A/N Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I really appreciate it. The fanfic app went weird last week and I wasn't able to respond to everyone so sorry about that. In particular, thanks to Zeeeksmom who left me a lovely review which made me desperate to get the next chapter posted. Sorry it's taken me so long. As always thanks to my wonderful friend and beta reader Vitellia.
Lucius hates being summoned. Once, many years ago there had probably been some sort of illicit thrill attached to secret meetings in clandestine locations attended only by those who were honoured with the Dark Lord's brand. Those days are long gone. Now, Lucius can't understand why he has to be summoned by an agonising pain in his forearm when surely an owl would suffice. They are no longer a guerrilla group fighting to overthrow the government. They are the government and Lucius wishes they could act as such.
No hour of the day or night is sacrosanct. Voldemort's sleep pattern is erratic to say the least, and he has no qualms over summoning his minions whenever a thought pops into his head. Despite the fact that the Ministry of Magic is now completely under his control he still insists on running operations from the drawing room of Malfoy Manor. Lucius finds this distressing on many counts. Not least, because this is simply not how things ought to be done. Voldemort is now Minister for Magic and as such, he ought to occupy the correct office. He also ought to treat the role with the gravitas it deserves, but that is a bugbear that Lucius has no plans to share with anyone. It pains him to see his family home treated with so little care. Many of the Death Eaters who have become Voldemort's cabinet ministers are less than sane, and their standards of hygiene do not come up to Lucius' exacting standards. Seeing the state of disrepair the manor had fallen into even during the first year of Voldemort's occupation had been extremely distressing for Narcissa. Lucius had hated to see the family silver left unpolished and the fine crystal goblets scratched and chipped. The decay has only become worse now the Malfoys and their contingent of elves have vacated the property.
Most of all though, Lucius hates being summoned because he is convinced that each audience with the Dark Lord will be his last. Voldemort appears to have grown more unstable as time goes on. He is a petulant and fractious as a toddler and his toys are just as easily discarded and broken. It takes every ounce of courage Lucius possess to wrap himself in his Occlumency shields and touch his wand to his forearm. He knows that his every action will be carefully scrutinised, and that in the dog eat dog world of Voldemort's regime his fellow Death Eaters are simply waiting for an opportunity to drag him down.
The summons comes during dinner. Lucius and Draco both lay down their forks with identical winces. Ginevra gives Draco a wide eyed look of panic. Lucius forces himself to conceal his own concern. It is rare for his son to be summoned. Draco busies himself mainly with the running of Malfoy industries these days and has little active role in government; a small mercy for which Lucius is immensely thankful. Neither he nor Draco care that this might be considered a slight. All that matters to Lucius is that his son remains out of harm's way as much as possible.
They both stand and place their napkins next to their plates. Draco takes his leave of Ginevra who appears close to tears before the whirl of Apparition takes them to their old home.
A full cabinet meeting has been called. Several of the seats around the large circular table are already taken. Lucius gives Draco's arm a brief surreptitious squeeze before he takes his appointed seat next to Severus. Snape has the questionable honour of sitting next to Voldemort. Bella sits on the Dark Lord's other side. She is grinning wildly, delighted to be in the Dark Lord's presence and making no pretense at grief over her husband's recent demise. Draco does not even merit a seat at the table. Instead, he sits in one of the several rows of chairs which have been placed against one wall.
Severus nods in acknowledgement of Lucius' arrival. Voldemort is already seated and looks malevolently around the room. His red eyes glow with irritation as his followers fail to seat themselves quickly enough.
Lucius runs over the previous week's business in his head, wondering what is to be discussed today.
"Gentlemen." Voldemort calls the group to order and the room immediately falls silent. "Lady." He inclines his head toward Bellatrix. "Thank you for taking time out of your busy days to attend our little meeting."
Lucius winces. The Dark Lord is not in a good mood.
"Augustus, I believe you wish to bring up the first item on the agenda."
Lucius' eyes flick to Augustus Rookwood who wears his usual expression of disdain. "Thank you My Lord. I was disappointed to find that my application for additional funding for the Snatcher program has been rejected."
"Rejected!" Voldemort raises what might once have been an eyebrow. "I am indeed surprised to hear this, Augustus when I believe I have made it clear the Department for Magical Law Enforcement is to take priority over all other areas in our budgeting. Why was this application rejected, Lucius?"
Lucius grits his teeth. He is careful to allow not a hint of his irritation to show. "I apologise, My Lord, Augustus." He inclines his head politely in the direction of the latter. "I was not aware that the proposal had been rejected. My staff are currently under orders not to release any more funding during this fiscal year, however if the importance of the request had been highlighted to me I would have been happy to make the funds available." He delivers the lie without any indication that it is one. In truth, he has no idea how he is going to fund more snatchers. Rookwood's department is already bleeding the Ministry dry despite Lucius' best efforts. The man haemorrhages money. He might be an able fighter, but he is a terrible manager and, in Lucius' opinion, he should never have been put in charge of law enforcement or any other department.
"I do wonder if you might be able to make some savings though, Augustus?" He says carefully. "Perhaps I might review your spending and make some suggestions as to where economies might be made?"
"My Lord," Rookwood turns his scowling countenance toward Voldemort. "This is the sort of undermining behaviour I am constantly forced to endure. One might almost think that Lucius does not want Potter to be found considering his unwillingness to invest in the program designed to find him."
"Of course that is not the case, My Lord." Lucius forces a smile. "I am merely cognisant that we are not working with unlimited funds and there is no point in wasting money which might be put to good use expanding Augustus' excellent program even further." Or investing in education, housing or infrastructure, he adds silently. He knows Voldemort has little interest in any of these things.
"Tell me, Lucius," Voldemort's voice is deceptively soft, "why it is that the budget is so restricted? I thought you had the country's finances well under control."
"I can assure you that I am fully in control, My Lord." Lucius fights to keep an edge from his voice. "However, with the ongoing recruitment problems the collection of the year's taxes has been slower than we might have liked which has led to a temporary dip in our solvency."
"Yes, yes." Voldemort waves his hand in the manner of someone who has no desire to be troubled with extraneous details. "I believe I told you to solve that problem months ago."
"You did, My Lord, and everything is under control." Lucius grips his cane tightly beneath the table. This is the problem with following a dictator he has discovered. Voldemort might be the most powerful dark wizard ever to have lived. He may be visionary and charismatic. He is undeniably brilliant in his own way. But, he has no interest in the minutiae of running a country. His goal had been to rid the wizarding world of Muggleborns and he has achieved this with admirable efficiency. Many were killed during the war. Others have fled abroad, and those who remain have been housed in prison camps. This is all very well in principle, but no provision has been made to fill the gap these individuals have left in society. Numerous vital roles within the ministry have been left unfilled. Not to mention the vacancies left by all the half-bloods who also fled the country or went into hiding in protest over the treatment of their friends and families.
The government is now woefully understaffed and the prison camps themselves a huge drain on the ministry's resources. Despite living in, Lucius suspects, horrific conditions, the occupants need to be fed and clothed and guarded and the enforced labour they are mandated to perform doesn't actually have any useful outcome. Given his way, Lucius would have had them brewing potions or manufacturing magical goods. But the Dark Lord will have none of that. The Mudbloods are not permitted to do magic of any sort. Lucius has not pressed the matter. He hates Muggleborns as much as the next Death Eater, but he has no desire to see them wiped out in an act of genocide and he can't help but feel that, should he complain too loudly about their drain on society, Voldemort might just snap and kill them all.
He locks eyes with Voldemort and feels the dark wizard's none too subtle incursion into his mind. He keeps his thoughts placid and calm and projects confidence in his ability to manage the ongoing fiscal crisis. Apparently satisfied, Voldemort withdraws.
The meeting drags on and Lucius tries to keep his mind from wandering. He is reminded time and again how patently unsuited for office so many of his contemporaries are.
He feels Severus tense beside him and turns his attention back to Voldemort.
"And what of Hogwarts, Severus. Have you filled the vacant teaching positions?"
"Alas, my Lord, I have not. We still lack a suitably qualified arithmancer and we have no one to teach ancient runes. I am already teaching potions on top of my administrative duties." He speaks without inflection as if he is describing the weather, but Lucius can see the lines of strain around his old friend's mouth.
"Your attempts at international recruitment have not been successful?"
"Not as yet, My Lord."
"Then I suggest you try harder, Severus. The schooling of my loyal brethren's children is of the highest import.
"Of course, My Lord."
To Lucius' relief the focus shifts away from Severus and himself. They are not the only cabinet members to have failed in their tasks. Lucius wonders if the Dark Lord were always so blinkered. How can he not see that simply shouting will not achieve his means? Too often he asks the impossible. How could one of the greatest wizards of all time have such mastery of magic, but only the most basic grasp of economics and politics?
He says as much to Severus as they return by unspoken agreement to Hogwarts and Snape's liquor cabinet.
"I believe that the Horcruxes destroyed by Potter have eroded not just his soul, but also his mind," Snape replies before taking a healthy slug of firewhisky.
"Perhaps." Lucius takes a sip of his own drink. "I remember him being a rational man, clever, calculating." He takes another sip. "But I was young then. I was swayed by the influence of my father and a powerful wizard with a pretty face. Perhaps he was no more rational then than he is now and I simply did not see it." He knocks back the rest of his drink and holds out the glass for Severus to refill.
"Regrets, Lucius?" Severus asks. His voice is quiet.
Lucius meets his old friend's gaze head on. The silence between them has become charged.
Lucius is the first to look away. "Of course not. I am proud to serve our Lord in any way he sees fit."
"As am I."
Snape paces the headmaster's study before turning to look out of the window. Lucius studies his profile.
"You look tired."
"I am tired." Snape pushes a hand through his oily black hair and, for the first time, Lucius sees a glimmer of silver there.
"The headmaster's job is a full time one. Teaching potions as well leaves me with little free time." He gives a humorless smile and gestures at a pile of papers on the desk behind him. "Even now, I should be marking."
"And I should be pouring over the budget one more time trying to find a million galleons for Rookwood to squander." Lucius can't keep the vitriol from his voice.
"How bad is it?" Snape takes a seat again and aims his wand at the fireplace encouraging the flames higher.
"It's bad." Lucius leans closer to the fire's warmth. He has forgotten how perennially cold Hogwarts is.
"Can't you just shore up the economy with the Malfoy fortune?" Severus sneers.
Lucius ignores the barb. "Even the Malfoy fortune isn't that large. Besides," —he glances at Snape out of the corner of his eyes— "I'm siphoning as much of my personal wealth out of Britain as quickly as I can."
Snape raises an eyebrow. "To what end?"
"In case the Dark Lord hits on exactly the same solution as you, Severus. It is my role as head of the Malfoy family to preserve and enhance our fortune, not squander it on political regimes. Whatever happens to me, the money will be safe. For Draco, or Draco's children."
"You don't expect to survive then?"
Lucius shakes his head. "No, do you?"
Snape takes a moment to consider before he answers. "Every morning I am surprised by my own continuing existence. I am not a likeable man. Already, I can see the Dark Lords' guilt over my near death diminishing a little. A few more months of failure and even my heroic murder of an unarmed and sickly old wizard will be forgotten along with every other service I have done him over the last twelve years." Snape contemplates his drink. "No, I do not expect to survive."
They sit in a silence broken only by the snoring of headmasters and headmistresses past and watch the flames flicker around the Headmaster's study.
"Tell me Lucius" —Severus breaks the silence— "if you could kill one member of the inner circle, who would it be?"
Lucius shows his teeth in a malicious smile. "Anyone?" he clarifies.
"Anyone."
"And I can kill them without retribution or fear of discovery?"
Snape nods.
Lucius thinks carefully. This is the stuff of which fantasies are made. "You expect me to say Bellatrix, I know."
Snape inclines his head, but remains silent.
"But you know me, Severus. I'm a petty man. I do not forget when a man slights me. I chose Rookwood."
"Rookwood!" Severus sits up a little straighter. "Because he complained about you rejecting his funding? You are petty, Lucius."
"It's not just that." Lucius makes himself comfortable in his armchair and takes another sip of his drink. His face is beginning to feel a little numb. "What I really object to is that he's stupid. And he's not stupid like Goyle is. At least Goyle knows he's stupid. Rookwood thinks he's intelligent."
"I cannot argue with that." Severus tops off both of their glasses again.
"How about you?" Lucius asks.
Severus ponders. "Bellatrix," he says eventually.
"Really?" Lucius is surprised. "I always thought you had a grudging admiration for her."
"I do, I suppose. She pursues her own insanity with a commitment most of my students can only aspire too. However, her husband is barely in the ground and the woman has been aggressively propositioning me." He gives a dramatic shudder. "Believe me, I have no desire to become involved in a physical relationship with her."
"I don't blame you." Lucius gives his own sympathetic shudder. "To the untimely death of Bellatrix and Augustus." He holds up his glass in a salute mirrored by Snape.
It is late when Lucius arrives home. The crack of his clumsy apparition is loud in the silence of the house. He makes his way upstairs somewhat unsteadily. It is a long time since he has allowed to himself to indulge and he knows he will pay for it the next day.
He enters his room with considerably more noise than usual and looks guiltily toward the corner. He expects the girl to startle awake with her usual look of martyred terror, but she doesn't stir. Now he comes to think of it he can't remember the last time he has actually seen her awake. Still, he thinks, Vera would have told him if she were dead.
Of their own volition his feet carry him across the room until he is standing over her.
She is an untidy sleeper. She lies in a tangled sprawl of long limbs and wild hair. Her arms are thrown up above her head and her nightdress has ridden up to expose a sliver of midriff. He doesn't normally allow himself to look at her. He knows it is not safe to acknowledge her in any way. If he wants to keep her out of his subconscious then he must treat her as he would any other piece of the furniture. But, if she is sleeping...well, surely then she can do him no harm? It can't hurt to observe her just this once.
He creeps a little closer.
In slumber, she has an air of delicate fragility about her that is concealed by her personality when she is awake. With all of her wild hair and youthful defiance she appears larger than life. Now, sleeping so deeply he can hardly see the rise and fall of her chest she appears wraith like. She is not beautiful. Not like Narcissa was. Not like he is. Her features are not extraordinary in any way. Yet, she is still arresting. The march of freckles across her tiny, pointed nose draws his eye. The slight pout of her lips as she softly exhales arouses feelings in him he has long repressed. And the paper thin translucence of her eyelids has him feeling oddly protective.
He can smell her again.
Her scent has changed. It is stronger with a feral undertone that he ought to find disgusting, but doesn't. It seems to be growing stronger by the second. It cuts through his drunken anaesthesia, awakens his senses, sets his nerve endings on fire. He cannot take his eyes off of her hair. It covers the mattress like a living, creeping vine. He wants to touch it, to dig his fingers into it to wrap it around his wrist and use it to pull her toward him…
He is kneeling beside the futon one hand outstretched toward her.
She mutters something and her eyelids flicker before she sighs softly and stills. It is enough though. The spell she had somehow cast over him in her sleep is lifted and Lucius lurches to his feet and stumbles away from her.
She is a succubus. There can be no other explanation. He is Lucius Malfoy, Patriarch of one of Wizarding Britain's oldest and most noble families. How can he harbour such feelings? How can he be drawn in such a base way to a creature so beneath him?
He retreats into the bathroom and splashes water on his face. It is not enough. He can still smell her. He can feel her skin against his and her hair on his wrists. He steps fully clothed into the shower and stands beneath the freezing jet of water until he is shivering so hard his teeth chatter.
Clad in his pajamas he hesitates at the bathroom door. This is his chamber. He is lord of the manor. It is bad enough that he has been driven from his home by the Dark Lord. He will not allow himself to be driven from his bedroom by a mere slip of a girl. He must be stronger.
He leaves the bathroom and slams the door behind him loud enough to jar the girl into wakefulness. She gives a cry of fright and immediately huddles into the corner her blanket pulled up to her neck. He turns his back to hide his smirk. If she continues to disturb his sensibilities then he will disturb her sleep.
But his petty attempt at revenge backfires. He is forced to lie in the dark listening to the rasp of her panicked, uneven breathing as his imagination unfettered by Occlumency and encouraged by alcohol provides him with a thousand lurid scenarios in which she is reduced to incoherent pants of pleasure rather than fear.
He does not sleep that night.