(no subject)
Title: “It Runs In The Blood”
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: PG
Timeline: from Tom at Hogwarts to HBP.
Summary: ‘He just couldn’t do without a Malfoy by his side’. Lord Voldemort and the 3 generations of the Malfoy family. A songfic. Please R&R!
Disclaimer: Mrs Rowling owns everything here I’d love to own. Except for my style of writing! The song ‘A Modern Myth’ belongs to 30 Seconds To Mars.
A/N: For Angel; this is my first attempt at depicting Lucius, whatsoever. There isn’t much of him because it’s first and foremost a Voldemort fic but I hope you like it.
If you like my style of writing, you might as well check my fanfiction-livejournal,
istne_pieklo
It will be updated regularly, though it's new for now. Thank you!
IT RUNS IN THE BLOOD
Did we create a modern myth?
Did we imagine half of it
Would happen in a thought from now?
Save yourself,
Save yourself!
It was never enough for Tom when he sought solitude on the roof of Astronomy Tower, gazing at stars that blazed coolly above his head. It was never enough when he dipped into ancient books buried in the Restricted Section, inhaling their magical dust, swallowing every word, every letter, every punctuation mark. It was never enough when Tom engaged in ardent discussions with Abraxas Malfoy, the only other student he really talked to from time to time. But no, it was never enough for Tom.
Night unveiled itself before him. He opened his eyes wide, looked at it studiously and suddenly yawned. It caused him to laugh - the effect was utterly ruined. Tom wrapped himself up in a blanket. The night was chilly. Malfoy mocked him for spending too much time up here especially when Tom began to cough after one of such nights. However, Tom was always keen to learn on his mistakes. After that night he always took a heavy blanket with him.
The tile made a heavy noise (as if it was about to sigh tragically) as someone walked carefully up to the cornice and seated himself beside Tom. The breath of the wind was instantly filled with intoxicating bittersweet of his cologne, always the best, the most expensive one.
“So”, Abraxas purred suggestively, “will you tell me about that important business of your during the summer?”
“Er… no!”
“Oh come on, Riddle! I’m dying of curiousity!”
Tom smirked. Malfoy could be so childish sometimes.
He turned his head slightly to take a better look at his companion. He was handsome like every other member of his old aristocratic family - and like every one of them, his beauty was a bit static like that of a fine statue, lifeless and perfect. His pale golden hair looked much darker as starlight poured over them. His cheeks were already covered with soft bristle. He was kind of proud of it because it made him look more significant.
Malfoy opened a bottle of wine and gave it to Tom. Riddle didn’t need to ask where he got alcohol (Abraxas found it enjoyable to waste his father’s cellars).
“Here’s to the great Lord Voldemort who is obviously in grave depression!” he proclaimed. “Cheers!”
Tom drank and nearly choked with laughter. Malfoy always knew how to make him feel good. It must have been a family trait (he concluded later on).
“Alright, I’ll tell you”, Tom agreed. “But swear to me you won’t tell anyone else!”
Malfoy rounded his eyes, acquiring a comic mask of innocence and disbelief. Tom had to gulp quickly and forcefully to avoid coughing again. His companion’s face became serious as he uttered a formal ancient oath to prevent himself from giving away Tom’s secret. Riddle inhaled deeply and whispered:
“I was there. In Little Hangleton. I saw my father and his family. I… I killed them all!”
The secret is out,
The secret is out!
“I hate them”, Tom went on fervently. “I hate them all. Filthy Muggles! They deserved what they got. Too bad there weren’t more of them! I’d have loved to watch them die, over and over again! But that’s not important now, is it? Here’s what matters!”
He stretched his arm and showed Malfoy a heavy black-stoned ring he was wearing.
“Salazar’s”, he explained briskly. “Now mine”.
Abraxas held his breath in admiration, then bowed stiffly as far as anyone sitting that close to a vast abyss could bow at all. Riddle smiled.
“Will you follow me, Malfoy?” he asked. He knew the answer precisely (yes, yes, of course, out of fear if not loyalty) but he loved to hear it from Malfoy himself.
“You know me, I shall. I will”, Abraxas said.
They sat motionless in silence, gazing at the stars that looked back at them. Tom didn’t feel like talking; Abraxas didn’t dare.
To buy the truth
And sell a lie,
The last mistake before you die,
So don't forget to breathe tonight -
Tonight's the last to say good-bye.
It would have seemed only right if it rained at his funeral - but it didn’t. the sun was shining above the hills where one of the most famous and honourary wizarding cemeteries was situated. There must have been a thousand people there, all of them well-known, profitable sorcerers, friends an remote kin to the Malfoy family. Voldemort kept close enough to see young Mr Malfoy who was standing by the grave, his head slightly lowered, his eyes half-closed, a mask of hypocritical grief upon his face. Voldemort didn’t know for sure what he had really felt for his father. Rumour had it, Abraxas Malfoy was a strict, despotic parent. No wonder his son wasn’t exactly sad.
Everyone spoke well of Abraxas but their speeches were cool and reserved. In truth, nobody would ever say anything good about a Malfoy just as nobody would ever dare say anything bad.
Abraxas Malfoy died of dragon pox. It was weird and tragically stupid in Voldemort’s opinion. Such a wizard should have passed away in battle, no less!
When the farce was finally over, Voldemort came up to young Malfoy to express his condolences. Lucius nodded curtly. He was a handsome young man, much like his father. And his pointed pallid face already a marble mask, deprived of any senses.
“May I have a word with you, Mr Malfoy?” Voldemort asked politely.
They took a short walk to the woods that enclosed the cemetery. Leaving the crowd behind, Voldemort felt a lot more secure. It wasn’t in his nature to worry that much but he did. There was that special something about Abraxas that he didn’t want to get lost because of his death.
“Your father was a noble man”, Voldemort said. Lucius gave another restraint nod. “He always kept his promises. We were at school together, I’ll have you know. He gave me a promise in our final year. But alas, we’ve gone separate ways. He died before he could keep his promise”.
“I don’t quite follow, my lord-”, Lucius drew out.
They hadn’t been properly introduced. Abraxas rarely mentioned his son whenever he communed with Voldemort, however, they got acquainted at a ball, one of those seldom receptions Voldemort, being a reticent loner, had visited incognito. The Dark Lord developed an interest in a proud young wizard. He knew Lucius wasn’t the most brilliant student at Hogwarts. His reputation of a rich, arrogant idler preceded him. But at least, he was a cunning Slytherin, by no means blind to ambition.
“Where are you driving at?” Lucius asked.
“I could give you everything you’ve dreamt of - and even more. All you need to do is keep your father’s promise. Work for me, Malfoy”.
The young man’s face brightened for a moment but he slipped his impenetrable mask back on as soon as he realized his emotions had surfaced. It was uncommon for the Dark Lord to ask. He usually proposed, threatened, tricked into service but never really asked. But now it felt as if he was asking.
Voldemort asked himself: Why do you trust a son as much as a father? Isn’t it reckless since he’s obviously a different person?
He had no answer to that question. He just couldn’t do without a Malfoy by his side.
“I will, my lord”, Lucius answered finally.
Voldemort’s eyes flashed scarlet as he smiled and wordlessly Apparated away.
The secret is out,
The secret is out!
Narcissa was sitting at the cheval-glass, combing her long blonde hair. She let all the servants take a day-off because she didn’t want any strange presence in the manor. Summer was coming to an end. Soon her dearly beloved son would go back to school. She felt incredibly lonely after Lucius’s imprisonment.
Narcissa sighed. Something flashed in the mirror. She shivered involuntarily and turned round abruptly. A hunchbacked man was bowing before her in a harsh, nervous fashion. His left hand was gliding impatiently over his right one, encased in a silvery shell.
Before he had any time to give her a proper greeting, Narcissa blew up:
“What are you doing here?! Haven’t I told you not to come, ever? The Ministry keeps close watch on this house! What if they find you here?”
Her voice, usually deep and silky, sounded unnaturally high-pitched; she loathed it herself.
The man grinned unpleasantly and babbled:
“Master expresses his deep sympathy on account of your husband and wishes you-”.
“My husband is not dead”, Narcissa interrupted, regaining control over herself.
“Of course not, my lady!” the man muttered rapidly. His face was a mask of sheer horror.
“There is no need to regard him as such. Now, what do you want?”
“Master has given me an assignment to carry out an invitation for young Mr Malfoy to come over to his headquarters. Master wishes to have a talk with him”.
Narcissa’s face turned even more pale though it was hardly a possibility. She paced in front of the messenger, agitated.
“What does he want, Wormtail?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t know, my lady! I’m just a humble servant!”
Narcissa’s memory flickered back to a conversation with her husband that took place soon after the Dark Lord’s rebirth. Lucius spoke of loyalty, and power, and prestige. ‘It runs in the blood’, he had said…
The memory was vivid in her mind. She was looking at Lucius as he stood before the mirror, smoothing his hair neatly. His set of robes was handsome and accurate as always. He looked confident and influential, his face only a shade paler than usual. Still, she could tell that deep inside he was unnerved.
“I have always been true to my word”, Lucius said. “I am a proud bearer of the Dark Mark. I would have worn it in the open if it weren’t illegal”. Something like sarcasm flashed in his voice.
“Yes, of course!” Narcissa snorted. “Especially when you told the Ministry you have acted under the Imperius Curse all the time!”
“It was a necessity!” Lucius snapped. “I did it for us. I could not abandon you and our son. I risked greatly! I should say I was lucky that the Dark Lord granted me forgiveness after all this time. I shall stand by his side again. Soon”. He sighed. “For now I should continue pretending”.
Narcissa caressed his cheek lovingly. He leaned into her and brushed her lips softly with his.
“The Dark Lord is indeed eternal! He had survived the Killing Curse. One day Draco will take his rightful place among our ranks”.
Narcissa stepped away and said grimly: “I wouldn’t want that”.
“I know, Cissa”, Lucius shrugged. “But the choice is not yours to make. You’d better stop babysitting him”.
So the time had obviously come. Narcissa didn’t have any illusions about what the meeting would be about.
Wormtail squeaked in a raspy voice: “So shall I tell Master young Mr Malfoy will come?”
“Yes”, Narcissa replied quietly. “Tell him Draco will be there shortly”.
The secret is out,
The secret is out!
Voldemort examined a boy standing before him with slight curiousity. The boy was a copy of his father he was meant to replace: the same delicate face, the same cold eyes, the same pale-golden hair. He was tense and didn’t dare raise his head; he knew better than to look his Master directly in the eye.
Good; a minion should know his place.
The boy had just received his assignment. It startled him. It took him a few seconds to conceal his terror but the Dark Lord was prone to notice such things immediately.
“Is there a problem?” Voldemort asked. He could not stand cowards. He really hoped the boy was no coward for he reposed much trust in him after his father became unavailable.
Draco shook his head. “No problem, my lord. I’m just not sure I am the right person to perform such a complicated-”.
“That is for me to decide. Do you defy me, young Malfoy?”
Draco’s lips trembled when he uttered breathlessly: “Of course not! I shall do as you bid me”.
Always a loyal servant, a Malfoy. Voldemort’s lips formed an expressionless smile. He dismissed the boy and leaned heavily against the back of his chair. He told the boy that if he failed, he’d kill his father. The Dark Lord didn’t make empty threats. Though Lucius’s death would be such a loss! He valued his service.
And if the boy fails…
“He won’t”, a reserved, dignified voice spoke up. “He’s a Malfoy. We don’t fail”.
“I’m not so sure”, Voldemort objected lazily. Abraxas’s noble face was staring at him from the portrait with a hint of icy mischief in his grey eyes.
“Well, even if he does fail, all you need to do is wait until Draco get married and procures an heir. That way you’ll always have another Malfoy”.
Voldemort laughed. Damn Abraxas, how did he always do that to him?
Good-bye!
Good-bye!
Good-bye!
Good-bye!
Good-bye!
October 15-17, 2006