Part II: Lucius MalfoyUnder his mask, Lucius Malfoy watched a ridiculous scene playing out before his eyes. He laughed to himself as that weedy-looking Potter boy ran straight up to the Dark Lord himself. Oh today was grand day, indeed. Today would be the day that the Golden Savior of the pathetic muggle-loving mudblood portion of wizarding world would meet his sticky end and all he represented would fall. Today would be the day that the pure-blooded wizards, especially the Old Families, would finally be vindicated. Centuries of declining power and disrespect would vanish like a dream. He would come into his inheritance today and stand as a Lord among men like his forefathers before him. Oh, he would relish this moment for years to come. He laughed as his Dark Lord toyed with the foolish boy. Soon, the pathetic little orphan would start to whine about his dead parents and demand justice or some such nonsense, of course.
Instead, he heard five words he'd least expected.
"I will not curse you."
Well now, that is not what he'd expected at all, but amusing, nonetheless. Perhaps this would turn out to be even more entertaining than he'd anticipated. The boy wouldn't even defend himself!
"Is the Golden Savior of the Wizarding World scared?"
"No"
'Such predictable Gryffindoric bravado,' Lucius thought. 'Good show, Potter. Pity you wasted your life protecting your pathetic mudblood friends.' He could have made a magnificent dark wizard, perhaps greater than Voldemort himself. Even Lucius couldn't deny the child's power. He had heard from Draco all sorts of tales of the boy's schoolyard adventures, and some of them, if true, were indeed astounding. Too late for regrets now, though. It was of no consequence in the end, really.
Lucius smirked as his Dark Lord threw the forbidden killing curse at the foolish child and the boy dropped to the ground, and laughed as the aurors gasped like a school of fish out of water.
He suddenly stopped laughing, his glee being overtaken by shock and confusion. He had not expected the boy to rise. Most certainly not. How in Merlin's name? Even from the distance of Lucius' vantage point, he could see the blood dripping from Potter's wrists. How odd indeed. It was not clear how the boy's survival and the blood coming from wounds in his hands were connected. If not resulting in instant death, should not the curse have been reflected as before? How many other ways could a curse designed to kill react? By all means, Harry Potter should be stone dead. Could the curse have somehow failed? Lucius Malfoy had seen countless people fall from the killing curse, but this reaction was most certainly something new: turning someone into some sort of stigmatic?
For the first time in his life, Lucius Malfoy was at a complete loss. Stigmatics were a fairy tale, after all, and an obscure muggle one at that. An obscure myth from a muggle cult that had somehow gotten out of hand a few centuries ago.
Dumbfounded, he stood rooted to the ground as though frozen. He couldn't decide on an action to take, so he simply stood, and watched. He couldn't deny that this was all beyond interesting. He suddenly felt that perhaps he should do something to intercede on behalf of his sworn lord, should he not? Not that he had any particular feelings of loyalty to Voldemort, beyond being a means of gaining power... But to betray such a powerful man could be hazardous. His father had always told him, be on the winning side, always. It didn't matter which side won, as long as you could at least appear to be part of it. Never show your whole hand, and scorn loyalty.
He was distracted from his thoughts as Potter began to speak to his adversary again. He could not hear him at first, but slowly, the boy's voice grew louder.
"You are a coward, Voldemort. You believe you have great power, but you have none. Most people think your name means "flight of death" but they are wrong. Your name is "flight from death." Because you are afraid. All your quest for power and immortality are because of fear. The fear and hurt of a child who was abandoned by his parents and the world and thought that no one loved him. I pity you, Tom Riddle. I pity you because you allowed your heart to harden, you allowed yourself to become Voldemort, and you feel only hatred and anger. Because you will never know that you are loved, by the one same one who loves me. You will never know that, because you have closed your heart to all human emotion."
Fear? What could the strongest wizard ever to exist possibly fear? Voldemort is all-powerful. Unstoppable. And quite likely immortal at this point. And what is this rubbish about love? Soppy sentimental nonsense. Nothing of the sort existed, really. Even those who professed love carried ulterior motives. And here Potter was, going on about pity. Potter must be even more of an idiot than he had previously thought.
Lucius saw something odd flicker across the Dark Lord's visage. He couldn't quite place the expression, but it was gone quicker than it came, leaving him wondering if he ever saw it at all. It its place was pure hatred and anger. That he recognized. The Dark Lord lifted his wand again and cast the most powerful killing curse he had ever held witness to. The bright flash was something to behold indeed; there would likely be nothing left of Potter but ash...
And then the curse rebounded and Voldemort fell to the cold Earth, dead, his face fixed in fear.
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Lucius Malfoy watched as Voldemort fell. He thought he felt the Earth shift beneath his feet. This was not supposed to happen! He was not supposed to die! He was supposed to take control of the wizarding world and Lucius was supposed to ride his coattails to even more power!
All the memories of his father's lessons seemed to wedge their way into Lucius' mind in that instant. Power is everything. Voldemort is Power. Petty teenage wizards with no power who preach maudlin nonsense do not kill Voldemort. This is not happening. This is not happening. This is not happening.
As the dust settled, the magnitude of the situation seemed to settle on the other Death Eaters. The majority of them ran or disapparated, but a few just sat down on the field where they stood and did nothing. They knew that their lord could not protect them any longer. He was not coming back this time. The Aurors suddenly stirred as well and took to the task of chasing down, capturing, and unmasking the Death Eaters, one by one, and carting them off to be held for trial.
Lucius still stood off to the outskirts of the battlefield. His mind was racing at a million miles a minute. He could not comprehend this odd turn of events. How had the Potter boy survived? With the boy's blood in Voldemort's veins, the mark left by his mother's sacrifice should not have been able to save Potter again. Something else had saved him. Something that would have to be stronger, older, and deeper magic than he had ever seen before had to have saved the boy from the unblockable curse, and destroyed Voldemort as well. But what could possibly have that kind of power? Potter had said something about a love greater than his mother's, something about a greater sacrifice before Voldemort fell by his own curse. Hmph. Love. What ridiculous sentimental tripe. Love is a myth, just some nebulous Platonic form with no perfect reflection in the real world. The world is a dark place, and life has no meaning other than power and influence.
But... But what if Voldemort really had been nothing but a coward and a lost child? What if everything Lucius had thought in his life up to that point had been wrong. That power like Voldemort's is an illusion and the dark arts are fruitless? That he died in the end anyhow? But that can't be ridiculous. It just can't be. Power is everything. From the day he was old enough to understand such matters, he had been told this.
Power is what separates men from beasts and kings from men. There are those who wield power and those who are crushed by it. It is up to you to make sure that you are the one wielding it.
Lucius Malfoy was not accustomed to being this confused. He was always sure of himself. He was a pure-blooded dark wizard, powerful and the master of his own destiny. He was not the pawn of more powerful men. He was not bound by silly concepts of good and evil, of honor and loyalty, of right and wrong. He was not one of the stupid masses, going through life like brainless cattle, shoved back and forth, hither and yon by forces beyond their understanding.
Then why was he currently crouching on his knees, staring down at a blood soaked field? Why was there an uncomfortable weight in his gut, and what were those hot wet lines down his face? Where had he screwed up? He must have made a wrong move in his pursuit of power, somewhere. His mind worked backwards at lightspeed, hashing over the innumerable little moves he had made throughout his life, like pieces on a chessboard, but he could come up with nothing pointing to this moment, no single grand mistake that could have been avoided. The only logical conclusion was that the basis for all of it was essentially flawed.
It was too late for second guesses anyhow. The aurors were headed in his direction. It was all over now. He didn't bother to make a bid for escape; they would only track him down later, probably in his home, under the eyes of his son. Mercifully, the aurors seemed to recognize that he would not fight and did not put him under a binding curse. They simply grasped him under his arms and lifted him to his feet, bidding him to walk forward. He continued to stare at the ground, paying no heed to where he was being led. His world was in pieces, after all, and he knew, above all else, that he had failed. The infallible Malfoy had erred. Oh, Merlin how he had been wrong. As he was marched down the field, Harry Potter walked passed in the other direction. Harry barely heard him as he croaked out a single sentence.
"I was wrong... about everything..."
Harry halted and looked at the elder Malfoy until he lifted his head, and held his gaze. The young man seemed to study him for a moment. His expression seemed confused for a heartbeat, then softened into something else which Lucius Malfoy did not recognize. Harry stepped closer as the Aurors stared at him with a puzzled look. He leaned toward Malfoy and the aurors struggled in vain to hear what he whispered into the Death Eater's ear.
"It's not too late."
Lucius continued to stare at Harry for as long as he could as the aurors shrugged and dragged him off of the school grounds and apparated to the section of Azkaban where he and the other Death Eaters would await their trial.
What was that all about? What was he playing at, saying that it wasn't too late? Too late for what? For him?!? It didn't matter, really. Potter was wrong in any case. It was far too late; he would most likely receive the dementor's kiss by this time next week (the ministry would no doubt have the demons back under their control by then. The dementors had even less loyalty than Death Eaters), and he knew somewhere deep in his cold heart that he deserved it ten times over.
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The day for Lucius Malfoy's trial was at hand: just one more Death Eater trial in the midst of dozens. Most of the Death Eaters who had fled after the final battle had been rounded up by the aurors rather quickly. It seemed that far more were willing to rat out their comrades this time to have their sentences reduced to life in prison and none of them were being allowed to worm their way out with protestations of being coerced into service.
The dementors (who had returned to their posts at Azkaban as though nothing had happened almost immediately after the fall of Voldemort) dragged him into the courtroom, threw him into the chair, and left as the chains wrapped themselves around the unmoving occupant's arms, holding him in place, as though there was actually some need to bind him. He was obviously not feeling up to fighting, after all. The aurors were somewhat amused by the fact that Lucius Malfoy had spoken not a word since they brought him in. He was quite different from the last time they'd had him in here. They were expecting a few witty comments and a smug, self-assured grin on their captive's face, but received neither. As unbelievable as it seemed, the great haughty Lucius Malfoy had finally been undone.
The trial began and proceeded quickly. These trials had been going on for a week, most of them held in the petty courts by groups of three judges, not even bothering the wizengamot or a proper jury with it, and everyone knew how they ended. By this point, evidence was barely looked at, and sentences were tossed out quickly in hopes that the trials would be finished soon so the wizarding world could get on with life for once and for all. As this was the last trial, the last Death Eater, they were doubly anxious to get it over with. Nobody ever doubted for a second that he was worthy of anything less than the dementor's kiss. None of the Death Eaters were in the presently harsh eyes of the wizarding world, looking for swift vengeance.
They were a little surprised , but not at all upset by the refusal of Lucius Malfoy to defend himself (especially after a week of hearing some of the most impossibly laughable defenses, from abusive parents, to food additives, to alien abductions). He spoke as little as possible, answering in short or single-word sentences for the most part, and, surprisingly, being completely honest in the matter. The last time this court had seen him, he had at least offered an excuse, that he had been under the Imperious Curse (and had obviously bought off some of the judges and jurors to get such a ridiculous alibi through), but this time, he said almost nothing.
As the senior judge was about to announce the sentence and punishment, the doors of the courtroom burst open and Harry Potter stumbled in, followed by a group of ministry employees who had obviously tried to keep him out. For the first time during the entire course of the trial, Lucius Malfoy looked up. He stared in confusion, as did the rest of the court. What could Potter possibly want or have to say? The little hero should be celebrating with his friends, should he not?
"I beg you, do not convict Lucius Malfoy!"
What? What on Earth had compelled The-Boy-Who-Constantly-Lived-Through- Everything-Whether-You-Wanted-Him-to-or-Not to make a plea on the behalf of one of the men who had been a follower of Voldemort? One of those who had aided in the murder of his parents and who's son constantly gave him hell to top it off. One judge stared dumbly, one gasped, and the third just looked incredulous. The stress of the final battle must have left him a bit off in the head. He had just saved them from the greatest evil they had ever seen a week ago, but still...
The senior judge blinked a few times and finally spoke.
"Well, Mr. Potter, why, pray tell, should this murder go free? I see no evidence to suggest that he is anything but evil at its worst. He was found on the grounds at your school after the final battle wearing Death Eater robes, after all. The evidence is overwhelmingly against him."
Harry seemed to hesitate for a moment, trying to think of something to say in the defense of the man before him. Harry himself didn't know why he was doing this really, other than it seemed like the thing to do. It was a gift of sorts, he supposed. To give someone another chance, that he might find peace with himself and with God. Harry felt that he had been spared by God after all, so should he not show some of the same mercy? The day of the battle, he had seen this man as he was being carried off, completely shattered and at least seemingly aware of his folly, unlike most of others who just ran away. Harry wasn't customarily a liar, but for this, he could make an exception. He knew that at this point, so soon after the battle, his influence on the wizarding world was great indeed, so he said the first thing that came to mind.
"He was not under his own power. I know for a fact that he was under the will of another."
The judge couldn't understand this. Why on Earth had he come in here to defend this criminal? What evidence could he possibly have?
"Can you prove this, Mr. Potter?"
"No, but I know it for a fact. Please consider my testimony. He was not acting under his own will, he was controlled by evil beyond his power to resist. He should not receive the dementor's kiss. Please release him."
Lucius Malfoy finally turned his head and looked at the boy. This made no sense. He must be having a dream induced by some sort of dementia. Yes, that's right, he's still in his cell and this is a dream brought on by exposure to the dementors. Harry Potter would never intercede on his behalf, after all. Potter hated him. He had hated him and his son since the day they had laid eyes on one another. The Golden Boy defending a Death Eater. What a farce. Of course Potter hated him. He was a filthy Death Eater, driven by power lust and greed, the follower of his adversary, a murderer, thief, and liar. And above all, a great bloody fool...
The judge sat back in his chair and regarded the boy for a minute. This young man had saved them from the darkest wizard in history. He had defeated him without lifting a finger. It was against his better judgment, but the judge had to admit that denying The Boy Who Lived Twice of anything he wanted right now would look quite bad for the ministry, and what harm could Lucius Malfoy do now anyhow, now that he was a broken man with a broken wand and without Voldemort to hide behind? Nobody would ever trust him or his ilk ever again, that was for sure. No amount of money in the world would ever gain him respect or power again. He was a toothless lion.
The judge sighed and looked at the boy's face. The pleading in his eyes seemed genuine enough, like he really cared what happened to this bit of dark wizard scum. It really didn't matter at this point anyhow, did it? Just another inconsequential Death Eater with no allies in the world. Nobody cared whether he lived or died, now. Except one. Potter seemed to. The judge sighed, spoke hastily in one breath, and got up to leave the second the words left his lips.
"Fine. Lucius Malfoy is hereby deemed innocent of all charges. You are free to go."
He spoke as he passed Harry Potter on the way to the doors.
"I had better not regret this down the road, young man."
Lucius Malfoy did not move, and, in fact, displayed no evidence of having heard his sentence at all. A couple of aurors walked over to him, roughly grabbed him up under the armpits and hoisted him to his feet, giving him a shove toward the door. The judge addressed him again from the door before exiting.
"I don't know why you were let off, you filth, but it appears you're free to go. You can thank Mr. Potter for that. Don't know why the hell he defended you, though. If it were up to me, you'd be a snack for the dementors tonight."
Malfoy looked up again, and was greeted by a pair of framed green eyes looking back at him. Harry Potter held his gaze for a heartbeat, then turned around and walked out of the courtroom. After a moment of hesitation, Malfoy followed. He ignored the weight of the glares of the courtroom spectators on his back as he walked out of the building. He blinked as he opened the doors, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the sunlight he hadn't seen in weeks.
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Lucius Malfoy was about to return to his home as he spotted a figure standing next to the door looking at him. He stared at the son of James Potter in disbelief. Had this really happened? Had the son of his enemy and the enemy of his dead lord really saved him from the fate he so deserved? He finally spoke to him in as steady a tone as he could produce.
"I don't understand. You should have let them... Why?"
He was exhausted and his voice trailed off. He couldn't face this now, now that his sense of reality had been ripped from under him like a rug. Harry looked up at the tired and dirty man.
"I told you before. It's not too late. But you are living on borrowed time now. I suggest you make the most of it."
"But why? Why is it "not too late"? And... ...and how is it that you are unharmed by Voldemort?"
"Both of those questions have the same answer. And it is the same answer I told your former master... It's not just a myth in a dusty old muggle book, you know. If you want my advice, first go to your son. He needs you more than either of you will ever admit, especially now. It's not too late for him either. "
Harry Potter walked away. Lucius Malfoy was not entirely pleased with that answer, but he obviously wasn't going to get another one. He walked down the street with the sunlight warm on his back, headed nowhere in particular. As night fell, he finally apparated home, and walked up to his son's room to watch Draco as he slept. He had much to make up to his son. Guilt crept into him as he was reminded of the cold treatment he had given his son since the boy's birth. No wonder Draco hated his him. All this blood on his hands, yet how could it not be "too late"? What was Potter getting at? He was thankful for last-minute reprieve, though he knew he did not deserve it. He still didn't understand what that boy had been talking about.
Potter had been right about one thing though: he was living on borrowed time. And he was going to do his damnedest to make up for his mistakes, though he thought nothing he could do could ever make up for the foolish mistakes he had made in his fruitless quest for power. But he would try.
Still, he knew Potter had been pointing to something specific. Something familiar. Could it give him redemption? It irked him that he didn't know for sure. Something about stigmatics and some old muggle book. He'd have to look into it later. For now, exhaustion was making itself known, and the only thing he planned on looking into was sleep...