Abraxas gazed upon his son's furious face with indifference.
Lucius' youthful countenance did nothing to diminish the fact that his resemblance to his father was minimal at best. Lucius' fair features shone with a beauty that was almost pretty as a woman's, while Abraxas' features looked as if they were hewn from stone. Where Lucius' fair blonde hair spilled past his shoulders, his father's was inky, kept in a tight braid that fell to the middle of his back.
They both knew that it was a great source of discomfort and shame for Abraxas, though they were the only ones who knew of the source. Although guests knew better than to remark upon the differences, those who were less prudent often tried to ascertain the truth using carefully placed insults.
They had all failed, of course.
The Malfoy family was proud to a fault, and no one would ever determine the truth from either of them. That Abraxas had a liaison with a maiden other than his now deceased wife, and that she had brought more Veela heritage to the bloodline was a well-kept family secret.
That the heir to the Malfoy legacy was a bastard had sewn a deep bitterness between father and son, one that would most likely never be repaired. As a young child, Lucius had believed the frail and beautiful Lady Malfoy to be his mother, and the Lady had loved him as her own.
Lucius should never have learned of his true status and heritage.
But he had.
And years later, just before his seventh and final year at Hogwarts, it had brought them here. One furious and the other indifferent, both of them knowing that Abraxas' will and wishes would win out in the end, as they always did.
The anticipated effect of this particular order, however, would not go as planned.
This time, Lucius would fight.
It was his future on the line, and he would fight for it.