The Fall of the House of Malfoy

Part Two:: In Which The Villain Reflects.

"No," she whispered, tracing a painted nail along his thigh, "You aren't."

The man repressed a shudder of disgust as he looked down at her carefully arranged face, her coy smile, the soft swell of her breast. Many a man would have loved to have been the object of her attentions, but looking closer, one could see the spidery lines, so cleverly concealed, running all over her face; the calculating gaze; the thin lips; the gaunt face of a woman who had sold away her hope and now lived only to end each day.

He waited for the shudder to pass, carefully closing his eyes to the world. Let them think he was enjoying this, being surrounded by women, maintaining this illusion of a maddening calm that belied an unstoppable power. Another soft hand snaked up his calf, the pale hand glaringly bright against his pitch black robes.

"I wore the gown you sent to my mother, my lord."

They were so sharp. So calculating. He had sent no gown, certainly not one that was so low cut it bordered on the obscene, but the hint of a preference had set the others on edge. Each was willing to strike down a friend, if doing so would raise them in his esteem. Each of these adoring faces, he mused to himself, masked a soul that had aged far beyond its years.

But it would all be hidden. Hidden so craftily that even a most intimate friend could be fooled by their soft words and warm touches. Another wave of repulsion threatened to overwhelm his mask. They were all snakes, circling ever closer to him. Hoping to lure him into their traps until he was so far gone that he wouldn't notice the painted coils tightening around his neck. He cast a cold gaze at the simpering face that rested near his elbow, forcing himself to lift the corner of his lips in a smirk of approval.

They must have been girls, once, must have had secrets that lives did not depend on, had innocent pleasures that cost only time. Another girl suddenly laughed in his mind, her hair burning bright, her eyes shining in secret amusement. The man started slightly before steeling himself, the hundreds of eyes that watched his every breath, barely able to notice his shift before he seemed to once again become stone. That girl had long since gone. Those days had been stolen from him and buried deep in the past, by a world that did not care for the dreams of silver haired young child lords.

A thick coil of anger rose within him, making his cold grey eyes flash a sudden burning white. The room as flinched as one, the hands in his hair shaking, the frenzied whisperings in the corner faltering before softly returning. The lord look about his room, lips etched into a thin frown. They were all here, wearing robes of raven black that mirrored his own. The great hall of his castle stood high and forbidding, ceiling disappearing into shadows. A cold draught blew down from its heights, leaving a chill that no amount of marble fireplaces could warm. He took in the faces of his court. The scurry of short, tall, rich, poor imposing figures that muttered to themselves, trying to keep from drowning in the pools of deceit that flooded his polished his floors.

They all paraded before him, humming with quiet intensity, but he knew they were still watching him closely, stealing glances that skittered away as he met them. Strangers, he mused, forcing his fingers to thread idly through the golden locks of the woman seated at the base of his throne. They were all strangers in this room. Harsh critics that would claw at any weakness he showed. Suddenly the lord felt the weight of the silent stares push down on him, causing his heart to beat faster in his chest. He had to leave. Go somewhere where these spies could not watch him.

He stood up, pulling his black velvet cape from the grasp of the painted women. The quiet hum was instantly snuffed out, the soft click of his boots the only noise in the room. He swept by, looking at no one, walking in strong measured paces along a path that was cleared ahead of him. His page boy, fool that he was, realised late the intentions of his master and rushed forward to have the great iron doors opened. Fear firmly etched on his face, the boy scampered behind the heavy footsteps, almost tripping in his haste.

The lord gritted his teeth in annoyance, but did not say anything until the guards had once again closed the iron door on the raised voices that discussed his departure. Out of sight, the lord spun around, causing the young boy to squeak in fright and almost topple backwards in his haste to get out of the way.

"Leave me here, Everius." the lord ordered in a soft tone.

"M-my lord?" The man looked at the terror and confusion swirling freely on the face before him and bit down an impatient response.

"Go to your quarters. I will ring for you when you are needed once again." Relief washed over the boy's features as he gave a short bow and hurried off, glad for the reprieve. The lord watched the young boy's head disappear around the far corner with an almost pensive air before continuing along his way. He walked softly down the familiar stone steps at the far end of the great hallway, ears straining for any sound of unwanted footsteps.

This part of the castle was forbidden to most, open only to those who knew the secrets passed down by blood. The stone walls he passed were covered by a thick layer of grime and dirt, for no maid had had the courage to come down to this dark place where shadows whispered in their ears. The light of the castle above had been gradually disappearing as he progressed further down the ancient staircase. The lord did not mind, for he had been down this path so many times he could traverse it with no aid at all. He even preferred the darkness, for under its cover, he could pretend he was what he had always wanted to be.

Suddenly a crumbled part of the stair caused the lord to lose his footing and jar his arm painfully as he steadied himself. Wincing in pain, he reluctantly wiped his hands on his pocket and pulled out his wand. "Lumos."

A dull orange glow flashed from his wand before settling into a soft yellow that stretched metres in front of him. The soft rays slowly revealed ancient drawings carved painstakingly into the walls. Ancient armies were depicted here, wars, conquests, the monstrous faces of forgotten magical beasts. The lord stared around him, remembering the first time he had looked upon the walls. He had been following his father one day, curious to know where he went, and had become lost in the darkness. These faces had frightened him- and still did. The eyes of the beasts followed his every footstep and seemed to have lives of their own. Stay away. They seemed to whisper. You are not welcome here.

The lord shook away his memories and hurried further down before stepping onto a landing, a solid black wall blocking his way. There was no handle, only an intricately carved eagle reaching for its prey, standing out on the gleaming ebony surface. The lord looked closer, noticing with a bitter smile the small snake that coiled, almost invisible around the body of the bird. "Who is the prey here?" he murmured aloud, shuddering as his voice echoed further down. Straightening his shoulders he looked at the symbol again.

"Maledictus."

He lay his palm against the cool door and suddenly he felt a sharp surge of energy flow from the contact. Something raced up his arm, along his neck and plunged deep into his memories, searching frantically in his mind. On and on he felt that queer rush, vague memories flying past his mind. Deeper and deeper it went. Suddenly, it focused in on one piece of rational thought that lay at the very core of his being. He heard it echo around him in a familiar childish voice. I am Draco Priam Aquila Malfoy. Malfoy.

Seemingly satisfied, the energy dissipated with as much speed as it had come. The lord gingerly flexed his fingers as the door disappeared and a huge cavern opened before him. "Nox." he whispered, eyes adjusting to the soft green light emitted by the clusters of crystals that lined the room. Rows upon rows of curious statues stared at him through the darkness. The faces becoming progressively larger and more grotesque, a final attempt by each forgotten Malfoy to outdo his legacy.

An ancient archway stood over the path, crowned by a delicate carving of a watchful Bennu, that was poised in mid-flight. A weathering inscriptions framed its base.

Cui Optio Facta Est

Draco smiled to himself bitterly. The Malfoy name was a curse, a secret that would one day trap him here like it had trapped all his ancestors before him. Covering an expanse the size of a Quidditch pitch, the ceiling was littered with stars- a mirror of the real sky outside. Draco walked towards a row of lifeless figures whose features had not worn away, stopping by the one at the very end of the row. He stared into the sharp eyes of a giant hawk that seemed to look straight through him and see his bitterness. He let out a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding and knelt at its base.

"Here I am again, Father."

Draco reached out and traced the engraved name on the pedestal the jade hawk rested on.

Lord Lucius Cyriacus Lysander Malfoy

The Twelfth Lord

He stared at it, suddenly unsure of what to say. Even in death, Lucius maintained an aura of power and mystery that awed his son into submission. The entire cavern seemed to be listening to him so that he felt like he was being watched yet again.

"All is as it should be." He said quickly- as if to avoid the judging silence of the room. "The people are crying out, but my spies have revealed a new hope." His face darkened.

"Their hero is coming."

The room seemed to mock his bitterness - perhaps because it had heard it before in different times. It had become an echo that had not died out over the centuries. Draco shuddered. He did not want to continue this façade. Did not want to take his place in line behind row of dead lords that rested here. He wanted to leave. He wanted to be somewhere where he was not compelled to act. He wanted... the only thing that was denied him.

Again he felt as if the hawk had given him a piercing look, which was impossible really, he told himself, unable to rid himself of the unsettled feeling as the precious jewels set as eyes glinted as if alive. They seemed to accuse him of weakness, of not being able to stand through a trial each of his ancestors had to suffer. Draco hung his head, ashamed, before raising it again in anger.

"I did not break my promise." He glared at the stone. "But one day, I will stop this act."

The epigraph stared back at his retreating figure, frozen in silent reply.

Illusion Became The Man.