Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/685376.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Underage
  Category:
      Gen
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Lucius_Malfoy/Narcissa_Malfoy
  Character:
      Lucius_Malfoy, Draco_Malfoy, Narcissa_Malfoy, Severus_Snape, Abraxas
      Malfoy
  Additional Tags:
      Child_Abuse, Father_Figures, Father-Son_Relationship, Bad_Parenting,
      Corporal_Punishment, Physical_Abuse, Mental_Abuse, Childhood_Sexual
      Abuse, Character_Death, Family, Dysfunctional_Family, Family_Drama
  Stats:
      Published: 2008-07-06 Chapters: 5/5 Words: 14824
****** Family Rules ******
by Catsintheattic
Summary
     Lucius Malfoy is a loving husband. He wants his wife to be safe and
     happy. Lucius Malfoy is a stern father. He wants his son to be well
     armed for the future. Lucius Malfoy is a son himself. Sometimes, he
     only wants to be free from the past. Lucius Malfoy is a friend in
     need. But some boundaries are not to be touched.
     A Lucius-centric story about the Malfoy family, which takes a closer
     look at tradition, upbringing and friendship. Between 1968 and 1995,
     Lucius struggles with his father, befriends Severus, becomes a Death
     Eater and protects his family from the worst.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
***** How to Raise a Child *****
Lucius Malfoy commanded the use of words like a snake its poison fangs. While
this attitude was easy enough to deal with strangers, it proved less potent
when applied to members of his family. So, apart from a brief greeting, he held
his tongue when he met Draco on Platform 9 ¾ and they side-along Apparated home
to Malfoy Manor. Silently, they walked the short distance from the gates to the
manor. The garden with its high snow-covered hedges and the fountain running in
spite of the severe cold looked taken from a turn-of-the-century painting.
Draco carried his small suitcase up the manor’s stone steps by himself. Inside,
one of the house-elves, Tinky, took care of it.
Lucius cleared his throat and turned to face his son. “Welcome back for the
winter holidays, Draco. It is too late tonight for a father-to-son talk and I
don’t want to spoil your mother’s preparations for dinner.”
“Or rather, you don’t want to spoil your evening,” Draco mumbled.
“Excuse me? You seem to forget whom you are talking to. You will come to my
study tomorrow morning at eight o’clock. Not a word to your mother. We have
some serious matters to discuss.”
Draco ducked his head and gave a short nod. What other options, thought Lucius,
did he have?
Dinner was an awkward affair. Between idle chatter, Narcissa’s attentive gaze
kept wandering towards Draco, who didn’t speak much and picked at his food, and
occasionally towards Lucius, who tried his best to keep the conversation
flowing.
“Is something wrong, Draco? You are awfully quiet tonight.” Narcissa finally
seemed to have enough.
“Mother?” Draco straightened in his seat. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired.”
“Then you might want to go to bed early. The Christmas holidays are best
enjoyed in a well-rested mood.” She smiled warmly at Draco. Addressing them
both, she went on, “I wonder why Honeydukes is taking such a long time to
deliver this year. Honestly, I cannot see why they would fail to satisfy one of
their most loyal customers. I don’t like the idea of running out of everyone’s
favourite sweets around Christmas.”
Draco showed her his unique combination of the most beaming and alarmed smile.
“No nougat nips? No liquorice-fire drops for Father?”
Narcissa nodded. “If they don’t deliver tomorrow, I’ll owl a complaint.”
The next morning, Lucius awaited his son, everything but Draco’s school report
cleared from his desk. At eight o’clock sharp a soft knock on the door
announced Draco’s arrival. “Come in!”
“Good morning, Father.” Draco entered the study and slowly pulled the door
shut.
“Draco.” Lucius glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “At least you are
punctual.” He took in his son’s appearance. The boy stood in the middle of the
room, shuffling his feet. He was still too soft. Which, given the
circumstances, could not be tolerated any longer.
Lucius tapped his finger on the parchment in front of him. “Your Head of House
… he mentioned some incident on the Quidditch pitch in your report. Do you have
something to tell me?”
Draco’s mouth twitched. His silence hung heavy in the air between them.
“No? I thought differently. Surely you agree that provoking Potter as you did
was rather unwise?”
“He was kicked off the Quidditch team by Umbridge, along with two of those
Weasley blood-traitors.”
“Still … You: right in the middle of the turmoil. After all our lectures.
Haven’t you heard me say ‘scheme in silence’ often enough? But again I have to
berate you as if you were too young for Hogwarts. It’s wearying … and beyond my
tolerance.”
Draco stilled. “You warned me more times than I deserve. I’m sorry.”
“So?”
A desperate flicker showed in the boy’s eyes, which quickly glazed over as he
spoke the traditional words. “I realise that I’ve done wrong, Father. Please,
give me the appropriate punishment.”
“You deserve it?”
“Yes, I deserve it. Please, punish me for my mistake, so that I may learn.”
Draco’s face was a mask now, showing no sign of unease. Maybe finally, all
those lessons had taken some effect. Maybe soon, there would be no need for
more.
“Accepting your responsibility and asking for punishment? That’s the right
thing to do. Tell me: how many do you think you deserve?”
Lucius knew the kinds of thoughts and calculations that were racing through his
son’s mind. The failure had been severe and could not be taken lightly. And
Draco had every intention to please his father, to show him that he wouldn’t
back away from the consequences of his mistake. On the other hand, there was
the natural fear of pain. Lucius felt his hands go wet.
“I am waiting.” What would Draco say?
“Twenty.”
Draco – always willing to push the limit. Even though the boy’s eyes were
blank, Lucius could sense his fear that he’d gone too light on himself mixed
with the feverish hope that what he’d offered would not lead to an increased
punishment, that it would be enough to atone.
Lucius decided to spare him the need to explain the count. “Good. You
understand the severity of your actions. I think that sixteen will do. Prepare
yourself.” He pointed towards his desk.
Draco flashed him a thankful glance. Then, he approached the desk without
hesitation and started to fumble with the buttons on his trousers.
Lucius stepped over to a small sideboard and scanned the implements he kept for
these occasions. There was the cane. He shook his head. The boy had had a
growth spurt in the summer and was still all skin and bones. He would bruise
more easily than ever. The switch, however, was too light and too quickly
forgotten for the incident at hand. A paddle, then. Lucius kept two: a long one
made out of leather and one of wood. The leather provided a touch more
flexibility. Draco would not bruise too much, but the blows would still sting
memorably.
He would never use his belt, like MacNair bragged about, or a whip, as the
Lestranges had done for generations. No. The traditional implements were
enough. He loved Draco. This was about teaching him self-control and
forethought, not about abuse and torture.
He picked up the paddle and turned towards the desk. Draco stood bent over,
holding on to the edge of the table top for support. His trousers pooled around
his ankles on the floor. Lucius gently guided his son’s hands a bit further on
the desk. Draco stretched to refasten his hold.
“That’s better. Keep them there and don’t loosen your grip.”
The boy nodded. “Yes, Father.”
“You know the rules, Draco. Sixteen strikes. Keep your hands on the table and
do not miss a count or I shall start anew.”
“Yes, Father.”
“You may proceed.”
“I’m sorry that I did wrong,” repeated Draco, his voice flat from suppressed
emotion. “Please, Father, punish me for my misgivings so that I might learn.”
Lucius hated the next part more than anything else. “As your father, I will do
as you have asked of me.” He lifted the paddle and, measuring his movement
carefully, brought it down on Draco’s pale bottom. The boy gasped, but didn’t
budge.
“One.”
Lucius repeated the motion.
“Two.”
Again.
“Three.”
And again.
“Four.”
And again and again.
“S-six- -teen.”
The boy’s voice was thick with tears. Lucius laid down the paddle. The handle
was moist from the touch of his hand and he quickly wiped it clean. He
shouldn’t sweat like that when punishing Draco. Abraxas’ hands had always been
as dry as wood waiting for the fire.
“I think you’ve had enough. You have learned your lesson, have you not?” Even
though his question was merely rhetorical, Lucius paused to listen. But other
than his harsh breathing, no sound or movement came from Draco. The lesson had
indeed been learned.
Although he would have liked to look anywhere other than at Draco hanging over
his desk like a door torn from its hinges, Lucius took in the details of his
work: his son’s trembling legs; the heated red skin on his bottom, covered with
welts as well as a few darker bruises – thankfully, not too many and
thankfully, no blood. The paddle had been the right choice.
“You may speak.”
Draco lifted his face, eyes watering, cheeks flushed with pain and
embarrassment. “Thank you, Father, for not giving up on me--” he swallowed hard
“--and for teaching me how to live up to the name of the Malfoy family.”
“I sincerely hope that you will remember this, so that I will not have to teach
you again. I expect better of you than being a troublemaker, Draco.” His son’s
heavy breathing filled the room. Lucius quelled the impulse to steady Draco’s
shoulder with a reassuring touch. He didn’t want to add the humiliation of
weakness to the shame of having been punished. But he waited until Draco had
steadied his breathing before he went on. “Now, get yourself dressed and go do
your homework. Your godfather will be joining us for tea and will stay until
tomorrow. I want you in your place, engaging in a social conversation.”
Lucius paused again, watching his son closely. In the effort to keep a stoic
face Draco gritted his teeth so hard that the line of his jaw stood out. It
made him look years older. Lucius stepped away from him and studied the picture
of his father that dominated the wall above the mantelpiece. The picture could
not be removed, but at least it could be silenced most of the time. “You’re
lucky. Luckier than you’ll ever know.”
Draco nodded mechanically while he pulled up his pants and trousers. Other than
a brief grimace when the fabric touched his skin, his face showed no
expression. “Yes, I will. Thank you. I’ll see you at tea, Father.” After
several shaky attempts to button up his robes, he left the study.
Lucius Malfoy, despite his arrogant bearing, could be glad for the small
favours of life, too. Such as being able to fight his memories until no one was
left to witness his collapse.
Red welts on a boy’s bottom, trembling legs covered with streaks of blood. He
shook his head to chase away the images that kept haunting him. He wasn’t like
him, he wasn’t. He remembered the pain, the stinging, the sizzling sound of the
cane. His fear. The endless agony of counting, never knowing when the beating
would be stopped. Not being allowed to scream or beg. He drew a harsh breath,
unaware of the sweat that was back on his palms, as he was falling through
time, like drowning in a Pensieve – with the only difference that, in a
Pensieve, you would not feel the pain as in the nightmare that was called
remembrance.
                                      ***
His father put down the cane and stepped away from the panting boy who clutched
the edge of the desk like it were his only salvation.
“You are such a disgrace. Get dressed, boy.”
Lucius did as he was told, grimacing as the rough fabric scraped over his
bleeding skin. A snarl from Abraxas made him freeze in the middle of his
movement.
“What was that? Didn’t I tell you not to show any weakness? You are a Malfoy
and a Malfoy keeps his emotions at bay, whether they are happy or painful or
sad.”
Lucius stood and tightened the grip on his trousers to prevent his hands from
shaking.
“Lower your trousers, boy.”
No, this could not be. He had made it through the punishment without breaking
down. He had thought it finished. And now, his father was telling him to get
ready for more. All because of his stupid, stupid weakness!
The back of his father’s hand connected with Lucius’ ear and cheek. “Are you
deaf? I told you to lower your trousers!”
Lucius did so, tasting blood, sickly sweet, on his tongue. He felt nauseous and
was almost glad to put his hands back on the table.
“Oh no, boy. Not this time. Stand straight. Tell me: where does it hurt the
most? Do not attempt to lie to me.”
“Where … where the buttocks meet the legs.” Lucius hated his own voice, the
muffled sound, constricted with fear.
Abraxas for once didn’t chastise him for stuttering and simply placed a high
chair in front of him. “You will bend over … Yes, like that … deeper … still
deeper … stop!”
Lucius stood bent over the seat of the chair, his body almost doubled up. His
dizziness and the throbbing in his stomach increased as blood rushed down into
his head.
“Now grip the legs of the chair and hold onto them. Don’t move. I’m going to
give you another six with the cane on the spot you mentioned. If you show so
much as a hint of a reaction, you will find yourself in the dungeon tonight,
and I’ll repeat your treatment every hour until you’ve learned your lesson.
It’s up to you to spare us both the nuisance, boy. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” was Lucius’ only answer. He forced all the agony inside him to stay
put. A swish of air; then the cane connected with his screaming flesh and he
almost forgot his intention. The pain spread in two white-hot streams. One
rushed down his legs, made them weak and shaky. The other travelled up his
spine and caused every hair on his back to stand up, until it reached the base
of his skull and tried to attack his sanity. He had to use all his control to
fight the shivers.
The second blow landed slightly above the first and increased the feeling. The
third was even worse. Somewhere inside his mind a small voice spoke up, daring
to ask how he would make it through the rest of them. Lucius silently screamed
it down, threatening everything upon it, the prospect of a night in the
dungeons included. While he fought the cowardly little voice, his father struck
again.
His body was in flames; a cold fire burned along his nerves with a pain so
forceful that it almost numbed him. But Abraxas clearly knew all about
adjusting to pain and so he angled the next blow differently. Lucius felt its
effect fresh and new, and never, never in his whole life would he be able to
come to terms with, adjust to, or at least grow accustomed to it. The angle
changed again and activated the last of his nerves that had lain dormant so
far, if such a thing were possible.
He heard the hard clunk, as his father put the cane away. “Get up, boy.”
His face was studied and again he was told to dress. This time, he shoved his
pants and trousers up in one swift movement, not able to care for his skin any
longer when it was ripped open and bleeding in new places. He bit down on the
insides of his cheeks. His teeth were not enough to distract him from the
excruciating task, but in spite of his hollowed cheeks he must have succeeded
in masking his emotions, for Abraxas indicated for him to proceed with the
protocol.
“Thank you, sir, for not giving up on me and for teaching me how to live up to
the name of the Malfoy family.” His voice scratched along the words; he was
condemned to choke on what seemed like a string of syllables without meaning.
The harsh lines in his father’s face lessened a little. “See, you can do it, if
you are willing to try. You have to become a strong wizard. I’ve told you this
repeatedly, have I not? This is all about the power of your blood, boy.”
Abraxas paced up and down in front of Lucius, who stood motionless, aware of
the blood seeping from his wounds and how it must slowly be darkening the back
of his trousers. “It is our blood which makes us superior to the other wizards.
Inheritance is passed from every head of the family to his offspring. That is
why we need to form strong males, as they will carry on our ancestors’
Wizarding powers. Men who will fight and stand their ground, no matter the
cost. And those men will have to breed with healthy wives. If we fail to take
care of our family, nature and society’s degeneration will single us out.”
Abraxas stopped and lifted Lucius’ chin with his wand, until they stood eye to
eye. “We are pure-bloods, boy. We need to take extra care of our lineage. So if
I have to draw your blood to make you live up to it, I will do just that. You
are fourteen years old – old enough to fully live up to your family’s
expectations. Or not to live at all.” He swept away the wand. “Now return to
your homework.”
Lucius walked from his father’s study, hiding his pain behind the practised
movement of his elegant steps.
                                      ***
Lucius, the father, ran one hand over his face and the other through his hair
to shake off the image of his father’s punishment. His mouth tasted sour from
the acid that his stomach had churned up. Lucius poured himself a glass of
water and drained it in a few gulps, then pulled a small box from one of his
cloak pockets and picked a liquorice-fire drop from it. Draco would never know
about this side of his grandfather. To Draco, he was only an old man in a
picture in Lucius’ study, who occasionally told him to honour the Malfoy name,
but who couldn’t cause him harm; who would never be able to inflict pain on him
or disturb his sleep.
Every time Lucius had to punish Draco, the picture would glare down on him
triumphantly. I am not like you, Father. The thought trembled in his mind.
Lucius sighed. He had to teach Draco about discipline and tradition. This was
all in the boy’s best interests, even though Narcissa openly disapproved of the
punishments. There was no way for Lucius to make her see the difference, not
without telling her about what would better stay hidden. Lucius would never in
his life resort to the means his father had used on him. Through gentle
guidance and discipline, Draco would learn what it meant to keep up the family
name.
***** How to Form a Friendship *****
Severus Snape arrived around teatime, swift and unruffled, like a raven
travelling on the wings of a storm.
“Hello, Uncle Severus. How was your journey?”
Hearing the eagerness in Draco’s voice, Lucius did his best to hide a smile. It
was reassuring to see that his son had a mentor at Hogwarts whom he liked and
trusted.
After a quick exchange of social niceties, they walked over to the dining room,
where Narcissa greeted them. An exquisite arrangement of porcelain and cutlery
had been laid out on a silver tablecloth.
After tea, Narcissa retreated to her own chambers, leaving Draco and the two
men to their own devices. Draco followed them to the smoking room, obviously
eager to lick up some adult talk.
“I’m sure you have some homework to do, Draco.” Lucius felt no regret at
destroying his hopes. He had to talk to Severus without Draco being present.
“Your last essay on Arithmancy was substandard. You can go work on that subject
now.”
“Yes, Father.” Draco nodded and then bowed slightly to his godfather. “I’ll see
you at dinner.” He turned and walked away, his neck and shoulders pulled
together in a sullen hunch.
Lucius poured two glasses of bourbon and the men settled in the armchairs in
front of the fireplace.
“You caned him again.” Severus remark was more an observation than an
accusation.
Lucius frowned. Had Severus used Legilimency on Draco? He’d never probed
Lucius’ mind without permission. So far, Lucius had no reason to believe that
Severus didn’t respect Draco’s privacy as well.
“I would never invade his mind,” Severus said. “Still, I’ve known Draco from
the day he was born. And believe me, some things are easier to see when you
don’t stand so close. Besides, Draco’s discomfort is clearly visible.” Severus
took a sip from his drink and swallowed slowly. “Of course, I’d expected you
wouldn’t be too happy about the incident with Potter and the Weasley twins.”
“I cannot tolerate such a childish prank from my son.”
“They’re boys,” said Severus. “They are prone to act childish, even at the age
of fifteen. Do not ask me if I like it, especially as it happens every day.”
“Then he still fails to hide his emotions well enough. He needs to learn.”
Lucius forced himself to keep any note of urgent need from his voice.
“Particularly in times like these. I have to watch my back every time I leave
the house. Draco has to know his responsibilities.”
“But do you really think that you--?” Severus broke off.
“I teach him, I talk to him, I try to mould him for his own good, and I
discipline him if necessary.” Lucius felt his upper lip curl into a snarl.
“This is not a question of what I like. I know my son’s flaws, Severus. And I
always wonder: will the Dark Lord see them, too?”
“He will not look at Draco’s face. He will look into his mind. And for that,
well, you know about our private lessons.”
Lucius loosened his grip on the armrest of his chair. “Draco is doing well,
then?”
“He is.” Severus leaned forward in his seat. “He is safe, Lucius. As safe as he
can be.”
While they comfortably nursed their drinks and watched the fire, Lucius’
thoughts travelled back to another evening at the manor, fifteen years earlier.
                                      ***
They had buried Abraxas Malfoy in the afternoon; and the last guest from the
funeral feast had finally been bidden goodbye. Narcissa was back in the safety
of her personal rooms, the baby slept undisturbed in his cradle.
“At last, it’s over.”
“It has been a trying week for you, Lucius.”
Lucius only nodded. He felt tired, even drained. His stomach was clenched into
tight, twisted knots. It had been a rough week indeed. He rummaged through his
robe pockets.
“You don’t want more of those liquorice-fire drops. They’ll only make it
worse.” Severus held a small vial out towards him. “Try that. It’ll help to
ease things.”
Lucius eyed his friend warily.
“It’s a calming draught.”
“I am calm.”
Severus’ black eyes found his. Lucius felt him touching his mind, searching
gently for a general confirmation of Lucius’ words. When Severus spoke at last,
his voice was soft. “Still, I think you could use it tonight.”
Lucius took the vial and downed its contents in one swift movement. After
handing it back, he rested his head against the back of the armchair and closed
his eyes. “Thank you, Severus.” The potion’s glow warmed his insides and the
tightness in his stomach loosened a little.
For a long time, they sat in silence. Lucius felt as if the night would never
end. He dreaded the images that awaited him in his sleep. Severus stayed
without questioning him. If he had suspicions of his own, he would neither
voice them nor use Legilimency to confirm them.
Severus Snape was one of the Dark Lord’s most accomplished Legilimenses, his
ability ranked second only to the Dark Lord himself. No wizard Lucius knew of
possessed the power to throw off Severus completely. Not even the old
chatterer, Dumbledore. Lucius would not have stood a chance, had Severus
decided to roam his mind. But Severus never did. He was trustworthy and loyal
indeed.
                                      ***
Back in 1971, Lucius’ final year at Hogwarts, Severus had been nothing more
than a scrawny little boy, with hair that needed a wash as well as a cut: it
was too long, even for a wizard. He had quickly become the punching bag of the
Gryffindor gang that formed around Sirius Black and James Potter, an easy
victim of their endless and childish pranks.
One day, Lucius found the eleven-year-old huddled in a corner, where he tried
to cover the rips in his robes. Lucius first attempted to mend them with
Reparo, but the fabric was so threadbare that he soon gave up. The amount of
unchecked anger that radiated from the child caught his attention. This one was
marked for trouble.
“You’ll need a new set, chap,” he said to the younger boy.
The boy nodded. “I have a second one in my dormitory,” he whispered.
“Then go and put them on. And discard those, they can only serve as rags. Not
very befitting for a Slytherin.”
This could have been it, a small encounter in the dungeons, quickly forgotten,
had Lucius not come across the same first-year only a few days later, in one of
the bathrooms, shortly before curfew. The boy wore a pair of thin cotton
trousers and an equally thin shirt and held a cloak knotted in his hands.
“What are you doing here?” demanded Lucius.
“Me? I’m just having a wash.”
“Are you indeed? Then where are your soap and your towel? I rather think you’re
trying to hide something from me,” threatened Lucius. “Show me your cloak!”
The boy’s face was tense and he reluctantly unfolded the cloak on his lap. The
black fabric had been torn again, and had sprouted some green woolly strands.
Then, almost inaudible, a soft ping broke the silence. Lucius would have never
guessed that a needle falling to the ground could cause enough noise to be
heard. The sneer on his face was quicker than his thoughts. Reparing a cloak
the Muggle way. In Slytherin. That was rich.
The boy lifted his head and met his gaze. “I didn’t … I first tried Reparo, but
it didn’t work.” His fingers plucked at the green threads.
“You little fool.” Lucius’ voice was airborne venom. “Of course it didn’t work.
It’s part of the curriculum for first-year students, but Flitwick only reaches
it around Christmas. No need to hurry with that one. Most students are already
familiar with it … from home.” He threw the boy an inquiring look.
“I’m not.”
Nothing followed that simple statement. The boy had his eyes fixed on Lucius,
as if he wanted to keep track of his every movement. Lucius saw the gooseflesh
on the boy’s arms, his lips which were tinged with a touch of blue. Mudblood or
half-blood – did it really matter how much pollution was running through his
veins?
“I wonder why that would be,” Lucius said, relishing the chance to twist the
knife once more in the wound.
Something that could have been hope shattered inside the boy’s black eyes. It
was a fleeting moment, before they turned iron-cold. “My f-, my friends … they
wouldn’t … understand it.”
The boy’s words cut through Lucius like an ice pick, hinting at the pain that
lay hidden inside. Lucius’ resentment cracked a little, but he didn’t show it.
“Some friends you have … Go on with your work, but I expect you to be in the
common room after curfew.” He set to leave the room, then stopped and faced the
boy once more. “A last piece of advice: do it the proper way.”
The next morning Lucius saw the boy again in the common room. He sat all alone
by the dying fire. There were dark shadows under his eyes and the skin on his
lips was torn to the point of bleeding, but he had a satisfied look on his
face, which made him appear older than his age. He stared into the still
gleaming embers, while his fingers stroked the wand that lay in his lap like a
lazy cat. Lucius noticed that the cloak had been repared. He approached the
boy.
“So?”
“I took care of my cloak.”
“I can see that.” Lucius glanced over the cloak and into the piles of grey dust
in the fireplace. A small box was slowly smouldering away with some metal drops
lingering on the edges.
“I also took care of …”
“Shhh – not here. I can see that as well.”
Lucius wasn’t fond of lying bastards, whatever blood was in their veins. But
something about the way this scrawny first-year had tried to solve his problems
without asking anybody for help stirred his respect. Following a sudden
impulse, he ruffled the boy’s black wisps of hair.
“Next time you’re having a wash, also take care to wash your hair.”
The boy lifted his chin defiantly.
“Come with me,” Lucius said. “I have something you could use.”
In his dormitory, he shoved a small package into the boy’s arms. “Here, this is
my old cloak. It’s a bit out of fashion and far too small for me, so you just
take it.”
The boy shook his head.
“Now, why not? There’s nothing wrong with it, see for yourself.” Lucius ripped
open the paper wrapping to reveal the soft material of the cloak. “It’s warm
and snug. And it’s mine to decide what to do with it, so take it.”
“I can’t,” came the soft-spoken reply. “I can’t pay for it.”
“Of course you can’t pay for it. It’s a present. Presents aren’t paid for,
they’re gifts. You know what a gift is, don’t you?”
“Yes.” The boy cast down his eyes. “But I can’t take it.” He paused, then
continued with an explanation so blunt that it had to be the truth. “My … my
father … he would … he wouldn’t … like it.”
Now it was Lucius’ turn to freeze, at least inwardly. His decision was made in
an instant. “He doesn’t need to know, chap.”
The boy jerked up his head.
“Don’t think you’ll manage to hide every night in the bathroom for hours to
repair your cloak. Your workload will increase, and you won’t be able to keep
up with it. Then just imagine: flying lessons with a cloak that tears the
minute you fly near a tree. Professor Hooch will chastise you for improper
behaviour, and you’ll be thankful that Dumbledore recently banned corporal
punishment from this school. But they’d be sure to owl your parents.”
The small jaw was still set, but he had the boy’s full attention.
“You take the cloak and when you go home, you use your old one and I’ll keep
this one here for you. Deal?”
A tiny smile lit the earnest face and made Lucius feel good. Then, a shadow
crept over the boy’s features. “What do you want from me in return?” he asked.
“Nothing, chap. It’s a gift, remember?” After a short pause, Lucius spoke up
again. “On second thought, there is indeed something you can give me.” Before
the boy had time to panic, he went on. “Your name, chap, what’s your name? It
wouldn’t be fitting for me to call you ‘chap’ all the time.”
Another careful smile touched the boy’s lips and he held out his hand. “Snape.
My name is Severus Snape.”
Lucius took the cold little paw and shook it warmly. “I’m happy to meet you,
Severus Snape. My name is Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy.”
                                      ***
From that day on, they had formed an alliance. His year mates made some fun of
Lucius about the pet puppy he burdened himself with, but he silenced them
quickly. True, the boy was a half-blood, prone to feed his crush on that
Mudblood Gryffindor girl whenever no one was looking. Then again, he was a
loner, clever as could be. The lonely always made the most loyal followers. And
last but not least, Severus had something about him which caught Lucius’
interest. Sometimes, he would just know things, things that he couldn’t know.
So Lucius took care of the neglected boy and taught him how to protect himself
against the gang of Gryffindors.
And Severus? Severus … was there. Proud, never a beggar, despite his dubious
background and his lack of money. Grateful for Lucius’ friendship and – like
anyone sorted into Slytherin would – certainly conscious of the fact that
rejection could turn benevolence into hostility. Watching. Listening. Never
asking questions when Lucius returned from one of his weekend trips to the
manor.
Abraxas insisted on introducing Lucius to the Malfoy business and on testing
his knowledge on a regular basis. He would send his son back to Hogwarts with
tasks for the upcoming weeks and would check his performance later. Lucius
tried hard not to give him a reason for displeasure, but for all that, he
learned to appreciate the strong taste of liquorice-fire drops to cover the
traces of acid on his breath.
In the early spring of 1972, Abraxas Malfoy often called upon Lucius. With the
Dark Lord’s bid to gain power, several of the wealthiest branches of the family
spurted to even greater success. Money and politics – it had been their natural
domain for centuries. Lucius was eager to learn everything he could from his
father, to gain the trust and support of the old families for another
generation of Malfoys. The meetings with his father challenged him in ways that
sitting his exams or dealing with business contacts couldn’t compete with.
During one of those, Lucius argued for an open support of the Dark Lord, but
the elder Malfoy only snorted. “That half-blood impostor!” It was a
contemptuous remark, almost spoken aside, but the message was clear to Lucius.
Even though his pure-blood father was on the side of segregation, he would not
support the rise of the Dark Lord. Abraxas was an advocator of the Old Money,
that network of Wizarding families who lived off the land, of the people
working on it and in their factories and mills. Supporting the Dark Lord would
bring power and money through other channels – taking care of much needed
supplies, providing weapons and setting up a network of shelters. To win that
game, one needed connections to the darker forces of the Wizarding world,
connections not only to the wizards of old, but to those who were reckless and
cunning as well, to use them regardless of their bloodline.
Unfortunately, Abraxas could not see that both methods for the accumulation of
wealth could be combined. With every step the Dark Lord came closer to power,
he would need a constant flow of resources – taken from the land of his
faithful followers as well as of those who had to be bribed or threatened to
make their contribution. Lucius realised that he would have to invest his own
money in the Dark Lord’s campaign – the family’s wealth was barred from him.
Later, Abraxas took the opportunity to emphasise his point of view to his son.
Lucius felt worn as he finally Apparated back to the gates of Hogwarts. Severus
sat waiting for him on the stairs to the entrance. Lucius thought of dinner in
the Great Hall and suddenly longed for silent company. “Would you care for
dinner?”
Severus shook his head. “I had three helpings for lunch. I’m still full.”
They headed to the inner gardens and wandered around aimlessly, enjoying the
mild air.
It was nothing but a stupid mishap that Lucius’ foot got stuck in the grass.
Suddenly his legs gave way. He stumbled and fell hard on the ground. Severus
was far too polite to laugh. Being used to gracefulness, Lucius still felt
abashed. He tried to overlook the hand held out to him when he scrambled to his
feet, but Severus didn’t move away. Finally, Lucius took his small hand and
allowed himself to be led to the nearest bench.
Severus softened the seat with his cloak before he urged his friend to sit
down. “Are you all right?”
He waited, but Lucius didn’t answer. How much did the boy know?
“Does it hurt? I hope it doesn’t hurt too much.”
The boy’s dark eyes met his, and suddenly, he felt a touching sensation on his
mind. Nothing violent, a bit like a tickle, but strong nevertheless. Lucius
gasped. “What are you doing?”
Severus shrank away from his tone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I was just
worried.”
He realised with a shock that he was holding the boy’s front collar and shaking
him violently. Lucius loosened his grip and released Severus’ shirt. “Do you
know what you just did, Severus?” he asked again, forcing himself to sound calm
and to regain his composure.
“I guess I … I don’t know … like … reading your mind?”
Lucius laughed. “Reading your mind” – only a half-blood or worse would call it
that. “No, Severus, you didn’t read my mind.” He paused to emphasise his next
words. “You used Legilimency on me.”
The boy’s voice dropped down to a whisper. “It’s a curse. I can’t control it.”
“Don’t say that. Ever.” Lucius found that he, too, was whispering. “It’s a
talent, Severus, a gift.” His voice got even lower, if possible. “I know
someone who can teach you, who can help you to control it. Trust me, chap.”
                                      ***
A few months later Lucius passed his N.E.W.T.s, left school and began working
full-time for the Malfoy business. Lucius introduced Severus to the Dark Lord
during a private meeting and the Dark Lord, impressed with Severus’ talents,
ordered Lucius to teach the young wizard, until he would be able to finish his
studies under the Dark Lord himself. So their meetings continued over the next
few years, and Severus honed his darker abilities while outwardly he wandered
Hogwarts’ grounds as a taunted loner.
Lucius knew that his friend kept inventing new spells and curses in his free
time, but he never believed them to be so amazingly effective until the day
Severus sliced a rabbit in front of him with a quick wave of his wand and a
whispered spell.
“How did you do that? Please show me again! First the wandwork, Severus.”
So Severus tried to teach him the movements for Sectumsempra, the curse to cut
open one’s enemies. But no matter how hard Lucius tried, he didn’t master the
combination of words and motions completely.
“This is masterful. Inventing a spell like that as a fifth-year student – I
wonder what you will come up with after you’ve passed your N.E.W.T.s.” Lucius
felt excited, alive. Their future was full of promises. “The Dark Lord will be
so pleased. I’m just glad the Malfoys will be safe from that spell, because
nobody besides him will ever be able to learn it. It’s just too complicated.”
Severus sneered. “I bet someone will at least try. It wouldn’t be the first
time.” Harsh lines marred his young face.
“Potter again?”
Severus shrugged. “I’d better hide the book more carefully from now on.”
“You keep them in a book?”
“It’s an old Potions book of my mother’s, Advanced Potion Making. Nothing
important. I was just playing around.”
                                      ***
A soft cough startled Lucius and he quickly shook away his reverie. The ice in
his drink had melted away and had left a watery taste in his glass. Frowning,
he set it aside.
Severus looked at him. “You forgot your drink.”
“I’ve been lost in thoughts of the past,” confirmed Lucius. “Do you remember
that spell you used to slice the rabbit, Sectumsempra?”
“Of course I do.” Severus grinned. “How could I ever forget how excited you
were?”
Lucius grinned back, a canine-toothed smile that did nothing to hide his
intentions. “What do you think about teaching Draco some of your old spells? It
could help his reputation, once he’s fully in the Dark Lord’s service.”
Severus shook his head. “I’m sorry to refuse you so bluntly, dear friend, but I
don’t think that would be the best move right now.” Before Lucius could
protest, he went on. “We both agreed that it is in Draco’s best interest if he
becomes proficient at Occlumency before everything else. Once he has mastered
that task, I will be more than happy to teach him everything about the Dark
Arts and the spells I’ve created. But, for now, he has to learn how to close
his mind. You will remember that this slows down learning other things, as the
mind is closed to all kinds of intrusions. Draco’s marks have already dropped
in some subjects, take his Arithmancy essay, for example. We wouldn’t want to
draw more attention to his performance than absolutely necessary.”
Lucius nodded. “I understand, old chap. I appreciate your honest advice.”
Severus’ black gaze held a seldom warmth. “Nothing more than what friendship
dictates.”
The clock chimed five. “We have another hour to ourselves before supper,” said
Lucius.
Both men leaned back again and relaxed into their mutual silence. Lucius’ mind
quickly flew back to the past he had left behind.
***** How to Nurse Your Nightmares *****
With Abraxas Malfoy made a widower early in Lucius’ childhood, many a mistress
had frequented the manor. If a woman so much as laid motherly eyes upon young
Lucius, his father would erupt in a mixture of fierce jealousy and the manly
taunting that Lucius should go and take care of his needs with someone else.
The sexual innuendo disgusted him and he would knot his hands in his lap, while
the adults’ laughter washed over him.
Of course, he could never manage to be attentive enough, polite enough and
invisible enough at the same time. Abraxas made sure that Lucius wouldn’t
forget his own inadequacy. Every kind word or friendly touch had to be paid for
dearly. Often, the boy stood waiting in his father’s study, listening to the
sounds of the big manor house that drifted through the high wooden doors, torn
between reliving the gentleness he had been given and anticipating the
punishment he would have to endure. When, finally, his father opened the doors,
Lucius found himself nearly drowning in a maelstrom of relief and fear. Yet,
during all his years at Hogwarts, he held with the determination of a survivor
onto these tidbits of a stranger’s warm gaze grazing his features or of her
hand caressing his cheek.
In the summer of 1976, with Severus as his best man, Lucius married Narcissa.
She was a fair and graceful witch from the noble and ancient house of Black.
Her kind nature and traditional upbringing more than met his father’s
expectations of an obedient pure-blood wife. But Lucius knew she possessed a
bright mind, and he had more than once admired her charms work at Hogwarts. And
whenever someone dared to comment on her oldest sister’s antics, he had seen
glimpses of a determined, passionate defender hidden under Narcissa’s refined
manners. He wouldn’t find a finer partner and mother for his children. Lucius
took her from her father’s arm and led her to the Malfoy family home, as
tradition required.
Lucius didn’t like the way his father’s eyes rested on his young bride or how
Abraxas’ hand crept onto her arm as he welcomed her into the family. But
Narcissa had been brought up well and bore his father’s attentions with regal
grace.
Severus watched without comment, as long as Lucius himself remained silent.
Things quickly threatened to get out of hand. Narcissa, still a little
intimidated by her new surroundings and the unfamiliar task of being the first
woman of the manor, soon became afraid of Abraxas, but tried to handle the
situation with delicate grace. It was worst when Lucius’ work for the Dark Lord
kept him away. Inevitably, when he came back to the manor, the silence that
greeted him would ring in his ears as loud as a fire bell. He dreaded the dark
patches under Narcissa’s eyes, the slick wetness on his father’s lips. Abraxas
was cunning and would never have touched her in earnest, but his presence
lingered around her and polluted the air she breathed. For someone as sensitive
as Narcissa, this was enough to suffocate her. At night, lying beside her in
their elegant bed, Lucius pretended to be asleep while he listened to her
stifled sobs. He longed to hold and comfort her. But they never talked about
it. It was something to endure. You couldn’t fight the family.
There came a time when Lucius dreaded coming home. Home was the woman he loved.
But home was the father he detested as well. Lucius began to hate his own
inadequacy, his paralysis to deal with the situation. Here he was, expertly
running the family’s business affairs, a powerful wizard feared in his own
right and a Death Eater high in the Dark Lord’s ranks – yet at Wiltshire he did
not dare to contradict or, even less, take measures against his father.
One evening in Hogsmeade with Severus, Lucius was quieter than usual. Severus,
noticing his friend’s reluctance to leave The Witching Hour and Apparate home,
was tense from their long day of talking tactics and training for combat. He
finally broke the silence. “You’ve been quiet tonight. Is everything … all
right?”
Lucius closed his eyes. He had never told his friend about his father’s methods
of parenting, or about the greed that ruled the old man’s actions, whether they
concerned business or his interactions with beautiful women. Yet, Severus
always sensed when Lucius was worried or hurt, and on rare occasions, Lucius
would let him take a brief glimpse into his mind to check that it wasn’t all
too much, that Lucius could still handle things.
Tonight, however, when Lucius felt Severus probing his mind, he forced the
thoughts of his father into the deepest corners. He could barely control
himself or his fear. Twenty-three, a fully grown-up wizard, already married for
one year – and this uneducated half-blood threatened to walk the folds of his
brain as if they were paths in the garden on a lovely summer evening. But they
were not. And the feelings they contained – fear, love, disgust, and hate –
could not easily be held at bay.
Severus retreated at once from the fragile boundary. “Say hello to Narcissa
from me, will you?” He stood up and prepared to leave. “And remember, there is
more than one way to repair a cloak.”
Lucius nodded. “I know.” He took the last liquorice-fire drop from his box and
followed Severus to the door. “But there is only one way for pure-bloods.”
Severus simply sneered, and Lucius Apparated home to find his young wife
staring into the fireplace with red-rimmed eyes.
                                      ***
Draco arrived at the table for supper still subdued, but he conducted himself
well during the course of the meal, addressing the adults in a respectful and
polite way. The conversation quickly turned to politics, and Draco surprised
Lucius with a question about Professor Umbridge. “Why would Fudge care to let
someone like her come to power, Father? She has an iron grip on the school, but
she’s so very keen on rules. She might be a hindrance once one would need to be
more subtle, might she not?”
Lucius beamed at Draco, nearly missing the amused look that Severus exchanged
with Narcissa. There! Draco was starting to see that there was more to politics
than forcing others out into the open. He still had to understand the potential
for treachery that someone like Dolores Umbridge was capable of, but this was a
beginning.
“That’s a good question, Draco. Now, think about it reasonably. What might be
the dynamics behind Professor Umbridge’s position at Hogwarts and in the
Ministry?”
Half an hour flew by with Draco musing aloud about the idea of power in the
position of a Senior Undersecretary and Hogwart’s High Inquisitor, while
Severus and Lucius gently hinted at the fact that even allies weren’t to be
trusted completely.
“Are you implying that she’s acting behind the minister’s back?” asked Draco,
and his jaw went a little slack.
“We imply nothing, Draco,” answered Severus. “But when such precarious
situations occur, every possibility has to be taken into account.”
“Trust no one?”
“If you want to make sure, trust no one.”
Draco’s eyes widened. “What about-“ His gaze went towards Lucius, then towards
Severus and back to his father again. “Nothing,” he murmured.
“What about friends, Draco?” Lucius voiced his son’s concern.
Draco had straightened up and sat perfectly still, his attention concentrated
completely on Lucius.
Lucius gazed into those eager eyes and gently rested his hand on Draco’s
shoulder before he glanced to Severus and then back into his son’s face. “True
friends are like family. But you have to choose them well.”
He saw realisation dawn on Draco and sensed Severus stirring slightly at his
side. Narcissa said nothing, but he sensed her approval and, for a moment, he
felt truly satisfied. He had those he most cared for beside him.
After supper, Draco was sent to bed early: he needed to rest from his morning
punishment and from working on his assignment all day. He had handed his father
a revised version of the essay which Lucius planned to read through in the
evening.
Narcissa was perhaps the only other person in the world with whom Severus was
able to keep up a kind of light-hearted banter, so when the two of them retired
to the music chamber, Lucius retreated to the smoking room to read Draco’s
essay. Afterwards, he let his thoughts wander. Maybe it was Severus’ presence
in the manor or the pressure that had been building up over the last few
months, but Lucius soon found himself drifting back to the events of the year
preceding the Dark Lord’s first downfall.
***** How to Protect Your Family *****
They had tried during the four years since their wedding, and finally their
little boy was born. “The heir” was how Abraxas referred to the baby. He only
saw the child’s function. Admittedly, there was function, but something else as
well. So much more, to be precise.
Narcissa was aglow with happiness as she held the baby. He was so tiny, and
yet, so perfect. Draco. He would become Draco Procter Malfoy to the world and
he would make his family proud. But to them, he would always be “Draco”.
Lucius looked at mother and baby and sighed. He felt the strong urge to protect
them from harm. His little family. Lucius gritted his teeth. His happy little
family. And he was well on his way to succeed as a businessman and a Death
Eater, already high in the ranks of the Dark Lord.
A loud clunk on the parquet floor made him wheel swiftly. Abraxas stood in the
doorway. “Don’t cuddle him too much. He’s a scrawny little bugger, but he’ll
have to live up to the Malfoy name. So far, he’s the only heir.”
“I know that.” Lucius knew better than to flinch at his father’s words, but the
churning in his stomach was more than enough to warn him of their effect.
“He might be able to overcome your shortcomings, if you teach him right. Let
him taste all he needs to awaken his desire to kill. Maybe then he won’t fail
the family as you did.” A contemptuous sneer accompanied Abraxas’ words. “You
may have fathered this one, but you are not a father, able to kill at will. Yet
that is what you should be. You might hunt and kill with your Death Eater
friends, but you are not able to protect your family.”
“I am protecting my family!” Lucius felt his temper rise. Here he stood, forced
to discuss the fate of his one-month-old first-born with his father. Standing
his ground in an open disagreement with Abraxas felt strangely unfamiliar.
“Wrong as always! Will you ever learn that this is not about protecting that
boring witch or her screaming offspring? This is not about them. It is about
our family, the Malfoys! It is about the blood-lines that have to be nourished
and protected. Would you be able to kill your wife and then take a new one,
should she bear more weak heirs for you? Would you be able to kill that
sneaking friend of yours, should he ever betray you? I dare say you wouldn’t.”
Abraxas fixed Lucius with a stare. “You’ve always been weak. The house of Black
has an old and noble tradition. Maybe that scrawny brat’s not the fault of the
bitch. After all, she might conceive well when bestowed with a more qualified
seed.”
Lucius paled. His mouth was too dry to answer. Abraxas only snorted his
contempt and once again turned his back on his son.
                                      ***
Draco was a delicate yet lively baby. He was awake for many hours of the day
and showed interest in everything they held above his little cradle. He would
chuckle happily and move his small limbs with excitement. Narcissa was
overwhelmed with joy and in spite of how little sleep she got with Draco being
nursed every three hours, the dark shadows under her eyes disappeared. She
looked radiant, as on the day she had moved into the manor.
Apart from the occasional grunts of discontent, Abraxas kept out of their way,
which was more than Lucius had expected. Yet, every night, Lucius lay awake and
listened for a sound to disturb the silence, ready to protect Draco’s sleep.
When Abraxas decided to join a friend’s hunting feast, Lucius was relieved. The
old man loved to hunt and would probably stay away for weeks. So Lucius was
more than a little disappointed when Abraxas returned only a few days after he
had left, with a seeping wound on his left thigh.
“That bloody Squilch! Serves him right that I finished him off in the end.”
Lucius frowned. Squilches were rare these days, a species that would seem
reptilian to anyone but a wizard. They had evolved directly from dragons and,
when they felt cornered, still spat fire. Their small size had enabled them to
adapt much better to the reduction of the great woods of old.
Abraxas limped up the stairs, yelling for an elf to fix him a bath and another
to bring his favourite smoke. He would be as good as new in no time, Lucius
thought and wished that the encounter between his father and the Squilch could
have been put off for a few more days.
However, Abraxas didn’t recover. His wound healed very slowly and developed
what he called “an unpleasant itch”. When Lucius got a look at it a week later,
a nasty red ring had formed around the thigh, indicating infection. Abraxas
turned down his son’s tentative suggestion to see a Healer.
“Charlatans, that’s what they are! All of them!” the old man snarled.
“Of course,” Lucius mumbled, well under his breath, and left the room. He chose
to simply ignore the teacup that sailed past him and crashed at the doorframe.
The leg grew worse over the next days and Abraxas’ curses grew accordingly.
Soon it was no longer safe to visit the old man’s chambers, as he was prone to
mix simple swearing with magic curses. After a hex had only missed him by
inches, Lucius insisted that Narcissa give up her polite visits. Instead,
Narcissa went to the manor’s huge library. This was where Lucius found her the
following morning. From the look on her face, she had not slept at all.
“I left the books only to nurse Draco,” she whispered. The baby lay bundled up
in a makeshift bed on one of the tables. “Look at what I found.”
The old tome she showed Lucius clearly explained everything about Squilches.
Lucius scanned the page, down to the part Narcissa indicated him to read.
The Squilch, descending from the old dragon races, is the only other species
also prone to dragon diseases. A modern saurian wouldn’t catch so much as a
Dragon Cold, whereas the Squilch can be the carrier of not only Dragon Cold,
but Dragon Fever and, of course, Dragon Pox as well. Being a carrier, the
Squilch will not die from the disease, but is still able to spread the relevant
germs. Especially in the case of the Pox, an encounter with a Squilch can be
fatal to the unwary wizard.
“It’s Dragon Pox, Lucius.” Narcissa’s finger seemed glued to the line.
The words were blurring in front of Lucius’ eyes. “Dragon Pox. It’s deadly. We
have to do something.”
“Draco!” Narcissa’s voice had never been sharp, but now it cut the air like a
sword. “We have the disease under our roof and Draco is in danger. This
stubborn old man refused to call on a Healer and now he’ll kill our little
boy.” She hugged the sleeping baby to her chest, her eyes aflame. “Lucius,
please, do something. Make it go away.”
An image shot through his mind, of a snake in the desert that was hissing and
warningly rattling her tail. Narcissa – a loving mother defending her son, like
the pure-blood Slytherin witch she was. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll take care
of it.” He hugged them both briefly and left the room. He had to see Abraxas’
condition for himself.
When no one answered his knocking, he entered his father’s chambers. Abraxas
lay in the huge four-poster bed, its green and silver hangings drawn back at
the sides.
Lucius slowly stepped near. He could hear the old man’s laboured breathing. The
body on the bed was a frightening sight. The last twenty-four hours had worked
on his decay.
Abraxas’ eyes gleamed unnaturally, burning with the fever that was eating away
at his body. Pustules covered his skin, some of them had already opened and
oozed puss. Lucius could see smears of red and white slime on the elegant bed
sheet. The stench in the room was almost unbearable.
“Dobby!” A loud crack announced the house-elf’s immediate arrival and Dobby
cowered in front of Lucius.
“Yes, young Master?”
“Bring him fresh sheets,” ordered Lucius. “Fresh sheets and water. And renew
the olibanum in the braziers. The air needs to be purified.”
“Yes, young Master, as you wish, young Master.” The elf bowed and vanished.
As he wished. His deepest wish was directed at something else – the safety of
his family. The safety of Narcissa and Draco. Lucius settled himself in one of
his father’s antique chairs and stared at the figure on the bed. Discontent
gleamed in the old eyes. Those chairs were too good to sit on, Lucius knew. The
only part of them he had ever touched before was the base of the legs. Lucius
felt the smooth wood and the cracked leather underneath him. The chair wasn’t
even comfortable. But sitting on it felt oddly satisfying.
Two elves came and changed the sheets. Using a Levitation charm, they moved
Abraxas from one side of the bed to the other. Lucius noticed how careful they
were not to touch the man’s body. They brought fresh water and placed it on the
bedside table. Funny, how those creatures would work their ways around an
order. He had only told them to bring the water, not to help the old man drink
it. On second thought, he would not want to have them contaminate the whole
house. When one elf started to pull open the heavy draperies on the windows to
let fresh air into the room, Lucius held up his hand. “Enough. It’s too chilly
outside. Leave now, creatures.” The elves bowed, their noses almost touching
the ground, and Disapparated.
The strong scent of olibanum filled the room. Lucius didn’t bother with the
windows. He continued to sit and watch. The old man’s chest moved steadily up
and down. But every now and then, a harsh gurgling sound caused the whole body
to cramp up, followed by an agonised wheeze.
“A Malfoy never shows his emotions, whether they are happy or painful or sad,”
Lucius told the space in front of his father’s face.
His father stared back at him, betraying none of his thoughts, then clawed at
the bedside table to reach for the water. Lucius watched his struggle. His
father’s hand finally touched the glass, only to knock it over. Water spilled
onto the bedside table and darkened the thick carpet in front of the bed. A
croak came from Abraxas; yet, it reminded Lucius more of a mewling kitten than
of the hiss of a snake.
Lucius searched his heart and found no hatred. He searched deeper and didn’t
even find fear. He refused to search for sympathy. Every feeling he had ever
had for the man in the bed had melted down to the single determination not to
back away. He would stay here, and he would watch.
Lucius called for the house-elf again. “Dobby, make certain that no one comes
through that door. Look after your mistress and the baby. Check on them every
hour. Inform me immediately, should anything happen. Seal the manor. No
visitors allowed. Tell them, tell them … tell them nothing! Just send them
away. And tell me at once should anyone ask for me. Or for him.”
The elf was bowing so fast that Lucius could barely make out its individual
movements. “Yes, young Master. Of course, young Master. As you wish, young
Master.”
By the evening of the following day Abraxas looked like a living mummy, a mummy
sweating blood and puss and other bodily fluids. The bed sheets stuck to his
trembling limbs. Lucius wondered how his body could still produce fluids when
he never drank water. Tinky brought a jug of water every morning and every
evening, handing it to Lucius who put it on the bedside table. That much he
would do. But he couldn’t have an elf touching Abraxas and then running around
the house, contaminating everything with Dragon Pox. This was an illness too
infectious to be treated in a casual manner. He could stay in the same room,
but he wouldn’t touch the dying man. No blood, no bodily fluids, no
contamination. As soon as Abraxas’ body was dry, Lucius’ family would be safe.
Abraxas’ hands had always been dry during the beatings. It was only a matter of
time until his whole body would have dried.
They would be safe.
Lucius didn’t think about his wife or his son. Draco was too young to notice
his absence. Narcissa would understand. He was sure. She would understand that
he was taking care of his family.
Abraxas’ breath rattled through the second night. On the morning of the third
day Lucius approached the bed once more, carrying the jug. The old man’s skin
looked less sweaty. Most of the pustules had emptied themselves, and his body
was covered with crusts of brown and yellow. They cracked open when he moved,
but thankfully, he did not move much any longer. He had abandoned his attempts
to reach for the water on the bedside table. Maybe he had understood that he
was only prolonging … the inevitable.
A strange idea occurred to Lucius. It was connected to lectures received long
ago, lectures deeply imprinted in his mind. Maybe his father wanted him to act?
He had always talked about the need for young males to take over, to mark the
familiar ground as their own. Had he only adressed the issue of horses and
hunting then? Maybe Abraxas had wanted Lucius to challenge him all along?
Lucius stared at his dying father on the bed, wishing for an answer. But, like
it had always been between them, Abraxas ignored his pleas. And Lucius’
conscious mind slipped once more away into the night of his memories.
When he was very young, Lucius had found a dried-up mouse in the wall of one of
the huts near the stables, where the stable-hands lived. The mouse, the hand
had explained, had been trapped and died. The heat of the oven had prevented
the body from rotting and preserved the mouse. Lucius still remembered his
fascination and how the dried fur had felt under his touch. Abraxas would be
just like this dried up mouse in the end. A light body, harmless and easy to
carry away.
A body whose breathing became less elaborate with every passing hour. A body
whose last fluids dried on his skin and in his flesh. A body whose every
wheezing breath sounded like a door swinging on rusty hinges ... until it
finally remained ajar. Lucius checked the clock on the mantelpiece and turned
back to the bed. Nothing. He watched his father and his father did … nothing.
He did nothing and continued doing nothing. When Lucius finally checked the
clock again, three hours had passed in a heartbeat. The old snake was dead and
had left behind nothing but dry skin and bones. Lucius stood up with cracking
knees and opened the door. Dobby stood in front of him, waiting for
instructions.
“Put on gloves and burn everything. The sheets, the duvet, the mattress, the
carpets, the curtains. Everything, you hear me?”
Dobby’s eyes were wide open. He craned his neck to look past Lucius’ legs and
get a glimpse of the room. “Dobby burns everything, yes, Master. The bed, too?”
Lucius chuckled bitterly. He felt as if he were losing his grip. “The bed, yes,
burn the bed. And the chairs, the chairs, burn the chairs as well.”
“Old Master’s chairs?”
Lucius snatched the elf’s dirty pillowcase and shook him hard. “There is no old
Master any longer. Burn the chairs! Ever question my orders again and I will
make you jump into the nearest fireplace and dance!”
Not waiting for the submissive reply and the gasps of pain when Dobby started
to bang his head against the floorboards, Lucius fled the room and the dead
body in the bed and headed for the bathroom. They were safe. And his stomach
churned like a pit of angry snakes.
He stood in the shower and felt the water running blissfully hot over his naked
skin. Soaping himself up for the third time, he gave his cock a tentative tug.
The organ answered with a half-interested hardening. Lucius tugged again.
Abraxas in his bed, dying. Old hands, clawing at the bed sheets. The dark eyes,
sunken deep into their sockets. Lucius worked his length, methodically striking
up and down. The soapy foam bit into the small fissures of the skin. He closed
his eyes, but the image of his father burned on. Abraxas could never touch
them, never harm them again. Lucius was fisting his cock at full speed now.
Abraxas’ hands would never again hold a cane. They’d escaped his reach.
Narcissa would be safe. Draco would be safe.
“You bastard.” Lucius realised that he had started muttering under his breath.
He couldn’t care less. “You fucking old bastard. I wanted- I wanted to kill
you.” The water was beating down on his shoulders as fiercely as he was tugging
at the cock in his hand. “Why- after all- all those years? You deserved to-
should have- and I-!” He came hard and the spunk sputtered from his cock in
thick white streaks. Suddenly, he sobbed in earnest. “I couldn’t do it.” The
realisation hit him in the stomach and he crouched down in the shower, on his
knees, dry heaving and screaming and sobbing again, unintelligible words,
hugging himself with hands long gone numb, and later, when he was done crying,
he whispered, “-I wanted to kill you” again, hoarsely, and his voice sounded
lost amidst the scalding hot water that was still raining down on him.
He was in his finest, most immaculate robes when he met his wife in her private
rooms.
“You were with him,” Narcissa stated. Her nostrils fluttered, catching the
sharp sweetness on his breath.
Lucius nodded. “I had to shower first, then I came to see you two. The elves
are busy taking care of the room, but I will have to call the undertaker soon.
How are you?”
“Draco is doing fine; he’s asleep in his cradle.”
Lucius threw a glance at the sleeping baby. “And you, darling?”
“I’m … relieved.” She did not need to say any more.
He gingerly brushed her temple and played with a strand of her silvery-blonde
hair. “I’m relieved as well, darling. I’m relieved as well.”
Narcissa wished for the funeral to be a small family event. However, business
partners and relatives would openly disapprove and misunderstand the family’s
desire for a private ceremony. Abraxas had been a public figure, so his funeral
was to be a public affair. Several people had already expressed their
disappointment that his death had been a private one.
Severus was with them, a trusted friend of the family. He took care of Narcissa
and little Draco, protected them from public attention. It was Severus who
side-along Apparated Narcissa and the baby home to the manor. It was Severus
who came back to stand beside Lucius during the endless hours of reminiscing
and talking about Abraxas. And it was Severus who finally steered Lucius into
the study and poured them both a drink.
                                      ***
Less than a year later, in the autumn of 1981, the Dark Lord was vanquished
when he tried to kill the Potters’ son. After that, everything was in peril.
Their allies had been scattered and most of them tried to deny all association
with their former Master. Lucius still prided himself on how he had managed to
talk himself out of all accusations. Less fortunate Death Eaters had been
forced into hiding. All of them had been cautious not to show their true
colours – aside from the small group around Narcissa’s sister, who went to
Azkaban with their heads held high.
                                      ***
Lucius sighed. He had never thought that he’d see the Dark Lord rising again.
And yet he had managed to return. But the times when Death Eaters could roam
free were gone. Harry Potter was growing into a more dangerous enemy with every
year. A boy with more luck than any one person should have. These were
dangerous times and soon the skills of the loyal would be put to the test. The
Dark Lord had risen, but if the rumours were true, he could be vanquished once
more – and forever this time.
This time, nobody would be able to go into hiding or deny their involvement.
This time, everything was at stake. The Death Eaters had to be prepared. The
Malfoys had to be prepared. Lucius himself and Narcissa as well knew what to
expect. But Draco – he was still naive. Skirting the edge, yes, and Lucius had
tried to keep him informed to open his mind, but still, Draco didn’t realise
the full impact of the situation at hand. He needed to see, in order to
understand. He needed to adjust. Survival was all about adjustment. Only fools
fought blindly.
The moon was high in the sky when Lucius finally finished his drink and went to
bed.
***** How to Provide for the Future *****
When Lucius came down to breakfast the next morning, he found Severus and Draco
returning from a walk in the garden. Their faces burned from the cold and Draco
looked positively radiant. He greeted his father with all the necessary respect
and Lucius could tell that a night’s rest had helped to mould Draco’s
resentment into understanding and acceptance.
After breakfast, there was still some time for Lucius and Severus to share,
before Severus had to return to his appointment with the Headmaster at
Hogwarts. Tinky served them a special blend of Lucius’ favourite Chinese tea in
the smoking room and they settled in front of the fireplace once more.
“You spoke with Draco this morning?” Lucius opened their conversation.
“We took a walk in the gardens. They are beautiful, even in winter.” Severus
gently swirled his tea in the delicate cup.
Lucius said nothing and waited for Severus to go on.
“He asked me about his grandfather. When you punished him yesterday, you told
him that he should consider himself lucky. He wasn’t sure what you meant by
that. He also keeps wondering why his grandfather’s portrait is silent most of
the time.”
Lucius held his tongue. It was safer to keep his feelings at bay. What did
Draco know?
“I asked him what he knew about his grandfather. Draco said that judging from
the portrait in your study, Abraxas seemed to be the quiet type and that he
died of Dragon Pox at Christmas the year he was born. That you and Narcissa
never talk about him.”
Lucius decided that he trusted his voice enough to speak. “What else has he
told you?”
“That was all. We went on to other things. He hopes to make you proud by
earning more points for his House as a Prefect and lending a helping hand to
that Umbridge woman. He was still in pain, though he tried his best not to show
it.” Severus sighed. “I told him to be careful and not to hold a grudge.”
“I don’t care if he holds a grudge against me.” Lucius almost spat out the
words. “He will be careful, though. I taught him so just yesterday morning.”
“Who are you trying to fool? You do care about your son’s feelings towards you.
You charmed your father’s portrait to remain silent, did you not?”
“I don’t want him to talk to Draco. I don’t want to listen to his lies any
longer. I don’t want him threatening my family.” Lucius’ hands shook and he
gripped the upholstery of the armchair for support. He hated Severus’ softly
spoken questions. How dare he interrogate Lucius in his own home!
Severus’ voice reached his ears again. “Lucius, we have been friends for more
than twenty years now. I neither questioned your actions, nor your reasons.
Don’t you think it’s time to confide?”
Time. Was it time? The suggestion filled him with relief. He realised with
astonishment that he couldn’t tell when his need for secrecy had changed into
the silent hope to share his burden. Lucius slowly nodded, refusing for once in
his life to think about a decision twice. It felt like the right thing to do.
“It is time,” he whispered, looking right into Severus’ face.
Their eyes locked, and Lucius felt the familiar tickling of Severus touching
his mind. “Show me where you are hurting.”
He led the way, and his friend followed in calm watchfulness. Lucius carefully
lifted the veil and they walked further down into the caverns of his memory.
The path was dark, but they took every turn without hesitation, never stopping,
until they had been all the way down and back again.
Severus’ eyes were still warm with sympathy, although a clear-cut gravity
showed his contempt. Lucius knew that it was not meant for him.
“I always thought he was hard on you. But he was … worse than that.”
“It’s over. I saved my family.”
“You did.” A pause. “One line was blank.”
Lucius nodded. “Nothing important, though.” He shrugged. “Just a harsher
repetition of what you’ve seen.”
“I understand.” The gentleness in Severus’ voice felt like balm on wounds which
had never healed properly.
There was no need to talk any further. The comforting silence that enveloped
them was interrupted only by the occasional clink of a teacup on its saucer. At
last, Severus put his empty cup away and stood up.
“I have to go, Lucius. Or else I’ll be late for my appointment with the
Headmaster.”
Lucius nodded in agreement. “Severus, old chap.” He accompanied the other man
to the door and took his hand. “Thank you. For everything.”
Severus squeezed back. “I already said goodbye to Narcissa and Draco. It was
good to see you again, my friend.” He turned, stepped down the outer staircase
and Disapparated.
Lucius stood by his favourite window in the study and watched the snow dancing
in the air. He had only kept one last bit to himself. It hadn’t been necessary
to show this to Severus, the rest had been enough to make him fully understand.
It had been time to confide. Now it was time to forget and move on.
He opened the glass doors of the Pensieve and took a small vial out of a secret
drawer of his desk. The blank line. One like many, all blurred and interwoven,
telling the same tale. He uncorked the vial and poured the contents into the
stone basin. The smoke-like liquid swirled around and around, pulling him
closer. One last time, one last look, one final goodbye. He opened his eyes
wide and bent over the grey swirling mist.
                                      ***
He was in the dungeons. It had always happened in the dungeons. A spitting
image of himself stood over a cowering boy of about fifteen, who held his arms
and hands up to protect his face.
“This will not do, boy! I said ‘Take your wand and defend yourself’ not ‘Snivel
when you cannot deflect a curse’. Try harder, boy! Try to taste the desire to
kill. You know what will happen the next time you cannot defend yourself, don’t
you?”
With trembling hands, the boy made a move at his wand which lay abandoned on
the floor beside him. While he was still reaching for it, his father shot
another spell in his direction. “Accio wand!” The boy’s fingers touched nothing
but the dirty floor.
“You don’t think to guard yourself from even the simplest spells, boy. This
time, your failure demands I respond with Cruciatus. Come on, try to save
yourself. Try to run. You will not succeed. You’re a loser, a bad egg – unless
you will finally stand up to convince me otherwise.”
The boy desperately looked around for anything that could serve as a weapon to
fight with, to protect himself from the dreaded curse. No matter how hard he
trained at school, no matter how quickly he succeeded in disarming other
students, he was no match for his father. There was no way he could hide from
this.
A thin smile played on Abraxas’ lips as he trained his wand on the boy in front
of him. “Crucio!” The boy fell to the floor, where he thrashed and convulsed as
spasms of pain ravaged his body. After a few moments, Abraxas released him from
the curse.
Lucius watched as his younger self tried to get up from the floor. The boy’s
body shook badly.
Please, make him stop. Please, somebody come and help me. Lucius still
remembered what had been the boy’s most desperate wish – in spite of everything
he had known. No one had ever come to save him. Lucius’ nails dug deep into his
palms, marking them, but he didn’t feel it.
“Don’t forget your manners, boy.”
The boy, still on his knees, looked up. Blood ran down his chin, he had bitten
his lips. “Th-th-thank you … sir,” he panted, “… for pu-punishing me.”
“Next time, I won’t have to remind you,” said Abraxas. “Crucio!” He held the
curse for several agonising minutes. The boy was quickly reduced to a twisting,
screaming bundle on the floor. His hands were balled into white-knuckled fists
and dark bruises were blooming on his skin where he had hit the ground again
and again. When his father lifted the curse, the boy tried to speak, but
coughed so hard that he couldn’t master his voice.
“Boy?” questioned Abraxas. “I can’t hear you…” He paused and watched his son
fighting for air. “Again you fail me. I am sorry, but you will eventually learn
to behave … Crucio!”
Beneath the curse, the boy was breaking down by degrees. His screams quickly
turned into croaks and from there into a choked whimpering. His body still
twitched in agony, but the movements had grown weak, like a rag-doll’s head
dangling on a string. When Abraxas lowered his wand, the boy stilled at once.
Minutes passed in waiting. Finally the boy’s small frame moved and he slowly
pulled himself into a halfway upright position.
Lucius let out a breath.
The boy’s lips moved, but he made no sound.
“Boy, I’m waiting.” After a strained pause, Abraxas continued, “You might think
that I’m too hard on you, but always remember that I kept you in spite of you
being a murderer.”
Lucius tensed. Even after all these years, the sight of the scene still
captured his very soul. He knew why his father held no mercy for him. His sin
had become unmistakably engraved in his skin. He had been four years old, a
vibrant toddler breaking in a free run from his mother’s hand.
Lucius still remembered the warmth of her hand, wrapped around his little one.
And then his small hand slipping free from hers, like a slender snake wriggling
its way among the grass. Suddenly, he was free to run, to roam – and so he did,
drawn to something so interesting on the other side of the road. It called to
him, lured him like the magic that coursed through his veins. She was calling
him, too, but her words were garbled. Lucius’ full attention was on crossing
the road, to get near, to see, to touch, to feel and taste. Here he was,
reaching out for it, and then he heard the screaming of tyres and the loud thud
that followed. Someone else was screaming now, the voice of an unknown woman in
the road. His mother’s voice was silent to the world, and in his hand he held
nothing but the twisted, dried up branch of a tree, which had looked like a
dancing fairy only moments ago.
People told him that his mother had been run over by a Muggle car, but Lucius
knew that she would not have been in the road if not for him and his childish
fantasies. He was left to live with his father, a grieving husband who had lost
his beloved wife. A father who had hated his son ever since because he had cost
him his most treasured possession. A businessman in need of an heir who would
prove his killer-instinct to the world.
As he grew older, Lucius understood that, punishing him had, at first, been a
way for his father to express loss and pain and desperation. Later, it also
became a method to find release at the pretense of teaching him.
“Come here. And stay down for it.”
The boy wouldn’t have been able to walk at any rate. He slowly made his way on
all fours towards his father.
“As you’ve used up your voice for screaming … bow to me. Now.”
He had to do this, even though he didn’t want to.
Lucius shivered as the boy, on his knees, lowered himself towards the floor.
His forehead briefly touched the earth in front of his father’s boots. The
boy’s thoughts rang in Lucius’ memory. I want to survive. I can survive
everything. He still could.
Abraxas fumbled with his belt buckle, but the boy kept his eyes fixed on the
floor. As long as he didn’t have to see, he could pretend that it had never
happened.
Pretending had been hard. His father had been doing this for years. And the boy
had hated every single time he had been forced to witness. He hated it, even if
it was a pure-blood tradition and every father was expected to teach his sons
the ways of men and women. Like his father and grandfather and great-
grandfather and all the fathers in the Malfoy family before them. Only that
most fathers didn’t start when their sons were not even old enough to go to
Hogwarts. From what the boy knew of his classmates, their fathers hadn’t
initiated them before the last summer holidays and also seemed to use a less
practical approach. The boys talked about it with an air of honour-bound
secrecy and pride. Others still burned with desire to know what the whispered
talk was all about. Whereas young Lucius’ curiosity had been burned away years
ago.
His father continued his manipulation, let himself go loose and grunted
occasionally.
The boy crouched beside him, head low and eyes firmly on the ground.
“You don’t even have the guts to watch something as simple as that.” Abraxas
kicked him in the side and the boy tumbled over. “Come back to me. And be quick
about it.” A heavy pause. “Or shall I curse you again?”
The boy winced and crawled back to his father.
“For Merlin’s sake, look at me!”
He obediently lifted his head, with his eyes still out of focus. A white
sloshing blur passed his vision and then, it was over. Something had wetted the
ground. There’s no use crying over spilled milk. The thought almost made him
giggle. But, he admonished himself, laughing would only make things worse.
Lucius watched and felt nothing but anguish. He wanted to tell the boy that he
wasn’t alone in this, that somebody watched over him and cared. But that, of
course, would have been a lie.
“I said, look! So do what you’re told!” Abraxas grabed the boy by the neck and
forced him to face the wet spots on the floor. “Look at it! Look – this could
have been your brothers and sisters. This could have been our family. But you
had to go and get her killed. And then you didn’t even have the decency to get
lost. I should have given you away. I should have sent you to an orphanage.”
The boy whimpered but did nothing to fight his father’s grip, even though the
man had begun to accentuate each of his sentences with a sharp blow to the
boy’s body.
“Look at this. What a waste. What a waste you are. Oh, don’t look at me like
that. I know that you try, boy. You try. Try again, try to get into my good
books. Try to learn all about the family business, to make yourself of use. I
know that you do. I know that! But it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough!”
He hurled them both to the ground, disregarding the bruising it caused them.
The boy managed to cushion the fall with his arms and hands to prevent his head
from hitting the floor with full force. His father continued to flail around
his fists, now hitting the shaking boy as well as the ground and his own chest.
“Fa- sir.” A tiny voice. “Sir, no- Father, please.”
Wetness glistened in the man’s eyes when he grabbed the boy again and shook him
hard.
“So, son ... How dare you think that you’d ever be enough? She’s gone! And you
little shit, you killed her. You should have died instead. But no, you had the
nerve- you had the nerve to survive, even though I stopped feeding you for
days. You would have survived on thin air. And so I thought, maybe he is the
son worthy of his father after all. I decided to test you. But you failed. You
failed me every single time. All you did was to survive. You are a parasite, a
worm, a bad egg I cannot get rid of.”
Abraxas resumed his thrashing. The boy tried to crawl away from his father, but
he was too exhausted to cover more than a few steps. Abraxas followed him with
ease, hitting wherever he could reach.
Lucius watched as the boy collapsed onto the floor and curled into a tight
ball, while his father pounded him mercilessly. He heard his fifteen-year-old
self whimpering and remembered every scattered thought that had flooded his
mind. It hurts, hurts so much. Please, no, let him- Stop! I must ... need- No!
-protect my- No, please! -myself. The fists continued their thrashing. The boy
Lucius weakly held up his arms to cover his face. The pain was ready to
overwhelm him. No, no more, hurts so ... so much. I must- I can’t! ... No,
please… please! … No … no more … stop it … help … please … no, don’t! … Hurts …
hurts … hurtshurtshurts …
                                      ***
The memory ended abruptly, and after a short moment of darkness Lucius found
himself lying on the floor in front of the Pensieve. With measured movements,
he stood up and slowly gathered his composure, smoothing down his robes and
hair. He poured himself a glass of water and drained it in small, careful sips
until his breathing steadied. A knock on the door startled him.
“Who’s there? I’m busy.”
“Father, it is me. May I come in? I’ve found a spell in the book you gave me
that I’d like to discuss with you.”
“Just a moment.”
Lucius picked up his wand. It was time to let go. Time to share their fate at
the Dark Lord’s side, unblemished by the ghosts of the past. “Evanesco!” he
murmured, and the contents of the Pensieve swirled into the air, gone forever.
He flicked his wand at the door and released the locking charm. “Come in,
Draco.”
Lucius watched as his son entered the room, eyes shining with energy and
curiosity. He felt a smile broadening his lips when he thought of the glorious
future that this one was going to have under the reign of the Dark Lord. Draco
Malfoy, his capable, handsome and well-taught son.
“Tell me, what’s the name of that spell?”
                                  - The End -
End Notes
     Thanks for inspiration – to underlucius for her story He Falls, and
     to fourth_rose for letting me play with an idea about Abraxas’ death.
     Thanks for beta-reading – to Mikabird, for all the constructive
     criticism, the clever ideas and the handholding she’s been doing with
     the first versions of this fic. To my new betas for helping me with
     insights and ideas to finish this story after it has been on hiatus
     for over a year. My style changed a lot during that second phase.
     Graylor made wonderful contributions to improve dialogue and to add
     depth to the characters and their story. She also helped to remind me
     that the Fic Which Got Rewritten Forever would turn into the Fic
     Which Would Get Posted. *g* I had the most excellent, trustful and
     mind-blowing discussion with Sirenprincess about the issue of child
     abuse and how to deal with it in this story. To Waterbird for the
     amazing amount of detailed feedback she added to the last versions of
     the story. She saw the big picture and the details as well. I
     couldn’t have written this story without those four.
     Thanks to Sirenprincess, who is the author of Draco’s Protector, for
     showing backbone and compassion. I loved her story and told her that
     I also admired her courage. We have been talking ever since. She was
     the first to encourage me not to be afraid of what I want to write,
     but to write it and then take the risk and post it. Without her, this
     story might still be hidden in a secret folder on my laptop.
     And finally, thanks to the friends – on- and offline – who listened
     to me whining about this story for over two years and gave me support
     to go through with it. You know who you are.
     A few more words ...
     I read underlucius’ story He Falls, which deals with traditions in
     the pure-blood families and describes a Lucius Malfoy, who for a long
     time refuses to introduce Draco to sex – despite Draco’s insistence –
     because he, Lucius, has been abused by Abraxas at a very young age.
     This made me think about Lucius, whom I always pictured to be
     abusive, cruel and cold-hearted towards Draco. What made him the man
     he is? What would he look like behind that image of a cardboard
     villain, an image that crumpled more and more with the release of new
     canon material? I also stole the notion from Underlucius that pure-
     blood parents would take an active part in their child’s sexual
     education, although it’s a mere background detail for my story.
     Fourth_rose answered a question about Abraxas on my livejournal and
     gave me the initial idea that Lucius could be involved in Abraxas’
     death and what some of his motives – the political ones – could have
     been. I thank her for letting me play with the idea that Abraxas had
     a very different attitude towards the Dark Lord than Lucius.
     Some facts about child abuse, according to the first UN Secretary-
     General’s Study on Violence Against Children in 2002:
     • Almost 53,000 children died worldwide in 2002 as a result of
     homicide.
     • Up to 80 to 98% of children suffer physical punishment in their
     homes, with a third or more experiencing severe physical punishment
     resulting from the use of implements.
     • 150 million girls and 73 million boys under 18 experienced forced
     sexual intercourse or other forms of sexual violence during 2002.
     • Between 100 and 140 million girls and women in the world have
     undergone some form of female genital mutilation/cutting. In sub-
     Saharan Africa, Egypt and the Sudan, 3 million girls and women are
     subjected to genital mutilation/cutting every year.
     • In 2004, 218 million children were involved in child labour, of
     whom 126 million were in hazardous work.
     • Estimates from 2000 suggest that 1.8 million children were forced
     into prostitution and pornography, and 1.2 million were victims of
     trafficking.
     This story is, for several reasons, closer to my heart than any
     other. I know that it’s harsh and yet I hope that you found it worth
     your time. If you are still reading, that might have been the case.
     Thank you for staying with the characters and following their story
     until the very end of this paragraph.
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