Author: Jadwiga
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe belongs to J.K. Rowling, only the plot and original characters belong to me. No money is being made, or intends to be obtained through the writing of this fiction.
Rating: T(Teen)
Genre: Gen and deathfic.
Beta: Nemesis (Thank you for your hard work!)
Warnings: Character death! No specific spoilers though I've taken an AU ending for OotP as no Death Eaters were captured. REDEMPTION story, via use of religion – if this is not to your taste then hit the back button now! Flames will be ignored.
NOW beta-read!
Feedback: The ambrosia of authors!
Archive: Only Master and Servant, and The Ruby Quill. Elsewhere please ask first.
Note: I have wanted to write this story since Christmas 2004 so now that I have finally had the time to sit down and 'immortalise' my story I am delighted!
Summary: Standing on the brink between life and death a Death Eater remembers. Is it too late? Or can salvation be obtained?
Salvation
1996, Christmas Eve, England
A man stands upon a desolate field as the light fades from the veiled heavens, the first stars hidden.
The man stood knee deep in snow, flurries of it dancing around him, hindering his vision. Yet he strained in an attempt to see … what?
He shivered from the stabbing cold that swept over the fields, numb from the hours spent in this storm swept chaos, yet, even as he staggered through the ivory whirlwind that encompassed his slender frame, the wind died just as suddenly as it had leapt into existence.
The snowstorm lifted from the land, leaving the countryside decked in white stain. Grey-black clouds pulled back showing a rust coloured horizon, the first stars already pale gleams in a dark blue sky.
Glistening snowflakes settled on his silver hair, showing off their intricate pattern in the dying rays of the Sun.
A bitter smile graced his fine features for now that the veil of white was whisked away, he could at last discern what he had been struggling to see only moments ago.
When was the last time he had seen this building? A Christmas years ago. It felt as if a century had passed since that fateful day when he had first set eyes on this small, quaint church.
The man closed his eyes, pain marring his brow, the bitter chill eating its cruel way through him.
How had matters come to this? How had he come to this place? Now, when all things were lost?
0-0-0-0
1964, Christmas Eve, England
A boy clutched the hand of his grandfather as they fought through the mounds of snow that had formed overnight from a snowstorm that had blasted through the country.
Now, far from home, the two had been caught unawares in a second fall of snow from a sky that had suddenly turned leaden with ominous clouds, and which still looked ready to spit more of their foul broth aboard.
The adult panted heavily as he struggled onwards with his grandson clinging onto him for dear life. Halting to gain breath, he hissed in annoyance, cold blue eyes narrowing in displeasure as he realised that his grandson would not last for much longer in this barren world of snow and ice.
He was also exhausted, too weary to even attempt normal Apparition, let alone Side-Along-Apparition with his precious grandson. They urgently needed shelter and warmth, not to mention food. Unfortunately, there were no Wizarding places anywhere near, so they would have to seek shelter from Muggles – the mere thought of which brought bile to the throat of the distinguished aristocrat, but the desperate couldn't afford to be picky.
He cast his gaze about in the hopes of catching sight of shelter, and glimpsed on the horizon an ancient church rearing against the bleak winter sky. Its posture challenged the elements that it had withstood for centuries and still did. Seeing no better option, Aubrey Malfoy glanced down at his grandson.
"Lucius!" he snapped, in an attempt to arrest the boy's attention.
Grey eyes dull with exhaustion and fear peered up at him. Waving his arm toward the church, Aubrey spoke in loud tones in the hope of shocking his grandson into a more wakeful condition, for he was frightened by the boy's languid response.
"Hold on Lucius, we shall be in the warmth soon, with nice hot food. Sounds lovely doesn't it grandson?"
A thin smile met this encouragement causing Aubrey's heart to chill even more. Swallowing hard, he scooped his grandson up into his strong arms and headed for the Muggle abode.
Body aquiver with exhaustion and cold, Lucius Malfoy buried his aching head against the broad shoulders of his grandfather, desperately seeking heat, vaunted Malfoy demeanour forgotten.
It was only when they had entered the church that they heard the singing, and even the tired boy raised his head to listen in awe as the enchanting words and music flowed over them.
The angel Gabriel from heaven came,
His wings as drifted snow, his eyes as flame;
'All hail' said he, 'thou lowly maiden Mary,Most highly favoured lady.' Gloria!
Their silent contemplation of the carol was interrupted by a distressed priest, who had caught sight of them from where he had been preparing material at the entrance to the church.
He now exclaimed upon reaching them: "Oh you poor souls! Do please come in. Follow me to the main building – we must get that poor boy into some warm garments." Looking directly into Aubrey's eyes he asked: "Is he your son sir?"
Aubrey considered refusing to answer the Muggle – priest or not – but his trembling grandson changed his mind. Unlike what Malfoys liked others to believe he truly loved his grandson and would see no harm come to him.
So he answered the brown haired priest. "No, he is my grandson Lucius Malfoy. I am Aubrey Malfoy. You are…?"
"Jonathon, Father Jonathon," replied the Holy man with a friendly smile and flashing brown eyes. "Whatever happened to you two? It is a terrible night to be out and about."
Following the priest down a side aisle Aubrey expounded their tale. "We were walking when suddenly the heavens opened up and poured down a torrent of sleet quite blinding us. Disoriented, we became lost in the whirling mass and sought temporary shelter in a copse, but when it stopped I still was unsure where we were so we walked some more to try and regain our bearings.
"When I caught sight of your church I decided we better seek shelter here as neither of us could last much longer in the dark, frozen countryside."
The priest nodded his head in sympathy. "Mother Nature has caught many a traveller unawares and this Christmas has seen a terribly cold and brutal winter."
They entered the building attached to the church and were led up one flight of stairs to a carpeted landing. The priest led them through the second door on their left where he said he would fetch warm clothes for them both and tell his housekeeper to prepare hot food and drinks.
Aubrey thanked the priest already thinking of running a bath to warm his grandson and him. But before Father Jonathon could leave he asked out of curiosity, "Who were the group of people singing at the front of the church? And why this late?"
The priest's surprise was evident. "They are our choir. They are undergoing last minute practise for the carol service which shall be held half an hour preceding Midnight Mass, during which we celebrate the birth of Our Lord."
Aubrey nodded, smiling. He knew of the Man the priest spoke of: Jesus of Nazareth, whom some claimed was the Son of God.
Seeing that there were no more questions, Father Jonathon left to fulfil his promises.
It was much later, when the stars of Heaven shone brightly in a clear sky bereft of snow clouds and Aubrey Malfoy was deeply asleep, that little Lucius Malfoy crept silently out of his bed.
Down the stairs he went, clad only in thick pyjamas as the priest had called them, and fluffy socks. Into the sacristy he slipped, (the room where the priest prepared for services and Mass), and right up to the entranceway leading into the church he went, pressing himself tightly against the wall and cautiously peering around the lip into the candlelit building.
Many people were gathered in the high ceiling place, some still wearing their coats. All clutched paper booklets in their hands, singing either softly or loudly.
In the shadows of the sacristy little Lucius Malfoy listened to the beautiful carol that had captured his heart and soul.
The angel Gabriel from heaven came,
His wings as drifted snow, his eyes as flame;
---- Then gently Mary meekly bowed her head,
"To me be as it pleaseth God," she said. ----
---Of her, Emmanuel, the Christ was born
In Bethlehem, all on a Christmas morn, ---
0-0-0-0
1996, 23rd December
Lucius Malfoy ran for his life, breath hitching in his throat, lungs begging for oxygen. Yet he ignored his body's demands and simply ran.
The hunt was on and all he could do was fling himself onwards, ever beyond the reach of those who hunted him with a bloodlust greater than any bloodhound alive or that had ever lived.
And the funny thing? His enemies were not only the thrice-damned Aurors but the Death Eaters as well! His 'family'.
Lucius choked on that thought, the irony of his situation not lost on him. To run from those he had led and sported with – heck, killed with – was incredulous to the extreme.
Buildings flashed by him, branches tearing at his robe when he practically flew through a long abandoned park overgrown with trees. Finally, lungs no longer able to draw in more breath into an burning chest he stumbled to a halt and fell to his knees, legs too weak to support him any further.
Wheezing and inhaling in short wretched gasps Lucius slowly realised through the red haze that he had fallen beside a half frozen pond whose still dark waters looked oily in the poor light. Weeping willows dripped their naked tendrils into the murky depths, some of their fingers just caressing the surface.
Then he saw something that made him stop breathing in desperate hope. Cocking his ears he couldn't hear the sound of pursuit so Lucius crawled closer, hardly daring to believe what he had glimpsed.
Lucius smiled in tired triumph. He had indeed espied a tunnel, conveniently hidden by the trunks and long drooping branches of the willow trees and covered in a fine blanket of surprisingly bright green moss and frost.
The tunnel was visible only when on knee-level and could be hidden some more with strategically arranged undergrowth so the white haired aristocrat crawled into the narrow tube.
As he curled up like a dead thing, Lucius remembered why both factions were hounding him to death's door.
0-0-0-0
Earlier that Evening
The Death Eaters swarmed up the stairs, a hideous tide of black that spread to infect every nook and cranny of the Muggle block of flats.
Screams filled the air as Lucius, on the tip of the foaming wave of obsidian, broke down the door to a Muggle flat with a simply placed spell. Like a cat scenting the air for its victim's fear, the slender man advanced through a shabby hallway, past a kitchen that had seen better days, and through a dull grey living area into a bedroom lit by one candle, where a Muggle woman sat huddled against the wall muttering something.
Smiling cruelly, Lucius raised his wand saying in a drawling voice: "What do we have here? A mad woman mumbling inanities under her breath?"
Grinning at his mocking words he hissed, "Lumos!", and a bright cold light illuminated the bedroom.
It revealed a middle-aged woman with lank red hair kneeling by the wall, running a set of beads through her dry fingers. A bead necklace to be precise, thought Lucius when he had stepped closer and had a better view.
A gold chain also hung around her neck but Lucius was uninterested in gold or jewels at present. His only consideration was to fulfil his Master's task to the best of capability – and Lucius' ability was very high.
The woman hadn't even looked up when he had used magic to bring light to this forsaken place, which infuriated Lucius a great deal.
"Look at me when I talk to you, you filthy piece of meat."
Still the woman ignored him, causing rage to blossom in his chest – a hot, coiling and deadly fury swamping his being.
Snarling in contempt, the blond pointed his wand at the kneeling figure saying softly, "If you won't listen to reason then I shall have to use other means to gain your attention. Crucio!"
A beam of red light raced towards the woman engulfing her in its glow. The woman screamed horribly, twitching as arcs of scarlet leaped about her body. Yet still she did not look at Lucius or even beg for mercy.
Grey eyes narrowed and Lucius repeated the spell with more vigour, this time causing the woman to bang herself painfully against the wall, writhing until blood began to seep from her ears and nose.
Chuckling, Lucius stepped closer so that his feet were by the thrashing woman. He broke contact with his wand and the woman lay silent. Crouching, Lucius slid two fingers under the woman's chin and forced her to look into his eyes.
Defiance still lurked in the glassy blue orbs as she fought for breath. Bloodied lips moved forming a whisper: "I forgive you. May God have mercy on your soul."
Annoyed, Lucius lowered his gaze to examine the rest of her body and stopped breathing as his eyes landed on the gold chain once more. But this time he saw what precious treasure the chain held – a gold locket, now opened and displaying an icon.
An icon he had seen on the wall of a bedroom many years ago, in a church that he had sheltered in with his grandfather.
The icon displayed a picture of an angel with wings as pure and white as recently fallen snow, long flowing hair and eyes the colour of fire.
It was a miniature image of Gabriel.
It was such a profound moment that Lucius was a frozen tableau of memory. He remembered the church, the song that had called to his heart and soul, locking both away in the dark fathoms of his being.
Now the carol returned to haunt him with it high notes, summoning his bound heart and soul to daylight, laden as they were with the evils he had committed since then.
Trembling, Lucius felt something intricate shifting inside as for the first time in his life he saw everything he had done stripped of all the excuses and reasons he used to justify his actions.
Every single 'glorious' deed he had done to further his own ends; to fulfil his beliefs of vengeance, and of a world ordered as it should with pure-bloods on top and Muggles and Muggle-borns little better than slaves; the atrocities committed so as succeed in his quest for greatness, power and wealth; were seen for what they were: empty and cold and ultimately foolish.
Dazed, Lucius fell back, staring numbly at his shaking victim. Ere he was truly coherent of his actions he had pointed his wand one more time at the Muggle woman, but this time to heal the massive injuries received from the torture metered out by him.
Stunned blue orbs peered up at him causing him to finally awaken from the immobilising vice-grip that had seized control of his facilities.
Forcing his tongue to work he spoke harshly.
"Get out. Run for your life. GO!" he snapped when the woman hesitated. She must have glimpsed something in his face for she nodded and stumbled to her feet making to leave, but was prevented by a tight grip on her arm.
"Give me the locket," rasped Lucius, grey eyes wild. She didn't even pause and took the gold chain from her neck and hung it about his. "Go in Christ's name," she said, before smiling and running to the living room window, from where she managed to climb out onto the fire escape.
However, at that moment the Death Eaters burst into her flat led by Bellatrix Lestrange who wished to ask for further directions from Lucius. They all halted when they saw the Muggle escaping and Lucius standing there, permitting her to do so without any indication of giving chase.
Lucius met their incredulous stares and knew that they saw the truth in that instant. Even as he raised his wand to defend himself cries resounded outside.
The Aurors had come.
Taking advantage of the Death Eaters momentary distraction Lucius turned and fled down the fire escape, not even attempting Apparition as he realised that an Anti-Apparition spell would have been the first thing the Auror's would have cast upon reaching the scene.
And so he had run into the freezing embrace of the night with the Aurors on his heels and the yells of the Death Eaters vibrating in his eardrums.
0-0-0-0
Shaking off the dregs of recollection Lucius endeavoured to sleep. He badly needed rest ere he was forced to run once more.
0-0-0-0
24th December, Christmas Eve, late afternoon
It was snowing again. Big fat flakes fell from a leaden sky, drifting down aimlessly onto passer-bys and coating the environment in an ivory cloak.
Lucius paused in his flight from his pursuers to slump against a building. He blinked, trying to rid his eyelashes of snow, his hands otherwise engaged. One held his wand and the other … well the other held his side.
The side that bled copious ruby droplets, staining his fingers and the pristine snow. Lucius had managed to staunch the blood flow from the wound he had received from an Auror, but he did not have the strength or time to stop to heal it with magic.
Though, if Lucius were truthful with himself, it wouldn't make much difference if he did close the wound. He was suffering from internal bleeding that would only grow worse as time lengthened – and only magic from someone who knew what they were doing and who was strong could grant him a chance of life.
He was dying.
However, at least his family would have already put their emergency plan into action and Draco and Narcissa would long ago have disappeared. His family was safe and that was all that mattered.
0-0-0-0
24th December, Christmas Eve, night
Under a starry dome on a snow swept field …
The man opened his eyes as the succession of memories faded.
Ah, yes, now he remembered.
He had gone where those who followed could not go.
He had gone to the only place that had ever meant sanctuary to him.
Bowing his head Lucius Malfoy sighed, breath a grey vapour in the icy air. It was becoming increasingly hard to think within this frozen environment; the cold helping to sap strength already weakened via blood loss. But the church would grant him warmth and safety for a while – a place to spend his last moments alive and in possession of most of his faculties, somewhere where he could confide the last of his memories – his sins – to a sympathetic soul.
Will he be there? wondered Lucius as he stumbled onwards through the frozen landscape, looking as though it had been frosted over with icing sugar. The priest my grandfather and I met?
The bitter weather was aided in its task of ebbing his strength and resistance away by the iciness that seemed to formed inside him, (perpetrating from the agonising wound), which drove icicles of agony deep into his gut.
Years of conditioning. Years of lies. And now? When all hope seems to have perished? I head towards a place of Muggle worship seeking redemption … mercy for what I've done. Do I even deserve it?
Lucius shuddered as he slipped and slid over the icy fields now only yards away from his destination.
How do I explain my life to the priest without him thinking I'm mad – or worse, lying?
Smooth wood met under his fingertips; he had reached the doors to the ancient church. Wearily Lucius managed to push one of them open and practically fell inside. Immediately warmth swamped him, causing his body to cramp from the sudden heat.
He must have cried out in pain because footsteps echoed across the worn stone and then hands were holding him, helping him to rise.
A shocked gasp was torn from the throat of the helper when their eyes locked.
"Aubrey?" the voice was unsure, doubt clouding the older man's speech.
Lucius smiled weakly, he recognised the voice and the face of the man who supported him even though the features were creased by age.
"No," he rasped, voice gravely from long torment of mind and body. "I'm Lucius, his grandson."
A light went on in the deep pools of brown. "Yes," murmured the man faintly, as he recollected his visitors. "His eyes were blue. Yours are grey – almost silver."
Lucius nodded before slumping even more against the priest who had once before saved his grandfather and him from death in the frozen wild.
Alarmed, the priest supported him to a nearby bench and yelped when he saw the blood coating his palm. "You are grievously hurt!" he cried, "I shall summon a doctor at once."
Lucius stopped him with fingers on his arm. Staring up into concerned brown eyes he whispered, "It is too late for that Father – that is what some Catholic priests are called if I remember? – yes? Good. Nothing can save me now. I'm bleeding internally and even closing the aching gap in my side is nothing more than delaying the inevitable. Not even magic could reverse the effects – it has been too long."
The priest frowned in disapproval. "Magic?" Yet within the disapproving tones was a reserve, a wariness that set bells ringing in Lucius' head.
"Yes Father, magic," said Lucius hoarsely. "Look."
Drawing his wand Lucius stood on weaving feet and moved down the centre aisle with the aid of the anxious priest. He did not stop until he was before the altar. Panting, he concentrated then whispered a word.
Beautiful flowers streamed from his wand, adorning the altar with their beauty. Next, Lucius directed his wand to where unlit candles rested in the alcove where the choir would sit and stand to sing joyful hymns of praise, marking the birth of their God in human form.
Within a second they blazed with living fire as wicks ignited, painting the church and the two men in orange-gold light.
Near collapse Lucius hung onto the astonished priest who wrapped powerful arms around his fragile body.
"You do not look as surprised or disbelieving as I thought you would be Father. Nor are you screaming I'm a demon."
The priest bowed his head, whispering into his ear: "Your grandfather did strange things while you were here: church candles lit quicker than a blink of an eye when he thought I wasn't looking, a wall repaired and the symbol depicting our Lord's crucifixion cleaned so it appeared as new… Not to mention clothes that were old fashioned by then let alone now.
"Yet, these oddities were nothing compared to seeing a man and boy vanish on the spot."
Lucius breathed harshly as his slender frame was lowered onto a convenient bench, he did not wish to leave the actual church for a warmer and more comfortable bed, as he desired to be close to where the choir would sing later that night and where he could see the statue of the one they called Mary.
He knew the woman must be the 'most highly favoured lady' spoken of in the carol because of a question he had asked years ago and what he had studied since then, learning about his enemies.
"You are observant Father."
The old man smiled. "Yes, it is not only my vocation, but who I am, to pay attention to my surroundings, especially to two stricken individuals who sought sanctuary from the House of my Lord so many years ago."
Lucius smiled too, but his was dull with fatigue. "Will you listen to my confession Father? I think you and I know I am dying, and I would reveal to you what my grandfather was, who I am and what I've done."
Sad eyes gazed down at him, full of pity and tenderness. "Of course child, I shall believe as long as you promise not to lie."
"Lie? Now? How foolish that would be, though a fitting continuation in a line of lies I have committed throughout my life. No I shan't lie, not now. There is no point, nor do I wish to lie. All I desire is to state my case to you Father, and to ask whether it is possible to be forgiven for all the evil done and abetted by me."
A warm hand, full of life, grasped his right. "There is forgiveness for those who seek it and are truly sorry for their sins."
"Good," breathed Lucius, eyelids fluttering.
So, in-between gulps of air while the priest shifted sodden clothing and did his best to bind broken flesh and skin, Lucius Malfoy slowly explained about wizarding society.
At one point lids fluttered as lightening shot from the wound as cleansing liquid was applied and a cry sprang from lips that had always known supreme control. A cool hand was placed comfortingly on his forehead, and for a brief instant the repentant felt strong enough to continue divulging his family's stance throughout history right up to the present.
As his throat grew sore he at last came to his Master, becoming slightly incoherent at this point.
"When I discovered that Tom was a half-blood, one of those he professed to be substandard, subhuman – I believe a section of your kind, the Nazis, would have called half-bloods and Muggle-borns 'Untermenschen'."
"You know a lot about us," remarked the priest, his face reflecting the surprise he felt.
Lucius laughed faintly. " 'Know your enemy' was my father's advice and it served me well. But I was saying that when I learned the truth about my Lord I did not care. I still don't. Why should I? He was my Lord, my Master. He was the one who was going to make things better - make things the way they used to be before the dark times, before the Muggles and Muggle-borns gained power within Wizarding society through interbreeding.
"He was the most powerful and charismatic man I had have ever met. In my mind he symbolised power, strength, cunning and intelligence – an undeniable attraction, as he just seemed to drip magnetism. He also inspired a healthy dose of fear in me. All these things were an intoxicating mixture, and an irresistible draw to a man like me.
"Oh, I was young and idealistic, not to mention foolish. But most of all, I was full of the arrogance of my station and the injustice that I felt was inflicted upon us pure-bloods."
"Was I loyal to him? To my Master? Perhaps – as loyal as a Malfoy could be, I suppose. However, in the end I was loyal only to myself, devout only to my family – and look where it has got me."
A cough issued from paling lips. "When he 'died', when Tom disappeared, I did not search for him concerned as I was for my own neck and for my lovely young son and wife. When he returned I also returned to him, and even though I wasn't his most faithful disciple I believe – no, I know – that we understood each other better than anyone else.
"He trusted me to lead his operations for he knew that I would achieve what he desired, without letting my thirst for vengeance or anger to cloud my mind and unman my reason."
The silver haired man twisted. His cough was raspy and flecked with blood as he continued to bare his soul.
"I still remember our very first meeting …"
0-0-0-0
Lucius relives his fateful encounter with Tom Riddle, then known as Voldemort
It was in the summer of the following year after I left Hogwarts – 1974. I had been working for a year by then in the Ministry of Magic, (which is run by the Minister for Magic as you remember), and was partaking in a ball hosted by my father, Abraxas Malfoy.
A dance number had just finished and I was bidding my partner farewell when I turned and saw him for the first time.
He stood in the shadowy corners of the ballroom, dressed in forest green robes adorned by a dark mantle, conversing in quiet tones with my father.
I was immediately drawn to him though I had no idea why. Confusion swamped me momentarily but at that moment he raised his eyes to mine.
Claret met silver-grey and I was lost.
In those slitted orbs I saw a profound intelligence, cold and remote, mixed with a danger I couldn't name. It thrilled me, for I also saw promise: for greatness, for wealth, for power.
Our intense gaze was disturbed a trifle when he smiled, and the smile was mocking in part, and amused in part. In those cruel curves, I envisioned the promise for vengeance and much more.
Promises made by a demon.
He broke our locked stares by crooking his long fingers at me. Entranced and deeply excited by this demon in human guise I drifted across the hall and came to stand before him. Raising my chin a little I stared into his unblinking, snake like eyes, and knew that if I continued, if I spoke, this demon might just consume what was left of my soul.
But I didn't care – the brashness of youth and the arrogance of my family were hot in my veins. My manhood cried out to me that adventure and greatness lay in front of me if I would only grasp it by the hand! After all, to the brave go the spoils.
So I stared arrogantly at this grinning devil whose features appeared to be blurring and spoke: "My name is Lucius," –I didn't bother with my surname, my closeness in looks to my father would inform him who I was– "You are?"
And the demon smiled, his laugh high and cold as he clasped my outstretched hand in a freezing, yet strong grip and said: "My name is Voldemort."
I cocked my head and somehow understood that this wasn't his real name, his birth name, but it bothered me not. I would learn his right name eventually. As if he could read my thoughts, (and later I would discover he had the power to pick people's minds under the right circumstances), he laughed again, whispering in sibilant tones, "Cocky aren't you, Lucius? But then, you are Malfoy."
I smiled. My first since noticing his intoxicating presence, "Does that displease you?"
He raised an eyebrow and looked into my eyes with searching beams the colour of hell fire. "Not under the right circumstances, but Lucius ... why should you care if it displeases me?"
I grinned and responded: "Because you are a dangerous man, Voldemort, oh so dangerous. But not simply due to that, but because you radiate promise – the promise of power, greatness and ... vengeance." I stared into orbs colder than anything I'd experienced before and knew a true shred of fear and whispered, almost unconsciously: "And something else."
"Something else?" The gaze grew even colder if possible and as sharp as the teeth of a werewolf.
"Yes, though I do not know what. You also possess intelligence, intelligence rarely seen in individuals. In short, you hold much promise."
He smiled, my demon, and leaned closer, breath a peculiar sensation on my ear and neck. "And what do you think I mean by such promise?"
I breathed back to him, my voice barely under my control as excitement pounded in my veins like the most potent elixir, "You tell me, but I am here to serve if the conditions are right."
He withdrew; amusement on his peculiar features. "Serve? Oh my slippery acquaintance. When does a Malfoy serve?"
I grinned impishly – impishly, I tell you! – I, a stoic Malfoy, raised to show little to no emotion in public, disciplined to regulate my bearing, smiled impishly! See what this man did to me?
My response to him was teasing though serious as certainty grew in my breast as our acquaintance deepened. "When the right man is found?"
"But can a Malfoy serve faithfully?" he retorted.
I drew back. "What do you think?"
"I think I should keep a close eye on you. I also think we are beginning to understand each other."
He glanced at my father who had been watching our exchange with growing concern tinted by pride. "We require a room." His tone left no space for argument.
I saw the worry etched in my father's face and all I could do was squeeze his arm as I walked past. Within the commandeered room Voldemort wove his spell of enchantment and by the end of our conversation I was eager to reap vengeance on the Muggles and Muggle-borns who dared pollute our society, and to reclaim our echelons in society. By 'our' I mean 'pure-blood'.
By the time I left that room I had sworn myself to the demon that wore human guise, and I did it with a glad heart, thinking of my own gain amongst other sweet assurances.
I wonder what he thinks of me now?
0-0-0-0
Lucius convulsed, coughing violently, the noise brittle in his chest. A cup of water was put to his lips and the dying man drank a little to soothe the rasping desert that seemed to be his throat and lungs. Leaning back once more, head cushioned by a pillow fetched by his terribly worried companion, Lucius swallowed with difficulty, saying:
"How easily the young forget the lesson of youth. I did not remember the church I visited with my Grandfather until I saw the chain hanging from the woman's neck – the woman whom I spared when the image of the angel stirred the depths of memory, shaking the cobwebs off long untouched memories. I ... remembered―"
Breathing laboured, Lucius somehow succeeded in regaling to the amazed priest what had been the turning point in his life.
"So you see," he finished, voice barely louder than the faintest summer breeze, "this is how I have come to be here. All my life has been veiled in darkness until the beam of light that brought the Sun into my world – and it took a picture, an icon of an angel with flames for eyes, to recall the days I spent under this roof thirty-two years ago and to comprehend how misguided I have been.
"I am so sorry for what I've done and what I failed to do." Lucius rolled his head to one side, all movement now difficult beyond belief. It was as if he had lead inside his skull. Staring at the priest through cloudy grey orbs he grated, "Is there forgiveness and mercy for one who has shown none?"
A cool hand touched his cheek, fingers brushing his temple. A cup was again placed against his lips, but this time tasting of a bitter wine that was somehow more luxurious and filling than the richest wine he had ever drunk.
A soft yet strong voice answered his pleading. "There is forgiveness for those who truly repent as you have done and believe."
"Believe?" asked Lucius sluggishly. "Believe in what?"
"You would not be here if you didn't believe. If something did not speak to you within these hallowed walls."
"Hmmmm," was all the agreement Lucius could give.
Words were being said over him, yet they sounded muffled as if coming from a great distance. Above, around and through them, another voice pieced the cloudy regions of his mind where pain was rapidly becoming a distant memory.
Yet Lucius still discerned the words spoken by the priest and uttered, "Thank you," even as in his failing vision he beheld a sight that made him want to laugh and cry simultaneously. It was his song come to life – and it was real, not a mirage of a broken and feverish brain. Lucius knew this was reality without a shadow of a doubt.
Struggling to lift arms heavy as tree trunks to welcome his song come into being, Lucius at last surrendered.
With a blissful and relieved sigh the repentant wizard embraced the one whose eyes burned like fire and who had been sent to fetch him.
Reverently, the priest closed the eyes of Lucius Malfoy, wondering at the smile on the fine features.
The angel Gabriel from heaven came,
His wings as drifted snow, his eyes as flame…
--- Finis ---
Author Notes
The carol/hymn extracts are from 'The angel Gabriel from heaven came'. Words: Basque Carol, trans. Sabine Baring-Gould (1834 – 1924).
'Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows' referenced for spelling of individual words.
'The Harry Potter Lexicon' referenced to check spellings of spells used in the story.