Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine, but J.K. Rowling's.
Author's note: This fic is set approximately ten years after the epilog of DH, and will most likely contain spoilers.
Author's note II: This is a slightly re-mastered version of the original story.
Blood and Heirs
Lucius Malfoy was alone in his mansion. This state he had been in for some time and was not only caused by the house arrest. To begin with his wife had been with there with him, however that was a long time ago. His son had also stopped coming, first out of spite then out of death.
He was only seventy-two, he was supposed to be a wizard in his prime, but somehow he didn't feel like he was. His son was dead and his grandson had turned into a blood-traitor of the worst kind. Thus his blood-line was already lost. Of cause his grandson, Scorpius, might still come around. Money or lack hereof didn't feel as bad in the youth, but in time he might come to his senses.
Scorpius was the last Malfoy after all, and without any prospects of another heir, a turnaround of the boy was the only thing he could hope for.
He was getting old, his hair was graying and he had become weak. Of cause, it had been less than a year since he had last killed someone, which should count for something, proving, at least to himself that he wasn't getting old. Of cause that someone had only been a house-elf and an extremely old house-elf at that.
Lucius felt the dementors guarding the house, they were close tonight. At least they were not allowed into the house. The feeling of the approaching dementors was followed by a knock on the door. Followed by more knocks, desperate knocks.
He should probably not open, it was out of schedule, the aurors bringing the food for the week had been there earlier that day.
Outside it was dark, two figures in rags stood there in the rain. He could see the one who had knocked, a pure look of desperation. It was his grandson, the traitor. Lucius sank hard. He hadn't seen the boy for months, years perhaps, Lucius couldn't really recall.
The other figure behind the boy was wearing a cloak, which covered her head, the boy's wife no doubt.
`Yes?´ Lucius asked sweetly, almost having lost his patience before anything was spoken.
`Let us in, please, the dementors are coming.´ The boy who had once been his grandson begged.
`I know!´ Lucius said flatly, not moving. He was not going to let anybody like this into his home.
`Grandfather, please...´ The boy begged, holding the woman by the arm. He looked very ill and they were both soaked.
`Go back to the blood-traitors, Scorpius.´ He snapped, `You are no longer welcome.´ The dementors were advancing. Lucius could feel the cold of their breath and he had no intentions of letting those foul creatures into his mansion.
`Please...´ Lucius heard a voice say as he was closing the door. It was a woman's voice, the Weasley, he never did seem to catch her name. If he wasn't going to listen to his own blood, then certainly not someone like her.
But then he realized the woman wasn't pleading with him, but with his grandson. In confusion he opened the door again, only to see Scorpius lying as dead in front of the door.
The woman was laying on top of him, she looked like a bundle of wet clothes. The dementors were coming, hundreds of them, he shuddered, he couldn't believe he was doing this.
`Expecto Patronum.´ He yelled, a soft white peacock jumped from his wand. The dementors appeared to be moving away.
He took a hard grip of the woman.
`Move away.´ He ordered harshly, as if she was a house-elf. Lucius could barely recognize his grandson anymore. The boy was wet and pale. Even in the poorly lit entrance, the red blood from his chest had a powerful glow. Only the blond hair gave away that this was Scorpius Malfoy, the last heir of the Malfoys.
Lucius carefully levitated the boy into the hall, ignoring the woman, who was whining and sobbing as a madwoman. She followed, still covered in her oversized robes and scarfs, which perhaps had been supposed to keep her hair from the rain, it wasn't doing a very good job.
The woman was holding Scorpius, as Lucius examined him. The boy was cold, and most likely dead. Scorpius' gray eyes was staring forever at the ceiling.
His grandson had died at the Malfoy manor, or outside. He sat down, his knuckles going white, damn.
`I--is he?´ The woman sobbed, looking at him. Lucius had almost forgotten her. He ignored her, but she knew, he could hear it on her sobbing.
If he had had a house-elf left, he would have had them taking care of this. But he hadn't. Stunned he pulled himself up, his hair was disentangled. The woman looked at him, tears and paleness filled her face. He stood there for some time, damn.
Finally, he gained some self-control, he could no longer bare to listen to this wrenched woman. She had not lost what he had lost, she should not be crying, not yet anyway.
`I will take Scorpius to the dining-room.´ He said as if he was talking to a child. She nodded, and tried to get up as well.
It was then he could see her figure, she was bulging and clumsy. The many layers of robes and scarfs could not hide her pregnancy, he frowned. He was stunned only for a second, but she had already noticed.
Then he levitated Scorpius onto the great table in the dining room. He never used it anymore so it was dusty. The decay of the place was evident, even more so tonight.
The woman was still clutching her husband, and when he let his grandson sink on the table, she was holding his chest.
`He is dead.´ Lucius said, with as much hardness he could, which was surprisingly difficult. She gasped in between her sobs.
`You can stay here for the night, but I expect you to be gone in the morning.´ He said, but she did not hear him. He turned around and left for the cosy room he had been reading in,just moments before. Behind he could hear her. She was crying.
He sat down by the fireplace in his study again. The blood was still one his hands, it was dirty blood. For a moment he buried his face in those hands. One should not live to see both a son and a grandson die, even if it wasn't a very Slytherin thing to feel like. But then again it had been a long time ago he had been in Slytherin.
Perhaps he had become weak after all. He smelled the blood from his hands, blood was still blood, even though it had become dirty. How very fitting.