Cold.
Just too cold.
Freezing.
Lucius had sacrificed a part of his striped prison uniform, tearing lower parts of the fabric to make rag wraps for his hands and feet. He intended to protect them from being constantly frostbitten.
The rag wraps weren't much of a help. His fingers and toes have been stiff and paralyzed for the majority of the past two nightmarish months.
...seven hundred seventy one, seven hundred seventy two. Lucius made a habit of counting seconds of the frequent breaks between dementors' patrolling rounds.
A dementor patrolling the corridor should be coming back this way right about now. Lucius wasn't mistaken; groans and cries of tormented inmates could already been heard from the neighboring cells.
Soon, the black, hooded, disgusting silhouette passed by Lucius' tiny room. The blonde Death Eater closed his eyes tightly, focusing on the happiest memories he could recall.
Huge, bright, silver eyes of the new-born Draco.
Soft, tender smile of Narcissa.
Lucius' golden years, as a young, successful second-in-command of the Dark Lord during the first Wizarding War...
Unfortunately, Lucius wasn't strong enough anymore to resist the despair spread by dementors. Soon, the happy memories vanished from his head. As always, pure, horrific nightmares replaced them immedietly.
Graveyard. He was at the Graveyard again.
''I smell guilt. There is a stench of guilt upon the air.''
The Dark Lord focused his burning crimson eyes directly on Lucius, uttering those words.
''I confess myself disappointed...''
Lucius cowered. His heart bled. An ice-cold cramp grabbed his stomach like a huge hand. Never, ever did he intend to be a dissapoitment to his Lord.
The scenery in Lucius' mindscape has changed like a memory in a penseive.
Department of Mysteries.
His disbelief and utter despair, as he watched the glass ball of the Prophecy shattering into tiny pieces.
Lucius could fell in this moment his soul and mind, shattering along with the Prophecy.
So many weeks of careful planning, so much effort put into the mission of restoring his Lord's Prophecy.
All in vain, all lying in tiny pieces upon Lucius' feet.
Lucius felt the haunting visions retreating from his mind. He opened his bloodshot eyes; the dementor was gone - only to come back a few minutes later.
All the short breaks form the presence of the foul creatures were a blessing. The time inbetween the frequent intervals of their patrolling was the only thing, that has been keeping most of the prisoners relatively sane.
Sane - for a time being.
Lucius, unwillingly, had to sacrifice the time inbetween the demenores' tortures for thinking his life over. For giving a deeper thought to those visions, that the nasty creatures created inside his mind each time they were close enough.
Graveyard.
Lucius, Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy, powerful Dark Wizard and Lord Voldemort's second-in-command. How could such a man fail so badly...?
Disappointment. Disappointment inside those bright, crimson eyes of his Lord. Those eyes had once been looking at Lucius with acknowledgement and respect.
This look in his eyes was a thousand times worse, than anything the Dark Lord could have said to him. Yes, he did say a few hurtful words to Lucius, called him even a slippery friend. Those words caused pain, yes. But not so much pain as that look in his eyes.
The Dark Lord did not use the Cruciatus Curse on Lucius on the Graveyard back then. The Dark Lord knew, that it was unnecessary. Lucius was in pain already; a worst kind of pain he has known.
The desperation and helplessness in Lucius' voice, when he was trying to defend himself.
He unsuccessfully tried to clear his name, not only in his Lord's eyes, but- most importantly - in his own.
But what could possibly justify him renouncing his Lord? Renouncing everything he has ever believed in? Ever fought for?
What could possibly explain the testimony he had sworn in front of Wizengamot? What could possibly justify his claims of having been under the Imperius Curse the whole time? Of being forced to do everything he had done? What could explain all the horrible things he had said on his trial back then...?
Well, he had one justification for himself: his family. He had Narcissa, who loved him and counted on him. He had an one-year-old Draco, who needed a Father. Back then, Lucius suppressed his remorse caused by lying in front of Wizengamot and renouncing his Cause, thinking about those two precious people.
Even back then, he could feel deep down inside, that this justification just wasn't a legit one.
Taking care of the family was indeed extremely important. However, was trading Narcissa's and Draco's well-being and safety for Lucius' loyalty worth it...?
No, it was not, for a simple reason. Having contradicted his entire self as a person, having renounced his values and beliefs in front of Wizengamot - Lucius never has been able to look Narcissa and Draco straight in the eyes, without feeling guilty deep inside.
And, in addition to all of this, there was also Bellatrix.
Bellatrix attended her trial the same day as Lucius did, along with Rudolphus, Rabastan and the young Crouch. Malfoy could see everything with his own eyes from the accused's dock.
Lucius- reluctantly- admired his sister-in-law, for her impressive performance during the trial. Bella held herself upright in front of the judge, and her voice didn't even shake, when she yelled ''THE DARK LORD WILL RISE AGAIN!'' on the top of her lungs. She made the entire court room, consisting of Aurors , go silent. She made them internally question their own commitments and give a deeper thought to their own actions. Lucius had to admit; Bellatrix was awesome.
Granted, Bella's situation didn't resemble Lucius'. Bella did not have children. She went to Azkaban together with Rudolphus. Unlike Lucius, they had nothing to lose.
Why am I trying to sugarcoat this to myself, trying to make myself look better, again...? Lucius caught his thoughts floating again towards finding a desperate justification.
While there wasn't any.
He just had to compare his testimony in the curt room to Bella's.
And, therefore, that night, on the Graveyard...
The Dark Lord did not even have to explain to Lucius the reason of his disappointment.
Lucius knew the reasons himself. Him avoiding imprisonment in order to take care of his wife and son was one of them, although not the most important one.
The primary reason was Lucius adapting a new lifestyle. With his duties as a Ministry employee, a member of the Board of Governors, and a Father of a growing boy, he did not find a time- and courage- to find and help his weakened, nearly-dead Master.
Yes, granted, Lucius had done everything he could to clear his ways up. He did follow the old ways in his "new life". In both his work and private life, he has been implementing the values of blood supremacy, and emphasizing the importance of keeping the pure Wizarding lines intact. He also did everything in his abilities to pass those beliefs on to Draco. Nobody could denied his success in that field.
However, Lucius has failed to fulfill his most important duty back then.
He should have put more energy and effort to make things the way they were before. He should have at least make some research, at least try to find his old Master.
That should have been his point of honor.
For the future of the Wizarding World. For the children. For Draco...
He should have sought the Dark Lord like Wormtail did. The pathetic little Rat turned out to be a more valuable and loyal servant than Lucius- and being aware of this caused Lucius an unbearable kind of pain.
To top all Lucius' pain, guilt and remorse off, there was also this one thing that wrapped his heart painfully like crown of thorns.
It caused his heart to bleed each time he has recalled it.
The Diary.
Granted, he did not know. He did not know what this damned Diary really was.
His intentions were to try to open the ancient Chamber of Secrets. To make a huge Mudblood purge in the school. To clean it up from the filth unworthy of learning Magic.
And, additionally, to incriminate and get rid of the Muggle-loving, foolish Blood Traitor, Arthur Weasley.
Were Lucius' intentions pure and in accordance with his beliefs?
Of couse they were.
However, was that any justification for what he had done?
No.
Lucius' plan back then was based on hunches and blurry predictions. Its origins were in his deep hatred towards Arthur Weasley. A plan built upon emotions is never a good plan.
How did that plan end?
Horribly wrong.
It ended with an unsuccessful purge; the Chamber of Secrets had been opened, but the Basilisk failed to kill even one single Mudblood. The giant serpent faced its own death from Potter's hand. And the Horcrux...
The Horcrux has been destroyed. A part of Lord Voldemort's soul has been destroyed because of Lucius' mistake.
How painful is it to lose a part of your soul?
Definitely as painful as Lucius' burning remorse.
He remembered the humiliating aftermath of those events.
He remembered Dumbledore's loathsome, light-blue Legilimense eyes. They drilled painfully through Lucius' mind as he stood in front of the old man in the Headmaster's office.
"Not now that Riddle has vanished from the book. On the other hand, I would advise you, Lucius, not to go giving out any more of Lord Voldemort's old school things. If any more of them find their way into innocent hands, I think Arthur Weasley, for one, will make sure they are traced back to you..."
Lucius had his Occlumency shields put up high, but his burning hatred towards the old coot this particular moment, has almost managed to break them.
How did Dumbledore dare to say his Lord's name?
How did he dare to judge Lucius?
How did he dare to make Lucius' pain even more unbearable...?
Yes, Dumbledore, I have failed. I have failed my Lord and I don't need a manipulative hypocrite like you to point it out to me.
Lucius' third greatest failure was the Department of Mysteries.
He was so, so desperate to perform this assingment perfectly.
He was so desperate to make his Lord proud, this time.
He was made the commander of this mission, just like in the old times. He was in charge of restoring the Prophecy. His Lord entrusted him with this task.
Voldemort could have chosen Bellatrix as the leader. Nevertheless, he has chosen Lucius over her, showing that he was able to trust Malfoy again.
The Dark Lord knew that, however faithful and sure-fire Bella was, she was also far too emotional to be entrusted with such a sensitive and subtle assingment. The Dark Lord was sure, that Lucius was the right man for this task. He was sure about the success of the mission, having Lucius in charge of it.
And yet...
Lucius watched helplessly the little glass ball- so precious and valuable to his Master - shattering into tiny pieces by Potter's feet.
Nothing, nothing could express his feelings back then. The Prophecy died, and so did a part of Lucius himself.
...Seven hundred seventy two. Time for another dementors' patrolling round.
Nasty, black silhouette, bringing despair and freezing cold.
Lucius closed his eyes again and hid his face in his knees.
Graveyard.
Disappointment in bright, crimson eyes.
"My slippery friend..."
The Prophecy, shattered on the ground
Light-blue, twinkling eyes of Albus Dumbledore.
The dementor moved on. His ''visit" was shorter than usually. What did that mean?
'Malfoy!'
Lucius opened his eyes and looked up, hearing his name being called.
A tall, black-skinned Auror dressed in traditional robes stood in front of the bars of Lucius' cell.
'Kingsley Shacklebolt.' Lucius uttered, with an effort to make his hoarse voice sound hostile.
Shacklebolt looked down at the Death Eater cowering against the wall. What is that emotion Lucius could see inside of his dark eyes?
Was it pity?
How dared he...?
'Malfoy, you have visitors.' the Auror said shortly. Lucius' heart started pounding like crazy.
Shacklebolt intended to walk away, but Lucius yelled after him.
'Shacklebolt!'
'What? I don't have a whole day for a chat with a Death Eater, y'know...' the dark-skinned Auror muttered.
'Who is visiting me?' Lucius asked.
'Your wife and son. Who did you expect? Your master, perhaps? We wouldn't have let him in, y'know.' he answered mockingly.
Draco and Narcissa were here! Lucius lifted his head up and looked at Kingsley again. He couldn't stand the pitying emotion in the Auror's eyes.
'Why are you giving me this look?' he asked harshly.
Shacklebolt flinched, taken aback.
'What're you talkin' about, Malfoy? Have you started goin' crazy already?' he snapped.
'No.' Lucius said coldly, with a dignity. 'I just do not want any pathetic person like you to look down on me.'
Having said that, Lucius picked himself up from the floor, slowly and with a great effort. His malnourished body had already started disintegrating its own muscle tissue, which made moving around very difficult. Lifting his body up felt like lifting up a set of hundred-pounds dumbbells.
Nevertheless, when Lucius managed to stand upright in front of Shacklebolt, the pity disappeared instantly from the Auror's eyes. Lucius smiled with satisfaction.
Kingsley went away to get Narcissa and Draco. Lucius stood, breathing heavily from the effort. He wanted to greet his wife and son standing up, looking them straight in the eyes- not cowering against the wall like an abused child.
If Lucius saw pity in Draco's eyes, that would have crushed him.
Lucius not only was always Draco's greatest Authority Figure. He was his son's Hero.
Draco has always looked at his Father with admiration, respect and gratitude. Lucius has never seen any other emotions in the boy's eyes during their conversations.
Draco could always count on Lucius and Lucius has always been there for Draco. Protecting his son like a hawk from mean teachers and bullying schoolmates was as natural as breathing for him. He may have been a strict Father- but he would never have allowed his son to be harmed.
Lucius knew that in Draco's eyes, he has always been a genuine role model - a proud, aristocratic, powerful Wizard, always able to stand up for himself and for the ones he loved.
Now, Draco was about to see his Father in a vulnerable, weak state, which enduring torments of Azkaban had left him in. Nevertheless, Lucius refused to give in to his weakness and show it to Draco. He was going to hold himself proud and upright in front of his son, no matter how hard and exhausting it may have been.
Despite of the freezing coldness, he could already feel little drops of sweat on his forehead. Keeping his body up was a real challenge for his severely weakened skeletal muscles. He inhaled deeply and breathed out steam.
Soon, muffled steps could have been heard on the corridor. Shacklebolt was back- leading Draco and Narcissa in front of him.
Lucius had spotted his wife and son before they noticed him. Shacklebolt was showing them the way; and, when they reached their destination, the Auror put his hand on Draco's shoulder, directing the boy to Lucius' cell.
Lucius watched Draco flinching in disgust, having felt the Auror's hand touching him. The boy turned his head towards Shacklebolt in an outrage.
'Don't lay a finger on my son, you filthiest Blood Traitor.' Lucius uttered, emphasizing words. He used his ice-cold, intimidating voice, successfully concealing his Azkaban-induced weakness.
Draco, Narcissa and Shacklebolt turned their heads towards Lucius in unison. Shacklebolt immedietly pulled his hand away from Draco, and quickly opened the cell, letting the visitors inside.
Lucius felt satisfaction. He has managed to make just the impression he intended to make - he appeared as the strong, proud man from before-imprisonment.
As soon as Narcissa and Draco stepped inside, Lucius made an effort to greet them with a wide smile, overcoming coldness and pain of stiffened muscles.
Clear, bright, silver-grey eyes of Draco. There was a variety of emotions inside them; Lucius was relieved not to see the only one he had feared most: pity.
Draco was certainly overwhelmed by the entire situation. He looked uneasy and uptight. He looked at Lucius with a compassion and concern, but without pity.
Light-blue eyes of Narcissa. Lucius felt a relief again, seeing only the emotion he knew Narcissa had reserved only for her husband: a soft tenderness.
'Father.' Draco spoke silently after a few seconds of silence. 'I'm... so glad and relieved to see you... like this.'
Lucius watched the boy. Draco was searching for adequate words.
' Strong. Unbroken.' the boy added finally.
Lucius smiled gently to his son. He couldn't have dreamed of a more comforting greeting words from him.
'Lucius. We finally managed to get a permission to visit you.' Narcissa said. 'I was so worried... But... I see...'
Lucius looked at his wife, waiting for her to elaborate.
'I see that you are able to endure it better than I thought. You have stayed strong. Just... just like my sister.'
Lucius nodded. Comparison to Bellatrix was - in this particular context - a high praise. Narcissa's older sister was known for enduring fourteen years worth of Azkaban imprisonment, remaining strong and steadfast in her fanatical loyalty.
Of course, Lucius has been in Azkaban nowhere near fourteen years worth of time. Then again, a lot of inmates broke mentally in just few days or weeks of their imprisonment. He did indeed manage to remain unbroken longer than more than half of other prisoners.
'Father.' Draco said with a slight anxiety in his voice. 'I have something to tell you...'
Lucius saw Narcissa looking at the boy with a worried face. He turned towards Draco, looking him in the eyes.
'Father, I have been marked.' Draco whispered.
Lucius gasped.
Nothing could have prepared him for this declaration.
He looked at the boy in a loss for words.
Draco swallowed, looking at his Father apprehensively; he definitely had expected some kind of a reaction. With Lucius' silence, Draco slowly rolled his left sleeve, exposing his forearm.
The Dark Mark was intensively black, convex and clear. It seemed to writhe and pulsate a little bit. It's been a long time since Lucius had seen a forearm of a freshly marked person. The fresh Marks tended to be a little jumpy in the beginning, causing their unused owners a variety of different sensations, from burning pain in random moments to itching and tingling.
Lucius could recall those feelings perfectly .
Seeing Draco standing in front of him, Lucius could clearly see his younger, freshly marked self . Young Lucius; a teenager with long, platinum blonde hair, watching his new Dark Mark in awe in admiration.
The day of taking the Dark Mark is always the day that change people's lives forever.
He looked into his son's eyes, and noticed just what he had anticipated.
Draco has changed, he really has.
The way Draco held himself upright, the way he spoke, his body language and gestures. There were no signs of the earlier child-likeness and softness. Every inch of the boy's body revealed his freshly gained self-confidence, swagger and sense of belonging.
Even the twinkles in his bright silver eyes seemed different than before. Those were twinkles of a pure focus and determination, not the childish sparkles of excitement.
It was still hard to comprehend; his only son has just left his childhood and innocence behind. He became a Death Eater.
It was so unexpected, and yet - so wonderful.
Lucius couldn't be more proud of him.
The majority of his life, he has been forced to make some kind of a choice, or at least a compromise, between his service as a Death Eater, and his family. Now, it was not going to be an issue anymore. His Cause and his family has just became an unity. Draco has just became his Lord's soldier.
'Father...?' Draco asked quietly.
Lucius realized, that he has been silently staring at his son's Mark for a couple of minutes. He looked his son in his silver eyes.
'I was just considering proper words,' he said gently. 'to express how proud I am. However, it seems that English language has failed me this time. I really do not know how to describe my pride and joy in this moment, Draco.'
The boy smiled with a great relief. Lucius could see tears in Draco's bright eyes, which the boy was unsuccessful to conceal.
Draco opened his arms to hug Lucius. That was unusual; the Malfoy males were usually reluctant to show their emotions; nevertheless, situation like this called for unusual measures.
Lucius lifted his weakened arms to embrace his son. Much to his surprise, he felt Draco flinching in his arms, and grabbing Lucius' rag-wrapped hands.
The boy lifted his eyes on his Father in an utter disbelief.
'F-father, your hands...' he whispered, horrified. 'I feel like holding a block of ice.'
Lucius gave Draco a pale smile. Well, the stiff and frost-bitten fingers were one of the side-effects of imprisonment, that might have revealed to Draco the severity of Lucius' suffering.
'It's a cold place, Draco.' he whispered.
Lucius may have made a great effort to put on a calm, composed and strong mask for the outside to see. Nevertheless, such details as ice-cold hands, were impossible to put any kind of mask on.
Draco turned his shocked face towards his Mother, seeking help, but Narcissa only shook her head helplessly.
Lucius' wife knew much better than Draco what Azkaban was all about. After all, she had been visiting Bellatrix before, and after her release Narcissa helped to nurse her sister back to health.
Draco looked around, desperately trying to find anything that would help to soothe Lucius' suffering. The boy automatically reached to his leather hostler; immediately realizing that his wand had been taken from him for the time of the visit. No guest had been ever permitted to walk inside Azkaban with a wand.
Having let go of the empty hostler, Draco took off his black silk jacket, and wrapped it around Lucius' shoulders.
Lucius could immedietly feel slightly warmer. In Azkaban, every single inch of fabric was precious like gold. He looked at his son, taken aback by his gesture.
'Forgive me, Father.' Draco said. 'It is all I can do for now.'
'Malfoys, time's up! Say your goodbyes!'
They all flinched, having heard Shacklebolt's intrusive voice.
The dark-skinned Auror appeared in front of the cell, poking his wristwatch impatiently. As an answer, he received three hostile, hateful looks.
'Father, I would have said that I'd bring you more clothing on the next visit, but I swear by the Dark Lord, that you will leave this place too soon to appoint a next visit.' Draco whispered quickly to Lucius ear, quietly enough not to be heard by Shacklebolt.
Lucius looked at his son. He knew that his release from prison is strictly bound with the Death Eaters taking over the Wizarding Britain. Did Draco's words meant, that they were so close to a victory...?
'It will happen soon, Father. 'Draco went on. 'Up until that moment, I will take care of everything. I am your replacement for the time being. You don't have to worry about anything.' he finished, clenching and lifting slightly his left fist; the one above which he had his Dark Mark.
'You can remain calm, Lucius.' Narcissa confirmed the boy's words quietly. 'Your son became a strong and responsible man, who is able to take things into charge.'
Lucius took a look at his wife. Narcissa's facial expression and body language was a crossover between a motherly and understandable concern for Draco, and a beaming pride of him.
Shacklebolt cleared his throat loudly.
'Your permitted ten minutes have passed five minutes ago.' he reminded harshly.
Narcissa nodded to her husband for a goodbye; Lucius could have seen tears in his wife's eyes at this point. The woman left the cell and rejoined with the impatient Auror.
'Father, be ready to leave this place soon. I will do anything I can to make your stay here as short as possible.' Draco whispered.
Lucius took the last glance at his son. The boy - no, not a boy anymore, Lucius corrected himself - stretched his hand out towards his Father.
Lucius took it, anticipating a farewell handshake. However, Draco only intended to use the last couple of seconds of his visit to pass as much warmth from his hand on to the frostbitten hand of Lucius.
The older Malfoy could feel his fingers temporarily regaining sensation and mobility under the warm grip. Draco let go of his hand, hearing another impatient snarl from Shacklebolt.
'Farewell, Father. It will not take long, I promise.' he said quietly and stepped out of the cell.
Lucius watched his wife and son following the Auror along the corridor.
He could still feel a pleasant warmth inside of his body. However, this warmth was caused neither by Draco's hand grip, nor the silk jacket he has presented Lucius with.
This warmth came from inside. It was Lucius' heart that lit up with joy, pride and a feeling of a fulfillment. It radiated warmth, spreading it all over the man's body.
It was a kind of warmth that no dementor could take away.