Author: AddisonRae
Rating: PG13 (language)
Genre: humor, angst
Warnings: language, snarkyness
Wordcount: 589
Summary: In answer to the Shrieking Shack's Challenge. A Day In The Life of Lucius Malfoy.
Today was absolutely the worst twelve hours I have ever had the agony of enduring. First, I am awoken by that godforsaken senile house elf, Skippy, or Zippy, or somewhat. And then, I am fed an undercooked meal of eggs and parmesan. Who in their bloody mind serves eggs and parmesan, undercooked, for breakfast? With no side dishes, might I add!
As I finish my disgustingly mediocre meal, and am ordering a bath to be run, my son waltzes into the room, and announces he has finally chosen a suitable bride. I, of course, am thrilled to hear this news, as I have only been badgering him about this same matter for two years! I ask him to please share the name of the bride he has chosen.
HERMIONE BLOODY GRANGER!
Tell me, how the hell is Hermione Bloody Granger a suitable bride for my pureblooded son? How did that mudblooded little whore worm her way into this one? I am about to let out a spiel of curses that would render my son unable to reproduce for the next twenty years, when he calmly tells me, in the utmost obnoxious manner, that he loves Miss Granger, and that he will marry her with or without my consent.
THE HELL HE WILL!
I, in return, calmly (although with a slightly menacing tone), inform my son that if he does indeed marry the mudblood, it will be without his dear fathers consent, and without his fortune. My son tells me that he has been offered a position with the Canterbury Canaries and that they have offered him a wealthy salary along with a fat signing bonus.
Leave my shithead of a son to chose the only team I can't control out-of-pocket.
What is the world coming to when the sole heir of one of the richest pureblooded families since the Cartiers decides to marry that of Hermione Bloody Fucking Granger, risking his entire fortune? There's something in the bloody water at that school, I tell you.
Speaking of that bloody school, after aforementioned discussion with son, I found myself in need of a painkiller, I felt a migraine coming. I went to see Severus and was told of another thorn in my side, Harry "The-Boy-Who-Refuses-To-Perish" Potter, who apparently, is betrothed to none other than Pansy Fucking Parkinson. HELLO! Does tradition mean nothing anymore?
After getting thoroughly pissed on headache potion, I stumbled out of the Floo, and into the biggest bloody mess I have ever seen. The kitchens. My damn manor looked like some natural disaster had decided to call for tea. I bloody well think not. After much screaming, now painless thanks to Severus, and many curses, the houseelves had the situation remedied and I was ready to settle in for a quick sleep before dinner.
Oh but how wrong I was.
You see, my foolish wife has got it into her head that her "childbearing" years are nearly spent. Therefore, she has purchased these ridiculous Muggle monitors that tell her when she is "bobulating" or some such nonsense, and when is the prime moment for conception.
That moment, of course, being in the middle of the worst bloody day of my life.
Beautiful.
So, after an obligatory fuck and a quick sleep I was yet again awoken by a bumbling houseelf, to be led into my now spotless dining hall, and fed a much improved dinner. Then, to my annoyance, my left forearm twinges.
Followed by burning.
Which resulted in full-on agony.
It just never stops, does it?