Lucius and Severus and Bellatrix and Evan and all the rest from falling prey to the same monster that had already devoured Tom? If there was, I... but I do not see it. They needed their hate. It was their support; they twisted their lives around it.

Helga Hufflepuff was wrong – treating everybody alike cannot work. How could it, when each student has such different needs?

Too often I have misjudged those needs.

But I have always done what I know to be right. What more can anyone do?

Enough. There is a time to sow and a time to reap, and my part in this is nearly done. I will not see Lucius Malfoy again.

Ah, Lucius – did I apologise for failing you and Draco, or for trying to save you both?