Title: And The Reason Is You.
Author: Katie Louise Garner.
Fandom: Harry Potter.
Pairing: None.
Rating: R.
Warnings: Violence.
Summary: During Half Blood Prince. Lucius is in Azkaban and he's beginning to have second thoughts on his actions when he gets a visitor.
Disclaimer: JKR's. Even though she kills em all :(.
Notes: Inspired very much by this picture - i287./albums/ll147/kayteelou/hp6-luciusmalfoy.jpg
And by the song The Reason by Hoobastank.
It really makes me think of Lucius and the mistakes he's made and how they must've hurt his family. The changes we see in his character in Deathly Hallows compared to in Order Of The Phoenix are very recognizable, Azkaban must've made him realise something. Enduring a year of hell is surely going to put regrets and thoughts in your mind, plus at the end of Deathly Hallows he and Narcissa are more worried about Draco than fighting for the Dark Lord, where as in Chamber Of Secrets he seems to bully his son.
I'm not sure if I like this fic or not, I admit that I rushed it a little and it certainly isn't my best work, but I like the idea. Let me know what you think :)
And The Reason Is You.
When I awoke my nostrils were instantly filled with a rank smell that I'd become horrifyingly accustomed to, it smelt of corpses, of death. It smelt how the whole building felt; gloomy and dismal. I kept still with my eyes closed for a few seconds, my nails pressing into my palms, and I allowed myself the hope that when I opened my eyes I would be sunk into the soft mattress of my bed, breathing in the heavenly scent of my wife's flesh with the sun warming my face. I knew of course that any such hope was an impossibility, still I didn't let that put a stopper on my desperate wishes whenever I awoke. It was mid-afternoon and yet, in the small room I was confined to, it still felt like midnight. No inch of sunlight escaped through the gunk dripping walls, and everything in my sight was made of damp, grey stone. The building itself was depressing and dreary and then there was the added presence of the dementors. Some nights I'd feel them as they passed by the door of my cell. My only comfort was to pull my knees to my body and screw my eyes shut tight, lately, to my great dismay, that was my one salvation.
Chains bound one of my wrists to the wall and, after two months, the flesh surrounding the unforgiving, metal cuff had completely worn away leaving just raw skin which bled and itched. I was given just enough chain to be able to reach the toilet, the hole where someone would come once a day and post foul smelling sandwiches and my bed; rather a raised platform of stone with one single pillow. The days were an endless blur of boredom and fear, each smudging into the next, and no matter how hard I tried I could not escape the hell that I had been condemned to, not only in that grim place but in my mind. I was broken. I wasn't allowed to speak to my Narcissa in the fear of devising a plan to free myself or the other death eaters in Azkaban. I wasn't even able to speak to Draco.
My Dragon; I missed him dearly. I longed more than anything to be back home and to take back all the wrong and unfortunate things I'd been made to do. To be able to tell my family how much I loved them, to apologize for my callous behavior before it was too late. The return of the Dark Lord had filled me with that dreaded mix of fear and excitement, I was completely terrified but the hope that he was back and that he would finally fulfill his vow from sixteen years previous made my whole body stir. I put the Dark Lord above everything; above myself, my family, my work. Whether I did that because of fear or loyalty was unbeknown to me even whilst sitting in that dank cell. I knew that, should I eventually return from Azkaban, I wouldn't receive a pleasant welcoming from the Dark Lord. I knew all to well how he punished the mistakes of his followers. Loosing the prophecy and winding up in Azkaban wasn't something he would be grateful for. I would be lucky if I was given anything less than death.
I feared for my life, I couldn't pretend that I didn't. But more than anything I feared for my family's safety. Not being able to speak to them was torture, I would much rather have endured the kiss of a dementer. I could not be sure of their safety, I couldn't even confirm that they were alive.
The thick metal door creaked open effortlessly and I peered up through dirty locks of blonde that hung messily over my face. A pale, slip of a wizard crept in though the door. I thought, momentarily, of overpowering the man and trying to escape, but I considered the punishment if was to be caught, it would be the dementor's kiss for certain and then I could never see my family again, and I promptly obliterated the thought from my mind. He was tall, yet impossibly thin, with random tufts of lank, brown hair dotted about on his skull. He rather beared the resemblance of dementor himself. A lot of the wizards that visited my in my cell were quiet and odd looking, this one was no different, his eyes seemed to be on the verge of popping out of his skull. He looked at me with an absent minded stare and quickly spelled me clean. I felt a tingle as the dirt and grease that clung to hair was stripped off and the clammy feeling that I'd felt left and was replaced with a refreshing one. He peered around the room to check that everything was intact, and then turned to leave. I watched his bony back make it's way towards the door, leaving me to this cold room for another week before I came into contact with anyone else. I felt, quite suddenly, a pang of despair.
"Wait!" I hopelessly reached out my unchained hand as far as I could. He stopped and began to turn, torturously slowly, to glare at me with those great, evil looking eyes. I lowered my hand and gaped at him wide eyed, desperate to receive just an ounce of affection. He didn't say a word, just continued to stare, his eyes enough to burn a hole in the wall behind me. I lowered my lids and absently scanned the damp stone floor, searching for something I could say, just for a chance of freedom.
"... my family?" I mumbled, feeling the unpleasant atmosphere that hung in the air and beginning to regret calling him back at all. He frowned, drawing new wrinkles around his eyes, and craned his head towards me as though he hadn't heard me. I hesitated, avoiding his gaze as much as possible.
"...my family..." I repeated, even lower this time. Without an ounce of warning the mans shoe met my groin. I doubled over and fell to my knees as pain and nausea made it's way across my body. The tears that had threatened to spill for the past months overflowed and ran down my face. My head burned suddenly as I felt the man's weight on my skull. He held me to the sticky floor with his boot, his eyes searing down and his mouth twisted into a cruel smirk.
"How dare you!? You don't deserve to know about your family death eater!" There was a dreaded sound of rustling in his cloak. I bit my lip hard, drawing blood as I awaited what I knew was to come.
"Crucio!" Everything went black, my vision faded completely but my body shook with blistering pain. I'd expected it, but still nothing could prepare me for the unbearable agony the cruciatus curse brought. Every inch of me felt like it was being ripped apart, I tried uselessly to free myself from under the man's shoe, clawing at the floor, my nails tearing away. The curse hit me again and again until I felt that I my heart would stop. Salty tears stained my face and ran into my open mouth and I screamed for him to stop. My head was heavy, on the verge of exploding so it seemed. No inch of my skin didn't burn, no bone didn't feel like it was breaking. My thoughts were barely coherent, but my mind crept back to the one same things; I had to stay alive. For Dragon and Narcissa.
I rocked on the floor momentarily when the curses stopped and once again tried to make a bid for freedom. To my suprise I managed to scrambled free from under the man's weight and, with great effort, I pulled myself over to the corner of the room. The man stood where he'd cursed me, a grin on his face. My hair clung to my damp face, my eyes were swollen and raw. The tips of my fingers were just flesh, most of my nails had torn of in my attempts to escape the curse. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think, at least not about anything but the pain. My whole body felt as though it had been crushed under a million trucks, yet I was still alive to feel the agonizing pain that it'd left me with.
"Well, you've learnt your lesson then?" The man laughed and took a step towards me. He gathered a mouthful of phlegm and spat it in my direction. I shuddered and lowered my head as I felt, with shame, it hit my leg. My cheeks burned with humiliation but I could barely even move a finger. My head in my knees I listened to him leave the cell and slam the door, chuckling to himself. I cowered in the corner sobbing, blood and tears mixing down my cheeks, and I tried to ignore the ache that he'd left me with, the cold, musty room that I was sat in. I couldn't escape that awful place in reality, but in my mind I was at my home many years ago with my arms around my wife, proudly watching our beautiful blonde son playing absently on the carpet.