Disclaimer: Nada. Title randomly inspired by Regina Spektor's "Hero" (may have heard it in the movie 500 Days of Summer)
First Harry Potter, eeeep!
And note this is my first 'slash' story (nothing explicit or stated outright, that's up to the reader to figure out the connotations), in addition has religious undertones. Not showing any "favoritism" towards any type of religious thought, the story just kinda came as it hit me. Don't like? Then don't read, silly! Comments and critique appreciated, flames just keep a po' writer warm. ;D
Oh and pairing is Lucius/Voldemort (well, you probably guessed that..but just to clarify..)
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Is there a God?
I usually would not stroll the streets of Muggle London willingly (unless under the influence of a certain curse, of course), but sometimes it is necessary even of a wizard such as myself- even a pureblood cannot stay within the walls of wizarding society. I often get myself lost in the maze of roads and alleys, allowing my feet and the disgusting red..things…to take me wherever they will. The stares by these infernal creatures really is amusing- long hair on a man cannot be so startling as compared to the absurd clothes these young brats where!
Or perhaps it is the cane…no matter. None at all.
The abundance of religious institutions in this city is amazing. Spectacular, in fact. I was not raised believing one way or the other; I suppose it is not something that really concerns those of whole blood. My father had books on the matter in his study, interestingly enough; I read them out of mere curiosity, but was scolded by the same man later on for 'exploring the mundane'. I never questioned my father's actions. Between the curses and the insults, there never was room for questioning. Put the book down, bow, and scuttle out before he had time to reach for his wand.
I have never dared to enter one of them- the churches, the synagogues. Even I know that a man like me should never grace such a holy place; it would be an intrusion, like Lucifer trying to regain entrance to Heaven.
My namesake!
I have stopped outside of Westminster. My cane raps against my carefully shined shoes as I contemplate. To enter, or not..? I suck in my cheek and glance quickly around me. Nobody is watching, nobody cares about a man all in black walking into a place of worship…or do they? Do they silently judge me?
Religious houses are supposed to be a place of sanctuary....
I hold my breath as I step through the huge doors quickly, as if afraid that I will be struck by fire. Rather a rush of cold air greets me, as does the heavy silence. I have the unnerving feeling, despite its surprising emptiness, that I am being watched. Followed. I know my Lord cannot possibly be here; he has other places to be, more important than a Muggle cathedral.
My Lord.
How strange, he really is like God. He knows my thoughts, what I have done wrong, makes me get on my knees and beg forgiveness. Yet the God that these factions speak of is merciful even in his vengeance; the Lord I know laughs at cruelty, revels in it. It is the followers who are the only ones who share something in common- all of us are broken, in one way or another.
My feet feel like lead as I drag them and sit in a pew. I stare at the mosaics, the dark emotionless eyes composed of chips of glass- despite the fact that they are not alive without the aid of a simple charm- peer down at me suspiciously. I shift uneasily, my stomach churning. No, I don't belong here at all. In my own society, I am at the very top; here, I am an outcast.
They whisper about me, I know it. It happens to all of us rich purebloods, prominent families. Gossip. It has been this way since I was a boy at Hogwarts. That I joined the Death Eaters for the power, then backed out when there was nothing to gain. That my wife is having an outside affair, that my son is acknowledged even less than the Weasley children. These are the same dolts who say my father was a great man, a great wizard, a great Slytherin; that I may never live up to his standards, no matter how much money I give or how many people I influence. How often I have wanted to tell the truth! Of how he disowned my eldest sister Adora, drove the sister I never knew to her death.
I am not a bitter man. But I can never forgive him for his cruelty towards an unwanted child, towards his only son.
"Aren't you excited for Hogwarts this year, Lucius? Or do they sneer down at you? I should hope not, my son..you are a Malfoy, do you remember that? Or have your infernal childish games interfered with that fact? I do hope to see you as prefect one day...or do you plan on having the other idiots in your house beat you to it? What will they say of you then, Lucius?"
Of course they don't know- it's because I never speak of it. It takes nearly all of my willpower not to jinx the idiots who don't even bother to conceal their whispers.
"How do you find Narcissa Black, Lucius?"
"She is kind enough, father."
"Is she now? I know you do not find her sisters satisfactory…"
"I never speak to any of them."
"Tsk tsk, Lucius. Calm yourself, there's no need to be cross. Unfortunate I don't have my wand on hand, you know..I should have chosen another day to have it cleaned..."
I hate her.
I'm staring at the woman who must be the Virgin Mary now; I have wandered from my seat to speak to these mosaics as if they are the moving portraits of my world. I hate Narcissa; she is selfish and vain, and I wouldn't be surprised if she was holding an affair. My son is dear to me, but Narcissa..I wish I never married. It is selfish, especially with Draco. The gossipers have one thing right. She makes me guilty for actions I have not committed, draws the truth out of me with a mere look no matter how ugly it is. I would have rather remained in solitude than marry a Delilah.*
The aisle is long. The more steps I take, the farther away everything becomes. Or is it just my thoughts weighing on my mind, my body? This I cannot answer either. I lean on my cane as I wander, like a drunk, up to the cross.
I have seen and read enough to know this is the man they call Jesus. I know of his backstory; his excruciating pain is evident on this crucifix. I am not sure what to think, what to do now that I stand here stupidly, staring up at him like a child. I look over my shoulder to make sure no one is watching, and prostrate myself beneath him.
Why did I become a Death Eater? Even this memory is vague. My father's scathing attitude towards an annoying burden of a child, Narcissa's discontent with me, my mother's sadness that I could not be more like the other men of my lineage. No matter how much confidence and arrogance I exude I will never be a true Malfoy, no matter what I say or do.
Tom broke me down more than a father ever could.
Yet I never denied him. With every "Crucio" was a plead for forgiveness, a seething anger at himself- he would never act this way when he tortured anyone else. This was the man who heartlessly murdered mothers, fathers, children, whole families. I do not know what he saw in me- for I was not nearly as pitifully devoted as dear Bellatrix, nor did I follow dumbly like Goyle; I was not hiding under greater men and women for guidance as Pettigrew did. He told me it was my faithfulness, my quiet determination despite my physical and mental weaknesses. Tom told me that he could build me up into a better man, a stronger man. He never uttered the word love, and yet I was sure all these words he used could make me capable of being loved.
He promised me!
But what he told me became a façade, not a part of me as I believed. Everything he made me do disenchanted me with reality, ripped me to shreds and formed me into a different person. And when he left, I sunk into a life of normalcy, trying to recreate myself as a respectable aristocrat, like the Malfoys always have been. I almost forgot about him, but there was apart of my shattered soul that knew I could not live without his guidance. I needed him to make decisions for me, to distinguish right and wrong for me, to reward me and to punish me. I no longer knew who I was, no matter what mask I wore.
And when he returned only a year ago..
I was afraid. The sign at the World Cup shook me to the core with the idea that he would soon return. It sent chills down my spine, neither of pleasure or fear. What was I to do? The night he returned in the graveyard he had faced me, accusing me of renouncing "the old ways". Never could I have done such a thing! And yet...I had only briefly glanced at the boy, that one look betraying me.
He will never forgive me for what has happened to the Diary, and I am sure that no matter what happens tonight at the Department of Mysteries will change his opinion of me. He is cold to Bellatrix, despite her return to us. It is obvious she yearns for him-disgusting, infernal woman!-but he never addresses her without the slightest hint of contempt in his voice. Yet he speaks to me just as often as he does to Severus, speaks with reverence and even…respect? Yet minutes later he will rage, throwing hexes and curses at me until I am curled on the ground. My life is repeating itself over and over again; I am in a cycle I cannot escape.
I gaze at the crucifix above me, and realize that I am crying. I am unsure whether to pray, to speak, or to turn around and leave. My mouth opens, but no words are drawn forth. There is nothing for a sinner to say; I have been cast into Hell by my own will.
"Forgive me, God; I love him." I whisper before standing and exiting, like a ghost, through the doors.
For loving a monster must be the greatest sin a man may ever commit.
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*I used Delilah in the sense that she, essentially, betrayed Samson in the action of cutting off his hair; Narcissa has betrayed Lucius in her unfaithfulness and manipulation.