Made in the Image of God

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Look to the sky, look to yourself and remember: we are only god's echoes and god is Narcissus.

                              - Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves

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Truer words were never spoken.

God is Narcissus.  At least the only god I know is.  And his name is Lucius Malfoy.

He's not god in the standard sense of the word, in that he isn't immortal (not yet, anyway) and he didn't create the universe and he isn't this wise, benevolent, loving father figure to the world.

He isn't a wise, benevolent, loving father figure to me, and I'm actually his son.

But if by god you mean someone who's omnipotent, all-knowing, and all-seeing, then that's him.  My whole life, I've never been able to do anything that he didn't know about.  He has eyes everywhere. And what he wants, he gets. The laws of probability - the laws that say if you throw a Galleon up in the air, the chances of it coming down heads are equal to the chances of it coming down tails - don't seem to apply to him.  If he wants it heads, it comes down heads, every time. If he wants it tails, it comes down tails, every time. He always gets what he wants. And what he wants, perhaps almost as much as he wants the Dark Lord to succee, is a son to be proud of.

I've often asked myself, What's the point of me?  What I mean is, what was the point of having me?

To carry on the Pure-blood Malfoy bloodline, of course. I've heard that often enough.  To ensure that a Pure-blood Malfoy male is always there, influencing the wizarding world in a positive manner.

But the real answer is: To be the spitting image of Lucius Malfoy; to be an unthinking, unquestioning minion of the Dark Lord. Lucius is a vain man - he picked a wife that looks more like his sister than his spouse. And all so his son, his heir, would look just like him.

And be just like him.  I know what's expected of me.  Be smart, be strong, be cunning, be polite to your elders and women, be firm in your stance against Mudbloods, be a good Quidditch player, be able to talk about current events, be obedient.  It's simple, really. All you have to do is remember everything.

But that's the tricky part.  Remembering everything.  Remembering who's married to who, who works where, who to keep occupied so they can't get near the drinks at parties, who wrote what book and when.

Lucius had to do the same thing as a child.  He's told me so, many times.  How was it easy for him?  Did he just inherently know not to play with servants' children, and which fork is used for what kind of food, and how to converse politely and how to be a forceful leader?  How on earth can anyone do all that?

"You're a Malfoy; there are no excuses!"

"I'm sorry, Father, please forgive me!"

"You don't deserve forgiveness. Look at you.  You're my son; we're nearly identical.  You're supposed to reflect my glory and go on to exceed it.  But you're weak, and stupid.  You're a disappointment."

"I'll try to do better, honestly, I will.  Oh, please forgive me, Father."

"Go to the Room and think about what you've done.  I'll be along shortly."

"Of course, Father.  Thank you, Father."

"Shut up, you stupid sycophant.  Have some pride.  Now go."

"Yes sir."

The Room is a small, square closet with no light, no sound, and no air except for an Oxygen Spell.  There are no windows and the door seals perfectly shut.  When you get sent to the Room, you wait patiently in the hall until Lucius comes along to beat you.  First, he whips you with his belt.  Then, he puts you under the Cruciatus Curse, one minute for every year you've been alive. You take the beating without a word, whimper, or tear, or else it lasts longer. But during the Cruciatus Curse, you yell as loud as you can.  He enjoys that. Then you enter the Room and sit there quietly, reflecting on your mistakes, for however long Lucius wants you to. I think the longest I've ever been in there is three days.

When you get out, the house-elf nurse comes along and gets rid of the bruises, cuts, and forming scars, but she doesn't take away the pain.  No, that stays as a lasting reminder of your mistake.

It's standard procedure: How To Raise A Pure-Blood Child In A Way That Will Make The Dark Lord Proud.

When Lucius says "Pure-blood," it's capitalised. No question.  "Pure-blood" is the equivalent of "wealthy," to "successful," to "worthy."

"Mudblood" is the equivalent of "poor," to "stupid," to "unworthy."

But unworthy of what?

Of practising magic? Of living?

I don't know. I think it's both.  But Lucius' meaning are fathoms deep, with more connotations and nuances than I can understand or care to think about. Though I have to, to understand him and my place as his Heir.

Being the Malfoy Heir is an important responsibility.  I know that.  It requires intelligence, cunning, magical strength, social skills, political understanding.

And a Dark Mark.

This is the part that troubles me the most. It's not that I don't believe in all the things the Dark Lord stands for, because I do. It's just that, well... oh fuck.

I can't believe I'm telling you this, but I don't want to kill anybody.  The sight of blood makes me ill.

God, I'm pitiful. A baby. Lucius is right when he calls me weak.  I am. I'm stupid, and weak, and should be cast out of the Manor to live as a Muggle. He's always telling me that, and he's right. Just as he's always right.

No he's not.

It took me fifteen years to be able to even think those words.  It'll probably be another fifteen before I have the courage to say them. And I'll be on my deathbed before I can tell it to him. Maybe not even then.

But I can think them. Five words, five simple words.  Lucius is not always right.  It hurts to think them, like a chain around my heart, because it's wrong and it's unfair to him and it's disrespectful.  But at the same time, it's releasing; it's freeing. Because it's the truth.

But here's the kicker. What isn't he right about? I sure as hell don't know. I agree with him on politics, books, music, the superiority of wizards over Muggles, the role of Mudbloods in society. Everything. So if he's wrong about something, then I'm wrong about something.  I just don't know what.

But I'm beginning to think it doesn't matter. Though I can barely think this - the guilt hurts so much - we might not win.  "We" as in the Death Eaters.  "We" as in the Dark side period.

Blasphemous though it might be to think it, our side doesn't have an assured victory.

Fuck, I don't want to talk about this.  But the reason is him. Potter. He's so strong, so... righteous.  Soft-minded prat. And he's got Dumbledore, who, despite being a complete and utter git, is very strong. And Granger, for a Mudblood, is really smart. Weasley's not worth a damn, but the rest of them actually represent a threat.

You know how in books, the bad guys always get together to play poker, smoke cigars, and talk about how fun it is to be evil? Yeah, that's crap.  Bad guys don't think they're evil.  They think they're doing the right thing. So, in this case, who's the bad guy? Hell if I know.  Both sides think they're right. Most people would consider us the bad guys, but we don't think that. We're right about the importance of blood, and everybody knows it. They just don't want to admit it.  In this day of political correctness, it's not smart to appear anti-Mudblood.  Hell, "Mudblood" is considered a bad word!

But secretly, they're glad. They're relieved we're brave enough to stand up for what's right, and they like having somebody to do their dirty work and get rid of the Mudbloods. We're the house-elves of wizarding society. It's a dirty job, but somebody has to do it.

But will we succeed? I don't know. Most of the wizards out there won't fight us. They won't help us, but they won't fight us. And most of the ones who will fight us are Gryffindors, and combined they have the IQ of a gnome.

So he must be right. He has to be.  I mean, he's god. God's always right, isn't he? What does that say about my world if my own father isn't always right?  That's a foundation I rely on: Lucius is always right.  No matter what, just do what Lucius says and it'll all be OK.  Lucius is always right.  Just follow your orders.  That's my mantra. That's how I justify squealing on people, and cheating, and being an obnoxious prat all the time.  Because Lucius wants it.

But if Lucius isn't always right, where does that leave me?  Up the creek without a paddle. I don't think for myself; I wouldn't know how to. Between Lucius and Narcissa, all my thoughts have been sent to me, wrapped up with a big green bow and delivered by the house-elf.

Ah, Narcissa. If Lucius is god, Narcissa's the fucking Virgin Mary. The Ice Queen, perfectly cold and gracious and empty.  I don't think that woman has any feelings.  Inside, she's nothing but makeup charms and dessert forks.  Of course, life as Mrs Lucius Malfoy isn't easy. Any easier than life as Lucius Malfoy's son.

But did she help me? Did she ever come to me and say, "I know it's not easy, but I'm here for you.  I understand what you're going through"?  Hell no. She just ignored me, leaving the servants to raise me. My tutors were always more family than my actual family.

So this entire train of thought leads me to the conclusion that Lucius may be god but he isn't always right, but what he's wrong about I don't know, leaving me with absolutely no sound way to determine where the hell I'm going, though right now going to hell seems like a pretty sound bet.

And so I ask: What do I do about it?  Can I actually stand up to Lucius and Narcissa, renounce them and their way of life?  Can I defy god?

Ha. Fat chance.

Maybe if I knew what they were wrong about, I could do it.  Maybe if I knew where they were wrong and what I really thought, I could get up the balls to just leave. Walk out of Malfoy Manor and never look back.

But I can't do that. I can't desert my family and everything I've ever known. Especially over something this vague.

So I'll stick it out. Hey, if Lucius is god and Narcissa is the Virgin Mary, that makes me Jesus. And Jesus doesn't abandon god.  That's not how the story goes.

So, yes, I'd like to walk out and leave. But I can't.  Hell will freeze over before that happens.

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quod scripsi scripsi