A/N: Round 6 of the QLFC!
Main Prompt: Lucius/Draco pairing (don't worry, it's familial!)
Optional Prompts:
4. (poem) "A Late Walk" by Robert Frost
11. (poem) "Ship" by Carol Ann Duffy
15. (word) scarf
Sit back, relax, and enjoy!
…
Azkaban was, without a doubt, the most horrific place Lucius Malfoy ever set foot in.
He was so accustomed to a comfortable, privileged lifestyle, enjoying both a high rank and salary in the government and the favor of the most powerful and dangerous threat to the magical society. Then, all of a sudden, thanks to one slip-up, the rug was pulled from under his polished, fine dragon leather shoes, and he bid Malfoy Manor goodbye for some indefinite amount of time.
Nevertheless, his veneer never faded, never chipped, no matter how much the wood on the inside decayed. Lucius Malfoy could not leave his wife and his child alone, to fend for themselves, to deal with the Dark Lord and the unabashed hatred of the magical society and whatever dangers would come their way, without his relentless support.
And so, when he was herded into the miserable cell, a sense of inescapable darkness falling over him like a heavy cloak that, try as he might, he just couldn't shrug off, he straightened his spine with as much pride as he could muster, gave one last haughty look to the outside world without bars, sneered at the dismal conditions, and entered swiftly and gracefully.
A cold came over him, and he suddenly wished madly for a scarf, but no discomfort could break him; he was completely and utterly impervious to the dangers of the prison, at least for that one moment.
…
The first few days of Azkaban had been horribly rough. The gruel was tasteless, but Lucius didn't find himself able to stomach anything because of the Dementors and their relentless assault. Malfoy Manor was sometimes a bit drafty, especially during cold winter nights, but Azkaban was colder than ice. Even worse, the ice didn't just chill his skin; the cold formed bony hands with impossibly long, sharp fingernails that snuck inside his body, clenching his heart in a fist and squeezing air out of his lung and wrenching the warmth away from him. Still, Lucius Malfoy refused to rattle the chains and bars in a pathetic display; he was a Malfoy, and he would be the most elegant prisoner to date.
But that was a very hard goal to accomplish because of the nightmares. They weren't really just nightmares anymore, seeing as they played and played and played on in flashes of painful emotion, never leaving his head no matter the time of day.
He saw Narcissa and Draco in great pain, in the most horrible situations, undergoing the tempest of ostracization and the wrath of the Dark Lord swirled into one, along with worse...much, much worse.
He couldn't take it; he would leave Azkaban a changed man, and the worst part was that he simply resigned himself to his fate without a fight, not caring as long as he could leave this hellhole.
…
Lucius had become completely numb. He didn't know how long he had been in Azkaban, in this dank cell with heavy, rattling chains fettering him; days? Weeks? Months? Only aware of the outside world to shove some sustenance down his throat and mindlessly scan the Daily Prophet, he became immersed in his world of nightmares and memories.
One image that consistently flashed before his eyes was that of Draco's face before Lucius had left him for an indeterminate period of time.
At first, Draco had lashed out violently, screaming irrational things like, "Potter and the Ministry will pay for this, you mark my words!"
Eventually, though, Draco simmered down a little, and the realization set in. Lucius still remembered the heartbroken, childlike glaze in Draco's eyes, and in that moment, he knew that Draco was a little lost without his mentor, his shield, his role model, his father.
Lucius smiled, something that looked more like a grimace, as he remembered Draco's newfound maturity, his evolution, emanating from him in that one moment.
Draco had always been a little spoiled, but Lucius and Narcissa believed that it was better to be loved too much than not at all. And wither would have sacrificed their lives for their son in a heartbeat. What better way of showing that eternal love than by giving him only the best of the best? After all, they had plenty of money. Draco had become a bit dependent and spoiled, relying on his parents' status and clout to defend himself at school. And, after his experience as a First Year at Hogwarts, everything was "Potter this" and "Potter that" and "Mummy, Daddy, I'm much better than Potter at so and so, aren't I?", a question met with either a soft, unthinking affirmation or, at exceedingly rare moments, a bit of tough love served by Lucius.
Looking at Draco in that one moment had changed everything. At first, it seemed as if Draco had not recognized the true severity of the issue. Narcissa took him under her wing as they escorted Lucius along his last steps of freedom, and they looked every bit a family, albeit a mourning, troubled one. He embraced Narcissa for a brief yet loving moment, then turned to Draco.
Draco looked like an orphaned owl, all big, tearful eyes and uncertainty. Lucius opened his mouth to reprimand him, to tell him that a Malfoy never showed weakness, but he found that his throat was simply too dry.
"Son," Lucius began, but then trailed off. He picked up Draco's hand, pale and elegantly long-fingered like his but smoother like Narcissa's, and squeezed it tightly.
Draco finally spoke. "I'll see you soon, father." His voice was cracked, his lips chapped.
Lucius suddenly steeled himself. Though there were times when he ignored his son's sometimes meaningless words, this was not one of those times. He steeled himself; he was going to survive Azkaban, for Draco, and for Narcissa. He had to, for his family.
"I'll see you soon, too." Then, suddenly, Lucius was hugging Draco tightly, like he had never done before. He felt Draco's hot tears bleed into his robes and held his own at bay.
That last image of his family, Draco and Narcissa gazing at him with despair yet a little hope in their eyes, Narcissa pulling their son closer to her, kept him alive. Without them, he had no purpose.
…
Being freed from Azkaban was a whirlwind, a mad dash of color and spark and a regaining of senses that Lucius could barely remember. He walked a good portion of the distance home, not feeling quite ready for Apparation or Floo Powder. He trudged through a Muggle town, a sneer plastered on his face no matter his haggard appearance, while the sun set over a pristine lake, casting an exquisite orange hue over that water that seemed so much more vibrant after the gray tones of his cell. Adrift in the water was a toy ship, something that a child had obviously left behind. For the few minutes that he admired the sunset, his eyes kept migrating back to the toy ship, and he felt a lump form in his throat at the thought that his son's youth was gone, and that now he was floating aimlessly, with no direction, while still just a teenage boy. With that idea firmly embedded in his head, Lucius pressed on at an even more rapid pace.
..
The gardens surrounding Malfoy Manor were covered in untouched crystalline dew. The flowers seemed suddenly more vibrant, despite the gray clouds lingering in the air and the bareness of the trees.
His eyes fell on the blue asters surrounded by trees, and, without thinking about it at all, he strode over and plucked one beautiful flower, charming it to stay in its state of perfection. This would be his reuniting gift for Narcissa.
A lone leaf fell from one of the trees at the disturbance, and then Lucius was suddenly reminding of Draco once more. A genuine smile cut through the harrowed expression that still lingered from Azkaban as he approached the door.
He was going back to his family.
…
A/N: Annnnnd scene! I really want to hear your feedback or critiques! Review, PM, favorite, whatever you prefer!
Ink on!
Lil' Quill