The Illustrated Death of Lucius Malfoy

SIX

He became aware that the room had grown quiet and cold.

Draco Malfoy slowly opened his eyes. His body felt as if it weighed twice its normal amount, however, the sharp vision that had come from the nonovarus root had returned to normal.

He shifted on the couch, squinting in the darkness. The fire in the fireplace had gone out, leaving a smoky tinge to the room. A full moon streaked through the window, however, the beams of blue light did not seem to alter the visibility of the room at all.

Footsteps on the stairs. Draco sat upright, his hands in his lap, as he stared at the door to the library. He moved no longer. He hardly breathed.

Then he detected darkness moving against darkness, black fabric in the air, and a figure stepped into the light. For the first time in his life, Draco Malfoy came face to face with the man that his father truly was. The figure was cloaked in black, almost as if he wore the night. Only a simple white mask could be seen - eyeholes revealing nothing, nor through the openings that allowed breath through the nostrils nor speech from the lips.

The figure stared at Draco. Draco stared back.

Silence filled the young man's entire soul, and midnight had not yet dawned.

The Death Eater Captain swept forward, as if a cat finding a mouse in a moonbeam. His son offered no resistance, even when a wand was revealed. "Crucio," came a whisper from beneath the mask.

Cries rang into the night that Draco did not know were his. He fell from the couch and to the floor, only aware of his pain, not being able to see, darkness, the moon - the pain ending, yet he was being taken, blindfold over his eyes -

His father's hand closed around his, and forced him to grab something metal. Draco felt the unmistakable jerk of a portkey activating, then fell to the ground. Ears immediately told him that he was outside, and he was far from being alone with Lucius.

Hands, voices, many of them - grabbing at him, screaming at him, Dad, where are you, Dad - Dad, you were supposed to protect me - Another voice called out a cruciatus curse, but Draco did not feel pain. He heard a girl scream and begin to sob for her father. Pansy. Draco felt himself fly into a place that he did not know, a element of his soul. I must protect Hermione - Jerked by his hair, Draco felt himself being dragged across the ground, not realizing the misnomer within his own head, instead consumed with the raw pain of a relentless hand upon his ponytail.

Blindfold jerked from his head, hand on hair grabbing him, making him look up. Voldemort stood above him, his face revealed, towering above the boy who knelt.

"Ah..." The Dark Wizard seemed to almost purr. "Look. It's the boy I held when he was not one hour old. Can he be a man at this hour, Lucius?"

"He is prepared, my Lord." The hand on Draco's head petted him as if he were a dog.

"Draco Malfoy, who is your master?" Voldemort inquired.

The young wizard replied, "You, my Lord."

"Do you love me, young Malfoy?" Voldemort knelt down next to Draco, and quickly the young man found a way to sit even lower.

"Yes, my Lord." Draco buried his face in the grass beneath him.

"How much do you love me?"

"More than my own father, my Lord." It's the truth, Draco thought faintly, but not saying much. He heard Lucius laugh.

"Why are you snickering at, Lucius? The boy's adoration is quite touching, really." A hand stroked his hair again. "Would you do anything I asked you to do, Draco, no matter how repugnant you found it?"

"My life is yours." I am gone. I am lost.

Voldemort chuckled. "Let us see you prove it, then." Jerked up again by the ponytail, the blindfold was replaced, and Draco did not bother to show the pain that emitted from the back of his head. "Oh, Lucius. I have a treat for you. But only my long-term friends get to enjoy it. No new initiates. On second thought, after the next phase, tie the new initiates to the trees in the Dark Circle."

"Yes, my Lord." Lucius's voice sounded hollow.

More screams. Electricity in the air. Weeping. Draco did not hear the next Crucio, but curled up into a ball, tears pouring down his cheeks. When the pain subsided, he found that he could not walk.

And then, he heard a voice in his ear that, after a moment, he recognized to be his father's.

"At the beginning of time, the wizard was feared and adored by the Muggle. Both knew of one another, yet the wizard was held in sacred awe. Wizards were great chiefs. Leaders. Peacemakers and war-makers alike. Then Muggles arose who broke the sacred trust between the men of old. They did the very things to our ancestors which you will face tonight. You will know pain so that you will know our plight. You will hate the day that we drew into our own world, and revere the day that the entire world will be ours. This is why we exist. Will you walk willingly into that pain?"

"I will." Draco's voice choked into his throat.

He heard Lucius whisper a word, and Draco could no longer breathe.

Coughing painfully, Draco felt fluid in his mouth, and he tried to vomit it - anything - but there was no air - his lungs didn't work - he fell to the ground, seeing red in his darkness, his heart pounding - and then the air had returned.

The weeping of the other initiates filled his ears, as did their coughs and the whispers of their sponsors, their parents, the Death Eaters.

Another whispered word, and pain rose, a pain unlike any other curse Draco had ever experienced. Burning, a deep burning. Draco burned, and it went on and on...

He lost track of time, only aware that his voice hoarsed, his screams ended. He burned, he felt his own blood flow from his body, he was sure that someone had stabbed him through the heart, the stomach, the head. He wept no more. He only lay there, mind empty, accepting torture after torture, curse after curse.

"It is almost midnight!" Voldemort's voice alone broke through the din of cries and curses. "Get those up that have proven themselves!"

Draco gasped in his void, his entire being trembling, weak - no limb under his command. The pain had ceased, but every muscle quivered. When two hands lifted him to his knees, Draco started to fall over, but the hands kept him upright - firmly but gently.

When Lucius tore off the blindfold, the moonlight caused Draco's eyes to pulse with utter agony. The masked face, glowing blue before him, stared at Draco for a moment before touching his cheek with a light caress. Then the fingers then went to the young wizard's left arm, slowly raising the sleeve of the filthy white shirt, unbuttoning the cuff, rolling it up to the boy's elbow. Draco only watched, exhausted, dumbfounded, and without thought.

He heard young voices rising, thanking Voldemort, some sobbing as they did so. Draco did not turn his head, did not look to see where the Dark Lord was until he realized that Voldemort stood before him, his wand drawn. Draco froze, his heart leaping into his throat, but saw that the wand lowered, tapping his arm. Voldemort muttered an incantation, and suddenly Draco saw his own arm set aflame. He cried out but clutched his father's robes with his free hand, trying to resist the temptation to stop the fire that melted his very flesh. He smelled his own skin burning, and he choked back a sob.

"Good, Draco," Lucius purred behind his mask. "Let the spell do as it will. Let the pain become a part of you."

The flesh wilted, blistering, turning black, and then the fire extinguished, leaving a great black, swollen mass upon his arm that bore no distinguishable shape.

Voldemort raised his wand. "Hm!" He reached out a bony finger, touching the scar. A bolt shot down Draco's arm, and he only moaned as the new Dark Mark turned first red, then back to black. "Wrap that up, will you Lucius?" He stood, sweeping away.

"Thank you, my Lord," Draco said through gritted teeth, but Voldemort was gone.

Raising his own wand, the elder Malfoy cast a spell, and a bandage shot out of his wand, wrapping itself around Draco's Dark Mark. Draco clutched Lucius's robes again, feeling every scratch of the bandages, their every movement as they hid the scar.

"You've done well. I'm very proud of you." Lucius whispered softly, pocketing his wand. "Very proud. Remember what I said before - what happens in the Dark Ritual stays there. Do you understand?"

Draco could not speak. He only nodded, dropping his grip on Lucius's robes.

"Good." Lucius stared at Draco for a moment, then fondly rubbed Draco's shoulder.

Letting out a small cry, Draco nearly fell over onto his father, none of his limbs responding, yet he felt the man wearing the mask hold him up and tightly.

"Careful," Lucius murmured. "You have a great deal of Dark Magic in your body. Don't try anything too quickly."

In my memory, he has never touched me like that. Draco fought back the tears. Not like this. Not to show that he was proud of me. That he loved me.

"Now, are you ready to celebrate? It doesn't end here. When you and I get home, I have some presents for you. I'm keeping you up until the morning. It's a tradition." Lucius helped Draco to his feet, and the younger wizard, though as tall as his father, leaned against him heavily. "When Severus and I and the Slytherins of our year were in your place, we took a bottle of Irish whiskey to the lake and drank it dry and watched the sun rise." Draco suddenly longed to see his father's face behind the mask, but knew that was not possible. "Put your arm around my shoulder. There you go. Now, Lord Voldemort requested that we tie you to the trees. It may actually be good for you, but we feel now that you are a member of our fold, that you must at least get to be present at the festivities. But some protests among the members caused you not to be involved, along with the others. I hope you understand."

"If I knew what you were talking about," Draco said, his voice unsteady, "I might."

"You will see." As Lucius spoke, Draco began to collapse. "Come now, Draco. Stay up. You want to stay awake for the festivities."

The young man felt his heart flip rather than beat. "I feel ill, Dad." He tried to keep his good arm around Lucius's shoulder, but found that it was nearly impossible.

"I know. Here we are." Lucius helped Draco through two trees, and the younger wizard had to squint for a moment from the great flood of light.

They stood in a clearing surrounded on all sides by trees, as if the wood had been fashioned to include an almost-perfectly spherical meeting place. The ground, paved with brick, contained several stone tables. Upon which, a Muggle man and woman, bound with magical ropes, screamed and struggled. Already, Draco saw a very fat Death Eater standing astride of the man, his wand pointed downward at the Muggle.

"Goyle, now, wait, will you? You know the rules," Voldemort purred as he stepped up to the table. "Get down, now. Be a good example to your son."

Goyle is here. Draco saw, at last, the faces of some of his fellow initiates. Pansy, already tied to a tree, stood defiantly in her bonds, her bandaged right arm hanging limply at her side. Seeing Draco, she managed a small smile. Draco nodded back in recognition, and allowed himself to be led to an empty tree. He saw Crabbe and Goyle tied next to one another, each clutching their branded arms, each making strange moaning noises. He also saw some of his ex-housemates that he had not seen in years. Marcus Flint, tied to the tree next to his, grinned broadly as Draco allowed himself to be bound by his father's incantation.

"Long time, no see," Marcus hissed.

Draco nodded. "I saw you in the newspapers. Doing well for yourself."

"I hate bloody Edinburgh," Marcus hissed. "I've been begging to be traded to Manchester, but they say that they need me in there. Every since the star beater got himself killed, I've been in every game. I go back on Monday."

Watching his father walk away, Draco cocked his head toward his old housemate. "Does this mean you'll be around more?"

"Yeah," Marcus said. "Probably."

Lucius paused in the center of the pavilion, standing next to Voldemort. A hush fell over the circle - all but the two crying Muggles at the center.

"Fifteen have joined our fold," Voldemort said, looking from face to face and mask to mask. "Fifteen of our children born during our finest hour and before our greatest fall. Two generations of Death Eaters have walked upon the Earth. May our lines remain strong, and our quest bring success in our lifetime!"

The Death Eaters, including the new initiates, cheered.

"As all of you know, your captain and lieutenants are in the process of planning one of the largest attacks upon Muggles that the world has ever known." Voldemort placed a hand on Lucius's shoulder, rubbing it fondly, as Lucius had done to Draco earlier. Draco shivered. It's almost as if Tom Riddle was his father, he thought. This gave him pause, but he did not allow himself to proceed with that thought any further. "Know that all who are faithful to the fold will be rewarded. All that leave and flee will be punished. As a family, we provide for one another, and we issue punishments when the rules are broken. All of you tonight have been excellent members of this family. Therefore, I have brought for you a reward of the sort that many haven't seen in years." He raised his hand to the Muggles. "Do as you will, and I will happily issue the final curse. Enjoy." He turned his head. "Pettigrew, my chair."

Draco saw a short Death Eater scuttle off between the trees, whining. Lucius, however, stepped forward, raising his wand to the lips of his mask.

"I say that we take a vote on the first curse," Lucius mused loud enough for the entire clearing to hear. "I will open the floor for suggestions."

"Avada Kedavra!" Someone shouted.

Lucius exclaimed, "How utterly droll!"

The Death Eaters roared with laughter.

Look at him, Draco thought. My Dad. They adore my Dad. He glanced over to Voldemort and saw that was sitting upon a throne of sorts, and Pettigrew squatted next to him, pouring wine from his wand into a goblet. He handed the cup to Voldemort, who raised it in a toast. "Ivascarate viscara!" He shouted with a laugh.

"Hm!" Lucius cocked his head. "Good one, my Lord. Any other suggestions?"

"Testicular tarantala?" A female Death Eater called out.

"Ouch!" The elder Malfoy flinched. "I'll leave that for you to cast, Judith. I know you're fond of that one."

"Come on, Malfoy! Cast the damn curse!" Voldemort laughed again, sipping from his goblet.

"Oh, very well." He turned, pointing his wand at the male Muggle. "Ivascarate viscara." He spoke the curse in a voice with a bored tone.

The man screamed, jerking as smoke began to pour out of every orifice of his body. The woman sobbed, and the Death Eaters cheered.

"And now..." Lucius crossed slowly to the woman. "What to do with you?"

Draco watched as his father went between the two, casting curses until the other Death Eaters begged for their turns. Then Lucius fell back, allowing the others to take their chances. Lucius headed for Draco's tree, slowly removing his mask. He raised his hood again, grinning as he pocketed his wand.

"Enjoying the show?" The elder Malfoy inquired.

Draco nodded. "A lot."

"Good." Lucius stood next to him, watching as the Death Eaters swarmed over the two Muggles.

This is who I am now, Draco thought, watching as the Muggles screamed, struggled, and slowly were tortured to death. I am a Death Eater. I serve Lord Voldemort and I serve my father. He looked at Lucius out of the corner of his eye. He is not a terrible man. I know now why we do what we do. It's more than hatred. It's revenge. We're giving them back what they gave us for thousands of years. They deserve it. Every bit of it.

"My Lord, I believe the male is dead." A shout rose from the crowd after what seemed, to Draco, like hours.

"Damn you all. Ah, well." Voldemort rose, handing his goblet to Peter Pettigrew. "Let's not be so enthusiastic next time." He swept across the clearing. "Avada Kedavra!" There was a crackle from his wand. He raised it again. "Corpus Inflamare," he said, and the remains upon the slabs burst into flames. Voldemort yawned nonchalantly. "The hour is late. Let us depart. Your lieutenants will contact you when there is need."

Wand in hand, Lucius tapped the bonds that held Draco. The ropes fell away. "Come, Draco. Let's go home. There's a portkey in the field just beyond. I'll show it to you."

A few hours later, Draco followed his father willingly to the master bedroom of the manor. He sat on the bed as Lucius crossed to one of his oak wardrobes, opening in. The elder Malfoy shook his head, closed the wardrobe, and went to another one, examining the contents. "Ah. Yes," Lucius said. "I have a cloak for you. It doesn't fit me anymore." He reached inside, pulling out a long black cloak trimmed with ermine. The fastenings shimmered, and at first, Draco thought that they were silver. "Platinum," Lucius noted, as if he could read his son's mind. "This was my father's - when he was your age. Try it."

Draco did as he was told. The cloak felt heavy, and the scent of Lucius's aftershave kicked up into the air as Draco handled the fabric and fur. Lucius led him to a mirror, and father and son gazed into it together.

It is done, Draco thought, looking at the two of them together. I have become my father. Two blonde wizards - one of them whose hair had begun to go white at the temples - both clad in black. Same height. Same expression. Same Dark Mark - one new, one over twenty years old.

"Hm." Lucius said, then smiled. "You know, Draco, you look like your mother."

Is he blind? Draco laughed. "No. I look like you."

"Do you think so?" The older wizard's eyes twinkled, and he appeared genuinely pleased. "So you do. Now, I have something else for you that isn't secondhand." He patted Draco on the shoulder again, then slipped a box into his hand. "I was going to save this for your graduation, but this is a most fortuitous occasion, and I can get you something better."

Lifting his hand, Draco studied the small green box for a moment, then opened it. Inside was a gold ring, thick and encrusted with emeralds. He could not help but gasp. "I...Dad..."

"Now, don't take that to school. I mean it. There are students at Hogwarts whose fathers are worth less than that ring. Put it on. Let me see it."

Draco slid the ring onto his right ring finger. It fit perfectly.

"Ah." Lucius touched the ring. "It's perfect. Good."

"Dad, I don't know what to say -"

"Then say nothing." Lucius chuckled lightly. "Now, let's have breakfast before our food gets cold."

This is like a bizarre dream that I can't decide whether it's a nightmare or a good one. My new life has begun. My father loves me. Who am I without my rage and anticipation of darkness? Draco thought. What is this strange new world where my father touches me and gives me things that I know mean a great deal to him? He's bought me presents all of my life, but none so fine as this ring...

...I am a man now, Draco concluded. I have grown up overnight.

He followed Lucius to the terrace, where Knicker busily poured tea into two cups. Three chairs had been arranged to allow a view of the hill over which the sun would rise, and two torches burned brightly upon sconces that stood on either side of the window. They took the first two chairs, and Knicker immediately began to serve them platefuls of eggs, toast, and tomatoes.

"Are you expecting someone else, Knicker?" Lucius raised an eyebrow at the remaining empty chair.

Knicker whined, turning his great yellow eyes to the door behind them.

"Don't mind me." Voldemort slipped into the final chair. "No, Lucius and Draco, don't get up."

"My Lord." Lucius's eyes widened. "I was not expecting you."

"Of course you weren't. I don't need any breakfast. Tea, though, if you will." Voldemort pushed down his hood, revealing his hideously deformed face.

Knicker nodded, still whining, as he gave a steaming cup to Voldemort. Draco looked from his plate to the Dark Lord, and back again. How can I even eat in his presence? He wondered.

Voldemort sipped his tea as, for several moments, Lucius and Draco ate in silence. Once, Draco felt his father's eyes on him, and he quickly looked at him and found that he was right. Lucius shot him a bewildered expression, and the two returned to their eggs. Dad is just as confused as to why he's here as I am, Draco realized. What is going on?

"Another tea, Knicker." Voldemort held out his empty cup. The Dark Lord's voice was somewhat serene. "I always have been quite envious of your property, Lucius. The view is quite stunning. I was here, once, before my transformation. Your father invited me for Christmas."

"Yes, my Lord," Lucius quickly swallowed a forkful of eggs. "He told me."

"He was a good man, Octavian. Very dedicated to the cause before there really was one." The Dark Lord appeared quite relaxed in the deck chair, tea in both hands.

Yes, Draco thought. Such a good man. Cursing his twelve-year-old son so badly that he was hospitalized for a week and nearly lost his life. He gave a sideways glance at Lucius, who stared out at the dark hills, a forkful of eggs in his hand, both frozen in midair. Dad was right. I have no reason to complain about his treatment of me. Compared to the way Grandfather treated him, Dad spoils me.

"I still think of him often," Voldemort continued. "I owe him a degree of thanks." He turned to look at Lucius, leaning over to see past Draco. "You know, it is a shame, really, that we never invited Narcissa into the order -"

Lucius put his fork back on the plate, then placed it on the table. He dabbed at his lips, then tossed the napkin on top of the plate. "Yes, it is a shame," he snapped. "But she never desired it."

Voldemort is testing Dad deliberately. Why? Draco wondered.

Cocking his head, the Dark Wizard sighed, then sipped his tea again. "To each their own. I always liked her. Draco, you do not know how fortunate you are, with your parentage. Has your father arranged a marriage for you yet?"

"I'm working on it," Lucius said, picking up his tea. He sunk back into the chair, his shoulders slumped, his face dark.

"To Wynde Snape, my Lord," Draco replied, also setting his unfinished plate aside.

Voldemort replied, "Ah. Septimus's daughter. Have you heard from Septimus recently?"

"Last week." Lucius slowly raised the teacup to his pale lips. "He had little to report. He said that the cell in Sydney will be of little help to us, being so far away. Though they are sitting one of the largest mines of floo powder in the world."

"Septimus is no leader. Unfortunately, there was no one else to lead the Sydney cell." Voldemort rid himself of the teacup, then folded his hands. "I will go there myself and speak to Septimus."

"I'll get to it after the holidays." Lucius glared down at his teacup.

Voldemort grinned, slowly sitting back in his chair again. "Can the boy be trusted?"

"Of course he can. He's my son." The middle-aged wizard's body appeared rigid, as if he were petrified.

"Well, then, I'll allow him to know what it is we are discussing." Voldemort turned to Draco. "We are planning a rather interesting event. The largest the world has ever seen."

"I had a feeling about that, my Lord." Draco bobbed his head at Voldemort.

"It's a rather nice plan. I'm quite proud of it." Voldemort rubbed his hands together. "I hope you will play a large part in it, as your father will."

"I will do whatever you ask, my Lord," Draco stared down at his teacup.

"Good! I hoped you'd say that," said the Dark Lord. "Then I will count on you to join us at the front lines to assassinate every member of Parliament."

Draco blinked twice before speaking. The Death Eaters have never had an attack that blatant, he thought.

"The whole thing is surprisingly simple," Voldemort continued. "We send in a notice of a threat on a building in the City - which one, I have not decided. Then, while the silly Muggle Police are swarming and panicking, we issue the strike. Quickly. Seal Parliament, and execute anything that moves. While the eyes of London are in the wrong place, we have eliminated most of their government."

"I have found some young men that are willing to act as guards. They are in the process of working their way into the police departments," Lucius continued, his voice strained. "But the Parliamentary building is a logistical nightmare. Besides being massive, it has more exits than we have members of the English cell."

"I have found an easier way." Voldemort grinned. "Ah, it was too easy."

Draco looked at his father, who had raised his head. Lucius stared at the Dark Lord for a moment. "And you didn't tell me, my Lord?"

"Patience, Lucius." Voldemort raised a hand. "You are really in a horrid mood this morning. I simply found a Mudblood to do the job for us. Someone that has begun to study the building completely, its guard schedules, and -"

"A Mudblood?" Lucius's face flushed. "Are you mad?"

Voldemort sat upright. "Have you forgotten to whom you are speaking, Lucius Malfoy?"

"You have a Mudblood in your hip-pocket? Do you realize that leaves you open to the Ministry? That's absurd!" Lucius exclaimed. He rose from his chair slowly. "Trusting a Mudblood? Associating with one of that filth - you?"

"Careful, Lucius." Voldemort's voice was almost a growl, yet strangely musical. "You've gone too far."

"What if this Mudblood betrays you? Then what?" Lucius snapped. Suddenly, and without warning, he cried out, falling to his knees.

Draco bolted up from his chair and ran to Lucius's side. The elder Malfoy grasped his son's arm, squeezing until the young man yelped from the pain.

"Do not defy me, Malfoy," Voldemort hissed, his arm outstretched. "Your lack of trust disturbs me greatly."

Looking up at Voldemort, Draco said nothing, yet his face told a powerful message: Please leave him alone. He just asked because of his concern.

The Dark Lord lowered his arm, and Lucius fell completely to the ground. Draco put his hand on his father's shoulder, and heard Lucius moan quietly.

"Thank you for the tea. I will contact you soon," Voldemort said curtly. He took a step forward, patted Draco's head with a gruff expression upon his face, then drew back, vanishing into thin air.

"Dad," Draco said softly. "All right, Dad?"

"No, I'm not alright," Lucius said through gritted teeth. Slowly, he rolled over, pulling himself to a seated position. His face was wracked with pain.

"Come on, get up." Draco helped Lucius up, though both men wavered, struck by a mixture of pain and exhaustion. "Do you need anything?"

"No, I'll be fine - let's just go to bed - I'll sleep it off." Lucius gritted his teeth. "He's done that to me before, it's just been awhile." He stared up at Draco for a moment, breath coming out in gasps. "What do you make of that?"

"Of what?" Draco replied.

"Mudbloods. Mudbloods among us." Lucius grasped both of Draco's arms, one hand on his new Dark Mark, and the young man let out an anguished cry. "Hired by a Muggleborn wizard."

Draco found himself struck silent. Oh, no, Dad. You can't mention that. You can't even think it. Thinking that will get you killed. You can't recall that Voldemort himself is Muggleborn...

"Go to bed. Leave me." Lucius bared his teeth slightly, and with his hair mussed, he had the sudden appearance of an injured animal.

Draco backed up as the hands upon his arms slowly loosened their grip. "Dad - I..."

"You must learn to obey me without question. Go." Lucius's eyes flashed, his arms crossed over his chest as if a great pain radiated from that point.

He did as he was told, head full of thoughts.

I was wrong all along, he thought as he climbed the stairs to his bedroom. I'm expected to obey Dad without question, but he doesn't agree with Voldemort. There is a rift there. How deep does it go?

Reaching his room, he closed the door behind him, then hung up Octavius's cloak. The rest of his clothing he scattered as he removed it, then finally fell into bed, crawling under the blankets. Suddenly, despite his lack of sleep, he found that he was wide awake.

If there is a rift between Voldemort and my father, where do my loyalties lie?