I'm surprised I didn't forget how
Oh, man, am I out of practice. I haven't written anything in I don't know how long, but tonight I actually sat down and blabbed out an answer to one of the recent theatrical_muse challenges: Have you ever regretted a wish you made? Why? What happened? Lucius finally decided he wanted to talk to me again. Unbeta'd, so if you see any glaring errors, please let me know. About 1,100 words, and it felt goooood to write it. So, sooo good.
***
The Dark Lord never missed an opportunity to let me know he was disappointed in me.
He never said anything overt; that was not his style. But there was no missing the cold glint in his eye, the way his thin, horrible lips curled with just a touch with disdain whenever he glanced in my direction. Harder yet to bear were the harsh tones with which he addressed me, and the gentler, almost silky way he spoke to Bellatrix and the others who had gone to Azkaban to await his return. "My loyal Death Eaters..." he would say at the beginning of each of our meetings, standing in the center of our circle with his back to me, and the implication was clear. I, who had wielded such power during the first war, who had stood at his side as his most-trusted lieutenant, was now in disgrace.
It was an intolerable state of affairs, and I knew I had to do something about it.
One evening after he had dismissed us, I fell to my knees as the others filed silently from the room. And I waited, my head bowed, until he saw fit to acknowledge me. The floor grew harder and harder beneath my knees and my back began to ache with the strain of holding my position, but I dared not stir. I could hear his robes swishing as he went about his business, ignoring me, no doubt enjoying the growing frustration and anger I tried vainly to hide as the minutes ticked by.
I've no idea how long I knelt there, serving my penance, before he finally stepped up beside me. "Lucius. You wish to speak to me."
The muscles lining the back of my neck screamed as I lifted my head. "Yes, my Lord," I said, tearing off my sweat-soaked mask. There was no hint of encouragement in his expression. He had no interest in what I had to say.
I swallowed hard before speaking again. "I -- I wish to ask once again for your forgiveness, my Lord."
His irritable sigh made my heart sink into the pit of my stomach, and I fought the urge to fling myself on the hem of his robes. "I told you once before Lucius," he said softly. "I do not forgive. Surely you have not forgotten."
"No," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. "No, of course I have not forgotten, my Lord."
"Then why are you wasting my time?"
"I --" The pretty speech I had prepared to convince him my desire to serve was genuine died on the back of my tongue. "Give me another chance to prove my loyalty." To my horror, my voice broke as the plea came tumbling out. "I wish to lead the others in the raid on the Ministry. To retrieve the prophecy." He began to turn away, and I lurched to my feet. "Please, my Lord."
He glanced at me over his shoulder. "No."
I felt the blood rush into my cheeks as he slowly drifted away across the room. "I've no reason to trust you any longer, Lucius," he said, lowering himself into a chair and arranging his robes around his legs. "None whatsoever."
My face was burning now. "I've done everything you have asked of me since your return. Without fail. Without question. I placed Bode under Imperius, as you ordered, and sent him to the Hall of Prophecy -- "
"Yes, and we see what good that did."
"That was Avery's error, not mine," I said quickly, wishing I had never removed my mask. It was doubly humiliating that he should see the anger coloring my face. "I brought you the information the house-elf gave my wife, about Black and Potter and what they mean to one another. Without that, you would never have been able to conceive your latest plan." I paused but he did not respond, and I hurried on before he could change his mind. "And I know the Ministry like the back of my hand, my Lord. This will give us an advantage. I know every passageway, every hiding place. Potter cannot hope to escape us."
The Dark Lord rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and regarded me closely over his steepled fingertips. "You make a persuasive argument, Lucius," he said quietly. "I had planned to give Bellatrix or Dolohov the honor of leading my Death Eaters, someone whose loyalty has never been in question --"
I hurried to his side and dropped to my knees again. "With all respect to those you have named, my Lord," I said desperately, "neither of them is quite... right in the head since their incarceration in Azkaban. I consider it my duty to look after their safety, to make sure they do not injure themselves --"
A high, cold laugh halted the flow of words, and I closed my mouth and bowed my head. "Your concern for the others is touching, Lucius," the Dark Lord said with a derisive chuckle, and for one terrible moment I was sure I had pushed too hard. "However, I must concede your point is a valid one." I held my breath as he stood, watched his robes swish along the floor towards me from beneath my eyelashes. "Very well," he whispered, his long fingers brushing across the top of my head. I repressed a shudder at the unexpected caress. "I will grant your wish. You may have the honor of serving me."
The knot of tension unraveled in my chest and I glanced up quickly, a smile of gratitude blooming on my lips. He returned the smile for only a moment before his eyes narrowed. "Do not fail me again, Lucius," he said in a tone so dark it made my skin crawl.
I swallowed. "I won't, my Lord. Thank you. Thank you."
He nodded once, slowly, and dismissed me with a languid wave of his hand.
***
"Ah yes, Lucius," I whispered to the darkness, "you got your wish."
I shivered and rolled onto my side, tugging the blanket up to my chin. My cell was so cold I might as well have been lying naked on the thin, patched mattress.
"You got your chance to serve."
Something small scurried across the floor, its tiny claws clacking loudly on the stone, and my empty stomach cramped. A choked sob echoed down the corridor. My neighbor in the next cell was having another of his nightmares.
"Congratulations."
***
The Dark Lord never missed an opportunity to let me know he was disappointed in me.
He never said anything overt; that was not his style. But there was no missing the cold glint in his eye, the way his thin, horrible lips curled with just a touch with disdain whenever he glanced in my direction. Harder yet to bear were the harsh tones with which he addressed me, and the gentler, almost silky way he spoke to Bellatrix and the others who had gone to Azkaban to await his return. "My loyal Death Eaters..." he would say at the beginning of each of our meetings, standing in the center of our circle with his back to me, and the implication was clear. I, who had wielded such power during the first war, who had stood at his side as his most-trusted lieutenant, was now in disgrace.
It was an intolerable state of affairs, and I knew I had to do something about it.
One evening after he had dismissed us, I fell to my knees as the others filed silently from the room. And I waited, my head bowed, until he saw fit to acknowledge me. The floor grew harder and harder beneath my knees and my back began to ache with the strain of holding my position, but I dared not stir. I could hear his robes swishing as he went about his business, ignoring me, no doubt enjoying the growing frustration and anger I tried vainly to hide as the minutes ticked by.
I've no idea how long I knelt there, serving my penance, before he finally stepped up beside me. "Lucius. You wish to speak to me."
The muscles lining the back of my neck screamed as I lifted my head. "Yes, my Lord," I said, tearing off my sweat-soaked mask. There was no hint of encouragement in his expression. He had no interest in what I had to say.
I swallowed hard before speaking again. "I -- I wish to ask once again for your forgiveness, my Lord."
His irritable sigh made my heart sink into the pit of my stomach, and I fought the urge to fling myself on the hem of his robes. "I told you once before Lucius," he said softly. "I do not forgive. Surely you have not forgotten."
"No," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. "No, of course I have not forgotten, my Lord."
"Then why are you wasting my time?"
"I --" The pretty speech I had prepared to convince him my desire to serve was genuine died on the back of my tongue. "Give me another chance to prove my loyalty." To my horror, my voice broke as the plea came tumbling out. "I wish to lead the others in the raid on the Ministry. To retrieve the prophecy." He began to turn away, and I lurched to my feet. "Please, my Lord."
He glanced at me over his shoulder. "No."
I felt the blood rush into my cheeks as he slowly drifted away across the room. "I've no reason to trust you any longer, Lucius," he said, lowering himself into a chair and arranging his robes around his legs. "None whatsoever."
My face was burning now. "I've done everything you have asked of me since your return. Without fail. Without question. I placed Bode under Imperius, as you ordered, and sent him to the Hall of Prophecy -- "
"Yes, and we see what good that did."
"That was Avery's error, not mine," I said quickly, wishing I had never removed my mask. It was doubly humiliating that he should see the anger coloring my face. "I brought you the information the house-elf gave my wife, about Black and Potter and what they mean to one another. Without that, you would never have been able to conceive your latest plan." I paused but he did not respond, and I hurried on before he could change his mind. "And I know the Ministry like the back of my hand, my Lord. This will give us an advantage. I know every passageway, every hiding place. Potter cannot hope to escape us."
The Dark Lord rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and regarded me closely over his steepled fingertips. "You make a persuasive argument, Lucius," he said quietly. "I had planned to give Bellatrix or Dolohov the honor of leading my Death Eaters, someone whose loyalty has never been in question --"
I hurried to his side and dropped to my knees again. "With all respect to those you have named, my Lord," I said desperately, "neither of them is quite... right in the head since their incarceration in Azkaban. I consider it my duty to look after their safety, to make sure they do not injure themselves --"
A high, cold laugh halted the flow of words, and I closed my mouth and bowed my head. "Your concern for the others is touching, Lucius," the Dark Lord said with a derisive chuckle, and for one terrible moment I was sure I had pushed too hard. "However, I must concede your point is a valid one." I held my breath as he stood, watched his robes swish along the floor towards me from beneath my eyelashes. "Very well," he whispered, his long fingers brushing across the top of my head. I repressed a shudder at the unexpected caress. "I will grant your wish. You may have the honor of serving me."
The knot of tension unraveled in my chest and I glanced up quickly, a smile of gratitude blooming on my lips. He returned the smile for only a moment before his eyes narrowed. "Do not fail me again, Lucius," he said in a tone so dark it made my skin crawl.
I swallowed. "I won't, my Lord. Thank you. Thank you."
He nodded once, slowly, and dismissed me with a languid wave of his hand.
***
"Ah yes, Lucius," I whispered to the darkness, "you got your wish."
I shivered and rolled onto my side, tugging the blanket up to my chin. My cell was so cold I might as well have been lying naked on the thin, patched mattress.
"You got your chance to serve."
Something small scurried across the floor, its tiny claws clacking loudly on the stone, and my empty stomach cramped. A choked sob echoed down the corridor. My neighbor in the next cell was having another of his nightmares.
"Congratulations."