FEB 04 2007 SylvanDreamer: J-dear, this is for you. It's your birthday, so I figure it's worth it to scour all the sap in my imagination to write this.
Lucius – a bit OOC. Implies HD slash in very distant future. Not up to my usual standards but hey, I'm actually taking time to write instead of studying for math (which I'm unfortunately failing so you BETTER be worth it).
This is a two-part fic. the next chapter will be Harry's.
Discaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. Draco Malfoy is not mine! Lucius Malfoy is not mine!!! Oh the humanity! (weeps uncontrollably)
DRACO
Lucius Malfoy pushed his silvery-blond hair away back as he bent over his 18th century ebony desk, examining the spell-structure proposal for a new department of St. Mungo's.
He was sitting in his well-furnished study, tired and sleepy, poring over the numerous scrolls that had to be dealt with immediately. That pompous idiot of an engineer had earlier flaunted before him with plans upon plans of warding and he actually had the gall to dump them all, in the most messy way possible,for Lucius to go through.
He sighed, pale fingers rubbing his temples. If that man weren't the best in warding, I would have annihilated(!) him long ago. Merlin, what would I give to simply just chuck this all out and sleep!
Lucius Malfoy trusted only the best of the best to work on his projects. It was a reflection of the Malfoy name, after all, the quality of his charity works. And, contrary to popular opinion, Lucius honestly liked being a philanthropist. He cared that the beneficiaries would get first-rate treatment and facilities.
It was one of his abnormalities, Lucius' father had said.
Smiling fondly at the memory of his father, Lucius tentatively took a sip of butterbeer (from a champagne glass, no less) and continued working, summing up the costs and benefits in his head.
Waves of rain rolled outside, battering the Manor fiercely but harmlessly. Thunder resounded, though sounding as if it were from far away (Thank god Dingy finished the muffling charms! How am I supposed to concentrate with all that noise?).
He wasn't much past the fourth piece of parchment when his door creaked open and a mass of blankets tottered into the room.
Lucius' jaw fell open as he stared wide-eyed at the pile. ARE THOSE NARCISSA'S EGYPTIAN SILKS?!
A small head peeped out, looking embarrassed.
His son, Draco, had just barged into his study, trailing a bunch of expensive (and now slightly depleted) cloths behind him.
His son was a miniature of him: same platinum hair, same stormy eyes and ridiculously flawless pale skin, an unmistakeable Malfoy.
Despite knowing his family gene was strong, Lucius had hoped that Draco would have a small bit of Narcissa in him. He didn't want Draco to be reminded of who he was 'supposed to be' every time he looked in a mirror. But it appeared that his hopes were in vain. Draco would have to live, as he did, branded.
Draco's lower lip was now trembling and his large luminous eyes were tearing but he kept trying still to put up a strong face. Five-year-olds.
"Father," He said in a small, almost squeaky, voice. "It's sooo… scary in my room. Do you think You-know-who's there?"
Lucius paled, his stomach sinking into an indescribable coldness. I swear from now on, to never use that "you-know-who under your bed" trick to tease him or any child ever again.
Draco noticed his father's tenseness and took it as an encouragement to speak some more.
"It's just terrible, Father." He squeaked. "When I saw those awful awful lights, I went to find you. Took me a long time to find you."
Lucius stood, scooped Draco up and looked at the boy seriously, lips turned up in an imperceptible smile. "What lights?"
"Those great big flashes of white light!" Draco waved his arms widely as if to emphasize. "After the light, there's a crashing sound and howling everywhere!"
Draco stopped…then burst out crying. He sobbed into Lucius' embrace, all dignity forgotten.
"Are you afraid, Draco?" Lucius asked gently, carrying his son out of the study. Draco's arms were wrapped around his neck and his small, blond head was buried on his shoulder. The small, slender body was shaking and he could feel the hot tears soak through sleeve.
"Shush," Lucius whispered. With one hand, he opened the double French doors leading to one of the balconies. The wind was very strong, and very cold. Lucius hugged Draco closer.
Raindrops were pelting them, soaking Lucius as he awkwardly tried to impervious Draco without his wand and hands full. He was brilliantly cold and wet (and the Egyptian silk officially ruined) by the time he got the impervious and warming charms working.
"Draco, look at me," he shifted so that Draco had no choice but to look up, still sniffling.
(Merlin, the boy must have been terrified)
"You-know-who is gone," Lucius said firmly, willing himself to believe it too. "It's only a storm, look."
Draco glanced at the wild and violent sky and cringed.
"Why does it have to do that?" he sniffed, looking away. His father had to strain his hearing to hear him.
"Do what?"
"Become stormy," Draco hummed, getting comfortable in Lucius' embrace…and getting sleepy again. It was, after all, past midnight…and he and Theo and Blaise had been running around all afternoon…
"Skies are like that," Lucius' deep voice was calming and broke through the monotonous roaring of the wind. "They're strong and fierce and, sometimes, they can't keep it to themselves. They want to show the world how strong they can be…"
Draco looked at the storm again, this time a little longer…and a bit dreamily,
"Can those lights kill you?" He asked, almost dozing off. "I hate them. They scare me…"
"Yes, they can actually," Lucius answered, slowly going back inside. "It can burn you. But you don't have to be afraid of lightning, Draco."
You don't have to be afraid of lightning, Draco.
Draco Malfoy was already fast asleep.
Lucius tucked him in again, making sure he was safe and dry before he left the rather large room. He laughed to himself about heirs and sons as he wandered back to his study several rooms away.
It was not until the next day, when Narcissa's scream of surprise and horror woke him, that he remembered about the Egyptian silk. Oh bugger.
End.
SylvanDreamer. Happy Birthday. No, I'm not being cheap. This is only part of my present.