____
If it takes my whole life
I won't break, I won't bend
It will all be worth it
Worth it in the end
___
It is morning.
Or, perhaps dawn. Not that it truly matters- either way, it signals the fact that I must leave soon, leave and bid Tom goodbye and greet my new son.
Foreign words on my tongue- Tom and son. There's something frightening about using the man whom I revere as the Dark Lord in meetings by his birth name in the halls of my home, in one of our many rooms full of family heirlooms…the name has passed my lips so many times over the years, but I am never fully comfortable with the three-letter word. Perhaps it is because I can think of him as no one other than the Dark Lord- Lord Voldemort. My Master, my Leader.
In effect, the very man who controls my life. But Tom humanizes him somewhat, turns him into something he isn't. I don't blame him for shedding the name.
I am completely still on my bed, staring at the sunlight trying to edge its way into the room. Tom isn't beside me, as he had been previously- probably roaming through the adjacent room silently, like a ghost, picking at our ancient family's history or something of the like. He's entranced by our family treasures, the many poisons and magical weaponry I keep stowed away. More than once have the two of us toured this little room, speaking of the powers these items can bring through their deadly use.
But I'm musing again. I rub my face with my hands and blink, trying to squint through the offending light. I cannot hear him, cannot see him, but I can feel him- even if he is not in the very room I am at the moment.
When I told him of my son's birth, he had only smirked and made a snide comment that I can't even recall. Not that it matters- such little details have been escaping my mind for years, and whatever he said has no relation to anything of true importance. What matters is what he told me last night as he placed a small black journal into my hands.
Guard it with your life, Lucius. Never let those curious eyes of yours betray yourself.
I should go to St. Mungo's and see Narcissa, but instead I swing my legs stiffly over the bed and stare at the wall as if it's the most alluring thing in the world at present. I weigh my options carefully in my head. Tom is still here and it would not be prudent to simply leave. Nor would it be decent to not even bother to show up, which will only leave dear Bellatrix wondering what happened to the "darling Death Eater". Stupid woman enjoys making a mockery of me, even if I am married to her sister...
"Lucius, you should have told me what a curious little book this was, otherwise I may have picked it up sooner!"
He's sneering with disgust as the tattered Bronte book is hurled onto the bed. Tom must have been reading it, for I can clearly see several pages folded down, marking pages I myself never revisited. I can only sigh, too exhausted to respond. "The amount of filth in your library is astonishing, my friend. Time for a little bit of cleaning, I should think."
"It wastes time, Tom." I respond wearily, standing up finally and moving to take my walking stick. "They are books, nothing of true worth in our world. Do you really expect-"
"Yes, I do consider it rather absurd, considering the letter you wrote to Dumbledore concerning the matter of those fairy tales*", he sneers. "The things I do, Lucius…the things I put up with. If you were anyone else, you'd be shunned by now, you know that?"
I could very well tell him he's an absolute hypocrite, that he himself has secrets regarding his own past- that he's not the Pureblood he says he is, but that will do nothing. I take the old, abused book and stuff it into one of the bureaus by the bed- hidden for now. It will collect dust until I decide to crack it open once more.
"My Lord, I'm afraid I should ready myself to leave for St. Mungo's," I say coolly, pulling on a clean shirt. "Narcissa will be expecting me, as will most of her family."
"Not at all, my friend. Although I am sure you can spare me but one more moment." He looks at me curiously- I have memorized this face, I see it so often. Along with a varieties of anger and undisguised greed, of course. "For your insolence. You can't expect a Master to let his Follower go free after doing wrong, now, can you?"
I relent. He is exactly what he says he is- my Master, and I am in no position to deny his wants.
Sometimes, in the back of my head, a voice whispers that I should deny him.
____
Holding my son, I am struck by how quickly time has passed from the time I married to his birth, from the time I met Tom to this very morning. Narcissa is watching me closely, spitefully. There's no hint of happiness at her new motherhood, my sudden fatherhood.
Or maybe time has gone by slower that my mind is playing such tricks on me. I've gone soft and I'm hardly keeping track of time anymore- being a Death Eater while simultaneously playing Good Aristocrat in public takes its toll. And I can hardly carry on a relationship with the Dark Lord, it's unheard of. Even this is hidden away, buried from sight just as my little book is. Just as that haunting journal is. I have become stuck in an unrelenting circle of lies.
So how in the hell do I care for a child? Indeed, my father was no great example, and I can hardly ask anyone else for advice. I am a Malfoy, I should know!
He feels so heavy in my arms. Draco. Such a big name for a small being, just as my own is. It carries so much weight- too much for a child. "He'll carry the Malfoy line well," I hear myself say. It is the proper phrase, exactly what is expected. What is always expected.
I feel the Mark burn and give another long sigh. A sigh that joins the other ones so full of burdens and doubt, resentment and fear.
And…passion. Unrelenting passion.
___
*= here I am drawing from The Tales of Beetle the Bard, where, in a commentary, Albus Dumbledore revealed a letter written by Lucius to the Headmaster regarding the obscenity of one of the Bard's stories and how it depicts interbreeding with Muggles- and for that reason should be removed from the Hogwarts library.
