A/N: And with this, I lose my resolve to resist the lures of the HP fandom. I obviously own nothing.
Azkaban was a prison, yes; once he had been broken free, he had expected things to right themselves once more. However, he had found that he was simply moved from one prison to another, from one hell to its brother. Lucius would have almost rather stayed in his cell, safe from the wrath of his Lord. But Narcissa and Draco had borne Voldemort's fury alone for over a year now; though he had no choice whether he came home or not (never mind what he told himself), he forced his cowardice deeper within himself, for his wife and son.
Lucius had always prided himself on his appearance, prior to his arrest, but he could not drag himself from his self-loathing long enough to care now. With his face unshaven and hair unkempt, the once-arrogant Death Eater was scarcely recognizable as the same man. Narcissa - Merlin, Narcissa... Lucius was convinced that she would never forgive him for allowing Voldemort to employ her precious Draco. As if he could have done anything to prevent it, whether in Azkaban or not! She had never fully understood the extent of the Dark Lord's power, having been sheltered from his wrath by both blood and marriage. He knew the man's - if he could be called a man - mannerisms; Voldemort felt no pity, no remorse for anything he did. He was just as apt to torture his followers for their failures as he was to torture Ollivander about he and Potter's "twin cores". Speaking against Voldemort in any way, disagreeing with him (even on the future of his own son) would have made his wife a widow. Lucius had long lost his Lord's favor. He was nothing more than a jester in the kingdom; entirely disposable, but an object of sadistic amusement nonetheless. He was wandless - humiliated. Voldemort had taken everything from him.
Aside from Narcissa.
He feared that it was only a matter of time before he took her as well. Undoubtedly, Bellatrix was all that had kept her safe thus-far. The beloved baby sister of his most faithful lieutenant... What should happen if Bella lost his ear? Would he dispose of them all, erase the Malfoys and the Blacks from history? An old flame of prideful defiance burned deep in his stomach: No, his blood would go on, though his only son, and no harm would come to his wife as result of his failures, of his poor choices. He would find some way to ensure that the Malfoys survived the Second War, whether it was alongside the Dark Lord or otherwise.
Lucius ascended the stairs in search of his wife. His heart felt as heavy as the serpent's head concealed in the pocket of his robes, the single remnant of the wand he had relied on since his eleventh summer. It had been taken from him, used carelessly and destroyed. Not that it mattered to anyone but him; no one else lived with the emasculating knowledge that, if his family were in immediate danger, he could do nothing. Never had he felt so powerless.
"Cissa?" he called, almost hesitantly, as he turned the knob to their quarters and pushed the door open slowly. Lucius met her eyes in the mirror of her vanity, the silver of its elaborate border tarnished after years of neglect. Since Dobby had been freed, he was forced to admit to himself the obvious decline in the state of the Manor. As he took a few steps forward, he was also forced to admit the decline in the state of his wife. Short gray hairs were beginning to invade her hairline; shallow wrinkles were etched around her eyes and mouth. Lucius swallowed, forcing the guilt back into his stomach. The war had taken its toll on both of them; it had finally robbed her of her youth. He couldn't help but feel responsible.
"Have they gone?" She never failed to ask him this, though the answered never wavered. Their home had not been their own since he had failed the Dark Lord in the Hall of Prophecy. The continuous coming-and-going of Death Eaters, the inhabitence of their basement by prisoners guilty of this crime or that, seemed almost a normacy now. He had not been alone with Narcissa since before his incarceration.
Lucius slide his hands onto her shoulders, decided against commenting on the way her muscles tensed beneath his fingers. If husband and wife were pitted against one another, did he have an ally left at all? Draco was disgusted with him; none of the Death Eaters could meet his eyes (aside from Bellatrix, who's dark eyes, so unlike her sister's, met his with sadistic pleasure). Narcissa was his only hope within these cold walls he had once called home. "No, love," he answered carefully, watching her reflection as she lowered her eyes to her lap in a defeated manor. This was not the woman he had married; where had her pride and cynical wit gone? "But, as I understand, they are quite... indisposed at the moment." He bent his head to nuzzle her neck, and he was relieved to see that she cracked a ghostly smile, pulling away half-heartedly.
"You are in dire need of a shave, Lucius Malfoy," she informed him gravely.
He chuckled, the sound almost hollow as it reverbated within his chest. He noted that she had met his eyes once again. "I'm afraid I may slit my throat if entrusted with a razor."
He realized too late how the words must have sounded to Narcissa. She was on her feet in no more than a second, facing him now, eyes cold and hard. Her voice cracked slightly as she spoke.
"You... selfish prat. How dare you for a moment entertain the idea of-"
"Cissa! Narcissa, that wasn't what I meant at all-"
"... leaving me again. If you find that humorous I - What?"
For a moment he could do nothing more than stare at his wife. Undoubtedly these insults and more had been bubbling beneath the surface for weeks; the unspoken words pressurizing to an unbearable point. She was forced to keep her head outside this room, she must remain stoic and impassive as the life she had been so comfortable in crumbled all around her. Without thinking, he closed the minute distance between them, hands cupping her face gingerly. Steel blue eyes locked on her icy gray sincerely.
"Narcissa Malfoy," he whispered forcefully. "I will never leave you again."
Her eyes swam with tears she refused to shed. Her hands gripped his forearms almost painfully. "Lucius, don't make promises you can't keep."
Again, her voice betrayed more emotion than she would typically allow. Cissa turned her lips to both his palms in turn and pulled away from him, the silk of her nightgown cool against his fingertips as his arms fell. She opened the windows and lifted her wand, the intricate patterns she made midair dizzying him. Protective charms. His wife needed to protect them in their own bedroom; not against Harry Potter, but against the sociopath and his cronies just downstairs. As if on cue, his inner left forearm began to burn.
And he had scarcely felt so useless.