The Driven Snow

The organ stops creaked in the old parish church and the pipes sprang to asthmatic life. Narcissa watched as the wet nurse beside her fussed with the baby.

Miles away, Lucius Malfoy wandered the streets, bathed in the urban half-light, pulling his coat tight about him. Ice crystals bounced off his muffler or stuck in his thinning hair, melting down his face.
A sudden wind with a heavy blast of sleet blinded him. He ducked into a bus shelter and sat down.
Christ, how things had gone wrong.
From far away, he heard laughter, and turning, pictured his father sitting on the plastic bench with him. The old man wore the same look as he had the day he surprised Lucius at his university apartment.

The snow began to mount against the country church, icing the recently cleared path. Narcissa listened to it slip off the slate shingles with a thud. The minister's words droned on, intruding annoyingly on her thoughts. Now that the baby had been soothed into a temporary sleep, she too closed her eyes and let her mind wander.

Lucius tried to hide his shock at finding his father sitting in his rooms, ensconced behind his writing desk, whimsically rifling through papers and violating his privacy.
"Hello, boy!"
"Hello, Father. Where is Arthur?"
"Gone." With a munificent gesture, the senior Malfoy offered Lucius one of his own chairs.
"Gone where?"
"Probably to the bank. Now sit down."
"Why did he leave, Father?"
"Because I gave him a large sum of money." Lucuis went cold, but said nothing. "Oh! Did I ruin your supper? Should I call in the next passing sodomite? Imperio!"
Lucius drew up a chair and sat down mechanically. He watched his father lay his wand down on the desk.
"Don't make me use that again."
"No, Father."
Mr. Malfoy surveyed his son with frozen eyes.
"You're coming home with me, Lucius. Your mother has allowed you to be coddled too long. She's dead now. Died yesterday. I thought you'd want to be told in person."
Lucius drove his nails into his knee to distract himself. He hadn't even known she was sick.
After an interval of introspection, his father continued.
"Poor woman. Leaves just us now." The old man grabbed a sheaf of letters and tossed them to join a manuscript on the fire. "You have a duty, an obligation. You are my only son, all I have left. You will continue the Malfoy line, Lucius."
Lucius closed his burning eyes and remembered the hours he had spent as a youth in front of the family tree, his father's finger tracing the lines, singling out certain illustrious ancestors for special mention. "We're still pure, Lucius. One of the few families that can say that. Never forget it, boy."
Opening his eyes, he saw just how much the years had altered his father. The man's hand had a slight tremor, the skin beneath his chin sagged. Lucius could see some areas of stubble that had been missed in shaving, and the once light blond hair was now a thin silver.
"Once you are married, and have given me a grandson, I don't care who you take into your bed." His father coughed. "As long as it is discreet. But you will produce an heir, Lucius." Mr. Malfoy rose, slowly wrapping his arthritic fingers around his wand.

The congregation knelt. Narcissa stared down at the small pillow beneath her bearing the Malfoy family crest. She remained sitting, exempting herself from the gesture on grounds of her frail condition.

The storm slowed and Lucius stamped down the uneven flagstones. The old bastard got what he wanted, though, didn't he? They all got their money's worth.
He was brought up short as flashing lights sped by, leaving a siren's wail in its wake. Fleeting blue lights washed over his skin, reminding him of another set of lights, another pair of hands...
He hadn't thought Macnair would frequent this sort of club, but one never could tell. An odd fish at least.
"He's like no one I've ever met. Leagues ahead of me. I told him, 'The man for you is young Lucius Malfoy.'"
They squeezed past the private booths and hidden couples stealing illicit and illegal touches. Macnair kept his voice down, as if someone might have heard him over the music.
Lucius grunted noncommittally as they drew up to the final booth. The seedy dance lights swirled slowly over the sole occupant.
"Lucius, may I introduce to you -- Lord Voldemort."
Fine white fingers, bathed in a blue glow, snapped open a lighter and brought the flame to a cigarette which hung languidly between cruel lips. "My Lord," whispered Lucius. Voldemort looked him in the eyes and took a long drag on his cigarette.

Ice whipped across his face. Lucius turned up his collar and headed down the black street.
How long had he worshipped that body? It was flawless, like ivory or Renaissance marble. Cool against his skin. He could feel the steely muscles beneath the flesh.

"Did you know, Lucius, that the Unforgivable Curses originated in India?" "No, my Lord."
Voldemort smiled. "Yes, they were originally developed as part of an intricate sexual technique. Foreplay, if you will."
Lucius quivered as a bloodless finger slid down his naked chest. "Shall I teach you, Lucius?"

The choir sang pitifully above the organ, the howl of the wind adding to the cacophony. Narcissa turned the page in her hymn book, absentmindedly following the near-dirge. The altar candles flickered perilously.

Fate was a fickle master, but there are others. How proudly he had carried the mark! How blessed he thought himself to be the right hand of the Dark Lord! Together they would usher in a new age. The house of Malfoy would be raised to honours previously only dreamt of.

He bowed upon entering the master's presence. Voldemort lay naked upon the bed, facing him. A woman was pinned beneath him, his hands on her wrists. He smiled as Lucius staggered.
"My Lord?"
"I'm sorry, Lucius. I'm not sure why I summoned you. Stay a bit, perhaps it will come back to me."
Lucius blushed imperceptibly as Voldemort began to suckle on the woman's breasts. She writhed beneath him.
"I'm sure I had something I wanted to...share with you."
Narcissa moaned as Voldemort thrust into her roughly. She bit her lip and had the decency to look away from her husband.

Narcissa Malfoy rose and stepped out of the pew, slowly making her way up the aisle.
"Poor dear, quite a blow to the family, I'm sure," whispered a sensitive crone.
"Can't say I'm surprised the young master stayed away, what with the trial an' all."

And now? Now, the Dark Lord was gone. Destroyed by a child! His followers, far from being the new law, were hunted like criminals. All the dreams, the plans that should have raised his name above all others, had collapsed. He would suffer the greatest indignity -- a Malfoy would be tried before the Wizengamot.
Lucius, deciding he had not been followed, made for the small brick building on the edge of the park. He opened the door, letting a shaft of light pierce the dark of the cavernous men's room.
As his eyes adjusted, he saw two figures caressing each other in the corner, hips hungrily grinding together. A lone man watched them, stroking himself through his jeans. He turned to Lucius and smiled, his teeth glinting.
Lucius stepped in and let the door close behind him.

Narcissa knelt at the communion rail. As the palsied minister approached her she opened her mouth and extended her tongue.

Lucius Malfoy dropped to his knees, muddy snow soaking his trousers. The man ran his hand through his hair as Lucius undid the fly of his jeans. He pressed his face against the strange man's crotch, feeling the warmth of the skin, inhaling the mingled aromas of dirt, sex, oil, carbon monoxide -- the smell of Muggles. Hot hard flesh slid over Lucius's tongue, filling his mouth. He could hear church bells ring a celebratory peal in the distance.

Narcissa opened her eyes and looked at the baby. It was crying again, angry at being awake and frightened by the loud bells.
"Do shut him up," she ordered the wet nurse.
The girl cradled the infant to her exposed breast and softly cooed to him.
"Happy Christmas, little Draco! Happy Christmas."