OK, never done this before...
Sep. 26th, 2006 09:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
annafugazziSo I'm working on a plotbunny ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
caliopeamphora suggested an awfully long time ago, and having a fine time of it but have reached my authorial endpoint, I think. As in, I no longer know my own ass from my elbow here, and have Peter Principled myself up to my level of incompetence once again ;)
I like it, though. And I don't particularly want to toss it out. But I'm also not willing to post it publicly as is, since I have a sneaking suspicion that it makes little or no sense whatsoever and plays merry hell with characterizations to boot. And while it's not meant for a huge readership (it's just a Bond DVD-Extras thingy) I still like to think I've got some standards, and they generally involve not posting utter dreck if it's at all possible.
OK, so, why am I telling anybody this?
If anybody has some spare time and wouldn't mind clicking on the cut-link and giving me any feedback that comes to mind, I would much appreciate it. Any feedback is welcome, including grammar, typos, consistency errors, flow problems, dialogue, characterization, plot holes, and general malaise.
BTW, when I say any feedback, I really do mean any feedback. I once took a Legal Drafting class where we regularly critiqued one another's efforts with "Huh??!" and "this is incomprehensible garbage." I've got a thick skin ;)
So, for the brave hearted: this is a Bond DVD Extra, so if you haven't read Bond it'll make no sense at all. It takes place during chapters 11 - 12, when Harry and Draco's friends and family take part in a healing circle. It basically retells the circle scene from Lucius Malfoy's POV.
Yeah, the Lucius who's a real bitch. To write.
Day 38, Thursday
Lucius kept his face blank as the members of the healing circle gathered around Draco and Potter, who lay unconscious in the middle of the room. He took his place in the outer circle, between the bushy-haired Muggle-born and the shabby werewolf, facing - and about to be partnered with - one of Arthur Weasley's numerous vacant-eyed offspring.
The spell began and Lucius watched impassively as the three 'neutral' members of the inside circle linked their magic together. Dumbledore, neutral. The idea would have been laughable if the situation weren't so serious. The Healer pretending neutrality as well, as if any self-respecting Slytherin would try something this stupid when there were perfectly workable alternatives that hadn't even been tested.
At least she was a Slytherin, though. Which gave the circle some sort of balance. Six Gryffindors, six Slytherins, and Pomfrey as the lone Ravenclaw.
He was fixing on irrelevancies like school houses, he realized, as the light from the wands of the three in the inner circle grew and steadied. Desperately trying to ignore what was happening. Because it was happening, but he still didn't want to believe it. They were all gathered, and the magic was rising, waiting to draw all of them in, but it felt dreamlike, far way. As though they couldn't really be here, couldn't really be about to do this, such a mismatched group of people, such an unreal situation.
He swallowed as the inner circle finished and the outer began to build.
"I am Hermione Granger and I join my magic to yours," said the Muggle-born, and her light joined the inner circle.
Lucius breathed deeply, his mind racing despite his every effort to settle it. Every name like a bell tolling for the end of all that he had worked to build, for so many years. Or like a clock ticking, inexorably closer to the end of the future he had envisioned for himself and his family.
Hermione Granger, whose very presence at this school was an insult.
Pansy Parkinson, a fine pureblooded girl from a good family, who should be disowned for what she was about to do.
Minerva McGonagall, not much changed from her days as his Transfiguration teacher.
Blaise Zabini, son of a beautiful and deadly mother who was, thank Merlin, politically neutral, but who might expect hefty repayment or redress from the Malfoys for her son's actions.
Ronald Weasley, a fitting offspring to his ridiculous, pathetic father, by Draco's reports at least.
Narcissa Malfoy. Lucius closed his eyes, unwilling to believe that this was happening, the magic drawing closer like a noose around his neck as his wife's wandlight connected to that of the Muggle-born next to Lucius.
Neville Longbottom, embarrassment to purebloods everywhere, linked to Pansy Parkinson.
Severus Snape, his friend and ally, joined to McGonagall.
Remus Lupin, and now Lucretia Zabini's lovely son was connected to the werewolf.
And Lucius was out of time.
"I am Lucius Malfoy and I join my magic to yours," he said evenly, and braced himself to take this probably irrevocable step. For the sake of his son, who failed him constantly, who disappointed him almost as often as he breathed, who was so unworthy to inherit anything. For whom Lucius now had to give up everything, so that he could bequeath him nothing.
For his son, who had again made the wrong choice, choosing to be here, with Potter, not clever or brave enough to leave when offered a chance to try to work with the Healers Lucius had hired. That was who Lucius was giving everything up for, that was who would be his downfall in the end, his own son...
Esposito moved the inner circle slightly, no longer blocking Lucius' sight of the two unconscious boys.
Draco slept, his eyes shadowed, face even paler than normal. Sharp features made sharper by his illness, his proximity to death. Features that had once been rounded and soft, eyes closed that were so expressive when open, so unlike a proper Malfoy, and so often marked by sullenness or ineffectual defiance...
And humour, and unexpected intelligence, and love. Eyes that had trusted him so often; eyes that had owned Lucius from the first time he'd opened them.
He took a deep breath gave in to the pull from the Weasley boy's wand, and joined his magic to the circle.
He'd made his choice, he thought bitterly, then brushed aside regret impatiently. There had never been a choice. It had been foolish to think otherwise.
"We call upon joy and upon sorrow," said Esposito, and Lucius braced himself, calling to mind his best and worst memories. Surprised when, despite his earlier plan to think of the day he learned he'd been accepted into the Wizengamot, a memory of picking up Draco and spinning him around came to mind instead.
Foolish image. He started to replace it with his planned memory, but that memory eluded him. He gave a mental shrug and decided to go with it. The members of the circle had all been told that while it was a good idea for them to think about what memories to use for each pairing, it would probably be even more effective to simply use whatever surfaced in their minds at the moment of the spell casting.
Joy, and Draco, his high, childish laughter, grey eyes wide and with delight, Narcissa smiling indulgently at them both, her blue eyes softened from their usual cool detachment. Warmth and an unexpected sense of accomplishment at bringing such happiness to his son. Knowing that without even trying, he could affect another human being so deeply. Feeling inexplicably humbled at the realization that he was his little boy's hero.
That was probably enough, and he set the image aside firmly.
Sorrow was easy: Azkaban. Greyness and failure and bitterness and fear, there was no need to reach any farther than that for his worst sorrow. Let the Weasley whelp see it and gloat, he didn't much care. Whatever blocked out the brat's silly little sorrows - learning Cedric Diggory had died, that was his greatest sorrow, was it? And telling his Muggle-born friend that he loved her? How pathetic.
Lucius shook his head, slightly irate at the leakage of images from other members of the circle flitted past the edges of his consciousness. Indistinct and nebulous but persistent, defying his attempts to block them out completely. A young Slytherin girl holding a Quidditch Cup high - Esposito, surely. If only Draco had known that kind of accomplishment; but no, Potter had snatched it away from him every single year, in one way or another.
Speaking of Potter - there he was, lying and mourning somebody, Narcissa's blood-traitor fool of a cousin, apparently. Lucius briefly regretted not having the freedom to allow himself to gloat at the image. His own memory of the time right after the Department of Mysteries was hideous enough; it was nice to see the Potter brat had suffered as well.
A sniveling child, hiding in the dark, Longbottom no doubt, and Lucius' lip curled in a sneer. Except... no, the child was - his heart gave a lurch.
He swallowed as the image of Draco cried and drew in on himself, shivering and angry with himself for his weakness, for his failure, for disappointing Lucius.
God, Draco.
It had been the right thing to do, he told himself, though the image didn't provide him with any insight into why Draco had been hiding from him. Whatever had happened that day, it had been the right thing to do, because Draco had needed to learn discipline and strength. It had hurt Draco, and it hurt Lucius to see it, but pain was sometimes necessary and could be a powerful tool for greater good. He did Draco no favours if he didn't have the strength to hurt him when Draco needed instruction or correction. Suffering built character.
"We call upon light and upon dark," Pomfrey said, and Lucius brought to mind the Encandesca spell he'd learned a few years ago. A difficult spell, meant to turn night into day. He recalled a pitch-black field in Surrey lighting up brilliantly. Muggles had ugly, crass lights that feebly lit their streets at night. Encandesca was the light of day.
Dark was the dungeon of Malfoy Manor, where Lucius often went to meditate and practice difficult spells. The dark was comforting in its own way, a counterpoint to light. Strange how the Dark was so feared by weak fools, who didn't understand that facing it and embracing it and bending it to your will was what power was all about.
The Weasley idiot remembered the darkness of a storage shed, probably in whatever filthy pit the Weasleys lived in.
A small, ugly child hid fearfully in the dark while a man and a woman screamed at each other. Lucius recognized the woman as Severus' mother and turned away tactfully.
Draco and Potter, sleeping in each other's arms, Potter nestled into the curve of Draco's neck, Draco's white hair contrasting with Potter's black, who knew where that image came from. Lucius turned away in distaste at the peace and contentment the image showed.
Parkinson's daughter was thinking of a Lumos spell, and the werewolf appeared to be thinking of the full moon as both light and dark, which was intriguing. He wondered briefly at the man's fear of his monthly transformation. Rather a waste. Fenrir Greyback dealt with his own condition much more practically; obviously he was barred from civilized society, but he accepted the power of his condition and used it, unlike this shabby unfortunate.
"We call upon male and upon female," Esposito said, and Lucius noted that most of the others had images of parents and spouses. Arthur Weasley, how charming. And he wasn't entirely sure if Weasley Jr. thinking of Granger was more or less distasteful than thinking of his rather frumpy mother would have been. Though at least she apparently cleaned up rather nicely; that memory had to be from the Yule Ball held during the year of the Triwizard Tournament. Pity about the teeth.
Lucretia Zabini flashed past in a disturbing flicker, and Lucius almost laughed out loud as the image of Randolph Keitch, the famous Beater for Falmouth, and a very young McGonagall gazing at him in adoration.
Concentrate, he told himself, and conjured the image of his father. Cold, stern, and strong; a worthy role model for anybody. And Narcissa, the epitome of all that was feminine grace and refinement.
"We call upon past and upon future," said Dumbledore. Lucius sent his mind back as far as it could go, to his grandfather's death, and wondered briefly if it was Draco or Pansy who was remembering a long-ago fight between the two. Lucius remembered only the shrieks that had burst from the nursery, the harried expressions on the faces of the house elves as they separated the purple-faced toddlers, and Owen Parkinson noting dryly that they'd best start punishing the house-elves out of Pansy's sight, as she was learning a few curses that were best not mentioned outside their social circle. Precocious little tyke, she'd been.
A much younger Dumbledore on a stairwell spoke to a student, and Lucius turned aside in disdain before he suddenly drew in his breath, recognizing the student. The Dark Lord. He hastily drew his mind away.
The future was going to be dicey, but he forced the image of the Dark Lord aside and focused his mind on whatever happened to filter through from the three near-Seers. Indistinct laughter, a shadowy hallway, a teasing look met by - Lucius swallowed as he recognized Draco's smile, so seldom seen.
Draco would live, then.
Unless Lucius was misinterpreting that glimpse of the future, and it was just someone who looked like Draco. Already the unclear vision was fading, slipping through his fingers, and he doubted what he'd seen.
A Dark Mark bloomed in the sky.
That one was less difficult to misinterpret, and he laughed inwardly at Ron Weasley's instinctive recoil before once more taking control of his thoughts and clearing his mind for the next pairing.
"We call upon pain and upon pleasure," said Pomfrey.
Pain was easy, though Lucius wasn't terribly eager to call up that memory yet. Pleasure, however... there was pleasure in fine wine, in power, in literature, and Lucius had contemplated thinking of any of those, especially as he would be tied to Weasley during the spell. But the images and memories he conjured had to be powerful and wine would not do it.
Narcissa's labour flashed past his consciousness, Weasley's leg snapped from the force of a huge dog's powerful jaws, and a werewolf ran through the woods with a stag and a large black dog.
He had planned on remembering his own pleasure at mastering Unplottable spells, some of the most difficult he had ever attempted. The feeling his father's rare pride in him, his father's sureness that the family would be in good hands once he passed away. But that probably wouldn't be enough either. The images coming from the other members of the circle all seemed rather more intense than that.
He winced in distaste as his son and Potter hesitantly touched their lips together for the first time in Dumbledore's outer sitting room. It had been bad enough, that day, to witness that event secondhand. Seeing the amusement on the faces of the Healer and Dumbledore - and even Severus - as they detected activity from the boys' bond spell, then informed the rest of them what was going on in the small sitting room. This was nothing he wanted to witness firsthand, even as a memory.
He turned away, only to be shocked to find the two boys again, far more involved - he flinched almost physically at what they were doing, then sternly pushed his embarrassment away and took amused comfort in Weasley's squeamish mental whimper at the scene.
It still wasn't something he wanted to see, so he concentrated on his own worst memory of pain in order to blot it out. Felt the burn of the Mark going onto his skin and heard again his own cries at the agony that had overwhelmed him. Forced himself to relive the experience instead of pushing it away automatically, as he had done every time the memory welled up in the last twenty years. Felt vindictive pleasure as Weasley flinched at that as well.
And suddenly, unbidden, came a memory of pleasure to replace the pain: a miniature face, whispy white hair still damp from birth, cloudy grey eyes opening for the first time and gazing up at Narcissa before scrunching shut again as the impossibly small red mouth opened in a weak wail of hunger. Lucius felt a tiny hand grip his finger firmly and a completely unexpected thrill shot through him.
He'd expected pride. He'd expected satisfaction, at having successfully brought a Malfoy heir into the world. He hadn't expected the rush of love and devotion he felt towards this ridiculously small creature, who had done nothing to earn either feeling. It had felt uncomfortable then, and it felt uncomfortable now, but he supposed it would do for the purposes of this spell.
"We call upon heat and upon cold," said Esposito, and Lucius breathed a sigh of relief as he recalled the heat of a Muggle-born Auror's house burning to the ground, and the satisfaction of knowing that she would never track down another Death Eater again.
Weasley was remembering a Dementor sucking all of the heat from a compartment on the Hogwarts Express, but for Lucius, cold was a cell in Azkaban. Apparently cold was Azkaban for Narcissa as well, a small courtyard where she waited, shivering, to be allowed inside by the arrogant guards who delighted in showing their contempt for her, for Lucius, for everything they stood for.
At least the guards had been human, Lucius thought with grim satisfaction. No Dementors left on the island by the time Lucius had arrived there; they had all been recruited by the Dark Lord.
"We call upon love and upon hate," Dumbledore said, and the tension in the circle spiked sharply.
Love and hate. As well ask this group to define itself.
Lucius concentrated and thought of Narcissa, of Draco, of his mother. He didn't bother to suppress a sneer as a blur of ginger hair and vacant freckled Weasley faces flickered past his consciousness, along with a brief flash of bushy brown hair and that famous scar. Confusing images of Parkinsons went past, and then various students - dimly he recognized himself as a child with a sling on his arm, and didn't have time to wonder whose image that was - and an odd flash of... something, a young man who looked familiar, walking out of a classroom - but there wasn't time to figure it out, the feelings were flowing too fast and strong, and he braced himself to concentrate on this next part, undoubtedly the most difficult part of the spell.
Hatred. It was far too easy to feel, and they all knew they would have to control it if they didn't want it to get out of hand.
It was such a pure feeling, though. Seductive, addictive, clean and bright. Hatred for those who opposed them, for those who weakened them. And it was so hard to keep enough control to stop himself from focusing that powerful emotion on people who were part of this circle. Instead he thought as hard as he could of Peter Pettigrew, that loathsome little maggot whom they had to allow into their midst. Thought of Mad-Eye Moody and his rabid anti-Dark mania that had made it so difficult for Lucius to stay out of Azkaban sixteen years ago, and get out of Azkaban last year. Thought of the supercilious Aurors who had taken such delight in humiliating him and laughing at his helplessness while he was in a cell, so small and cold and dark, so - so much like a small room under a set of stairs... Lucius recognized a small version of Potter with a shock, recognized hatred boiling up out of Potter, towards... his Muggle relatives?
Lucius shook his head, distracted, started to back away, but then Potter's hatred focused on Severus - and Severus was hating him back - and there was a new intensity to it, as Severus and Potter's hatred boiled up dangerously, and was joined by - Lucius flinched as Weasley's hate joined Potter's, and he felt the brat's hatred focus on him, the connection between them making Weasley's emotions more powerful than anybody else's and it was insupportable, that Weasley in his rage would remind Lucius of one of his worst failures: Weasley's dirty-faced little sister, who hadn't managed to do what she was supposed to with the Dark Lord's diary, but had instead managed to pull Potter into that situation and ruin everything. And Weasley didn't even have the brains or pureblood pride to understand that it was his own behaviour, and that of his parents, that made them the enemy and thus acceptable targets to Lucius. Taking pride in their corruption of the wizarding world, taking pride in their disgraceful poverty and blood traitor's ways, and he wanted them all dead, Weasley and his father and his sister and all their pestilent relations, and all those like him, like Longbottom and his pathetic parents, and Potter and his pathetic little friends, and the anger and hatred were growing, flames of contempt and disgust rising up from Parkinson's daughter towards Longbottom too, and from Longbottom and the Mudblood and Severus and from Draco, hating Potter with a passion, Potter hating him back, drawing the hatred to new heights, and if Lucius could've moved he would have cast an Avada Kedavra to immolate Potter and all of his ilk, and free Draco from them and from this horrible curse - free all of them from the curse that was Dumbledore and all of his blood traitor ideas and allies, the rage and hatred and fury crackling out of control, Potter's hatred for all of them ready to erupt and by god Lucius was going to make him pay, if it was the last thing he did he was going to kill Potter, and he gathered his hatred to focus it-
"NO!"
Lucius almost growled in rage at the interruption, not recognizing the voice crying out, not stopping, not - and then he was being pulled, there was no other way to describe it, if it had been physical he would've said somebody just grabbed him and pulled him back from Potter, but it wasn't that, it was somebody blocking his mind, trying to block his hatred, it didn't matter who, he would shatter them and get past and kill the Boy Who Lived-
There were more voices joining the first, and Lucius dimly recognized Ronald Weasley's magic pulling at his own - the boy was strong, he had to give him that, and fierce as he held on tenaciously, but Lucius could bat him away with just a - except that Severus had joined him, pulling Lucius back too, Lucius inwardly burned with rage at this betrayal, and he could probably fight Severus too except that now Severus was joined by Parkinson's daughter and Narcissa and Dumbledore and McGonagall -
Lines of angry magic were crackling over Draco and Potter
Oh god
The two boys were locked in a desperate hateful embrace and they were going to kill each other
Potter struck Draco, splattered him with mud, Draco mocked Potter, wished him dead
The magic was out of control was going to kill his son if it wasn't stopped it came from them and through them and drew its power from Lucius' hatred, from all of their hatred
It was going to destroy his son
For all they knew Draco could already be damaged beyond repair, burned alive by the force of malevolent magic that had just been pouring out of all of them in the last few minutes
Draco broke Potter's nose, Potter shattered a window above Draco and screamed in fury
Lucius felt himself suspended in mid-air, watching in horror as Draco and Potter sank deeper into hatred and the others vainly tried to bring their fire under control, Severus and Lupin and Zabini and Granger and Pansy and Weasley pushing memories towards them, Draco loaning Potter some ink, Potter smiling at Draco, images of peace and whatever affection his son and his spouse had managed to find for each other
Draco started to hex Potter on the train
Lucius finally moved, desperately trying to call to mind what little he had, an image of Draco and his spouse resting together in the hospital wing after they'd collapsed, images from earlier in the spell, their kiss in Dumbledore's office, and the images from the others were finally starting to flow stronger
Draco taunted Potter, but his anger was somehow channeled away from violence for its own sake and into something... different
Potter angrily grabbed Draco and pushed him up against a tree
Draco pointed out an error in Potter's arithmancy assignment
And the lines of hatred were slowly dying down
Draco kicked Potter in a hallway, then sank down beside him and held him close, Potter touched Draco's arm and faced down a sneering Auror in the hospital wing, held Draco close and whispered gentle words to him as Draco tensed in pain
And down
Draco casually brushed Potter's hair
Potter and Draco stumbled into their quarters and practically fell onto their couch, laughing together, followed by a worried Weasley and very amused Pansy
And down
And the lines were calm, steady, the magic once more under their control.
Esposito took a deep breath, and allowed them all a few moments to breathe and settle down and take comfort from the wandlight glowing benignly above them all.
"I release you, Lucius Malfoy, from the circle," she said quietly, and Lucius felt the light from his wand die down. Stood shaking for a moment before realizing that if he didn't sit he would fall. Gratefully sank onto the chair behind him, chest heaving.
What the hell had he just done?
He closed his eyes, sat back, tried to catch his breath. Dimly felt the others dropping out of the circle one by one, all of them exhausted. Lupin. Severus. Longbottom.
Arthur Weasley's son, who had just seen so many of Lucius' most private memories. Who had battled against Lucius to make him remember what - and who - they were here for.
Narcissa was out, and he couldn't meet her eyes. She would never forgive him. Oh, she would say she did - she was as well-versed as he in diplomacy, manners, and surface niceties. But down in the heart of their bond, where it mattered, she would never forget and she would never forgive.
He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind, regaining his strength as one by one the others were released and the circle was ended, but his mind roiled with images, with fear and guilt. With the horror of what he had almost done.
The others were in various states of exhaustion, everyone but the Healers almost silent, Dumbledore speaking softly to McGonagall, both of them uncharacteristically showing every bit of their age. Pansy standing by Narcissa, looking like she wanted to offer comfort but was not sure how, her usual Slytherin composure shaken by fear and weariness. Severus leaning his forehead against the window and looking out at the Quidditch pitch blankly.
All of them on edge, despite their extreme fatigue, from the aftereffects of the near-disaster and with uncertainty as to whether or not the spell had worked. Whether or not that last pairing had done more harm than good.
It couldn't have. It had almost gone out of control, but they had pulled back before any lasting damage was done. Lucius repeated that thought like a mantra as the Healers examined both boys, their wands creating complex patterns, flickering in the candlelight.
Draco would be all right. Lucius' loss of control during that last pairing would not be the cause of his son's harm.
Though if it was, that would no doubt please the Dark Lord, if Draco took Potter with him - Lucius shuddered, dimly aware that that thought was unforgivable.
No. They would be all right. Draco would be all right. The Dark Lord would simply have to find some other way of dealing with Potter.
"Mrs. Malfoy?" Esposito called, and Narcissa hurried to her side. Lucius stared, transfixed, as the Healer pointed out a pattern in the light to Narcissa and Granger. Narcissa's eyes widened slightly, her shoulders losing their tenseness as Granger nodded, the anxious look in her eyes turning to intellectual fascination as the Healer continued to quietly explain the patterns.
They were all right. They would live.
Narcissa nodded calmly and turned, glancing an unspoken signal at Lucius and he followed her into the small office next door.
"He'll be all right," she said quietly, once he had closed the door behind them.
Lucius nodded uncertainly, unable to read her feelings right now. Narcissa wasn't normally prone to hysterics, but when it came to Draco, who really knew. Although right now she didn't look like she was on the edge of hysterics. She was simply gazing at him dispassionately, coldly.
"He could have died," she said, her voice icy.
He swallowed hard.
"And if he did, you would be next," she said. "You almost let yourself kill your own son. My son."
"Narcissa-"
"Don't." She held up her hand warningly. "Do not speak to me, not for a very long time. I have allowed you to do what you would all his life. I have let you treat Draco no better than a house elf, and I have let you bully him and hurt him and ignore him, but if you ever put him in danger again, I hope you know that I will kill you, slowly and painfully. Do not test me on this," she said, her voice beginning to tremble.
"I didn't-"
"I said don't talk," she hissed. "You-" she suddenly turned away from him, hugging herself tightly. "He could have died." She drew in a shaking breath. "If it hadn't been for Ronald Weasley, Draco would have died. Because of you. Because you hate Harry Potter more than you love your own son."
Lucius pushed Narcissa's words away. She was wrong. He would've found the strength to stop no matter what Arthur Weasley's son did, he would have stopped, he wouldn't have allowed himself to harm Draco-
He had a sudden vivid image of Draco, so small, laughing in delight as Lucius spun him around; his white hair shining in the sun as he pulled himself up on an end table and tottered towards a house elf; grinning with joy the first time Lucius took him up in the air. Holding tight to Lucius as their broom rose up higher and higher, frightened, but trusting in his father to keep him safe.
He blinked, startled, as his sight blurred and he felt coolness on his cheek, reached up and felt moisture on his fingers. Stared at them in puzzlement as his chest tightened, and his throat closed as a sob threatened to break free.
He closed his eyes and lowered his head, tears spilling down his face, lips pressed together tightly, and frantically willed himself to keep control. The silence in the room broken only by his harsh breathing.
Narcissa stood by the window, her face betraying no emotion for the turmoil raging through Lucius.
And traitorous thoughts bubbled up faster than Lucius could turn them aside, whispering that his father's trust had been misplaced, that he had now taken the Malfoy name down as far as it could go. Labeled a criminal because of his failure in the service of a powerful Dark wizard, whom he had now betrayed. A wizard whom he'd betrayed for the sake of a son whom he'd then nearly killed with his weakness. Failure and shame and weakness, chanted the voices, everywhere he turned, his own body failing him and threatening to overwhelm him with the need to weep for his failures and for the fear of what he had nearly done to his son-
His father's stern face came to mind, silently reminding him that he was a Malfoy and the one thing Malfoys did best was keep control. Reminded him that one failure did not excuse another, and that no matter what he had done he would not compound his disgrace by giving voice to his sorrow right now.
With a shudder he silenced the voices. Ruthlessly pushed down the threatened tears, the trembling and weakness. Grabbed and held on to his Malfoy pride.
Finally he cleared his throat and drew himself up. Forced himself to face Narcissa and not flinch from the icy disdain in her eyes.
Narcissa gave him a grimly appraising look, then pursed her lips and suddenly passed her wand over his face. He felt a strange tingling and realized she was probably getting rid of all evidence of his lack of control. She examined him dispassionately, frowned for a moment, then passed her wand over her own face, making her eyes red-rimmed and her cheeks flushed.
She cleared her throat and headed towards the door, waiting for him and holding her arm out so that he could take it and solicitously walk her out of the small office, the perfect picture of a calm husband supporting his emotionally distraught wife.
They headed back out to face the others.
ETA: If you don't feel comfortable leaving feedback in public, please send it to fugazzianna@yahoo.ca.
caliopeamphora suggested an awfully long time ago, and having a fine time of it but have reached my authorial endpoint, I think. As in, I no longer know my own ass from my elbow here, and have Peter Principled myself up to my level of incompetence once again ;)I like it, though. And I don't particularly want to toss it out. But I'm also not willing to post it publicly as is, since I have a sneaking suspicion that it makes little or no sense whatsoever and plays merry hell with characterizations to boot. And while it's not meant for a huge readership (it's just a Bond DVD-Extras thingy) I still like to think I've got some standards, and they generally involve not posting utter dreck if it's at all possible.
OK, so, why am I telling anybody this?
If anybody has some spare time and wouldn't mind clicking on the cut-link and giving me any feedback that comes to mind, I would much appreciate it. Any feedback is welcome, including grammar, typos, consistency errors, flow problems, dialogue, characterization, plot holes, and general malaise.
BTW, when I say any feedback, I really do mean any feedback. I once took a Legal Drafting class where we regularly critiqued one another's efforts with "Huh??!" and "this is incomprehensible garbage." I've got a thick skin ;)
So, for the brave hearted: this is a Bond DVD Extra, so if you haven't read Bond it'll make no sense at all. It takes place during chapters 11 - 12, when Harry and Draco's friends and family take part in a healing circle. It basically retells the circle scene from Lucius Malfoy's POV.
Yeah, the Lucius who's a real bitch. To write.
Day 38, Thursday
Lucius kept his face blank as the members of the healing circle gathered around Draco and Potter, who lay unconscious in the middle of the room. He took his place in the outer circle, between the bushy-haired Muggle-born and the shabby werewolf, facing - and about to be partnered with - one of Arthur Weasley's numerous vacant-eyed offspring.
The spell began and Lucius watched impassively as the three 'neutral' members of the inside circle linked their magic together. Dumbledore, neutral. The idea would have been laughable if the situation weren't so serious. The Healer pretending neutrality as well, as if any self-respecting Slytherin would try something this stupid when there were perfectly workable alternatives that hadn't even been tested.
At least she was a Slytherin, though. Which gave the circle some sort of balance. Six Gryffindors, six Slytherins, and Pomfrey as the lone Ravenclaw.
He was fixing on irrelevancies like school houses, he realized, as the light from the wands of the three in the inner circle grew and steadied. Desperately trying to ignore what was happening. Because it was happening, but he still didn't want to believe it. They were all gathered, and the magic was rising, waiting to draw all of them in, but it felt dreamlike, far way. As though they couldn't really be here, couldn't really be about to do this, such a mismatched group of people, such an unreal situation.
He swallowed as the inner circle finished and the outer began to build.
"I am Hermione Granger and I join my magic to yours," said the Muggle-born, and her light joined the inner circle.
Lucius breathed deeply, his mind racing despite his every effort to settle it. Every name like a bell tolling for the end of all that he had worked to build, for so many years. Or like a clock ticking, inexorably closer to the end of the future he had envisioned for himself and his family.
Hermione Granger, whose very presence at this school was an insult.
Pansy Parkinson, a fine pureblooded girl from a good family, who should be disowned for what she was about to do.
Minerva McGonagall, not much changed from her days as his Transfiguration teacher.
Blaise Zabini, son of a beautiful and deadly mother who was, thank Merlin, politically neutral, but who might expect hefty repayment or redress from the Malfoys for her son's actions.
Ronald Weasley, a fitting offspring to his ridiculous, pathetic father, by Draco's reports at least.
Narcissa Malfoy. Lucius closed his eyes, unwilling to believe that this was happening, the magic drawing closer like a noose around his neck as his wife's wandlight connected to that of the Muggle-born next to Lucius.
Neville Longbottom, embarrassment to purebloods everywhere, linked to Pansy Parkinson.
Severus Snape, his friend and ally, joined to McGonagall.
Remus Lupin, and now Lucretia Zabini's lovely son was connected to the werewolf.
And Lucius was out of time.
"I am Lucius Malfoy and I join my magic to yours," he said evenly, and braced himself to take this probably irrevocable step. For the sake of his son, who failed him constantly, who disappointed him almost as often as he breathed, who was so unworthy to inherit anything. For whom Lucius now had to give up everything, so that he could bequeath him nothing.
For his son, who had again made the wrong choice, choosing to be here, with Potter, not clever or brave enough to leave when offered a chance to try to work with the Healers Lucius had hired. That was who Lucius was giving everything up for, that was who would be his downfall in the end, his own son...
Esposito moved the inner circle slightly, no longer blocking Lucius' sight of the two unconscious boys.
Draco slept, his eyes shadowed, face even paler than normal. Sharp features made sharper by his illness, his proximity to death. Features that had once been rounded and soft, eyes closed that were so expressive when open, so unlike a proper Malfoy, and so often marked by sullenness or ineffectual defiance...
And humour, and unexpected intelligence, and love. Eyes that had trusted him so often; eyes that had owned Lucius from the first time he'd opened them.
He took a deep breath gave in to the pull from the Weasley boy's wand, and joined his magic to the circle.
He'd made his choice, he thought bitterly, then brushed aside regret impatiently. There had never been a choice. It had been foolish to think otherwise.
"We call upon joy and upon sorrow," said Esposito, and Lucius braced himself, calling to mind his best and worst memories. Surprised when, despite his earlier plan to think of the day he learned he'd been accepted into the Wizengamot, a memory of picking up Draco and spinning him around came to mind instead.
Foolish image. He started to replace it with his planned memory, but that memory eluded him. He gave a mental shrug and decided to go with it. The members of the circle had all been told that while it was a good idea for them to think about what memories to use for each pairing, it would probably be even more effective to simply use whatever surfaced in their minds at the moment of the spell casting.
Joy, and Draco, his high, childish laughter, grey eyes wide and with delight, Narcissa smiling indulgently at them both, her blue eyes softened from their usual cool detachment. Warmth and an unexpected sense of accomplishment at bringing such happiness to his son. Knowing that without even trying, he could affect another human being so deeply. Feeling inexplicably humbled at the realization that he was his little boy's hero.
That was probably enough, and he set the image aside firmly.
Sorrow was easy: Azkaban. Greyness and failure and bitterness and fear, there was no need to reach any farther than that for his worst sorrow. Let the Weasley whelp see it and gloat, he didn't much care. Whatever blocked out the brat's silly little sorrows - learning Cedric Diggory had died, that was his greatest sorrow, was it? And telling his Muggle-born friend that he loved her? How pathetic.
Lucius shook his head, slightly irate at the leakage of images from other members of the circle flitted past the edges of his consciousness. Indistinct and nebulous but persistent, defying his attempts to block them out completely. A young Slytherin girl holding a Quidditch Cup high - Esposito, surely. If only Draco had known that kind of accomplishment; but no, Potter had snatched it away from him every single year, in one way or another.
Speaking of Potter - there he was, lying and mourning somebody, Narcissa's blood-traitor fool of a cousin, apparently. Lucius briefly regretted not having the freedom to allow himself to gloat at the image. His own memory of the time right after the Department of Mysteries was hideous enough; it was nice to see the Potter brat had suffered as well.
A sniveling child, hiding in the dark, Longbottom no doubt, and Lucius' lip curled in a sneer. Except... no, the child was - his heart gave a lurch.
He swallowed as the image of Draco cried and drew in on himself, shivering and angry with himself for his weakness, for his failure, for disappointing Lucius.
God, Draco.
It had been the right thing to do, he told himself, though the image didn't provide him with any insight into why Draco had been hiding from him. Whatever had happened that day, it had been the right thing to do, because Draco had needed to learn discipline and strength. It had hurt Draco, and it hurt Lucius to see it, but pain was sometimes necessary and could be a powerful tool for greater good. He did Draco no favours if he didn't have the strength to hurt him when Draco needed instruction or correction. Suffering built character.
"We call upon light and upon dark," Pomfrey said, and Lucius brought to mind the Encandesca spell he'd learned a few years ago. A difficult spell, meant to turn night into day. He recalled a pitch-black field in Surrey lighting up brilliantly. Muggles had ugly, crass lights that feebly lit their streets at night. Encandesca was the light of day.
Dark was the dungeon of Malfoy Manor, where Lucius often went to meditate and practice difficult spells. The dark was comforting in its own way, a counterpoint to light. Strange how the Dark was so feared by weak fools, who didn't understand that facing it and embracing it and bending it to your will was what power was all about.
The Weasley idiot remembered the darkness of a storage shed, probably in whatever filthy pit the Weasleys lived in.
A small, ugly child hid fearfully in the dark while a man and a woman screamed at each other. Lucius recognized the woman as Severus' mother and turned away tactfully.
Draco and Potter, sleeping in each other's arms, Potter nestled into the curve of Draco's neck, Draco's white hair contrasting with Potter's black, who knew where that image came from. Lucius turned away in distaste at the peace and contentment the image showed.
Parkinson's daughter was thinking of a Lumos spell, and the werewolf appeared to be thinking of the full moon as both light and dark, which was intriguing. He wondered briefly at the man's fear of his monthly transformation. Rather a waste. Fenrir Greyback dealt with his own condition much more practically; obviously he was barred from civilized society, but he accepted the power of his condition and used it, unlike this shabby unfortunate.
"We call upon male and upon female," Esposito said, and Lucius noted that most of the others had images of parents and spouses. Arthur Weasley, how charming. And he wasn't entirely sure if Weasley Jr. thinking of Granger was more or less distasteful than thinking of his rather frumpy mother would have been. Though at least she apparently cleaned up rather nicely; that memory had to be from the Yule Ball held during the year of the Triwizard Tournament. Pity about the teeth.
Lucretia Zabini flashed past in a disturbing flicker, and Lucius almost laughed out loud as the image of Randolph Keitch, the famous Beater for Falmouth, and a very young McGonagall gazing at him in adoration.
Concentrate, he told himself, and conjured the image of his father. Cold, stern, and strong; a worthy role model for anybody. And Narcissa, the epitome of all that was feminine grace and refinement.
"We call upon past and upon future," said Dumbledore. Lucius sent his mind back as far as it could go, to his grandfather's death, and wondered briefly if it was Draco or Pansy who was remembering a long-ago fight between the two. Lucius remembered only the shrieks that had burst from the nursery, the harried expressions on the faces of the house elves as they separated the purple-faced toddlers, and Owen Parkinson noting dryly that they'd best start punishing the house-elves out of Pansy's sight, as she was learning a few curses that were best not mentioned outside their social circle. Precocious little tyke, she'd been.
A much younger Dumbledore on a stairwell spoke to a student, and Lucius turned aside in disdain before he suddenly drew in his breath, recognizing the student. The Dark Lord. He hastily drew his mind away.
The future was going to be dicey, but he forced the image of the Dark Lord aside and focused his mind on whatever happened to filter through from the three near-Seers. Indistinct laughter, a shadowy hallway, a teasing look met by - Lucius swallowed as he recognized Draco's smile, so seldom seen.
Draco would live, then.
Unless Lucius was misinterpreting that glimpse of the future, and it was just someone who looked like Draco. Already the unclear vision was fading, slipping through his fingers, and he doubted what he'd seen.
A Dark Mark bloomed in the sky.
That one was less difficult to misinterpret, and he laughed inwardly at Ron Weasley's instinctive recoil before once more taking control of his thoughts and clearing his mind for the next pairing.
"We call upon pain and upon pleasure," said Pomfrey.
Pain was easy, though Lucius wasn't terribly eager to call up that memory yet. Pleasure, however... there was pleasure in fine wine, in power, in literature, and Lucius had contemplated thinking of any of those, especially as he would be tied to Weasley during the spell. But the images and memories he conjured had to be powerful and wine would not do it.
Narcissa's labour flashed past his consciousness, Weasley's leg snapped from the force of a huge dog's powerful jaws, and a werewolf ran through the woods with a stag and a large black dog.
He had planned on remembering his own pleasure at mastering Unplottable spells, some of the most difficult he had ever attempted. The feeling his father's rare pride in him, his father's sureness that the family would be in good hands once he passed away. But that probably wouldn't be enough either. The images coming from the other members of the circle all seemed rather more intense than that.
He winced in distaste as his son and Potter hesitantly touched their lips together for the first time in Dumbledore's outer sitting room. It had been bad enough, that day, to witness that event secondhand. Seeing the amusement on the faces of the Healer and Dumbledore - and even Severus - as they detected activity from the boys' bond spell, then informed the rest of them what was going on in the small sitting room. This was nothing he wanted to witness firsthand, even as a memory.
He turned away, only to be shocked to find the two boys again, far more involved - he flinched almost physically at what they were doing, then sternly pushed his embarrassment away and took amused comfort in Weasley's squeamish mental whimper at the scene.
It still wasn't something he wanted to see, so he concentrated on his own worst memory of pain in order to blot it out. Felt the burn of the Mark going onto his skin and heard again his own cries at the agony that had overwhelmed him. Forced himself to relive the experience instead of pushing it away automatically, as he had done every time the memory welled up in the last twenty years. Felt vindictive pleasure as Weasley flinched at that as well.
And suddenly, unbidden, came a memory of pleasure to replace the pain: a miniature face, whispy white hair still damp from birth, cloudy grey eyes opening for the first time and gazing up at Narcissa before scrunching shut again as the impossibly small red mouth opened in a weak wail of hunger. Lucius felt a tiny hand grip his finger firmly and a completely unexpected thrill shot through him.
He'd expected pride. He'd expected satisfaction, at having successfully brought a Malfoy heir into the world. He hadn't expected the rush of love and devotion he felt towards this ridiculously small creature, who had done nothing to earn either feeling. It had felt uncomfortable then, and it felt uncomfortable now, but he supposed it would do for the purposes of this spell.
"We call upon heat and upon cold," said Esposito, and Lucius breathed a sigh of relief as he recalled the heat of a Muggle-born Auror's house burning to the ground, and the satisfaction of knowing that she would never track down another Death Eater again.
Weasley was remembering a Dementor sucking all of the heat from a compartment on the Hogwarts Express, but for Lucius, cold was a cell in Azkaban. Apparently cold was Azkaban for Narcissa as well, a small courtyard where she waited, shivering, to be allowed inside by the arrogant guards who delighted in showing their contempt for her, for Lucius, for everything they stood for.
At least the guards had been human, Lucius thought with grim satisfaction. No Dementors left on the island by the time Lucius had arrived there; they had all been recruited by the Dark Lord.
"We call upon love and upon hate," Dumbledore said, and the tension in the circle spiked sharply.
Love and hate. As well ask this group to define itself.
Lucius concentrated and thought of Narcissa, of Draco, of his mother. He didn't bother to suppress a sneer as a blur of ginger hair and vacant freckled Weasley faces flickered past his consciousness, along with a brief flash of bushy brown hair and that famous scar. Confusing images of Parkinsons went past, and then various students - dimly he recognized himself as a child with a sling on his arm, and didn't have time to wonder whose image that was - and an odd flash of... something, a young man who looked familiar, walking out of a classroom - but there wasn't time to figure it out, the feelings were flowing too fast and strong, and he braced himself to concentrate on this next part, undoubtedly the most difficult part of the spell.
Hatred. It was far too easy to feel, and they all knew they would have to control it if they didn't want it to get out of hand.
It was such a pure feeling, though. Seductive, addictive, clean and bright. Hatred for those who opposed them, for those who weakened them. And it was so hard to keep enough control to stop himself from focusing that powerful emotion on people who were part of this circle. Instead he thought as hard as he could of Peter Pettigrew, that loathsome little maggot whom they had to allow into their midst. Thought of Mad-Eye Moody and his rabid anti-Dark mania that had made it so difficult for Lucius to stay out of Azkaban sixteen years ago, and get out of Azkaban last year. Thought of the supercilious Aurors who had taken such delight in humiliating him and laughing at his helplessness while he was in a cell, so small and cold and dark, so - so much like a small room under a set of stairs... Lucius recognized a small version of Potter with a shock, recognized hatred boiling up out of Potter, towards... his Muggle relatives?
Lucius shook his head, distracted, started to back away, but then Potter's hatred focused on Severus - and Severus was hating him back - and there was a new intensity to it, as Severus and Potter's hatred boiled up dangerously, and was joined by - Lucius flinched as Weasley's hate joined Potter's, and he felt the brat's hatred focus on him, the connection between them making Weasley's emotions more powerful than anybody else's and it was insupportable, that Weasley in his rage would remind Lucius of one of his worst failures: Weasley's dirty-faced little sister, who hadn't managed to do what she was supposed to with the Dark Lord's diary, but had instead managed to pull Potter into that situation and ruin everything. And Weasley didn't even have the brains or pureblood pride to understand that it was his own behaviour, and that of his parents, that made them the enemy and thus acceptable targets to Lucius. Taking pride in their corruption of the wizarding world, taking pride in their disgraceful poverty and blood traitor's ways, and he wanted them all dead, Weasley and his father and his sister and all their pestilent relations, and all those like him, like Longbottom and his pathetic parents, and Potter and his pathetic little friends, and the anger and hatred were growing, flames of contempt and disgust rising up from Parkinson's daughter towards Longbottom too, and from Longbottom and the Mudblood and Severus and from Draco, hating Potter with a passion, Potter hating him back, drawing the hatred to new heights, and if Lucius could've moved he would have cast an Avada Kedavra to immolate Potter and all of his ilk, and free Draco from them and from this horrible curse - free all of them from the curse that was Dumbledore and all of his blood traitor ideas and allies, the rage and hatred and fury crackling out of control, Potter's hatred for all of them ready to erupt and by god Lucius was going to make him pay, if it was the last thing he did he was going to kill Potter, and he gathered his hatred to focus it-
"NO!"
Lucius almost growled in rage at the interruption, not recognizing the voice crying out, not stopping, not - and then he was being pulled, there was no other way to describe it, if it had been physical he would've said somebody just grabbed him and pulled him back from Potter, but it wasn't that, it was somebody blocking his mind, trying to block his hatred, it didn't matter who, he would shatter them and get past and kill the Boy Who Lived-
There were more voices joining the first, and Lucius dimly recognized Ronald Weasley's magic pulling at his own - the boy was strong, he had to give him that, and fierce as he held on tenaciously, but Lucius could bat him away with just a - except that Severus had joined him, pulling Lucius back too, Lucius inwardly burned with rage at this betrayal, and he could probably fight Severus too except that now Severus was joined by Parkinson's daughter and Narcissa and Dumbledore and McGonagall -
Lines of angry magic were crackling over Draco and Potter
Oh god
The two boys were locked in a desperate hateful embrace and they were going to kill each other
Potter struck Draco, splattered him with mud, Draco mocked Potter, wished him dead
The magic was out of control was going to kill his son if it wasn't stopped it came from them and through them and drew its power from Lucius' hatred, from all of their hatred
It was going to destroy his son
For all they knew Draco could already be damaged beyond repair, burned alive by the force of malevolent magic that had just been pouring out of all of them in the last few minutes
Draco broke Potter's nose, Potter shattered a window above Draco and screamed in fury
Lucius felt himself suspended in mid-air, watching in horror as Draco and Potter sank deeper into hatred and the others vainly tried to bring their fire under control, Severus and Lupin and Zabini and Granger and Pansy and Weasley pushing memories towards them, Draco loaning Potter some ink, Potter smiling at Draco, images of peace and whatever affection his son and his spouse had managed to find for each other
Draco started to hex Potter on the train
Lucius finally moved, desperately trying to call to mind what little he had, an image of Draco and his spouse resting together in the hospital wing after they'd collapsed, images from earlier in the spell, their kiss in Dumbledore's office, and the images from the others were finally starting to flow stronger
Draco taunted Potter, but his anger was somehow channeled away from violence for its own sake and into something... different
Potter angrily grabbed Draco and pushed him up against a tree
Draco pointed out an error in Potter's arithmancy assignment
And the lines of hatred were slowly dying down
Draco kicked Potter in a hallway, then sank down beside him and held him close, Potter touched Draco's arm and faced down a sneering Auror in the hospital wing, held Draco close and whispered gentle words to him as Draco tensed in pain
And down
Draco casually brushed Potter's hair
Potter and Draco stumbled into their quarters and practically fell onto their couch, laughing together, followed by a worried Weasley and very amused Pansy
And down
And the lines were calm, steady, the magic once more under their control.
Esposito took a deep breath, and allowed them all a few moments to breathe and settle down and take comfort from the wandlight glowing benignly above them all.
"I release you, Lucius Malfoy, from the circle," she said quietly, and Lucius felt the light from his wand die down. Stood shaking for a moment before realizing that if he didn't sit he would fall. Gratefully sank onto the chair behind him, chest heaving.
What the hell had he just done?
He closed his eyes, sat back, tried to catch his breath. Dimly felt the others dropping out of the circle one by one, all of them exhausted. Lupin. Severus. Longbottom.
Arthur Weasley's son, who had just seen so many of Lucius' most private memories. Who had battled against Lucius to make him remember what - and who - they were here for.
Narcissa was out, and he couldn't meet her eyes. She would never forgive him. Oh, she would say she did - she was as well-versed as he in diplomacy, manners, and surface niceties. But down in the heart of their bond, where it mattered, she would never forget and she would never forgive.
He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind, regaining his strength as one by one the others were released and the circle was ended, but his mind roiled with images, with fear and guilt. With the horror of what he had almost done.
The others were in various states of exhaustion, everyone but the Healers almost silent, Dumbledore speaking softly to McGonagall, both of them uncharacteristically showing every bit of their age. Pansy standing by Narcissa, looking like she wanted to offer comfort but was not sure how, her usual Slytherin composure shaken by fear and weariness. Severus leaning his forehead against the window and looking out at the Quidditch pitch blankly.
All of them on edge, despite their extreme fatigue, from the aftereffects of the near-disaster and with uncertainty as to whether or not the spell had worked. Whether or not that last pairing had done more harm than good.
It couldn't have. It had almost gone out of control, but they had pulled back before any lasting damage was done. Lucius repeated that thought like a mantra as the Healers examined both boys, their wands creating complex patterns, flickering in the candlelight.
Draco would be all right. Lucius' loss of control during that last pairing would not be the cause of his son's harm.
Though if it was, that would no doubt please the Dark Lord, if Draco took Potter with him - Lucius shuddered, dimly aware that that thought was unforgivable.
No. They would be all right. Draco would be all right. The Dark Lord would simply have to find some other way of dealing with Potter.
"Mrs. Malfoy?" Esposito called, and Narcissa hurried to her side. Lucius stared, transfixed, as the Healer pointed out a pattern in the light to Narcissa and Granger. Narcissa's eyes widened slightly, her shoulders losing their tenseness as Granger nodded, the anxious look in her eyes turning to intellectual fascination as the Healer continued to quietly explain the patterns.
They were all right. They would live.
Narcissa nodded calmly and turned, glancing an unspoken signal at Lucius and he followed her into the small office next door.
"He'll be all right," she said quietly, once he had closed the door behind them.
Lucius nodded uncertainly, unable to read her feelings right now. Narcissa wasn't normally prone to hysterics, but when it came to Draco, who really knew. Although right now she didn't look like she was on the edge of hysterics. She was simply gazing at him dispassionately, coldly.
"He could have died," she said, her voice icy.
He swallowed hard.
"And if he did, you would be next," she said. "You almost let yourself kill your own son. My son."
"Narcissa-"
"Don't." She held up her hand warningly. "Do not speak to me, not for a very long time. I have allowed you to do what you would all his life. I have let you treat Draco no better than a house elf, and I have let you bully him and hurt him and ignore him, but if you ever put him in danger again, I hope you know that I will kill you, slowly and painfully. Do not test me on this," she said, her voice beginning to tremble.
"I didn't-"
"I said don't talk," she hissed. "You-" she suddenly turned away from him, hugging herself tightly. "He could have died." She drew in a shaking breath. "If it hadn't been for Ronald Weasley, Draco would have died. Because of you. Because you hate Harry Potter more than you love your own son."
Lucius pushed Narcissa's words away. She was wrong. He would've found the strength to stop no matter what Arthur Weasley's son did, he would have stopped, he wouldn't have allowed himself to harm Draco-
He had a sudden vivid image of Draco, so small, laughing in delight as Lucius spun him around; his white hair shining in the sun as he pulled himself up on an end table and tottered towards a house elf; grinning with joy the first time Lucius took him up in the air. Holding tight to Lucius as their broom rose up higher and higher, frightened, but trusting in his father to keep him safe.
He blinked, startled, as his sight blurred and he felt coolness on his cheek, reached up and felt moisture on his fingers. Stared at them in puzzlement as his chest tightened, and his throat closed as a sob threatened to break free.
He closed his eyes and lowered his head, tears spilling down his face, lips pressed together tightly, and frantically willed himself to keep control. The silence in the room broken only by his harsh breathing.
Narcissa stood by the window, her face betraying no emotion for the turmoil raging through Lucius.
And traitorous thoughts bubbled up faster than Lucius could turn them aside, whispering that his father's trust had been misplaced, that he had now taken the Malfoy name down as far as it could go. Labeled a criminal because of his failure in the service of a powerful Dark wizard, whom he had now betrayed. A wizard whom he'd betrayed for the sake of a son whom he'd then nearly killed with his weakness. Failure and shame and weakness, chanted the voices, everywhere he turned, his own body failing him and threatening to overwhelm him with the need to weep for his failures and for the fear of what he had nearly done to his son-
His father's stern face came to mind, silently reminding him that he was a Malfoy and the one thing Malfoys did best was keep control. Reminded him that one failure did not excuse another, and that no matter what he had done he would not compound his disgrace by giving voice to his sorrow right now.
With a shudder he silenced the voices. Ruthlessly pushed down the threatened tears, the trembling and weakness. Grabbed and held on to his Malfoy pride.
Finally he cleared his throat and drew himself up. Forced himself to face Narcissa and not flinch from the icy disdain in her eyes.
Narcissa gave him a grimly appraising look, then pursed her lips and suddenly passed her wand over his face. He felt a strange tingling and realized she was probably getting rid of all evidence of his lack of control. She examined him dispassionately, frowned for a moment, then passed her wand over her own face, making her eyes red-rimmed and her cheeks flushed.
She cleared her throat and headed towards the door, waiting for him and holding her arm out so that he could take it and solicitously walk her out of the small office, the perfect picture of a calm husband supporting his emotionally distraught wife.
They headed back out to face the others.
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