A/N : Chapter Two, for anyone who's interested.
Thank You For The Venom
Lucius Malfoy cast a critical eye over his reflection. He was seventeen now, a man. He supposed he ought to look a little different, but truth be told, he looked much as he had always looked. The cold grey eyes and chin-length white-blonde hair certainly had not changed, and his face was as pale as ever, the hallmark of someone who spent far too much time indoors. The only changes were in his attire, as he had exchanged his usual sober suits for a set of dark green dress robes. The man in the mirror was flawlessly put together, but then again, he was rarely anything else. Good looks and immaculate taste in clothes were the most innocent inherited traits of the Malfoy family. Lucius frowned. There were some Malfoy characteristics he was hoping to avoid inheriting.
Another thing Lucius had hoped to avoid was this party. But his words to his father had fallen on deaf ears. Apparently, lavish celebrations were the done thing when a boy came of age in the Malfoy household, and Abraxas intended his son to be no exception. And so Lucius had been ordered to organize and throw himself a party. He had not seen his father all day, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to. He had been alone all day (unless you counted the house-elves as company, and Lucius never had). Strangely enough, he didn't mind. His mother had died in a rather grisly accident when he was just five years old, and Lucius had essentially raised himself since then. Along the way, he had decided that the company he liked best was his own. He didn't have many friends. Most people seemed to think there was something a little strange about him. Lucius suspected they might be right, but he had never managed to put his finger on what that might be exactly. Time spent in the company of others, therefore, was time wasted in his opinion. There were so much more worthwhile things he could be doing. . .
Fastening his cufflinks, Lucius hesitated, staring at his left it was again, that strange, unsettled feeling. He had been given the Dark Mark almost two months ago now, and the skull and serpent design had become almost as much a part of him as the Malfoy family fair hair. And yet. . . sometimes, it surprised him still. Sometimes, the dark blemish on his forearm felt just that – a blemish, unwelcome and unsightly, an alien stain on his character. But that was preposterous. Why should he think that? He was loyal, wasn't he? To his master, to the cause? He knew he was, and he knew he wasn't having doubts. He had honestly never wanted anything else. So why. . . .?
Lucius scowled. He didn't like emotions. They were messy, and as far as he could see, they served no purpose, other than to weaken people. Unfortunately, this meant Lucius never devoted much time to analyizing his own, because he preferred to think he didn't have any. Well. . . aside from anger. Lucius could never recall being confused by anger. That, at least, had always been clear to him. Useful, even.
Somewhat mollified, he smoothed down the front of his robes and straightened up.
"Shon!"
Lucius jumped. A moment later, he hated himself. It had been years since he had flinched at the sound of his father's voice, and he couldn't imagine why he had fallen into the old habit tonight.
"Father," he said quickly, hoping to cover up his mistake, "You startled me."
Abraxas waved his words away with obvious impatience. He was dressed for the party, but he was already unsteady on his feet and slurring, his eyes almost as bloodshot as. . . .Lucius shook his head to dismiss the image. "What can I do for you?"
Abraxas moved closer and clapped a hand to his son's shoulder. "Nothing, shon. You're a man now eh? A man. . . ." The thought seemed to trouble him somehow. He settled for shaking his son, as if the boy were a naughty puppy. Lucius didn't know what this was supposed to convey. So he settled for the first words that came to mind.
"Would you care for a drink, father?"
Abraxas stared at him for a long moment. Then -
"Ay. A drink, shon. A drinksh jusht the thing . . ." He tottered towards the decanter which had just appeared on the coffee table, and poured himself a full glass. As Lucius watched, he downed it, smacked his lips, and poured himself another one. Shaking his head in disgust, his son moved to the door.
"Well, father, I really ought to greet the guests."
He was halfway out the door when he heard his father's voice again.
"Lushious?" he hesitated. "You're a good shon," he finished blearily.
Lucius didn't know what to say to that. So he pretended he hadn't heard, and left the room.
