Every You, Every Me: Of Life and Lucius Malfoy, by Rhysenn


A/N: To kick off the Lucius Malfoy Redemption Project. The poor chap is always portrayed as heartless and evil but, well, I happen to have a strange affinity for him. Hard not to, with a name like Lucius. *g* I could ramble on for a long time about why I think Lucius isn't fundamentally evil, but I really should get on with the story. This is from Lucius' POV, a stream-of-consciousness sort of thing, so I hope the scene/POV shifts aren't too confusing.

Selected verses from the song "Every You, Every Me" appear throughout the story, and the song belongs to Placebo, and it's one of my personal favourites. Thanks to Minx and Heidi for the beta.



Every You, Every Me:
Of Life and Lucius Malfoy



Sucker love is heaven sent


Sometimes in the middle of the night, the pain returns, searing and livid like a blade renting my flesh apart.

The brand on my arm burns like liquid fire, blazing through skin and flesh and bone until only the blistering memory remains emblazoned in my mind, a stark reminder of who I serve and who I belong to. It's strange how blinding pain can clarify your thoughts, filtering out everything except helpless devotion, bleeding and simplified.


My body's broken, yours is spent


And the stream of memories rushes back like a desert wind.


* * *


Carve your name into my arm
Instead of stressed I lie here charmed


I still remember that dark night, when I stepped onto a path of no return. The night everything changed.

Twisted glory was all that I saw as I dropped to my knees in front of you, unknowing and eager, pledging an allegiance only to be severed in the violence of death. I proffered my arm as I prostrated myself before you, a sacrifice of living flesh, warm and pulsing, and I bowed my head and surrendered my soul.

You said you were proud of me; then you touched your wand to my bare skin, flaying my nerves with the most intense agony imaginable, and I screamed, a desperate and keening cry you never heard.

Sometimes I still hear my own voice, shrieking endlessly, and I wake up drenched in sweat with the echo of my scream sounding in a chasm of darkness.

But I learned.

I learned that pride and pain wove themselves in an inextricable tangle, that the only way I could prove my loyalty was through my suffering. I barely remember the image of your smile, thin and emotionless, because the only time you smile at me is when I am broken and bleeding, delirium spinning through my ravaged mind; and dimly through the blood and anguish and tears I see your lips curl upward, and only then, fleetingly, are you satisfied.

I tried. I tried so hard.

I made myself forget the frequent pain you inflicted upon me, and I pushed myself to the limit, trying to be everything you expected me to be, everything that I was secretly afraid I might never live up to, or even live to see the fulfilment of. I tried so very hard, doing everything in my capacity, learning evil and ruthlessness like a refined art, until I was one of your most accomplished students, until I was the very best.

But you were never satisfied.


Cos there's nothing else to do
Every me and every you


You wanted more, more than I could offer, the innocence of another — my firstborn, my only child.


* * *


Another love I would abuse
No circumstances could excuse


I should have loved her, with all my heart, but she was too late, and I was in too deep to turn back.

She deserved more than this.

She deserved more than a husband who was never by her side, who spent his days and nights slaving for a master who never appreciated him, or loved him like she did.

She deserved more than a son who was taken away from her before she even had a chance to love him, before she could embrace him without the knowledge that he wasn't hers anymore, that he was going to be just like his father.

I truly care for her, although I don't think she knows it, because I rarely tell her the things she needs to hear. I can't find words to make her understand, and the pain chokes my voice because she was the first person to make me regret.

And regret is a dangerous thing, because it begets hope, and wistfulness, and these sentiments corrode a person like acid on an open wound. I faltered then, but managed to catch myself in time and force my feelings back into the deepest recesses of my heart, forsaken but not forgotten.


In the shape of things to come
Too much poison come undone


It's in my blood, running like silver metal through my veins as it corrupts me from within, tainting my mind, scarring my flesh. And I gave this poisoned blood to him, my only son, flowing through his young helpless body like the chemical of destiny, taking away a choice he never had.

And I hated myself, as I took him in my arms, warm and innocent and ignorantly blissful, hated myself as I shed a thousand tears inside me when I gave him into the arms of my master, in a grotesque travesty of a christening.


Cos there's nothing else to do
Every me and every you


It's too late.

Condemned, flesh and blood.


* * *


Like the naked leads the blind
I know I'm selfish, I'm unkind


Soon I learned the mockery of loyalty, tied up with the bitterness of faith departed.

I am a keen learner, and the dark path of life teaches lessons such as this: how to backstab everyone except the one I serve, the one from whom I can derive the most benefit. I learned how to use my gift of charm to manipulate and control people weaker than myself, to get what I want when I want it.

But the truth be told, what I seek is never what I want, but the will of my master. My thoughts run parallel to his, twisted and bled into perfect accord over the many years past.

On closer examination, selfishness isn't quite an apt description. One cannot be selfish when he no longer owns himself.

I've almost forgotten the feeling of belonging to myself; it's such a distant, far-removed concept. But in random, isolated moments that flit by like a stab of brilliant light, moments like the first time I kissed her and when I first laid eyes on my newborn child, I can remember it faintly, like intangible strains of a forgotten childhood song, familiar and heartbreakingly nostalgic.


Sucker love I always find
Someone to bruise, and leave behind


I wield my wand like a vicious whip, and the screams and pleas meet my ears with grim satisfaction. The huddled figure on the floor is shaking violently as the anguish of Cruciatus rips through every fibre of him, and he writhes and thrashes, begging for mercy, begging me to stop.

I smile pitilessly, finding warped comfort in the infliction of an agony that I have been subject to countless times before, with much greater intensity. The ragged sobs are like tuneless music to my ears, invoking bitterness as I remember my own suffering, my own screams, and all I want to do is hurt him more.


And there's nothing else to do
Every me and every you


I raise my wand and hiss the words, my vision remaining clear even as my mind blurs, and the scream that fills the room tears from his soul, another nameless subject of my long-harboured wrath as it breaks to the surface in a wave of terror and pain and fear, both his and mine.



* * *


All alone in space and time
There's nothing here, but what here's mine


Silence and screams invade my consciousness, waking nightmares smeared in blood and the stench of terror. The brand on my arm throbs like pulses of live electricity, static evil sparking to life on my flesh.

He watches me from where he stands, across the room, and his grey eyes dart around anxiously, betraying his nervousness and fear. The fear which I have tried to grind out of him ever since he learned how to feel, to prepare him for the bitter eventuality that draws closer and closer as each day drags by.

The room is deathly quiet, vibrations of withheld emotion and unasked questions rippling through the tense air.

Don't ask.

There is no answer. And will never be.

Because I had no choice, Draco. And neither do you.


Something borrowed, something blue
Every me and every you


I gaze back at him, and something within me awakens, something raw and intense and purely instinctive.

He is my son. My legacy. And he is all I ever have, and he can be... he can be everything I never had a chance to become.

And it's not too late.

I can barely feel my lips moving as I step closer to him, talking to him in low urgent tones, whispering past the barricade of distance that has existed between us, as father and son. And everything comes surging through me like a suppressed hurricane breaking, and I ask him if this is what he wants, and he looks back at me with wide, scared eyes and shakes his head twice.

"I'm sorry, Father," he says; fear and apprehension sparks silver in his eyes, reflecting mine.

And I'm sorry too.

For not being the father I should have been. For loving him with pain and not tenderness, for taking away the choice that should have been his own to make. I remember the way his eyes shone with muted relief when I made him stand apart during the Quidditch World Cup fiasco, the way he looked more fearful than awed each time he entered the drawing room where the Dark Arts materials were held.

I know he isn't like me. And that is his saving grace.

That is why I have this parting gift for him, part atonement and patrimony: the chance to be.

I can make no promises, except the promise that I will try. Because this moment hasn't yet choked off in blood, and I won't let it die in vain.

It's not too late, Draco.


Every me and every you


Be your own.


Every me and every you


Be free.



~~~