The Illustrated Death of Lucius Malfoy

FIVE

Draco turned his head from the train window, past which the scenery whizzed by.

Lucius sat across from him, his coat resting upon his shoulders. His right arm hung in a black fabric sling, and was covered in a light bandage. His eyes were closed.

However, it became evident that Lucius was, in fact, quite awake. "What is it, Draco?" he said, eyes remaining shut.

"How is your arm?" Draco made out, slowly.

"Surprisingly well, no thanks to you," the older wizard replied. "It should be completely mended by tomorrow evening." Lucius opened his eyes, looking down at the injured hand. He wiggled the fingers, flexed them, sighed then looked up at Draco. "Really, if you insist on wearing your hair in that fashion, at least keep it away from your face until it is long enough to take care of itself. Here." He tossed something at Draco, which the boy caught.

Draco opened his hand, and found a bit of ribbon there. He gathered his hair into a ponytail, and clumsily tied the ribbon into a knot. "How long did it take you to grow yours that long, Dad?" he inquired cautiously.

"I've been growing it since before you were born. You've seen the pictures." As Draco tied back his hair, he noticed his father observing him carefully. "Your mother was very fond of my hair."

I bet she was, Draco jabbed within his head. He changed the subject. "When will we go Christmas shopping?"

"Oh, I don't know." Lucius said. "I despise this time of year, but I do have some token gifts I must purchase." He leaned on one hand, shifting on the seat until he semi-reclined upon it, injured hand resting upon his hip. "I've had your gifts since June." Lucius idly began to stroke one of his own waist-length locks with his good hand. "Do you want them when we get home or will you wait for Christmas?"

"Christmas." Normal father-son banter, this. Which means he's trying to find something out. "I need to still get your gifts."

"Then you don't want me around to see them, hm?" Lucius's pale lips turned up slightly. "Fair enough. I'll give you some money tomorrow and you can floo to London and Edinburgh."

"What do you want?" Draco inquired. A question with a double-edged sword.

Lucius stretched out on the seat, adjusting his arm again. "Oh, I don't know. What do you get the man that has everything he could possibly want, save for your mother with us again?" He continued to stroke the errant lock. "If you find the odd necromancy book that I don't already have, I'd like that. Of course, you'll have to bribe the shopkeeper to sell you one, as you are underage. Check around the specialty stores and see if they have any items that might be new."

Draco nodded. "I'll do that."

The snow fell thickly upon the ground as Draco stepped from the back of the Leaky Cauldron into Diagon Alley. Pulling the hood of his cloak over his head, he wrapped his black knitted scarf around his neck, tucked it beneath the cloak, and surveyed the street.

Wizards and witches of all ages bustled around Diagon Alley, arms full of brightly-coloured parcels of all sizes, and not one, even the Hogwarts students, seemed to take notice of the eighteen-year-old wizard. That's quite all right, Draco thought, heading for Knockturn Alley. I'd much rather be left alone.

He shivered beneath his cloak as he turned into Knockturn, sliding past those that sought to smash him against a building. I have nothing to fear as I once did, Draco thought, reaching up to pat his hidden wand. No one would dare attack me here.

Passing a shop window displaying several mirrors, he caught a glimpse of his father out of the corner of his eye. Draco turned. What - he's not supposed to - he began to think, and then realized that he gazed at his own reflection.

Draco looked at the tall wizard that stared back at him for several moments, not sure how to react. The young man that stood there was a man that he did not know - a young Lucius Malfoy with white-blonde hair clubbed back in a ponytail, broad shoulders from which a black cloak hung, a slim body that was covered in a green and black waistcoat trimmed in silver and a white shirt with wide sleeves. Hands were covered in black gloves cut above the wrist, legs in loose black trousers hemmed to the ankle.

When did I begin to look like him? Draco raised a hand to his face, and felt his own smooth, shaven cheek.

"I think you missed a spot," the mirror said. "Just started shaving, did you?"

"Bugger off." Draco turned and walked away, hearing the mirror's laughter as he left sight of the store.

Just as he rounded a corner, he saw Hermione Granger slip into a store.

Draco flattened himself against the nearest wall. He adjusted the hood of his cloak, cleared his throat, then entered the store.

Finding himself in a dark shop, he pretended to take immediate interest in a nearby shelf of books, then, realizing that they were books on necromancy, he took a genuine look at each one, darting an eye to the side as he did so.

"And what can I do for you today, Miss Granger?" the shopkeeper hissed.

"I have an item whose charms have worn down." Hermione opened her handbag, revealing a small pile of folded cloth, which she slid across the counter at the withered old man. "I'm in a bit of a hurry, so if I could get it done today -"

"Today, lass?" The man's eyes opened wide. "It's six days before Christmas and you want something repaired today?" He unfolded the cloth with trembling hands. "Ah. Bought this here, did you?"

"Yes. I'll pay you for your trouble." Her face appeared determined. "I need this tonight."

"This is a one of a kind item. I will have to send it to a friend in Paris for repair. I may be able to get it for you before the New Year - and no promise at that." The shopkeeper patted the cloth. "You just need to use this less. Dormio caps are supposed to last a lifetime."

"I will pay you ten galleons if you can give it to me by six PM," Hermione said firmly.

The old man stroked his beard. "Twenty and I can do it while you wait."

Hermione shook her head. "Thirteen by two? I don't have twenty galleons."

"Done." The shopkeeper wrote something upon a sheet of paper, attached it to the pile of fabric, and placed it in a box marked 'repairs'. "I'll fix it when I close for lunch. I can't charge it to full in such a short amount of time, so I'll give you fifty uses. Bring it back to me after the holidays with a galleon and I will make it as good as new."

The young witch smiled, placing a pile of gold coins upon the counter. "It has been a pleasure doing business with you, sir. I'll be back at two, then." She turned to leave.

Draco quickly picked up a book and buried his nose in it. He waited until he heard the bell above the door ring, then he lowered the book, walking across the store with it in one hand.

"May I help - Lucius Malfoy, it is good to see you, sir! It's been a long ti -" The shopkeeper stopped short. "Good Merlin, you're not Lucius at all."

"No, I'm his son," Draco said coldly. He placed the book on the counter. "I'll take this."

"I remember you as a small lad, and look at you, all grown up and the spitting image of your father -" The shopkeeper looked down at the book. "You're not old enough to buy this, my boy."

"How much is it?" Draco inquired.

"Two galleons. Send your father in to buy it for you and I'll sell it to -" The shopkeeper paused as Draco placed four galleons upon the counter in a pile. "I see. Very well." A withered hand shot out, and swiped the galleons. "Is there anything else I might get for you?"

"Yes." Draco leaned against the counter, staring at the old man. "I'm looking for a dormio cap for some research."

The old man grinned. "Dormio caps seem to be quite in demand this year. Unfortunately, they're not made anymore, as they are a restricted magical item."

Draco placed ten galleons on the counter. "Does that end a few restrictions?"

"You don't understand, Mr. Malfoy." The old man shook his head. "I don't have any for sale at any price. I had one a few months ago and it was bought by a witch wanting to research dreams. I'd wager that your father owns one. You should ask him."

Picking up nine of the coins, Draco pushed the remaining one across the counter. "What do they do, dormio caps?"

The old man stared at the galleon for a moment before picking it up. "They are used for reading the dreams of other wizards. The dormio cap doesn't work on Muggles at all, and they don't work over great distances."

Draco placed a second coin where the first had lain. "How much magical training does one need to use it?"

"Rather advanced. Most adult wizards suffer confusion and loss of memory after attempting to use a dormio cap." The second coin disappeared to where the first had gone. "Also, the wizard or witch using the cap has to fall asleep while wearing it, and the wizard having the dream to be read must not only be asleep, but, as the Muggles call it, must be in REM sleep. In other words, a dream must be present to be read."

"Interesting. Could you wrap that book up? It's for my father." Draco asked with a small smile.

The old man returned the grin. "What colour wrapping paper would you like, Mr. Malfoy?"

At dinner that night, Draco could sense the silence that had fallen between him and his father had nothing to do with a curse and an injured limb. Lucius had removed the sling and bandage, and now his right arm rested in his lap, napkin intertwined between his long fingers. Draco's arm and hands did as his father's did, spoon in right hand as he stirred the prawn bisque, scooped a bit, raising it to his lips, slipping it into mouth, savouring the rich taste before lowering the spoon and repeating the gestures all over again.

The clock struck nine o'clock. Lucius looked at the grandfather clock behind Draco, pulled his pocket watch out from his robes, opened it, checked one time against another, then tucked it away.

"Knicker," Lucius said. "Two glasses of rum. Doubles - both. And bring my gold and black bag from my potions storage. You know the password and the gesture to deactivate the ward?"

Two yellow eyes appeared above the edge of the table. "Yes, sir." They vanished as quickly as they had come.

Draco felt his heart rise in his throat. It is time, he thought. What I have dreamed of and feared since I knew what a Death Eater was, and that my father was one.

Setting his spoon next to the plate beneath the bowl, Draco watched his father finish his soup, and as the house elf brought two glasses of clear liquid and a small black and gold pouch, setting them next to Lucius's plate. The older wizard, noticing the items at last, pushed away his soup bowl yet kept his spoon in hand. He opened the pouch, dug his spoon within, then looked up at Draco.

"I believe you and nonoverus root are close acquaintances now," he said at last. "My question to you is this: would you prefer your way of taking it, or my way?" He removed the soup bowl from its plate, put a spoonful of the brown root upon the clean china, then set the spoon aside. "Hm?"

"I'll drink it," Draco said at last. "I didn't know that you - I mean, nowadays -"

"There is a great deal that you do not know about me, Draco." Lucius retrieved a knife from the pile of silver utensils next to the plate, and began to mash the nonoverus root, slowly carving it into several thin lines. "Most of that I have deliberately kept from you -"

"I didn't know you could take nonoverus root that way. It's almost like the way the Muggles take cocaine," Draco interrupted him.

"Where do you think they got the whole thing from? Cocaine. Really." Lucius pulled a small metal pipe out of the bag. "Do any of the members of your house use that filth?"

"Sure. Some of the half-Muggle ones."

"Don't tell me that you've put that stuff up your nose." Lucius flicked the pipe, turning his eyes up to his son. "Really, Draco, do you know what cocaine does to the nostrils? Nonoverus doesn't look like small knives under close magnification. If you want to destroy your brain, at least tell me first so that I can make sure that you're not doing it with Muggle flair." He pulled the dish very close to him, then leaned down, his hair covering face and plate as he snorted what he had crushed. Lucius sat up in his chair, inhaled through his nose, sniffled, then took a quick drink of the rum. His eyes brimmed over with tears. "By Merlin. It gets better with age." He shook his head quickly, dipped the pipe into his water glass, wiped it clean on a napkin, and placed it next to his plate. He took a spoon and scooped up the remaining crushed nonovarus powder, dipping it into the untouched rum glass. Stirring until the rum turned the colour of weak English Breakfast, Lucius put the spoon on his plate and offered the glass to Draco.

The young man took the glass. "You've done this before," he said with a small sneer.

Lucius's expression matched his son's. "I used to sit in the very prefect's chambers where you sleep and take two lines before every Quidditch game. And I'd do it with your own ex-House Head."

Draco laughed. "Snape? He doesn't seem the sort."

"Trust me, he is. Or was, in those days." Lucius's expression altered, and from across the table Draco could see that his father's pupils were quite dilated, black almost completely swallowing blue.

Before he could change his mind, Draco raised the glass in a toast, then drank it all. He coughed uncontrollably, fought the urge to vomit, then put the glass down onto the antique table with a bang. "That hurt," he gasped.

"I don't want to see you do this too often." Lucius pointed a gloved finger at his son. "Nonovarus causes unstable magical conduction in the brain. Severus Snape and I stopped taking the drug together when we realized that we could hardly Apparate. I mean it, Draco. If I catch you in Knockturn Alley looking for nonovarus, I will Crucio you on the spot."

"Wow." Everything suddenly went red. "A Cruciatus Curse. You've never done that to me before."

"Don't be rude. By Merlin. You don't get it, do you?" Lucius stood up, planting both hands on the table. "You completely do not see how much I've done for you."

A sharp pain ran up both sides of Draco's head, and then his vision altered. Colour returned to normal, but every line was distinct, as if drawn; each colour bright to the point of physical discomfort. He stared at his father wordlessly.

Lucius, however, appeared not finished. "What do you want of me? Think your life cruel, do you? You have no idea of cruelty. If you were to step into my mind, you would see a world that would make you fall on your two knees and thank Merlin for what you have."

"And what do you want me to say?" Draco asked. "You say these things and expect me to fix you. I can't fix you." I'm not sure if I'm even making sense, he thought, wisps of dreams tumbling over one another.

For the first time since his mother had died, Draco witnessed an expression upon his father's face of absolute vulnerability. "You will learn tonight the true extent of the life I have set for you. I did not want you to wander down a path that you could not see." Lucius's voice reflected the hurt upon his face.

Draco said nothing, but his thoughts concealed into a scream within his head. If you loved me so much, Dad, why do you treat me as though you never wanted me?

"Come, now." Lucius walked around the table slowly, offering Draco an arm. The boy leaned on it. "You look positively ill. I thought you had take nonoverus before."

"I did," the young wizard replied as his father lead him to the library. "But this one is -"

Strong, Draco continued within his head. Or perhaps the magic within me is unusually strong tonight and affecting the drug. Calm overcame him, and he found that he could not stop staring at every light, every golden item brighter than the sun itself.

Lucius helped him onto a leather couch. "It will keep you occupied for awhile. As for me, I'm a seasoned veteran." He loosened the top two buttons on his waistcoat, his eyes wild. Then, he flinched.

"Is it your arm, Dad?" Draco inquired.

Looking down at his right arm, Lucius flexed it, then rolled up his sleeve, revealing his Dark Mark. "Oh yes, my son. It is my arm." He reached downward, touching Draco's cheek. "Sleep now. You will need it."

"Here?" Draco asked, curling up on the couch. "Sleep here?" The room began to spin.

"Yes. Sleep here. I will come for you in two hours. Oh, and take off your robes, will you? Those are real silk."

Draco did not stop to wonder why he was asked to do so. He only struggled from the garment, throwing it onto the ground. He watched as Lucius snatched the robes from the rug, draped it over a chair, and left the library. The boy closed his eyes, and fell into a dreamless sleep.