Building a Mystery

You come out at night

that's when the energy comes

and the dark side's light

and the vampires roam

Lucius Malfoy felt old.

The mourners had gone home. His wife was inside the manor, heavily sedated. She had been inconsolable ever since the night when Ministry officials had come knocking at their door, bearing the body of their son.

This was wrong. It always felt wrong, to bury a child.

He thought he had been doing the right thing. Giving Draco a chance to play spy for the Light. He thought his father hadn't known, but Lucius knew everything.

He knew Draco was feeding bits of information to Albus Dumbledore and his band of bright-eyed Gryffindors. That he spent time with them, and that they had become sort of friends. That he had fallen in love with a Muggleborn witch and tried to face down a Death Eater ambush. She had died, but not before he. He had died thinking he had saved her.

Lucius closed his eyes.

It had been insurance. Just in case. Just in case the Dark Lord lost, he wanted his son to be on the winning side. He had been so careful not to tell him anything, and this was his repayment. This was his loss, and his alone.

you strut your astor wear

and your suicide poem

and a cross from a faith

that died before Jesus came

you're building a mystery

He heard a crunch of feet on dried leaves, but didn't turn.

"Mr. Malfoy," someone said softly.

He sighed. "Miss Parkinson. I thought you'd gone home."

A pause. "I wanted to visit Draco one last time. I brought something for his tomb."

She walked around him, her steps light. She looked pale and tired, as if she were his son's grieving widow. Perhaps she had the right. She had had hopes, after all.

Yes, Lucius knew everything. He watched her as she knelt in front of Draco's tomb and laid his Head Boy badge on the ground. He knew she had hopes. He would have felt sorry for her if it were the sort of thing he cared about.

He didn't care about anything, anymore.

You live in a church

where you sleep with voodoo dolls

and you won't give up the search

for the ghosts in the halls

you wear sandals in the snow

and a smile that won't wash away

can you look out the window

without your shadow getting in the way

"When I woke up today," she said softly, "it took me a while before... before I remembered."

Lucius' throat constricted. Her words reminded him of himself, that morning. Of waking up alone in his bed; of searching for Narcissa and finding her crying in the Hall of Portraits in front of the image of her son.

He remembered coming up to her, laying his hand gently on her shoulder. Narcissa had shuddered and cringed away from him, but in the next moment had thrown herself into his arms, weeping, shattered, with the shards of her broken heart scattered around them.

"I miss him so much," she'd sobbed. He had tried to kiss her tears away, but she'd wrenched herself away and run down the hall. It was just as well.

oh you're so beautiful

with an edge and a charm

but so careful

when I'm in your arms

"I miss him so much," Lucius said, echoing his wife's words from that morning.

Pansy turned to him with a heartbroken wail. He clutched at her frail form, trying to offer comfort that he could not afford to give.

To his utter surprise, she molded her body to his and started kissing his face frantically.

"Pansy, what are you doing," he protested as she clung tighter.

"Make me forget, Draco," she said, her slim fingers grabbing at his shirt.

"I'm not Draco," he said. "Pansy, you forget yourself."

"Draco," she moaned. "Please." She reached up and twined her fingers in the hair at his nape. She captured his lips in a bruising, desperate kiss. He felt himself responding to her, but held himself stiffly in her arms until she broke away, crying.

'Cause you're working

building a mystery

holding on and holding it in

yeah you're working

building a mystery

and choosing so carefully

"Why?" she asked.

"I'm not Draco," he repeated. "I understand that you miss him dreadfully, Pansy. But I'm not about to let you do this in front of my son's grave."

She looked at him speculatively. "Somewhere else, then?"

Something strange wrenched itself out of Lucius' throat. It was, amazingly, a laugh.

"I'm flattered," he said, "but I don't think that would be advisable."

You woke up screaming aloud

a prayer from your secret god

you feed off our fears

and hold back your tears

Give us a tantrum

and a know it all grin

just when we need one

when the evening's thin

She sighed. "Oh well, it was worth a try." She grinned at him. "Thank you."

He looked at her. "It's getting late. You should go." He looked over his shoulder at Malfoy manor. It was just starting to get dark. He could see lights coming on in some of the windows.

Oh you're a beautiful

a beautiful fucked up man

you're setting up your

razor wire shrine

He heard Pansy leave.

Lucius stood in front of his son's tomb a few minutes longer. Then he crouched down and cleared his throat.

"I suppose... I suppose there are a lot of things I should have told you," he said. "I'm sorry, Draco."

Then he told him. He told Draco everything. Every single plan, every single thought, everything Draco had longed to know, everything he had withheld. Everything that could have possibly saved him.

Then he turned to the tomb next to his son's. "And I'm sorry too, Hermione. More than you know."

He rose to his feet and started to walk back to the manor.

'Cause you're working

building a mystery

holding on and holding it in

yeah you're working

building a mystery

and choosing so carefully