Disclaimer: All of the gratitude to JK Rowling for allowing me to play in her world.

Warning: This story is rated M for violence and mature situations.

Beta Love: Special thanks to Cordelia McGonagall for her incredibly helpful insights and gentle encouragement. She is a rockstar Beta, skilled at keeping my comma-happy tendencies at bay, checking my facts against canon and 70s pop culture, and keeping the characters in their own skin. I owe her so much :)

Of Beasts And Men by Camillablue

Chapter One - A Strange Conversation

A few who watched me sail away
Will miss my craft from the busy bay
Some friendly barques were anchored near
Some loving souls my heart held dear
In silent sorrow will drop a tear
But I shall have peacefully furled my sail
In mooring sheltered from the storm and gale
And greeted friends who had sailed before
O'er the Unknown Sea
To the Unknown Shore

From The Unknown Shore by Elizabeth Clark Harding

July 29th, 1969 – Night of the Full Moon
Malfoy Manor, Lacock, Wiltshire

Lucius stretched out on a smooth slab of stone, embracing the heat of the rock with his back and soaking in the warm rays on his face. He closed his eyes contentedly as one foot dragged in the cool river beneath the rock, the sound of rushing water sweeping down the riverbed filling his senses, mingling with the smells of the giant yellow rose blossoms that grew in bushels along the cliffs. He brought a long cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply and breathing out his nose. It was a perfect day in July, not a cloud in the sky, and the most gentle of breezes lightly swept tendrils of pale blond hair across his face.

It was a rare moment of solitude for the Malfoy heir. He generally had little time to himself, as it was mostly spent at his father's business functions, his mother's social events, or his friends' parties. He was currently avoiding one of his mother's more ridiculous charity events. Something about raising money for pure-blood families who couldn't afford to send their children to Drumstrang. His own family had sent him to Hogwarts "to establish certain connections" or some such excuse.

Lucius reached over and checked the silver pocket watch lying on his shirt, and swore harshly when he registered the time. He'd best return now, before everyone left and his mother noticed he wasn't in bed sick with a bad cold. He pulled the gray linen shirt over his head as he trudged back to the Manor, taking the long way, skirting the open fields in favour of the cover of trees that encircled the property.

As he approached the back entrance to the Manor where the door had been thrown open to accept some afternoon warmth, faded voices could be heard, slowly getting louder. He quickly ducked behind a patch of decorative bushes when he heard the tap-tap of his father's cane on the stone floor, which became muffled as he and his companion stepped out into the garden.

Abraxas Malfoy was nearly eighty-five, which, as a wizard, was not particularly old, but his dependency on the elaborate, serpent-headed cane caused an ugly stoop in his posture, and his waist-length silver hair falling around him made him seem far older. Despite the warm day, he was wrapped in black furs, and the ring-encrusted hand that clutched his walking stick had a permanent shake.

He was accompanied by Antonin Dolohov, a wizard Lucius didn't particularly like but was generally able to avoid. The man was everything the Malfoys were not; greasy, unkempt, with dark hair falling into his eyes and a few days' worth of stubble on his chin. His clothes were loose and ill-fitting, and carelessly showed off the various daggers and knives shoved into the sash at his waist. His gait was smooth and wiry, his eyes constantly flitting around his surroundings.

"Are you quite sure the time is right?" Abraxas was asking gruffly, leaning heavily on the cane as he shuffled along towards the gazebo on the far side of the gardens. "It is not that I hesitate out of disloyalty; on the contrary, I would simply be devastated if my son proved himself less than impeccable to suit the Dark Lord's needs."

Antonin scratched the stubble on the side of his face, shiftily looking anywhere but at the Malfoy patriarch. Instead of answering the question, he gave the old man a long, measured look. "The Dark Lord knows your secret, Abraxas," he said knowingly, raising his eyebrows to the cane the older man clutched.

Abraxas hissed through his teeth, glaring at the man next to him. "Is there really no such thing as privacy in this accursed circle anymore?"

Antonin rolled his eyes and smirked. "Privacy? You jest? The Dark Lord knows all, sees all, hears all. And the fact that you've been slowly dying from Dragon Pox for the last five years has hardly escaped his knowledge, or that of anyone else for that matter. Judging from the tremors, I give you…less than a year, maybe?"

The old man muttered a few curses under his breath, and something sounding like "There was once a thing called common decency," earning another snort from his companion.

"With you gone, the Dark Lord will want a loyal, undisputed supporter of House Malfoy," Antonin continued, eyeing Abraxas warily. "As one of the oldest, purest Houses in Britain, your loyalty is beyond important, and I do not think he would mind…forcing his hand, if you understand," he finished with a sneer.

When the silver-haired man continued to silently stare at the gardens in front of him, the Death Eater continued. "On a bit of a side note, I am curious though…how did you manage to stay alive for so long?"

"I have half a mind not to tell you anything for the way you're speaking to me," Abraxas sniffed. "In fact, I won't tell you. Let's just say...my wife proved useful for something, after all."

Lucius wasn't ignorant of the Dark Lord's wishes – though to be honest, he had thought that he would have a bit more time before being officially initiated into the circle of Death Eaters. He had, of course, known of his father's condition, but apparently the old man had managed to conceal just how close to death's doorstep he was.

"I hear Lucius is quite gifted in Potions as well, and has a bit of a talent for inventing new curses. If he is a supporter of our cause, he would be a great asset, and surely would greet the Dark Lord with open arms," Antonin was saying.

His father had gone back to staring at the flowers, and a shaky hand reached out to stroke the petals of a particularly glorious scarlet blossom. "Yes yes, I know," he replied faintly, seemingly lost in thought. "He's just so young…I remember my own time at school, though I know it was long ago now. To have nothing to worry about except your studies, Quidditch matches and pretty witches. I would like that for him."

Both Lucius, from his hiding place, and Antonin, raised their eyebrows. "I never had you pegged as a particularly…fatherly figure, Abraxas," the dark haired wizard said in a slightly surprised tone. "Wasn't it you who tried out Rabastan's new twist on the Cruciatus paired with Reductor on your own son?"

Lucius winced at the reference, remembering when he had come home in June with the news that he had received the second highest grades in his year. It wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for some swotty Muggle-born Ravenclaw being the one who beat him to the top.

His father had flown into a blind rage, his hair swirling around him as he temporarily abandoned the cane and hit his son squarely with a curse that made his bones feel like they were being repeatedly smashed and then forcefully knit back together, over and over again. The curse had been invented as a way to skirt around the Ministry's alert system anytime an Unforgivable was cast. The pain of the Cruciatus coupled with the blasting effect of Reductor. The Dark Lord had gifted the older Lestrange brother with an enslaved centaur as reward for his efforts.

Throughout his punishment, Lucius's mother had barely watched from her place at the table, carefully examining her manicure and occasionally taking off one of the many jewel-encrusted rings on her long fingers to admire it more closely. When her son had finally dragged himself off the floor and back onto his chair, his bones aching and blood running down his chin from where he'd bitten through his lip, she had merely given him a forced smile before asking if he could please pass the salt. With a trembling hand, Lucius had slowly done as bidden, and for a moment, their fingers touched, his mother taking a second too long to withdraw her arm. Her son had looked up, a glint of hope in his eyes as he searched her face for a clue as to how she felt, but the moment was gone, a feather blown out to the open sea.

"Oh, pain is an exceptional motivator," Abraxas airily responded, plucking the blossom from the bush and sitting down on a marble bench outside the gazebo. "It doesn't mean I don't care for the boy, in the sense that I would like to see him succeed and have everything a Malfoy should have."

Antonin shook his head, frowning. "I think you might just be getting soft in your old age." Lucius silently prayed that he was right.

"You misunderstand me," Abraxas muttered, and Lucius strained his hearing to catch his father's words. "Do not make the mistake of thinking me a senile old man," he said softly. "No…let my boy enjoy his time at Hogwarts. Let him think that this is all the world has to offer him. And then…" the old, withered hand closed around the red petals, crushing them into tiny fragments. "We must crush him. After, like a phoenix, rising from the ashes, he will be ready to be moulded as I see fit. Only then will he be able to truly serve the Dark Lord the way that I have intended him to."

An eerie, high pitched laugh escaped the Death Eater's throat. He grinned down at the old man. "I like that," he said, clapping his companion's back. "Like a phoenix. That's poetic, Abraxas."

What game is the old man playing? Lucius wondered, watching as Abraxas brought the flower's remains up to his lips, then blew them into the breeze, where they danced lightly for a moment, before a stronger gust whipped them away into the sky. He quietly stood and crept back into the still open backdoor of the manor, leaving before his hiding place could be discovered.

On his way to his chambers, Lucius pondered his father's words. While he hated the old man with a passion that smouldered deep within his belly, he was also grudgingly respectful of the patriarch.

After the famous pure-blood riots interrupting the Squib Rights March of 1961, the man had made a puppet of their current idiotic Minister for Magic, Eugenia Jenkins, by using his contacts at the Daily Prophet to cleverly twist their stories to paint her as an incompetent, useless figure who couldn't even manage to keep one silly riot under control. Humiliated, the witch had turned to her advisers for clues on how to proceed, all of whom were, of course, deeply seated in the Malfoys' purse pocket.

Power like that was intoxicating. Lucius wanted to have that charisma, that aura that attracted people to him. But he wasn't sure he could be as callous and cruel as Abraxas. He still winced at some of the stories his father's friends told him, and while he was a strong supporter of the Dark Lord's cause, the methods used to enforce those beliefs sometimes seemed...drastic.

And what was his father playing at now? Had he noticed his son's weaknesses, and was set on destroying them by 'crushing' him?

Lucius had reached his chambers, and threw himself on the leather couch that sat in front of a huge, floor to ceiling window. On one end of the couch was a small table groaning under the weight of thick, old books, at the other end was a tall, elaborate birdcage that was currently empty. The opposite side of the room was nothing but shelves stuffed with books, leaving space only for the white double doors that led to his bedroom. He was lying on his back with his fingers tucked under his chin, when a flurry of feathers snapped him out of his reverie.

The plain barn owl dropped the heavy brown envelope on his lap, then immediately flew off without waiting for a reply, all business. The address read:

Mr. Lucius Malfoy
West Wing of Malfoy Manor
1 Serpentine Crescent
Lacock, Wiltshire

Without exuding much excitement, Lucius ripped open the heavy parchment and tossed aside all contents except the shiny Prefect badge. Well, at least his father would be pleased. He tilted it slightly, allowing the late afternoon sun to catch on the silver. His chin lifted when a soft knock on the door sprang him out of his reverie.

"Come in," he drawled lazily, not even bothering to look up when Branwynn Malfoy stepped into the room.

"I see you're feeling better," his mother said tonelessly, her hands folded in front of her. Once gloriously long raven hair was pulled tight into a bun at the nape of her neck, and her face, though no older than forty, was riddled with spidery lines.

"Quite," Lucius replied, matching his mother's tone.

Her eyes travelled down to the badge he was playing with. "Congratulations on your post as Hogwarts Prefect," she said without looking at him. "Your father will be proud, I'm sure."

Lucius shrugged, reaching behind his head to place the badge on the stack of books on the side table. "I suppose." He stared at the empty birdcage. "Did you need something, Mother?"

She hesitated. "Your father's friend Antonin Dolohov was just here," she started.

"And…?" Lucius asked, trying not to sound impatient.

"And…he was very interested…in you." She seemed to be struggling to get the words out, as if grasping for air while being pulled under water.

"Oh…are you quite alright, Mother?"

"I…" she stopped again, regaining her composure. "I want you to be careful, this year," she said slowly, "Don't make any foolish decisions."

Lucius's eyebrows furrowed together. "Mother, do you really think me incapable of taking care of myself?" he snapped. "I'm a Hogwarts student, not a Ministry Auror going undercover with a vampire coven."

"Oh I know," she said, wringing her hands. How peculiar. Lucius had never seen his mother so distressed. In fact, he'd never seen her display much of any particular emotion. "Sometimes I wonder…" her right hand reached out to touch his cheek. Lucius inhaled sharply at her touch, holding his breath. He opened his mouth to ask her what the hell was going on, but before he could say a word, she had turned on her heel and left the room.

August 5th, 1969 – Third Quarter Moon
Worple Family Residence, Barnton, Cheshire

"Oi! Eldred!"

Lucius took off his shoe and chucked it at his friend, who had his nose so close to the pages the blond wondered how the hell he could possibly see anything.

"OW!" the other exclaimed, rubbing his head tenderly. "That bloody hurt! Was it really necessary?"

Lucius rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "For the past ten minutes I've been telling you about my life-altering day, and all you do is read that damn book of yours!"

Eldred closed his book with a sigh, hooking his dark hair behind his ears as he focused on the irritated wizard. "Your father's an evil git, your mother's a clueless idiot, and Dolohov is uglier than ever. Not sure I'm catching what's so different?"

Lucius leaned back on the shabby lounge chair and stared up at the cobwebs that gathered in the corners of the high ceiling. He had arranged this meeting with his best friend, Eldred Worple, who, while poor as those abominable Weasleys, luckily had parents devoted to blood purity as well, and was therefore deemed by Abraxas an acceptable, albeit not exactly ideal, companion for Lucius.

The Worple home was small, modest and cozy, though Lucius obviously didn't like it for its charm. He preferred the grandeur of Malfoy Manor. But Eldred's parents were rarely around, and his father was a drunk who kept a bottomless stash of firewhiskey in his desk, to which the boys helped themselves. It was much more appealing than sitting stiffly in his mother's drawing room, keeping conversation to a minimum under the watchful eye of his pale, painted ancestors.

"It's hard to explain," he mumbled into his glass, staring at the amber liquid. "Something's different. My father has some sort of plan that involves making me more…like him, I think."

Eldred grimaced. "Another Abraxas Malfoy? Not sure there'd be enough room on this tiny planet for both of you. Do you think old Voldy's behind it?" he asked casually, making Lucius cringe.

"I wish you wouldn't call Him that – he's really not so funny in person," he replied, scowling. He ignored his friend's snort and continued. "No…I mean, he wants me to obtain the Dark Mark, which I would do willingly of course. But my father doesn't think I'm ready. This is his plan." He frowned thoughtfully, rubbing his left forearm without realizing it.

Eldred shrugged, opening his book back up. "I think you might be overreacting. I mean, I know he's the evil Lord and all, but your father isn't going to do anything to permanently mess up his one and only heir, especially after all the trouble he went through to have you," he added with a knowing look.

Eldred was, of course, referencing the fact that the Malfoy patriarch had married four times, three of those wives dying in unusual circumstances after about a decade each of trying to produce an heir. His fourth and current wife had given birth to two stillborn sons before finally having Lucius, and ever since his birth, her health had slowly but steadily deteriorated. Lucius knew that many thought his family cursed, though none were stupid enough to voice their suspicions anywhere near him or his family. He thought they might be right, but he kept that thought completely to himself.

"I suppose you're right…" Lucius said, storing his anxieties in the back of his mind for later. "Anyway, what book are you reading that's so much more interesting than our conversation?"

"The Living Dead: A Guide to Inferi, Vampires & Zombies."

"Ugh, you're obsessed," Lucius groaned, kicking off his other shoe and putting his heels on the coffee table between them while sinking deeper into the chair. "I really don't see what's so interesting about vampires; In my opinion, any creature that can be defeated with a mild herb isn't worth getting excited over."

"Garlic doesn't defeat vampires, they just don't really like it," Eldred pointed out while Lucius shrugged, crossing his ankles. "I would have thought that you might find vampires a little more interesting, considering your future master seems so keen on recruiting them for his war."

Lucius gaped back at him. "How in Salazar's name did you hear about that?"

Eldred shrugged, looking back at his book. "Around. People are starting to talk, you know. Voldy should probably spend more time keeping his followers quiet and less time on planning world domination if he really wants to keep all this a secret."

"Sometimes I forget why you're in Slytherin, Eldred," Lucius said, his eyebrows furrowing. "And then I realize that if anyone else could succeed at world domination, it's you. You'd just have to get your nose out of that book first. Anyway, if the Dark Lord is interested in rounding up all the mystical creatures for his army, then it isn't my place to question why he's doing it."

Eldred was giving him a strange look. "Your sixteenth birthday is at the end of this year. Are you…nervous?"

Lucius glanced sharply at the other boy. "Of course not," he snapped. "This is what I was raised to do. This is the path my family has chosen for me. The Dark Lord will purify wizarding Britain, or possibly the rest of the world. And whatever my father has planned for me, it will doubtless continue to bring prestige and honour to the Malfoy family name."

"How many times have you rehearsed that in front of the mirror?" Eldred asked incredulously. "I mean, I get that my poor as shite family holds little appeal to such great and powerful beings as your Dark Lord, and I really shouldn't concern myself with such things, but you don't think that maybe…at some point…they'll go too far?"

Lucius tried to appear nonchalant and took another sip of his drink. If only his friend knew the extent of the horrors already visited on the Muggles occasionally brought to Malfoy Manor. "Purity will always conquer," he recited, shrugging.

Eldred rolled his eyes. "When in doubt, recite the family motto, eh Malfoy? Speaking of purity…have you heard about Andromeda Black? Or should I say…Tonks?"

Lucius nodded. "Married a Muggle. Her poor family, living with that shame! Despicable."

"Her younger sister will probably be devastated," Eldred said innocently, staring intently at his book. "She'll probably be in need of…comfort."

"Comfort, hmm?" Lucius knew exactly where this was going. Eldred had fallen in love with Narcissa Black the second he set eyes on her in second year. Everyone, the youngest Black sister included, knew about his crush, though the awkward wizard remained blissfully unaware that his secret was common knowledge.

"Yes. You know, a shoulder to cry on, that sort of thing."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Have someone in mind, Worple?"

His friend continued to avoid eye contact. "Narcissa is a very pretty girl."

"She is," Lucius agreed. He thought about telling his friend that he would most likely, in fact, be formally engaged to the girl in question by the end of the year, but decided against it. Eldred was, for all intents and purposes, his only real friend, and he wasn't ready to lose him just yet. Besides, perhaps if the boy managed to make an arse of himself and Narcissa properly put him in his place, the delusional crush he'd been nursing for the past three years might finally evaporate.

"And if you don't want to date her…" Eldred was saying.

"I don't," he clarified. I'll probably just marry her one day, he silently added.

"Then you wouldn't mind if this year…maybe…I asked her to come to Hogsmeade with me?"

Lucius studied the rather skinny boy, with long, greasy black hair, big glasses and shabby, hand-me-down clothes, and was struck by a momentary pang of pity. Despite the inevitable outcome, he decided to give his friend some advice. "Take a shower first. And borrow something of mine to wear. Actually, no. I'll just buy you something when we're picking up school supplies. Are you going to send her an owl?"

Eldred shook his head. "I was thinking of asking her at Midas's birthday party next month."

Lucius frowned. "Not in front of all the guests, I hope?"

"Merlin's beard, no," Eldred hastily replied. "I was thinking of asking her when she's getting ready to leave, so that if she says no then I can just go home and hang myself," he finished dramatically.

"Excellent!" Lucius said brightly. "Now that's settled, come outside with me for a smoke."

His friend wrinkled his nose. "You still sucking on those Muggle vices?"

"Wizards smoke tobacco in pipes. Not very different really."

"And yet you hide them from your parents."

Lucius let out an irritated sigh. "I don't hide from my parents. I simply couldn't bear my mother's incessant nagging if she saw me smoking." He inwardly smirked at the mental image of Branwynn Malfoy acting like an everyday housewife, chastising her son while chucking the cigarettes and sending him off to bed without supper. Not likely. He would probably be locked in the dungeon for a fortnight as punishment for bringing filthy Muggle goods into the Manor. Not that he would ever admit such a thing to his friend.

Eldred stood up as well, closing his book. "Alright, let's go out the back."

A few minutes later, the two wizards were sitting side by side on a small wooden bench in the Worple family backyard. Some scraggly grass and a rickety doghouse were the only other additions to the fence-enclosed yard. The inhabitant of said dog house was happily drooling on Lucius's leg, eyes looking adoringly up at Lucius.

"Your mutt is ruining my pants," Lucius muttered as his friend added more firewhiskey to his glass.

"I'll have you know that Adrian there is a pure Irish wolfhound," Eldred replied, unfazed. "And I think you can afford to get your pants cleaned, princess."

"I think I'd rather just buy new ones," Lucius said stiffly, causing his friend to roll his eyes.

The two clinked glasses and took long sips before Lucius dug in his pocket for his cigarettes, offering his friend one, who surprisingly accepted. They blew smoke into the clear, twilight air, watching the stars poke out behind deep blue clouds.

"This year is going to be different," Lucius said quietly, taking another sip of his drink. His thoughts wandered to a sixteenth birthday, Ordinary Wizarding Level examinations, and the Dark Lord paying him special attention. He thought of his fourth year, when the most important thing seemed to be whether Slytherin would win the Quidditch Cup. Different, indeed.

Eldred gave him an appraising glance before turning back to the stars above. "You got that right."

Lucius looked back at his friend, and thought about asking what he could possibly be brooding about, but instead shrugged, turning back to the night sky. "Look, you can see Cetus perfectly tonight," he said, fluidly drawing the constellation with his finger.

His friend followed the pattern with his eyes. "Cetus, as in, the sea monster from the Greek myths?"

Lucius nodded. "The one that was supposed to kill Andromeda when her parents chained her to a rock by the ocean, but Perseus manages to save her… Ha, I bet Cygnus and Druella Black wish they had a Cetus right now," he added, chuckling at his own joke. "Too bad actual sea serpents are so harmless."

"Clever, Malfoy," Eldred said sarcastically. His head tilted thoughtfully. "Can you imagine being chained to a rock by your own parents, laid out like dinner for a monster? The Greeks were morbid."

No longer laughing, Lucius stared intently at the constellation, trying to keep his voice light. "No, I don't believe I could imagine such a thing. How utterly morbid." As he echoed his friend, his mind drifted to the conversation he'd overheard in the garden the previous week. And then…then, we must crush him, Abraxas had said, tearing apart the red blossom. He shivered involuntarily, and took another sip of firewhiskey, feeling the amber liquid burn through him, almost completely chasing away the coldness that had settled in his bones.