Disclaimer: All characters belong to the lovely JK Rowling.
Work in progress.
Reviews much appreciated. :3
Lucius sat at his desk, a scowl upon his face and a quill in his hand, floating with uncertainty over a small piece of parchment. He had been in this position for a good ten minutes (breaking only for the occasional sip of his coffee), and had still not come to a decision about whether or not to send Draco a letter. An odd thing for a Father to deliberate over, but the truth was, Lucius was never very good at sending letters to family members. He could never be too sentimental – it just wasn't his style – so whatever he produced usually ended up sounding too cold. Sighing, Lucius threw down his quill, giving up on the whole idea ("I'll get Narcissa to write it later") and instead picked up the copy of Malleus Maleficarium that was sitting on his desk. Lucius often delved into this book when he was in a particularly troublesome mood, as the foolish assumptions Muggles have for magic provided him with much amusement.
However, his restlessness was preventing any sort of enjoyment this afternoon, instead his mind whirled with the anxiety one would expect before embarking on a life-threatening escapade. Which was why he had been so keen on contacting Draco in the first place. Although convinced that he and his party would prevail, there was still a part of him that feared the worst.
Sighing once more and throwing the book back on to the desk, Lucius rose from his chair and went in search of his wife…she could usually make him feel better, or at least provide a suitable distraction...