For My Lover

FOR MY LOVER

There are days when loneliness weighs so heavily upon me that the usually comforting silence of my dungeons rattles my nerves, and not even the brewing of a particularly difficult potion can mask the presence of shadows at the edges of my rational mind. That's why I'm here today, sitting by the fireplace in the teachers' lounge, hearing Sprout and Flitwick arguing in the background, and pretending to be marking essays when in reality I'm staring, unseeing, at the parchment, thinking of him.

Two weeks in the Azkaban Gaol,

For my lover, for my lover.

Twenty-thousand Galleon bail,

For my lover, for my lover.

Lucius. His white-gold hair, his quicksilver eyes, his flawless porcelain skin, his ability to charm anyone without even trying, the fond smile that curved his soft lips when I did something to please him.

Like going into Azkaban, for example. Closing my mouth the moment the Aurors clamped down on me, remaining silent and dignified through the questionings, the days in Azkaban, the trial in front of the Wizengamots. It was only when I received a message from him, telling me he had made it out alright, that I began to look for a way out for myself.

He made it easy for me, arranging a meeting with Dumbledore, who offered me my freedom in exchange for information and my appearance as a damning witness in trials against people I knew and respected. I accepted. I would have done anything to get out of that hellhole, except for anything that might compromise Lucius.

The tidbits of information I had given Dumbledore during the war (under strict orders from our Lord, of course) helped me cement a solid reputation as a spy for the Light Side, and soon I walked free. Free but not carefree, because there were still people who would have liked to punish me for my betrayal, as if they wouldn't have done the same in my situation.

And everybody thinks

That I'm the fool,

But they don't get

Any love from you.

'Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater' was the general opinion when I walked out of Azkaban on a cloudy January afternoon and I found myself penniless, without hopes of getting a job, and no one to turn to for help. My friends were either dead, in prison or in the same situation as I was, and the idea of taking the path of noble suicide crossed my mind several times as I drank Firewhiskey after Firewhiskey in a dark corner of The Leaky Cauldron, not even knowing how I was going to pay the bill when Toothless Tom decided to close the pub.

It was not that I didn't believe Lucius would help me if I went knocking at his door, but I imagined him busy trying to rebuild his fortune and his position in society, not thinking of me, knowing that he had done more than enough with his discreet push out of jail. But when I raised my eyes, already blurred with Firewhiskey and tears, and saw him sitting on the chair in front of him, a notable smirk on his lips even though his eyes were shadowed, I suddenly felt a little more important, a little less alone.

The next day, the Board of Governors of Hogwarts had accepted me as the new Potions teacher.

The things we won't do for love...

I'd climb a mountain if I had to,

And risk my life so I could have you,

You, you, you...

Lucius has been possibly the only constant in my life. He was there, rich, beautiful and spoiled, at the birthday parties that my father forced me to attend when I was old enough to walk alone. He was there, elegant, sophisticated and self-assured, when I was sent to Hogwarts and Sorted into the sect that was (is, will be) Slytherin. He was there, charming, cunning and convincing, when I graduated and began to look for my place in the world. He was there, solid, warm and reassuring, in those nights when nightmares kept me awake, memories of my services for the Dark Lord preventing me from closing my eyes. He was there always, whether in flesh or in memory, whether ready to welcome me in his arms or only available for a quick look of complicity.

Everyday I'm psychoanalysed,

For my lover, for my lover.

They drug me up and I tell them lies,

For my lover, for my lover.

For years after being freed from Azkaban and accepted into Hogwarts I had to stand the distrust of pretty much everything that moved in the castle, and outside. Several times Veritaserum found its way into my morning coffee or my pumpkin juice, and I had to go through endless chats with Dumbledore and 'chance encounters' with Mad-Eye Moody, lying through my teeth. From those years derives my investigations on the circumstances that might render Truth Serums useless, because I found myself telling glaring untruths (concerning Lucius, always concerning Lucius) even though I was doped to the gills with Veritaserum I had brewed myself.

I follow my heart,

And leave my head to ponder

Deep in this love no man can change.

I'm well-aware this desperate obsession is not exactly conductive to my continued existence. I know better than anyone that my life would be much simpler if I refused to follow the summons from one side or the other, if I stopped trying to keep on the fine line that marks the path of a spy's survival. But, how to desert the Dark Lord, when Lucius stands by his side, his silver eyes promising the glory under a faceless mask? And how to desert Dumbledore when my position in the Light Side might be the one thing to save Lucius if all else fails?

I follow my heart,

And my mind to wonder,

'Is this love worth the sacrifices I've made?'

Because sometimes, when I see him next to his wife and his son, I feel the sudden poisonous bite of regret, asking me if I wouldn't have done better looking for a lover of my own, a lover I didn't have to share with a high-society family, with the Ministry, the Board of Governors, and tens of charitable organisations. But one tempting look from those silver eyes, one apparently-casual touch from the tip of an ivory finger, the infinitesimal twitching of those alluring lips into a smile *I* have caused, and I send regret and common sense tumbling into Hell, willing to sacrifice what's left of my sanity for another brief encounter.

And everybody thinks

That I'm the fool,

But they don't get

Any love from you.

I think Dumbledore knows. I have seen him giving me pitiful looks whenever the name of Lucius Malfoy is mentioned, whether in relation with the Board of Governors or with the activities of the Dark Lord. The old coot looks at me as if I were the proverbial prodigal son and I were about to fall at his feet, begging for his forgiveness. But it will not happen, not now, not ever, not even if Lucius should die or betray me (and which would hurt me more, and how could he betray me if he has never promised me anything?). Never will I regret my decisions, and never will I ask for forgiveness from anyone but from Lucius.

The things we won't do for love...

I'd climb a mountain if I had to,

And risk my life so I could have you,

You, you, you...

Because I love him. Even if I have never said the words to him, and he certainly doesn't expect to hear them from my lips (does he expect to hear them from other lips, and should it surprise me if it were so?), I do love him. And Lucius, in his very unique way, loves me too, I know. I'm sure about that. It has to be. He has to love me, because otherwise my life would be a waste, and everything I've done would seem ridiculous to the onlooker. But it isn't. He does love me. He does. He has to.