The Illustrated Death of Lucius Malfoy

TWO

"You're late," Voldemort said. "How terribly rude."

"I am sorry, my Lord." Lucius Malfoy bowed as he stepped into the audience chamber. "I was detained at Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts?" Voldemort stroked his chin. "It seems that my network of information runs slow today." He gestured at Peter Pettigrew, who set a tea table between them. The small man, his deformed arm tucked under his arm, made a snorting noise, then went to the fireplace. "What were you doing there? Don't tell me that Draco fell off his broom again."

"No." Lucius leaned on his cane. "In a most interesting turn of events, it seems that I am Slytherin House Head."

"What?" Voldemort raised a deformed eyebrow. "Where is Severus?"

"I have not an idea. Dumbledore claimed that he received an offer of a position with the Parliament of Magic in Russia, and the position began immediately."

"Hm." The Dark Lord frowned. "That doesn't sound right, does it, Lucius?"

"As fishy as ten day old cod," Lucius Malfoy replied.

"Just checking." Voldemort settled back in his throne as Peter Pettigrew set a teapot upon the table, then went back for cups. "Did Severus make mention of wanting to leave Hogwarts?"

"Not in years, my Lord," Lucius answered.

"Did he say anything about applying for a situation in Russia? The boy can't speak Russian, can he?" Voldemort's voice rose, and he stiffened in the throne.

He still calls us his 'boys'. Even in our forties. "I don't think so, my Lord." Lucius watched as Pettigrew lay out a tray of cakes. "Perhaps he's onto something and has not reported back to us."

"He's a turncoat." Voldemort relaxed slightly as he spoke.

Lucius raised his head. "What?" he hissed.

"Oh, I've known it for years." Voldemort waved his hand.Â

"And you haven't executed him?" Lucius began to step to the throne, his heart racing. All of these years - and I never realized! I never knew! When did it happen - he was with us - one of our best -

"Mind your tongue, my boy. I know very well what I'm doing." Voldemort sneered. "His apparent flight is quite unexpected, but we will find him in due time. Your challenge, of course, will be to find out what caused his sudden disappearance."

Pettigrew brought over an ornate chair, then scuttled off into the shadows. Lucius sat, leaning still on his cane. "I wonder..." Snape was there when Draco took his potion. What did Draco see?

"Don't think too hard, Lucius. It tires you out." Voldemort snapped his fingers, and Pettigrew slipped up to his side. "What are you doing, slave? My tea!" He raised a hand as if to cast a spell.

Pettigrew whined, and quickly poured a cup of tea for Voldemort before running off again. Seeing that he was not going to be served, Lucius poured himself a cup. Voldemort chuckled and began to sip from his cup. "It is nearly time, Lucius. Time for our greatest triumph." Voldemort smiled to himself again. "Will Draco be ready to join us?"

Lucius nearly spilled his tea on his robes. "Draco?"

Voldemort stared back at the fair-haired wizard. "Of course. Is he ready to join our fold?"

"I'm sure he is -" Lucius recovered his composure and placed his teacup on the tea table, picking up a napkin.

"By Merlin, Lucius, do you not know your own flesh and blood?" Voldemort raised an eyebrow.         Â

"Your question just took me by surprise." Lucius dabbed his lips, then returned to his tea. "Yes. He's quite  ready."

"Alert the cells then." Voldemort chose a cookie, examining it carefully. "Do not use owls or house elves. We will gather in the woods on this property on the twentieth of December at eleven o' clock. All children seventeen years of age or older, be they willing and of prime parentage -"

"Just a moment." Lucius drew out the hidden wand from his cane, and cast a quick spell. A piece of parchment appeared in midair, and he began to dictate as golden words appeared upon its face. "We will gather at the woods before Castle Malefactor on the twentieth of December at eleven o' clock. All children seventeen years of age or older, be they willing and of prime parentage, will be welcomed into the fold."Â

"You must make some preparations. Alert all European cells that we are in the midst of rebuilding. We will sit idle no longer." Voldemort continued as his words also appeared on the parchment. "Tell your lieutenants in all European nations that - no. You must meet with them individually."

"My Lord," Lucius began, and noticed that those words took form upon the parchment. He made a banishing gesture with his wand. "If I suddenly take a trip to every country in the European Union, the Ministry would take notice."

"Choose representatives, then." Voldemort made another gesture, and the words began again. "And not Crabbe and Goyle. Merlin help us all if their sons desire entry into the fold." He grunted, and began to munch on his cookie. "At least a brilliant mind such as yourself bred brilliance."

"Why, thank you." Lucius blinked, then smiled a bit.Â

"Don't be too flattered. I told you to watch the -" Voldemort paused, seeing that the scroll was still taking notes. He made a violent gesture, and the scroll rolled up, falling to the ground next to Lucius's left boot. " - I told you when Draco was born to keep him close and guide him. Did you?"

"Of course," Lucius said without thinking.

"Of course you did not," Voldemort scoffed, retrieving his cup of tea. "Damn you inbred bourgeois. You raise your children with nannies and train ignorance. That child should have been at your heels from the moment he could walk. Instead he hung onto his mummy's apron strings."

"Draco has the highest marks in Slytherin House -" Lucius began.

" - Good marks do not fight wars." Voldemort finished the tea in his cup. "I had good marks, but I learned nothing of great use at Hogwarts."

"If I may say, milord, you're not being truthful, are you?" Lucius inquired, one blonde eyebrow perking. "You did, after all, find a few secret rooms in the school, though nothing important, I daresay."

"No." Voldemort said, staring back at the younger wizard. "Nothing important. All my knowledge came from books and practice. And apprenticeship. We all did not have the circumstance of magical education from birth, Lucius." He sighed. "At any rate, back to the matter at hand. December twentieth. Prepare Draco. You will recall the initiations as they were in the old days."

Lucius nodded, picking up the scroll from the floor. "I do."

"Then do as I've told you." Voldemort snapped his fingers, and Pettigrew appeared by his side. "See Mr. Malfoy out. He has a great deal of work to do." The Dark Lord pulled his hood over his withered head.

Dressed in black and green robes, Lucius joined the staff of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at their table that night.

Picking at the Shepherd's Pie and salad upon his plate, he glanced up at the Slytherin table. Draco, who sat near the head, grinned at him as he chewed upon a large turkey leg. Lucius looked down the table, where it seemed that his house, though cheerfully chattering and trading jibes, were being basically well-behaved. Turning his gaze to the Gryffindor house table, he noticed that Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, and the youngest of the Weasley boys (what was his name again? George? Lucius wondered), sitting together, their food quite ignored as they passed back and forth several books. Hermione held a quill, and she kept ducking her head to use it, as if she held a parchment upon her lap.

Lucius looked back to his plate. I should eat something, if only I were so inspired by this bland fare... He returned to picking apart the Shepherd's Pie until he managed to unearth a cube of chicken, of which he tried. Wincing, he reached for the salt shaker.

"It's not so bad, once you get used to it," Professor Sprout remarked. "I've found that a little white wine mustard does the Shepherd's Pie a great deal of justice."Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â

Lucius looked up at her, giving her a polite yet cold acknowledging nod.         Â

"You don't remember me, do you?" The cheerful-looking witch inquired.

"No," Lucius replied.Â

"Amelia Sprout. Hufflepuff - well, I was a Hufflepuff. I knocked you off your broom when you were a third-year during a game. You were a beater for Slytherin, right? I was a seventh-year then, another beater."

"Ah, yes." Lucius reached for his goblet. "What an extraordinary memory you have."

"Yes." She smiled even wider. "I always felt bad about that."

"I fell forty feet onto the pitch. Broke my neck and fractured my skull in four places, you know," Lucius continued. "Had Dumbledore not caught me with a spell as I fell, I'd have died immediately. It was a pleasant way  to spend Christmas, with severe headaches from the injuries."

Her smile vanished as quick as it had emerged. "Well, as I recall, your entire team exacted their revenge. Hufflepuff suffered their worse season in a hundred years, and I ended up in the infirmary myself four times."

"Yes, I do remember this now." He swirled pumpkin juice into his mouth. "1974. You did have a nasty season. The only remote contender for the Quidditch cup was Gryffindor." Turning blue eyes back to Harry Potter, he continued, "Had it not been for their seeker, we would have left every house in the dust."

"Malfoy, you bloody bastard -" A voice called out.

A flurry of green and silver robes just above black bell-bottomed trousers, and a boy with chin-length blonde hair appeared through the thick fog. "Bugger this fog," he muttered, clutching his bat as he dove toward the ground.

Suddenly, he saw a glint of gold out of the corner of his eye. Pulling up his broom, the ground suddenly became visible, as did the Golden Snitch that sailed past him, dipping up and down -

He heard the unmistakable sound of a Bludger - similar to that of a train - and turned just in time to smack it toward a rapidly approaching gold and red figure. "MacNamara!" He shouted. "Snitch!"

Out of the fog appeared another Slytherin boy, who sped off past him. The Gryffindor boy changed his course and took off after the Slytherin seeker. Lucius saw him as he passed - dark hair, glasses -

He swore loudly, taking off after him.

"What the Hell are you doing?" The Slytherin team captain's voice roared through the fog. "Mind your bludgers, Malfoy!"

"You get back here, Potter!" Lucius shouted, his voice cracking in mid-threat.

"And that's it! William MacNamara has caught the Golden Snitch!" The announcer's voice echoed throughout the stadium, as did cheers and applause. "Slytherin has won four-hundred twenty to two-twelve!"

Lucius shouted, "Yes!" He turned his broom off course and landed next to his cheering teammates, some of whom carried the Slytherin seeker upon their shoulders. Laughing, he followed them into the locker room.

Suddenly, he felt himself grabbed by his robes and heard a loud bang as his body came in contact with the lockers. He realized, through the pain in his head, that the Slytherin captain held him pinned, though not off the ground.

"What's up, Mikey?" Someone called out. "We won!"

"We nearly didn't. I'm glad to see MacNamara did his bit," Mikey growled. "The Quidditch pitch is no place to settle personal scores, Malfoy."

"Yes it is," A girl's voice piped up.Â

The Slytherins roared with laughter - all but Mikey and Lucius.

"Listen to me, you twit. Do it again, and I'll have your balls for a necklace." The team captain released the younger boy, then straightened his robes. "Nice save earlier." He slapped Lucius on the back, despite his scowl.

Lucius took another sip of the pumpkin juice as he watched the conspiring Gryffindors.

It is time to put my son to use, he thought.

"Dad, it's like everyone has forgotten that Snape was ever here." Draco chattered excitedly as he took a seat in a tall chair that had once occupied Lucius's office in the manor house. "They loved the pens and scrolls you gave them."

Lucius stared at his son for a few moments before speaking. "Are you completely thickheaded?"

Draco frowned silently in response.

"I have a good mind to take those pens away. Forgotten Snape, indeed." He can never know what I     know of Snape's flight, Lucius silently added. At least, not now. I must know if he is truly capable of trust.         Â

"It's just an expression." Draco shrugged. "They liked Snape. You just give presents."

"That's a good reason to show loyalty." Lucius's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Yes." He waved his hand. "Are you hungry? I had the house elves send up some sandwiches." He pointed to a nearby tray, which now contained two sandwiches, though the tray was covered in crumbs.

"No, sir. I'm full up from dinner still."

It's as if he's choosing every word carefully. He's on the defensive. Lucius leaned back in his chair, gazing at his son. "We have discussed subjects, you know, that are inappropriate for discussion amongst your friends. Even those with which you'd be able to speak at length about such things. You do know what I mean, Â don't you?"

"Yes, sir. Crabbe and Goyle brag all the time about how they're to be Death Eaters, and they try to get me started about how I'm to be a Captain in the fold someday, like you are." Draco said all of this very quickly. "But I don't say a word."

So. Lucius could not help but grin with pride for a moment. Is that what the boy hopes for, or the jealousy of other children? "How imbecillic they are, Crabbe and Goyle. And their fathers. They don't say this in mixed company, do they?"

"Oh, no, sir. Never." Draco's smirk matched his father's as he relaxed a bit. "They're complete and utter morons."

"Do you need new robes?" Lucius found himself temporarily distracted as Draco shifted in his chair, revealing a sleeve that fell well above his wrist. "Have you grown again?"

"I think so. And new shoes. They're getting nastily tight."

Lucius turned and waved one hand. His wand flew from across the room and landed directly in his palm. He leaned forward, tapping each one of Draco's shoes, saying, "Expandare." He twirled his wand beneath his fingers, watching Draco wiggle his toes within his shoes. "There you are. That should keep you well until Christmas."

Draco looked up at Lucius. "Will you teach me how to do that wand-summoning gesture?"Â

"When you graduate, Draco, you will be learning a lot more from me than a few simple hand-gestures, though I daresay that they take great practice and ability." Lucius placed his wand on the table next to him. "Would you like to have a go at some necromancy?"

"Would I!" The young wizard exclaimed. "That is, if you can get me a permit? Do you still have yours?"

"Of course I do. The Ministry still has me listed as a researcher." Lucius smiled again at Draco. So young, so innocent, so...not so much longer. "But that's not what I called you here to talk about. You have been summoned."

Draco's face became grave. "Summoned. Yes. When?"

"December twentieth." Lucius's fingers ran up and down the fabric upon the arms of the chair. "Are you prepared to do this, Draco?"

"I am." The young man's voice was firm.

"You realize what it is that you will do?"

"I do," Draco replied.

Lucius raised a hand to his chin. "I will sponsor you for a specific reason - that I fully intend on protecting you. I will not lie to you, my boy. Witches and wizards have died at these ceremonies when their sponsors became enraptured in the rituals themselves. Great harm will come to you, but I will not allow you to die. I am Voldemort's right hand, and I must act as such on that night. But know that I will not let you die. Do you understand?" Draco nodded wordlessly. "The Black Gathering will forever change you. I do not remember all of the night in which I was initiated before Our Lord - but I do remember that I was broken and reborn before Voldemort. You will weep. You will suffer humiliation and torture, but all are to show your dedication to a most sacred of causes. This alone -" He raised the sleeve of his robes, revealing the Dark Mark upon his arm. " - will send you to a place beyond ecstasy and pain. That being said, do you still want to join us?"

"Yes." One word emitted from Draco's pale lips.

Lucius made a low noise in his throat that sounded like a purr. Yes. I have raised him well. Voldemort will be most pleased, and how wrong he was about my parenting skills. He dropped his sleeve over his arm. "Fools like Crabbe and Goyle may not survive. Their fathers are weak. You will rise when all others weep. What transpires at the initiation is sacred between us. If you cry out to me, I will not fault you later. Then, perhaps, but not later. Are you frightened, Draco?"Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â

"No," Draco replied.         Â

"You should be." Lucius said. "Now, I want you to do a favour for me. I am convinced that your Gryffindor friends are up to something."

"Friends?" Draco wrinkled his nose.

"You know what I mean. I wish to know what that might be. I am convinced that is why you might have seen Hermione Granger as me in your nonoverus hallucination." Lucius tilted his head slightly. "Find out what that might be, if you will."

Draco grinned broadly. "Sure. I'd like that a lot."

"Go to bed. You don't want your house to miss their Prefect," Lucius said. "Run along. I will see you  tomorrow night." He reached out a hand.

Draco stood up, crossing the room, and grasped the offered hand. "Good night, Dad. Sleep well."

Draco found himself tossing and turning in his bed.Â

"Bugger it," he muttered, sitting upright. He seized his watch from the bedside table, turning the face upward in the moonlight. "Three-twenty," he read aloud. "Dammit. Dammit."

Picking up his wand, he pointed it at one of the lamps, which lit up, casting a green glow around the small Prefect's bedroom.

"Would you put out that light?" Muttered a younger prefect from his bed.

"Bugger off," snapped Draco. He did, however, turn off the light once he had put on his slippers and dressing gown. In the darkness, he snapped his watch around his wrist, then left the room, starting an ascent up a flight of stairs to the common room.

Upon reaching the common room, he paused, glancing at the painting that hid the passage to the House Head's quarters. The figure of a man in Elizabethan attire leaned against his frame, snoring loudly.

The sound of ice against glass caused him to jump. He turned, and saw his father seated upon one of the green leather couches. He held a glass in one hand.

"Don't mind me," Lucius said.

"You can't sleep, either?" Draco inquired.

Lucius shook his head. "Were you going to flagrantly break the rules by going for a midnight walk?"

"Yeah. Should I not?" Draco started toward the door.

"By all means, do." Lucius raised the glass to his lips. "As I said, don't mind me." He took a swallow of the drink. "Unless you'd like a whiskey on the rocks, but I have a feeling that Hogwarts has not changed their policies on underage drinking since I was a student."

Draco made a face. "I think I'll take a walk instead. And it's not against the rules. Well, I'll say if I see Renalta that I forgot it was her night to patrol the halls - I think it's her night."

"Tell her that your House Head gave you permission to stave off your insomnia. Who's Renalta?"

"Hufflepuff prefect."

"I don't know that name. Muggleborn?" Lucius swirled the drink within his glass idly.

"Half-Muggle," Draco replied.

"Ah." Lucius settled back on the couch. "Is something on your mind?"

Draco shook his head. "No, sir." That is, nothing I could tell you, he added silently.

"Well, then. Have a walk, but don't go snooping." Lucius finished his drink, setting it aside.

Draco turned and headed out of the portrait hole, out into the dungeon hallway, where a chill promptly hit him with full force. Shivering, he wrapped his arms around him. "Enough to keep me awake rather than put me to sleep," he muttered as he walked down the corridor. Perhaps the house-elves have warm cider, he thought, starting up a flight of stairs that led to the kitchen.

He paused suddenly, hearing a squeak coming from the corridor. "What can Dobby get for you to make you stop crying? No witch of your grandness should cry so," a house elf's voice said.

Draco flattened himself against a wall. He heard a murmur as a reply, but the voice did not carry as much as did the high-pitched one.

"This must be sadness indeed. Would chocolate pudding help?" Dobby asked.Â

Draco slid along the wall toward the voices until he reached a suit of armor. He ducked behind it and peered out into the adjoining corridor. Dobby stood upon a short flight of stairs, which put him face-to-face with Hermione Granger. She wore a large dressing gown, and her hair fell into her face. She clutched something white in one fist. Her other hand was hidden in her hair.   Â

"Dobby is most naughty for offering this to Hermione Granger, but Dobby has a fine bottle of sherry - Â Professor McGonagall drinks it when she cannot sleep. Would Hermione like a small glass?" The house-elf seemed to shudder at his own suggestion.

"No thank you," she said through her tears. "You've been very kind, Dobby, but I'm sure that you'd like to sleep. It's very late."

Dobby looked very flattered for a moment as he placed his hand on his heart. Then he shook his head. "No, no, no. Dobby's job is to help wizards. Dobby will stay until you are happy."

Hermione laughed softly, a sound that twisted with grief. "You are so kind, Dobby, but you need your sleep. Don't you see? You'll be too tired to help wizards and witches if you're not well-rested."Â

Dobby burst into tears, and clung onto Hermione with such force that she jerked with surprise. "Hermione Granger is too kind to Dobby. Hermione wants to make sure that Dobby does his job well. Dobby will go back to sleep, then. But promise Dobby that if you need anything, you will call for him. He will come, even if sleeping with dreams." The house elf back away, smiling through his tears.

"I will." Hermione pushed her hair away from her face. "Thank you again, Dobby."

Sobbing harder, Dobby backed away from her form. He snapped his fingers, and vanished into thin air.

Draco watched as Hermione opened the paper clutched within her fist. She scanned it, then crumpled it again, hand-over hand. She wrapped her arms around her body, shivered, then rose. In the moonlight, clad in her white dressing gown, she appeared almost an apparition.

Then she turned her head to the suit of armor. "How long have you been there?" She inquired, face darkening.

Damn, Draco thought. He stepped out from behind the armor. "Long enough," he replied.

"Go on, then," she said. "Make a jibe. Smirk until your face turns blue. I've seen it all."

"Why?" Draco started toward her slowly.

"What do you mean, why? You caught me crying. Go on, then. Call your father, while you're at it." Each word seemed spit from her rosy lips. "Go on. Get Daddy. You both can laugh it up. And tell all of your pureblooded friends that you saw a Muggleborn weeping in the middle of the night like the miserable creatures they are." The venom of the words increased with each breath.

"All right, then." Draco let out a forced laugh. "There. Happy?"

Hermione swept slowly toward him. "I'd rather be a Mudblood than a inbred, ignorant, racist son of a snake. Do you hear that, Malfoy? I'd rather be a MUDBLOOD!" Her tears began again.

This is not what I expected, Draco mused. "Lower your voice, Granger," he said. "You'll get yourself into trouble."

"And so what?" She said, sobbing with such force that her shoulders shook. "I'll be expelled back into my Muggle world? Let the teachers come. Let them see the deepest secrets of mine - or even yours."Â

"Is that what you want?" Draco inquired, his face serene yet heart troubled. What did she mean by that jibe? "To go back to your Muggle world?"

"Of course not." Her voice grew quiet. "I belong here."

Draco said nothing. He started toward her pale form, then paused. "Is that a letter?"

"It's quite none of your business." She stuffed the crumpled ball into her dressing gown pocket.

"Fair enough." Draco walked around her, going to a wide window. "Then might I ask a question that is of my business?"

"I'm not entitled to answer any of your questions, Malfoy," she replied.

"Then I'll just ask." He stared out of the window. "Why did I see my father when I saw you?"

"I have no idea." Her voice regained its venom. "The potion was to reveal the unconscious, not the conscious. Why would I think a moment of your father?"

"That's the question I'm trying to ask you." Draco placed a hand on the side of the window, looking out onto the lake. "Why would you? Or, what's in the back of your head that you do not wish to reveal?" He turned to look at her. "Consider this a threat. If you're trying to dishonour my father with one of Potter's outlandish allegations -"

Hermione interrupted him with twisted laughter. "And what might I be accusing him of?"

"Again, you tell me," Draco continued. "I do not like you - that is no secret. And the feeling is, of course, mutual. I know that you desire to fit in among us - which I can understand completely, believe me. That you would do anything to prove that an established family has done rather unbecoming things in order to show our government that you are worthy of being called a witch."Â Â Â Â

Laughing again, Hermione exclaimed, "What an active imagination you have, Draco!"Â Â Â Â Â Â

"You and Potter and Weasley have sought to discredit my family before. I must believe that you are doing the same again."

"What makes you think that what we do has anything to do with you?" Hermione shook her head. "Amazing. You are so stuck on yourself that you wouldn't even begin to believe that we might be discussing anything but the daily life of the Malfoy family. That we write down everything that you wear - perhaps it might prove that Draco's gone to the bad! Look, Harry, Draco's wearing Italian shoes. It must mean that he's allied himself with the Dark Wizards of Rome!" She turned with a flurry of robes. "I'm going to bed. Thank you very much for cheering me up with your flights of fancy."Â

Draco stood very still for a moment, watching Hermione go. He searched for a parting insult, but nothing seemed quite appropriate.

I believe the Mudblood's outdone me, he mused. But I'll allow it just this once. He perched on the window seat, putting his elbow on his knee, then resting his chin in his hand. His mind scanned the conversation that had just transpired.

It doesn't make sense. She attacked me with full force, as if she anticipated I'd go at her about her being Muggleborn. Draco answered that one promptly. Well, it wouldn't be completely out of character. I have known her for six years, though not close. It's hardly a new quarrel between us, that she's - she called me a racist. Bitch. Well, it is true, I suppose. Mudblood cow.

Somehow, the name-calling gave him no comfort. He shifted, leaning against the window. I've never heard her call herself a Mudblood. When I called her one during our second year, she  near cried in front of me. Still, she was twelve then, and now she's eighteen. People change. People accept what they really are.

That thought also gave him no comfort. Damn, he continued. I must keep by head about me. I must do as Dad has asked, to prove to him that I'm worthy of being a Death Eater. Obedience, dedication - I must obey my father in order to show him that I will do the same for Our Lord. No questions, only action.

He slid from the window, shivering, and headed back for the dungeon. Then, a sudden thunderbolt of a thought stopped him dead in his tracks.

Investigate the investigator, and find out her motive. By Merlin, I never thought of it that way before. Fight fire with fire. Research with research. He grinned widely to himself. Tomorrow, after class, I find out Hermione Granger's secrets.