Disclaimer: All these characters belong to JK Rowling. I write for fun and practice, not money.
Devil's Light
The man sat on the narrow bed in his solitary cell. He wore grey, ragged robes. They were thin, despite they mist and chill swirling about the tiny room. But he was used to this cold. That was not why he shivered as he did.
His hands shook as he held at the two pieces of parchment before him. He stared at them, shocked and horrified.
The Dementors guarding his cell made him feel weak and despairing. He was almost used to it. He was strong: he could survive a while longer.
Dementors sucked away your happiness, made you into a shell of a man, emptied of warmth and replaced with fear and desolation. But their daily torments were nothing to what he felt now.
Anyone who survived Azkaban for any length of time had something, anything, that kept them going. Even one single pure thought, a thought they would keep from being sucked away. For many, it might be the thought of freedom, although that thought may contribute to the insanity. For Bellatrix, he suspected, it was thoughts of a glorious future, a future that would soon arrive.
These letters snatched his solace from him, the one thing he truly needed.
The first was in a clear and neat hand and reading over the words filled him with dread.
Malfoy,
I very much hope Azkaban hasn't affected you too greatly yet, as I would like you to understand what it is I am about to tell you.
I have good news for you. I have decided not to hold your family responsible for the blunders you have made. You must make it up to me, but I'm sure you will be eager in this. No, what I wish to speak of is a great honour that I shall allow your family. Your son has now been given that greatest of gifts. The mark of a man. And he has been chosen for very special task, a favour to me. I have no doubt you shall hear more about it soon enough.
I am sure this gives great consolation to you in that desolate place, though your being there was through your own mistakes. But soon, perhaps, consolation shall no longer be necessary.
The letter ended there, no signature. But still, there could be no doubt as to whom it was from. There was no mistaking the malicious intent of the letter, either. 'The mark of a man'. The Dark Lord had made Draco a Death Eater.
The second was on very good quality parchment with expensive ink. It also smelled very faintly of a woman's perfume. The actual writing, however, was difficult to decipher. An elegant hand, the hand of a lady brought up to have her letters much admired. But it was shaky, the writer clearly couldn't keep her hands still. Rather like Lucius' own hands as he stared at it. There were smudges too. Dried-in drops of water were strewn across the page, making the ink run in places. Like tears someone couldn't keep from falling.
Lucius,
I don't know what to tell you. No doubt He's sent you word already. He has Draco, Lucius, he took him last night. Our son, our only son, has taken the Mark.
I can barely write this now. My son, my only son.
I wanted so much for him, a bright future. I never wanted this. I thought this would be over before now.
He's given him a task, Lucius. One that Draco cannot succeed in. He will die trying, or die anyway. The Dark Lord will not stand for failure. It is punishment for our mistakes, I have no illusions about that.
I cannot tell you the particulars, but I'm going to go tonight and ask someone for help. Someone I'll just have to trust. I will come visit you soon enough and I'll tell you everything then, I promise.
I love you,
Narcissa
The usually florid signature had been smudged.
Lucius buried his head in his hands. His long, unkempt hair, once so well looked after, spilled over his fingers. His dirty fingernails dug into his greasy scalp and the clean parchment crumpled into the forehead of his gaunt face.
Everything he had done, he did for Draco and his future. He wanted his son to have everything, including pride and achievements. Sometimes he lost sight of that.
He thought he'd wanted his son with him in the inner circle, eventually. When things were safe, when the war was over. He now realised that he never wanted it at all. Especially not if his son would fail.
Draco would be proud. He'd think this was what his father wanted. But he didn't, he wanted none of it.
As hatred and despair gripped him ever more tightly he clenched his fists around the parchment, tremors shaking him more and more violently.
For the first time in his life, Lucius prayed for a different kind of future. Any future that kept his family safe. He prayed to any god, or even to fate. He believed in none of them, but he prayed harder than he ever had, harder than the most religious of men.
As long as Draco survived…
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Author's Notes: This was an idea that came to me after reading a fic about Draco. Don't get the wrong impression: I despise Lucius Malfoy. He is a murderer and a racist. But I don't like it when a fic writes him OOC. Because, horrible though he may be, he does have one mentioned redeeming feature. His love for his family is the most important thing to him, when it comes to the crunch. So, by all means write him as the bad guy. He IS a bad guy. But don't make him try and kill Draco or something, because I honestly don't believe he'd do that.
Ok, rant over. I also just thought it would be interesting to write. The title comes from the fact that Lucius is an enemy in the books and evil and his name always reminded me of Lucifer (the devil). But his name actually means 'light'. And this is Lucius' redemption (to a certain extent).
Please review! It'd make me very very happy! ^_^