The Watch

Chapter Five

Dizzy Dance

I'm finally free

Swept away, on the wings and into the light

It's finally gone, and all the hate seems to melt away

Goodbye forever you were giving me everything that was right

Yeah, Trust me I know!

You gave the same ever day

And it gave me stability to live

And now I'm free

Spinning of the walls in a dizzy dance

Set free from foolish hopeless romance

Set free from foolish hopeless romance

It was all just a definition

Now I'm stumbling into uncertainty

But it's a great feeling, like the last drink I had

(Are you listening)?

Twisting out of all the absurd into free

Yeah, Trust me I know!

You gave the same ever day

And it gave me stability to live

And now I'm free

Spinning of the walls in a dizzy dance

Set free from foolish hopeless romance

Set free from foolish hopeless romance

I'm still broken

And running wild

I'm still broken

And running wild

You may have broken me

But I'm running wild

You all think I'm BROKEN

But I'm running wild

© Copyright 2003 donna x (FictionPress.Net ID:342694). All rights reserved. Distribution of any kind is prohibited without the written consent of donna x.

Lucius Malfoy advanced through the crowded antechamber at the Ministry's restaurant, pausing to greet acquaintances, bowing low to the influential, a word of greeting and compliment always ready to his lips as he drew closer to the salon where the Minister of Magic was holding his levee.

He approached the circle of intimates gathered around the Minister. The Vice Minister of Magic was standing to one side, glowering and tapping one foot in obvious boredom. He loathed the Ministry ceremonies that the Minister conducted with rigorous and punctual order, and his expression brightened when he saw the Minister of Defence Against the Dark Arts.

'Ah, Lucius, come to pay your respects, eh?' He offered his hand. 'Damnable waste of a morning this, don't you think?'

Lucius smiled at the corpulent young man whose face shone red beneath the makeup he elaborately powdered on. 'When he earns you the majority of votes, Constantine, you will be able to take his position as Minister of Magic,' he said in soothing tones.

'Yes, and you'll all be damned sure that it'll end these stupid levees,' the Minister declared morosely, raising his glasses to examine the assembled company.

Accepting this withdrawal of attention as dismissal, the Minister of Defence Against the Dark Arts bowed low, and took his leave of the Vice Minister, and approached the circle around the Minister, hoping to catch the man's eye.

Cornelius was listening to the Minister of Foreign Affairs. The Minister's head was courteously inclined to one side to catch the elderly wizard's wheezing tones. 'Yes, I agree,' The Minister of Magic murmured every now and then.

Lucius drew closer until he was standing just behind Fudge. When Fudge raised his head, he would be bound to see him.

The Foreign Affairs Minister's discourse died in a fit of coughing. He buried his face in a handkerchief, and the King considerately looked away and caught the slate-grey eyes of the foreign affairs son in law. Lucius. 'Malfoy, beautiful morning, what. What?'

'Yes, it is.' Lucius bowed low. 'We must be grateful, yesterday's blizzard was no worse.'

'Oh my daughters were delighted with the snow,' the Minister said genially. 'They're all for skating on the lake, plaguing their mother for permission.' A fond parent, he chuckled indulgently. 'And how's Narcissa, recovered from her sickness?'

'Yes, she's having tea with Mrs Fudge today, I believe.'

'And the child, thriving, I trust?'

'Yes, sir.'

The Minister smiled a dismissal and Lucius stepped backward. He then offered his father in law a brief and curt good morning. The man warranted no further attention. He was an old fool and had served his purpose. Once the marriage with the mans daughter was celebrated, Lucius was assured of a place in inner Ministry circles and had no further use for his father in law's connections.

He melted into the throng, aware of eyes, some speculative, some envious, that had watched his audience with the Minister of Magic, gauging its length and intimacy. It had been a very personal conversation, one that marked the Minister of Defence Against the Dark Art's as his favourite Minister.

Lucius moved into a window embrasure and discreetly dabbed his forehead. It was hot in the room and his scalp itched. He adjusted the frills of his lace shirt and regarded Vice Minister still holding his place across the room. It was no secret that the Vice Minister cause the Minister of Magic endless heartache with his intransigence and debauchery, but at least the Minister had a successor that was male. An unsatisfactory male successor was better than a second round, mewling, and female brat.

An unconscious frown drew his thin eyebrows together, and one hand moved involuntarily to the small pocket in his waistcoat. His fingers brushed the silk pouch, feeling the shape of the tiny ring it contained. One of the three Malfoy rings. It had been slipped on his finger at birth- his to keep in trust for his own son, but that son had betrayed him.

Narcissa would have to do better the third time round. If he could bring himself to cover her pallid, stick body again. The woman revolted him. And even more so since the birth. She whimpered and snivelled whenever he came near her. He knew from the doctors that she hadn't healed properly after the birth, and was plagued with intermittent bleeding, but of course she was far too nice in her personality to mention such a thing to her husband, who was presumably expected to divine from the air whether she was in a fit state to receive his advances.

He debated whom he should approach next. The Minister of Wild Magic would probably require development. He had Fudge's ear when it came to patronage.

As he moved to the window, his eye caught that of a tall, elegant man in a turquoise velvet robe, standing in the doorway to the hall.

There was something about the man that raised Lucius's hackles. Something about the way he stood so negligently surveying the room as if no one in it could have the power to engage his interest. Lucius had seen Minister Vladimir Shickovavich around in the last few months, an ever-present face but one who strangely never attempted to attract the attention of the Minister of Magic. He had his own friends among the most reckless and extravagant sets and was known to drink deep and play high at the casinos and to have an eye for the ladies that were generally reciprocated. But he was something of an enigma. It was generally believed that he'd lived in Transylvania until his arrival in London some months before, but no one seemed to know anything else about him. But he was personable, well bred, and apparently wealthy enough to live as high as he pleased, and that was all that counted.

Minister Vlad continued to hold his eye, and Lucius inclined his head in a small bow of acknowledgement that was immediately returned with a flickering smile. Lucius turned away, frowning. There was a quality to that smile that disturbed him. It had complicity to it, as if it held some sort of secret that he believed Lucius shared. Which was patently absurd, since, apart from a brief introduction, he didn't know the man from Salazar Slytherin.

Suddenly bored of his attendance in the hot room, the Minister of Defence Against the Dark Arts made his way to the double doors, which led to the hall. To his annoyance he found Minister Vlad ahead of him, standing in the doorway almost barring his exit.

'Good Morning, Malfoy.'

'To you as well, Vladimir.' Impatiently, Lucius moved to step around his accoster, but somehow the Minister seemed to still be in his way.

'I hope Mrs. Malfoy is well,' Vladimir inquired, 'and your daughter, of course.'

That smile flickered again over the well-shaped mouth, but the slate-grey eyes remained impassive, resting on the other man's face. 'Even daughters ensure the continuation of one's line. And it's to be assumed that where daughters lead, sons will follow.'

His smile broadened and he bowed again before Lucius could find a suitable response. 'Excuse me, I see Alexis Hindley trying to catch my attention.' And he strolled off, leaving the Minister scowling in annoyance, wondering why he felt as if the man had been mocking him and why he'd been left without a word himself.

His exit was now clear, the Minister returned to the chamber outside. Blaise, Lady Les Sable stood by the window in a circle of attentive men. She plied her fan vigorously, and her high, trilling laugh could be heard clearly above the chatter that sounded like a rookery of starlings. The air overheated by the fires and myriad candles, was heavy with perfume, overlaying the ripe odour of stale bodies, less then immaculate clothes, and the richness of brocade, velvet and silks stiffened with use.

Lucius crossed the chamber and joined the circle around Lady Les Sable. She smiled at him over her fan, her heavily rouged cheeks startling against the white of her high piled coiffure, her china-blue eyes round beneath the thin arch of her plucked eyebrows. He noticed that she was wearing the emerald earrings he had given to her after their last meeting. He didn't recognize the silver fillet she wore in her hair and wondered sourly which of the incomparable beauty's other admirers had been responsible for that. Maybe even the half senile Victor Les Sable.

The ancient and unsavoury pureblood, a footman in attendance, was sitting in a bath chair by the fire, nodding to himself and muttering, his wig askew, his cloths spotted. It was common knowledge that he turned a blind eye to his wife's lovers and opened his wallet wide for her so long as she accommodated himself when he wanted her to. But the Venision Institute had educated Blaise, and there was hardly anything she wouldn't do in sex if the price were right.

She was still bloody desirable, through, Lucius thought, his loins were stirring as his gaze rested on her ripe breasts, two powdered globes swelling from her décolletage. Her nipples would be rouged, he knew, and it would take but a fingertip to expose them above the lace edging.

'Minister, you're drooling like a starved wolf,' trilled Lady Les Sables, tapping his wrists playfully with her fan. 'I believe this Minister would like a bite.' She brushed the back of her hand carelessly over her breasts and laughed around the circle all of which joined in, eager to participate in the mockery.

Lucius flushed but hid his discomfort. 'Of course, my lady when such lush fruit is on offer, a man must be but half a man to refuse the invitation.'

'But only!' Laughing, the lady linked her arm through his. 'It is so hot in here. You may escort me to my limo before I melt.'

'Before the paint runs,' murmured a gentleman sotto voce as the two moved off, the lady's flowing silk saqque billowing after her.

'Wicked, Carson!' The comment was accompanied by a rich and merry laugh.

Peter Carson turned, grinning. 'But irresistible, Vladimir.'

'You're correct there.' Draco watched Blaise and his father disappear into the farther chamber. 'She's like fire.'

'Without a doubt,' his friend agreed. 'But I'd be careful about reaching into that pocket, myself. It's said she had to have a dose of disease not so long ago.'

'Amazing!' Vladimir chided mockingly. 'One of those high impure's with a disease? Hardly believable.'

'I'd lay it on the fact that Malfoy gave it to her,' Peter said with his lazy grin. 'The old goat's been riddled with it for years.'

'A price to pay for a title and fortune, even for such a one as Blaise,' Draco observed, raising his head to examine the doting husband, still nodding beside the fire, apparently unaware of his wife's departure.

'Life's short, my friend, best to make it as sweet as possible,' Peter said easily. 'On which stake, do you play at Lady Ovular's tonight? Apparently the stakes are over 5000 galleons at the Pharo's table.'

'Worth the visit then,' Draco observed. 'Yes you can see me there then.' He bowed and moved off in the wake of Lucius and Blaise.

Lucius still physically resembled his father all those years ago. His physique was still willowy, his countenance smooth, his eyes clear, with that ingenious glow that had deceived many. Only his son could see the flicker of calculation beneath the openness of his expression, the occasional cruel twist to the wide full mouth. He could see them because he knew them. He knew his father almost as well as he knew himself. It was a knowledge that ran with the blood in his veins. They were like two sides of a solitaire card; only the reverse image was strangely distorted.

Draco moved aside into an alcove from where he could watch his father relatively unobserved and muttered an incantation, which rendered him invisible. He often found himself doing this even when it would serve no useful purpose. It was a form of an obsession, watching his fathers lips move, watching the way he walked, smiled, and exerted his charm. Occasionally Draco could see a resemblance to himself in the way Lucius tilted his head, the upward sweep of his lashed, and always in the slate- grey eyes that were his own. But whenever he saw that resemblance, he would be swept with a crimson tide of rage so powerful it make his hands shake and brought black spots dancing before his eyes.

In the dark reaches of the night he still heard Hermione's scream in that long-ago cloudless summer day. And he heard Lucius's taunting voice. 'I'll tell them you pushed her. The Muggle way.' He felt again his own desperate helplessness as his father said, 'I'll tell them what I saw and they'll believe me. You know they will.'

And they had of course. As they had always been ready to believe the worst of young Draco, who was always in trouble, sometimes of his own making and sometimes not. He'd become accustomed to it and accepted Lucius's brutal beatings with a philosophical stoicism. But this had been different. The accusations had not at first been open. How could one father deliberately accuse his own son of murdering his girlfriend? Lucius said he as sure it had been an accident, that Draco had been playing a game when he'd tripped up Hermione. Off course Draco couldn't have known that Hermione would go over the cliff when he lost his balance. Draco would never have done such a stupid thing if he'd thought.

But the whispers had grown and the stares had become more accusing. He couldn't walk into the Malfoy village without feeling the accusing eyes on his back, hearing the forest fires of whispers as he passed. And in his own house it was worse. Everyone looked at him in askance. His father had beaten him with such savagery that even now he carried the memory in his nerve endings, but worse then that physical pain had been the contemptuous rejection that had banished him to the dark corners of the house, where he lurked, ignored, while Philip basked in the golden warmth of approval. No one had tripped Hermione. Only no one would believe that truth; to speak it would bring worse punishment.

But Draco being the only son had left him to inherit the Malfoy wealth when his father turned 30. His father had raged at him, had screamed at the lawyers when nothing could be done to change the laws of primogeniture. So Draco, in his black despair, had removed himself, with the help of Harry and Wizards debt.

16-year-old Draco Malfoy, no longer able to endure the taunts and the cruelties, seeing himself through his father's eyes- the unworthy and unwanted son- almost believing now that his father's versions of the story had been true. So he tried to kill himself. Except Harry Potter had found him. Saved him and because of the laws of Wizard debt bound him to one of Harry's wishes. Harry told him to help the poor. So there he was as Lord Lucifer re-enacting Robin Hood, stealing from the rich giving to the poor. So he left. His clothes had been found on the beach. It was said in the Malfoy village that the guilt had been too much for him. And Lucius rejoiced in his fortune.

And now, Lord Vladimir stood in the Ministry halls and observed his father. It had been two whole years since he'd publicly called himself Draco Malfoy, and he felt no regrets for the loss of the tormented boy who'd staged his own death. But the desire for revenge burned like hot coals. He had come to claim his birthright, and Virginia Weasley would help him to that end.

-----

The Minister for Defence Against the Dark Arts dallied pleasantly with his mistress, who seemed disposed to single him out this morning for special attention. 'Will you drink tea with me this evening?' she inquired prettily as he escorted her to her limo at the end of the levee.

'Do you expect a large group?'

The lady seemed to consider this as she steeped aside to avoid a dog's bone left carelessly by some royal pug in the middle of the corridor. 'One or two, perhaps.'

Lucius smiled, responding smoothly. 'I'm not sure I've the time to share your favours Blaise.'

Lady Les Sables was so unused to objections to the way she played her admirers that she looked at him in surprise and, in even greater surprise, realized that there was something chilling behind the sweet smile, that the clear grey eyes held a shadow of menace. It was a look that the Narcissa would have recognized immediately, setting her knees to tremble, but Lady Les Sable had no reason to fear the male Malfoy. And yet she found herself saying, 'well if you prefer a téte-Ã -téte, Lucius, I'm sure it could be arranged.'

'Such indulgence. You do me such honour.' His smile broadened and he took her hand, raising it to his lips, 'Shall we say at five thirty?'

The lady inclined her head in agreement, displeased with the arrangement merely because it had been pressed upon her. Yet she couldn't decide how she had come to agree so tamely. The man had become a trifle possessive in recent weeks, and she'd intended to tease him a little, to show him that she was not to be taken for granted. But, instead, she'd agreed to cancel her previous arrangements and accede to a private assignation that would inevitably end in her bedroom.

Lucius handed her into her limo with the 'Les Sable' number plate and set off to walk home down Pall Mall. Malfoy Hall stood on the south side of St James Square, a handsome mansion that never failed to give him a surge of pride in his heritage. He preferred it to Malfoy Manor, a house he privately considered an unimposing and inconvenient countryseat with all the disadvantages of early Elizabethan architecture. However he had plans to add a Palladian façade and a new wing, which would give his house more consequence.

His son had loved the Manor, he remembered. He'd probably turn in his grave if he could see the architect's plans for improvements. The idea made him smile as he ascended the steps to his own front door.

His wife was hastening down the stairs as he entered the hall. 'Lucius, I trust you haven't forgotten that we expect my father and the Weston's for dinner,' she said, offering a timid smile.

'No, I haven't forgotten,' he replied. 'But did I not also ask you to invite The Gayle's?'

Narcissa's colour ebbed. 'Yes, yes, indeed, Lucius. But I thought it perhaps unwise-'

'Let us conduct this discussion in the salon,' her husband interrupted icily as the footman crossed the hall to the dining room.

Narcissa followed him into the salon, her eyes frightened in her pale face. She was not a plain woman, five years his senior though. Her predilection for sweets, however showed in her face with pimples.

'Now, let me try and comprehend this dear,' Lucius said softly as she closed the doors behind them. 'I directed you to invite the Goyle's, and you took it upon yourself to ignore my order. Is that correct?'

'Oh, no. No. Not precisely, sir. It was not precisely like that,' Narcissa stammered.

'Then feel free to educate me?' There was no sweetness in his face now, no curve of the full lips, no light in the slate grey eyes.

'My father. My father and Goyle have an old quarrel,' Narcissa explained, her colour fluttering in her cheeks like a wounded bird. 'I felt it might offend both of them if they were invited to dine at the same table.'

'So you took it upon yourself to go against my express commands,' he repeated softly. 'Come here!'

The shocking contrast of the shouted command with his previous softness drained all colour from her face, and she flinched, cowering against the door.

'Did you hear me?' His voice was once again soft and silky.

In terror Narcissa took a step towards him, one hand rose to ward off the blow she knew was coming.

'Put your hand down,' he commanded in the same tone, and his eyes were alight with a vicious pleasure as he saw her terror and her helplessness.

Whimpering, she lowered her arm, ducking her head, hunching her shoulders.

His hand lifted and he watched her shake, but he had no intention of marking her face, not when they had dinner guests arriving within the hour. Her father was an ineffectual fool, but even he might remonstrate at his daughter's bruises.

Lucius lowered his hand slowly and instead caught her wrist, twisting it, watching the pain blossom in her tear filled eyes. When she cried out he released her.

'In future, when I give you an instruction, you will carry it out, completely.' He said coldly. 'Won't you?'

Narcissa was sobbing. Massaging her wrist that hung limp and useless, the strength wrenched from it.

'Won't you?'

'Yes,' she whispered through her tears.

He looked at her as she shrank back against the wall, tears tracking down her hollow cheeks, her purple robe increasing the sallowness of her complexion. Her lank, silver hair was mercifully covered beneath a hat, which was decorated by purple ostrich feathers that waved ludicrously above her stick figure. 'Oh, get out of here,' he said in disgust. 'And put on some makeup. You look like a frog.'

Narcissa turned and fled out of the room, sobbing as she ran across the hall, no longer able, after twenty years of this marriage to summon up the pride to conceal her shame from the servants. She stumbled up the stairs and along the corridor to the nursery wing, where her only comfort lay sleeping peacefully in her cradle.

The nurse glanced at her employer's tear-streaked countenance and tactfully lowered her eyes, busying herself with sewing.

'Has she been good?' Narcissa asked finally, in an attempt to sound collected and in control.

'She's an angel.' The nurse said smiling fondly at the sleeping Mira. 'Good as gold.'

Narcissa gently stroked the smooth round cheek. Lucius had no time for the baby because it wasn't a son. And he resented her. Narcissa knew what happened to those who displeased her husband, whether through their own fault or not. She shuddered, swearing to herself that somehow she would protect this little mite from the viciousness of her father.