AN: written for the QLFC, Season 5
Round 2: Where are we going?
Team: Pride of Portree
Position: Beater 1
Location: Little Hangleton
Word Count: 1,323 excluding author's note
Prompts (bolded): 12 (shadow), and 14 (contagious)
Even before the Triwizard Cup disappeared, and the boy with it, Lucius Malfoy knew the battle was lost. Harry Potter ran like the devil himself was behind him—which, in a way, was true—and it was clear that the Death Eaters, all middle aged men, could never match his speed.
If they had been allowed to use their wands freely, then it would have been another matter altogether. The boy wouldn't have had stood a chance. But no, it had all been do nothing unless I command you and he's mine and leave him to me, as thogh Voldemort's Killing Curse was better than any other.
As the boy raised his wand and the Cup flew to him, Lucius slowed down, panting, only to be immediately thrown to the ground as Theophrastus Nott, still running at full speed, slammed into him.
They fell in a tangle of limbs and cloaks; Nott's elbow dug painfully into Lucius' ribs.
"Get off me, you imbecile!" Lucius said. He meant it to be a snarl, but he had lost what little air he had when Nott's knee hit the small of his back. "Move!" he said again, shoving with all his strength.
Nott seemed to regain his bearings and rolled over, leaving Lucius free to breathe at last. However, it immediately became apparent that it would have been better to stay with Nott on top of him and play dead.
A terrible scream, furious, almost animalistic, ripped the air around them. Soon, another voice joined it, screaming just as loud in pain. Voldemort had pointed his wand at random and caught Avery in a fury-induced, non-verbal Cruciatus (never mind that the Cruciatus could not be cast non-verbally; of course it would fall to Voldemort to disprove the foundations of Western magical theory).
"M-master, I b-beg your forgiveness," managed Avery when Voldemort angled his wand away from him. "I b-beg—"
But what he begged for, Lucius never knew, because another round of the Cruciatus cut Avery off mid-sentence.
Lucius shook his head slightly as he brushed dirt from his robes. If it had been Draco throwing a tantrum like that, he would have been over Lucius' knee in less than a second. And if the tantrum had been for something that was fully his fault, Lucius might have even been persuaded to use the cane, and never mind Narcissa's constant nagging that it couldn't be good for the boy.
But no. Here they had to grovel and beg to be forgiven for something they hadn't even done, and to be perfectly honest, the whole kneel before me and kiss my robes thing had never sat well with Lucius.
Muggle-torture was all well and good, a timeless pureblood tradition. When he had been a young man, Voldemort had been the fastest and surest gateway to a bit of fun, but now there was no Abraxas to handle the diplomacy (i.e., the grovelling) and Lucius suspected that this time around things were going to be both very different and probably much less exciting.
"Thirteen years I have waited for this moment," Voldemort said, "only to be thwarted by Harry Potter!"
Again, thought Lucius, and he gave thanks that the mask hid his half-smirk, half-grimace. It would probably have earned him a round of the Cruciatus.
Really, though, what kind of idiot untied a prisoner and gave him back his wand? And what kind of idiot did that knowing there was a bloody Portkey lying around that would conveniently take Potter back to Albus-bloody-Dumbledore?
Well, the same man that chose Quirinus Quirrell's help when he had Severus Snape right next to him.
Thinking of which, where was Severus? Lucius knew the man was a bit unbalanced, but he had never thought that he'd be reckless or cowardly enough to try to flee if Voldemort returned.
"I will kill Harry Potter, I assure you," said Voldemort. The worst seemed to have passed, at least. "Now, come, friends. We have much to discuss."
And of course, they were all going to have to sit around, listening to Voldemort's insanely convoluted plan—and it would be; after all, this one had involved an ancient artefact malfunctioning and an illegal Portkey—and pretend to be all in agreement. Honestly, Lucius would rather drink poison right then and there.
"Not you, Lucius." Voldemort's voice stopped him dead in his tracks. "You will wait here, in case the traitor decides to come begging forgiveness. If he does, kill him."
Ah. So Severus would be like Regulus, then, not important enough to be killed by the Dark Lord himself.
"Yes, my Lord." Lucius had to force the words out of his mouth.
Kill Severus? He could just as easily cut his own arm off. For all that he was ugly, and greasy, and beat him at chess every time, Lucius did not want to do that. Severus might not be a Malfoy by name, but he was family.
Lucius was left to wait alone, wondering if this was punishment for not having searched for whoever had cast the Dark Mark during the Quidditch Cup. But he had been drunk, and not at all inclined to go investigating something that had a ninety per cent chance of being a prank anyway.
It was almost dawn by the time he heard the crack of Apparition. Even if Severus' profile hadn't been instantly recognizable, Lucius would have known him by his teaching robes.
"You should have changed into uniform, at least," said Lucius by way of greeting.
Severus spun around, his wand gripped tightly in his hand, and pointed it at Lucius' chest. Lucius knew he should at least put on a show, point his wand at Severus, punch him in the nose, something.
But he couldn't.
"What took you so long?" he asked instead.
"I couldn't bloody well up and disappear under Dumbledore's nose, could I?" growled Severus, his wand still aimed at Lucius. "Besides, the Mark has begun to fade, and I couldn't get a clear signal to where you were. I had to Apparate five times to get here. Little Hangleton is a lovely town, did you know that?"
Severus voice had an edge of hysteria to it. Well, at least he knew what he was in for.
"Never been," answered Lucius, trying to sound unconcerned. "Severus, I—" Lucius took a deep breath. "We have a bit of a problem. Potter got away—" But of course, Severus would know that. "The Dark Lord—he's not happy. At all. Especially with you."
Severus didn't answer for a second.
"I assumed as much," he said, and this time his voice sounded steady enough. "So you're not out here to welcome me, then, are you?"
Lucius shook his head. "I—He—He said to kill you, Sev." He hated how his voice shook, but he couldn't help it.
To his surprise, Severus laughed softly. "Kill me?" he said. "You couldn't kill me if you overdosed on Felix Felicis. You don't even have your wand out, you dolt."
Though he said it in a tone so disparaging that it sounded like he suspected Lucius' stupidity to be contagious, Severus had to turn to hide a smile. Relief washed over Lucius, and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"I could kill you with my eyes closed, you git," he quipped back. Then he grew serious again. "Right. So. I will intercede on your behalf, and—"
"Don't be an idiot, he'd skin you alive" said Severus. Lucius turned, ready to tell him not to be an idiot, and was surprised to find Severus' wand pointed at him again. The shadows made his expression unreadable. "Stupefy."
Before the jet of red light hit him square in the chest, Lucius had time to think two things: that he would most likely never see Severus again and that Potter would have been able to dodge the spell.
-fin-