My Bad Faith

I laid sprawled across my black satin sheets, my whole body aching, and my wife clinging to my arm with sticky fingers, their coldness sending tingling sensations up and down my spine. I detached myself from her grip and sat up, propping my naked back against a pile of our most luxurious pillows. I leaned over the side of the master bed and searched in the top drawer of the bedside table for my wand and a cigar. My favourite brand, Ambrosia.

“Dear-heart,” said a wispy and breathless voice from my left. I turned to look down at my wife, pale gold hair plastered in chunks on her forehead and eyes like molten Sickles. She held in her hands my wand and cigar. Placing the thickness on her tongue, she clamped her teeth down and tore off one end. She let the tip fall from her bloodstained lips and placed the other end in my mouth, holding the wand up to the tattered side.

I lifted my hand to steady hers, clapping my fingers around her wrist and muttering, “Incendio,” from the corner of my mouth. A small spark lit the cigar and I inhaled the sour musk. My wife kissed the back of my hand, which still held hers and wedged her arms around my abdomen, hugging me tightly and resting her head on my lap.

“I knew there was a reason I married you.”

“I thought you wanted wealth and power,” she replied easily, shifting her shoulders into the bed. I glanced down at her shimmering body, sweaty and heavenly. It looked disproportional where the soft glow of the Ambrosia caressed her nude flesh, though the sheets clung to her in all the places I wished to view.

Oh yes, power and wealth foremost, but if those had been the only attributes I desired or cared for, I would have married her older sister, Persephine. But no- Narcissa held beauty beyond compare. She was graceful and fluid, with impeccable taste. Had I not heard the screams that had flowed from Narcissa in the past hour, I might have thought her even holy. “Those were pluses,” I answered, and I felt her chuckle at my response.

Narcissa sighed and I relaxed against the pillows, inhaling and blowing the smoky residue out tight lips, creating rings of yellow-brown that float to the ceiling and disappear.

“You know I hate those things,” remarked Narcissa, snubbing her nose in my flesh. “They smell god-awful.”

“I know. I just don’t care,” I replied truthfully. She snorted and was soon asleep. I glanced up at the clock in the darkness, noting the time. Only half an hour left before my meeting was to commence. I slipped out of her limp arms and walked over to my wardrobe and flung open the doors with a clatter. Narcissa shifted on the bed but made no sound. I drew on my basic black robe and fastened the hooks behind my neck and straightened the sleeves. After buttoning my trousers I ran my fingers through my silk locks of Malfoy hair, combing out imperfections and any sign that I was less than fully attentive about my appearance. I clasped the silver snake head fastenings of my traveling cloak at my throat, slipped on my leather gloves, and tucked my wand away in a secure pocket.

“Dobby,” I said to the air. A small, disgusting little house-elf appeared immediately at my side, as though waiting in the shadows for me to bid him. “Do not wake Narcissa, or I shall throttle you within an inch of your life. Is that understood?” I narrowed my eyes and he quivered a bit.

“Yes, Master. Dobby understands,” was his diminutive answer.

“Good. I shall return in three hours’ time and I wish for supper to be made ready when I arrive, and still warm.” I glared at him and he knew I did not make empty threats. “I am off. Shall my wife wake before I return, tell her I’ve gone off to a council meeting. She will know what I mean.” I stepped back from the wardrobe mirror and gave myself a quick look over. “Dobby- the spot on my shoe.” I lifted the hem of my robe and the wrinkled creature dove to my feet and began to furiously polish my leather boot back to a healthy shine. “Off.” I sent a swift kick to his abdomen and Apparated away.

The clearing I arrived in was much colder than the Manor from whence I came, but I paid no heed. A Malfoy does not trifle with such little things. Cold and heat only aid comfort, and what is comfort but another weakness to ensnare? I stepped briskly forward, head high and determined to a gaggle of black robed figures at the end of the clearing, standing above the evening mist like sticks in mud.

“Ah, Malfoy. You’re on time-“

“I am always punctual,” I snapped to whomever addressed me. The man silenced himself, wisely, before I physically did it for him. “Has his Lordship arrived, yet?”

“No, Lucius, not yet.”

I nodded to Goyle and lifted the hood of my cloak to shield my face, as was customary. Crabbe nodded in my direction and did the same, flattening down his murky water coloured hair with the heaviness of his cloak. Complete idiots, these two, and all their kin. Past and future, gods forbid they ever reproduce. Although Goyle had married in the last week- how did I miss that one?

Silence drowned us all as we waited. From deep within the woods surrounding us came the soft thud thud of human feet upon frozen soil. I straightened myself. For I am not ashamed, ashamed like many others who were here around me. Pettigrew. He is a prime example of such vermin. He did not belong, but the Dark Lord kept him around for some purpose unbeknownst to me.

The Dark Lord himself stepped forward from behind a stretch of trees and nodded at each individual as he passed. Sometimes he stopped and stared a few moments into their eyes before moving along. When he stopped in front of me, I proudly lifted my chin. His eyes were questioning, quizzical, wondering. He tilted his head slightly and asked, “You have a wife, have you not?”

“Yes, my Lordship, Narcissa.”

“Does she know of these things you do here?” His deep voice pounded at my eardrums, even though he spoke in hardly a whisper. His dark black hair slipped over his eyes as he awaited my nod, which I gave him frankly. “I wish for you to bring her, this Narcissa.” “Yes, my Lord.”

He then moved on down the line of his faithful followers of the Dark Arts and continued with the meeting as normally scheduled. I was the only one he spoke to directly that night. It filled me with a pride I am quite sure will never be quenched. A new ambition for myself.

I returned home that evening to the mansions smelling of its usual dust and tonight’s supper, orange-glazed duck. One of my favourite meals. I drew off my traveling cloak and tossed it over the rail of the main staircase banister, letting Dobby fetch it later, and made my way to the dining hall. Dark shadows pressed firmly against me as I hurried down unlit corridors to my supper. The dining hall was decorated in its normal black and silver dressings. The heavy black curtains hung idly over the grandscale windows, allowing no light in, and the candelabras danced in the light of their own flames.

I sat in my seat and waited but a moment for Dobby to scurry out of nowhere to address me.

“Master Lucius,” he squeaked nervously, as always when approaching me, “Mistress has been taken ill and will not be arriving to join you for supper. Dobby has-“

My icy glare froze him mid-sentence. “What sort of illness?” I drawled out.

He shook and averted his eyes. “Dobby does not know, sir, but Dobby will send for mediwizard if Master Lucius desires, he will.”

I sat in thought for a moment, contemplating my choices before I shook my head. “I will have my supper, then see Narcissa myself. Have one of the other elves bring her soup or something of the like.” I peeled off my leather gloves, ready to hand them to the ugly creature when I thought better of it and tucked them away in my pocket. “I will eat, now.”

After my duck and a deep glass of wine, I strode back to my bedchamber, where reportedly, Narcissa was sick. With no pretense, I flung open my heavy wooden doors and graced my wife with my presence at the side of the large bed.

“You are ill?” I asked.

Meekly, she nodded, pale blonde hairs sticking to her ashen face. “I haven’t been able to get out of bed, Lucius. I am drowning in waves of nausea and I- Quick, hand me the bedpan!” She sat bolt upright and grabbed the tin I handed to her. My wife retched and gobs of stomach acid spewed into the container. It was clear she had done enough vomiting to rid her entire body of any food she had eaten for weeks.

Suddenly, I felt ill as well, but surely not in the same way. “Is it contagious?” I questioned, knowing that I would soon be coming down with something similar if it were, as we had been in close contact a few hours previous. Very close.

She lifted her now watering eyes to look at me with a scowl. “I wouldn’t know. I was told that a mediwizard was not to be sent until after you had seen me, Lucius.” She had bite to the last of her words, angry beyond reason, I could tell.

Narrowing my eyes equally, I stood. “Then one shall be fetched now, shouldn’t he?” My wife nodded, closing her eyes in pain and discomfort as I took the disgusting pan from her white-knuckled fingers and slid it on the floor.

The mediwizard, a grouchy old man in fine white and red robes, ushered me out of the room the moment he arrived, saying he would need time to examine his patient. Annoyed as I was of being kicked out of my own bedroom by a man I didn’t even know, I nodded respectably and set off down the corridor to the drawing room. It was unusually warm, as a fire had been lit in the giant hearth. I sat in a chair, clouds of dust rising around me as I did, and reached to a table end to pick up a book and begin reading. A flash of green light made me change my mind as I looked toward the fireplace, seeing a face bobbing in the centre.

“Ah, and to what am I being graced with your presence for, Rosier?” I shifted in my chair, but made no moved to leave its cushions.

Rosier smirked a typical Death Eater grin. “They’ve caught a traitor in the Upper Circle. Wilkes, Travers, Macnair, and I are headed there now- to show our support for his Lordship.”

I smiled knowingly. “Indeed? Are you inviting me along?”

“Of course, I am, Malfoy. Come on and hurry. We want to get to Rookwood’s home before the Ministry does.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Rookwood? One Augustus Rookwood?”

“The very same, Malfoy. Apparently he’s turned spy for the Ministry. Passing along all of our little secrets to the wrong hands,” said Rosier spitefully. He glanced up at me, dark hair shifting on his forehead as he did. “We’ll wait for you just outside of Liverpool in ten minutes, you know the place I’m talking about.” With that, he disappeared from my fireplace, turning the flames back to red-orange.

Taking my cloak from the closet, I Apparated away to the preplanned point. Travers greeted me mildly as he lifted his hood and readied his wand. “Rookwood lives just a little ways down the road, about two miles. Once Macnair arrives, we’ll set off,” he said, noting that we were almost complete in number.

There was a faint pop and I turned my head to acknowledge Macnair, but it was not Walden Macnair who Apparated before us. It was Peter Pettigrew. His small black eyes darted nervously about us, four men almost two heads taller than he, and by far stronger.

“Erm, hello gents,” he mumbled.

“Damn it, Pettigrew, what the hell are you doing here?” snapped Wilkes, sounding only half as annoyed as I felt.

“I’m- showing my loyalties, of course,” replied the rat-like man. I rolled my eyes. This guy thought he was going to get something out of this, didn’t he? Think he was going to gain Voldemort’s praise?

“Yeah, sure you are,” said Rosier airily, dismissing the other with a disgusted wave of his hand. “It doesn’t matter what you’re doing here, but you have to leave. Now.”

“No gents, this isn’t fair, this is-“

“Calm yourself, Pettigrew. You can stay- but don’t get in our way.” The others glared at me, but I smiled. Instantly they knew I was up to no good. Earning the Lord’s good graces my leather clad foot.

Pettigrew stuck his nose in the air and lifted his chin, smirking importantly. “Thank you, Lucius.”

“Malfoy,” I corrected him as Macnair arrived beside me, already dressed in his cloak and hood covering his eyes.

“What’s that bastard doing here?” He indicated to Pettigrew with a jerk of his head.

“Why to join us, Walden, what ever else for?” said Travers replied sarcastically. Macnair grunted.

“Well, lets get this over with.” He Apparated away again, this time we went with him. We landed on the slightly sloping lawn of a small house, hardly even half the size of my master bedroom at home. The Ministry had poor taste when it came to their witness protection services. Rosier silently indicated with gnarled fingers that we should arrive via backdoor and do it noiselessly, as to not attract the attention of the Ministry.

The door was nearly falling off its hinges as we entered the house, creaking miserably as I pushed passed over the threshold. There were three rooms in the house. A terribly small kitchen, an even smaller bathroom, and a bedroom with on soul occupant, sprawled over his bed, sleeping. Pettigrew, being the royal wanker he is, insisted on being first to enter the room. It made no difference, or I thought it didn’t at the time, who went first, as we all had to be in the room anyway and Rookwood was sleeping.

I saw the light purple haze on his bedroom door, smiling inwardly to myself. “Yes, let Pettigrew in first, good experience, I think.” Macnair turned to me, angry, but when he followed my gaze, he nodded.

“Yeah, okay. Go on, Pettigrew, we’ll let you lead.” By now the other three Death Eaters had noticed the ward, too. Should Pettigrew step through, the Ministry of Magic would swoop down on him faster than the wheels in his fat, balding head could turn. And while the Ministry was dealing with him, we’d simply Apparate away. A sad loss of a Death Eater, but Voldemort’s most faithful would be well off.

Apparently please with our change in attitudes, Pettigrew swung open the doorway and stepped through.

It wasn’t at all as I expected.

We had supposed the Ministry would have Apparated into the bedroom, pinning Pettigrew between them and us, but they arrived at the doorway, directly behind us. “Drop yours wands!” one of them shouted, causing Rosier, in back, to jump. He did not, however, drop his wand. He quite used it, actually.

“Avada Kedavra!” One member of the Ministry fell to the floor with a dull thud a blaze of green light.

“He’s killed Marshall!”

There was a great riot in the narrow corridor as Death Eaters fought against Ministry, trying to gain enough room to Apparate away. Pettigrew stood in the doorway of the bedroom, looking perplexed.

“Lucius, tell me what to do!”

“Get the hell out of the way!” shouted Macnair, trying to get into the room to Apparate, with Wilkes directly behind him. Pettigrew stared at him dumbly.

“What?”

“Get out of the damned way, Pettigrew, before I curse you!” Macnair shoved the sniveling man to the side, but not before a member of the Ministry of Magic attacked, killing Wilkes as he tried to follow Macnair. Wilkes, blond hair and all froze in a gruesome state and fell to the floor, dead.

After killing several of the Ministry, I found that Pettigrew and I were the only ones left. Rosier and Wilkes dead, the others Apparated away. “Damn it!” I muttered under my breath, staring down the last three Ministry members, wand pointed. Pettigrew just stood in the doorway. It was his problem if he died. I dealt with death everyday. No skin off my back if he keeled over because of his own stupidity.

I sighed, as if resigning, and dropped my wand hand to my side and looked blankly at them. They looked slightly confused, but didn’t lighten their guard. I smirked at them, “Au revoir!” And then I Apparated, not really caring if Pettigrew did the same. I’m heartless like that.

I reappeared in my drawing room, angry. To this day, I’m not really sure whether I was angry with Pettigrew, or at myself, but either way, two of our best men died that day.