Title: Untouchable Face (So What)

Author: Amalin

Contact: Amalin32@aol.com

Rating: R

Disclaimer: This fanfiction is based on characters and settings in the books of J. K. Rowling. No profit is being made. The song "So What," from which the lyrics are taken, belongs to Ani DiFranco.

Summary: When your memory is something that other people play with and your mind their discarded playground, what else can you believe in besides your own reflection? When no recollection is a pleasant one, is it better just to forget? How many new lives are too many, before the past catches up to you? And what do you do when the face in the mirror is no stranger than the dreams you once cherished? What then?


c h a p t e r f o u r -- s o w h a t

"...who are you now and who were you then
that you thought somehow, you could just pretend
you could figure it all out - the mathematics of regret
so it takes two beers to remember now
and five to forget

i loved you, so...
yeah, i loved you, so what..."



It was possibly the best summer of his life. At a quick glance it was like a shining mosaic, each detailed tile blurring into a golden haze, though close up - frantic tangle of limbs, silvery lake with fish tickling past toes, ornate gardens spilling over the cracks in the walls, laughter echoing from the stained glass and vaulted ceilings in the library - each moment was a work of art itself. And he had a mother again.

"Personally, I think it's creepy," Lucius joked one day, rolling his eyes. "I mean, what, are you sleeping with her behind my back? You spend more time with her than you do me!"

Gil splashed him. After the brief tussle that followed, he lay on his back in the water, limbs splayed, eyes to the clouds, letting the silvery surface settle back to placid undulation again. "Of course not," he clarified, "but I miss my mum, you know. And she's so nice."

And, contrary to the nature of the family she'd married into, Portia Malfoy was.

She was passive and demure when around her strong-willed husband, but he was rarely home. She would disperse handpicked bouquets of wildflowers about the house, hustling the house elves out of the kitchen so she could bake cookies for the boys. She played the piano in the evening and the lonely strains of Bach or Mozart would often weave their way into the growing dusk where Gil and Lucius were. She hated wine and preferred tea with her homely meals, dressing more often in jeans than she did in gowns or traditional robes. Her husband would have complained, but his footsteps graced the halls of the manor only once or twice that summer, and so Portia went her own way.

Sometimes when Lucius was asleep and Gil was tired of watching him in sleepless frustration, Gil would tiptoe down the marble stairs and into the kitchen. Mrs. Malfoy - though she insisted on being called Portia, not everything had to be so formal - would almost always be there, hands curled around a steaming cup of tea, smiling into the vapor at visions only she could imagine. She welcomed Gil's company gladly and never condemned him for his inability at this or his thoughts on that.

Yes, he had a mother again, and a true friend.

He was set in the sleepy rhythm of those summer days: late mornings and lazy afternoons, coppery sunsets followed by the pouring in of dusk's hazy cobalt. He was used to the rolling fields, the wildflowers and waves of grass that lit with lines of sunlight on certain afternoons. He knew the spicy taste of Portia's beloved cookies, loved to walk the halls of portraits and mirrors that stared haughtily down at him. He took for granted the long afternoons in the library with Lucius or the races towards the argentine lake on the edge of the manor. He savored the taste of the cool water on his tongue and the way the sky looked when he floated on his back, Lucius' voice washing over him.

He was not, however, prepared when the doorbell rang one humid morning and admitted a furious Severus Snape.

"Lockhart?" Scowling incredulously, he shouldered past the slim boy and into the front hall. "Where's Lucius?"

Still reeling from the sudden appearance of Snape, Gil gulped and glanced nervously towards the stairs. "He's still asleep. Er. Portia - er, Mrs. Malfoy - is in the garden, I think."

"Is his father here?" Snape did not seem pleased to find Gil the only one close by - even less pleased than he had been to find Gil at all.

"No, he hasn't been here since June."

"Damn! Lucius!" Striding angrily towards the stairs, Snape raised his voice. It echoed from the lofty ceiling, gently tinkling the chandeliers and making one ancient Malfoy ancestor sidle nervously out of his painting. "Lucius!" he yelled again. "Get down here! We don't have all day!"

It was several minutes later when a tousled and yawning Lucius appeared at the head of the stairs, still tugging on a crumpled silk robe. "Whazzat?" Staring down at the scene before him - a cowering Gil and an irate Snape - he frowned. "Severus? What're you doing here?"

"Check the damn calendar, Malfoy." Advancing several steps, Snape seemed to have forgotten about Gil. His features were twisted in an angry sneer. "Have you forgotten the date? It's time!"

Even from where he stood, Gil could tell that something changed. Lucius was no longer bemusedly smiling, his expression instead shifting to a trapped, feverish stare. Slowly tying his robe, he took a step down, gaze not on Snape but on the air behind him. When he spoke, his voice was deliberately musing, and to Gil he sounded suddenly ill. "Already? So soon?"

"Soon?" Eyes trailing sideways to Gil, Snape smirked. "You have lost track of time, haven't you? Busy summer, I'd guess?" Another glance at the boy. "It's August first, Lucius, and we were supposed to be somewhere-" checking his watch- "about ten minutes ago."

If he had been pale before, he was quite ghostly by this time. Swallowing, Lucius looked guiltily at his houseguest. "Sorry, Gil - Severus is right, I've got to go. I'll be back before dinner, prob'ly." Hustling back up the stairs, he dashed to change.

"Where are you going?" Gil found his voice, somehow, in the surprise that shuddered through his mind. It was August already? And - something was changing, he was sure of it. Far earlier than he had expected.

"None of your business," Snape returned icily. "Lucius'll tell you if he wants you to know."

The tall Malfoy, clothes still in disarray, nearly tripped down the stairs after Snape. "I'm coming," he panted, pausing for a moment beside Gil. "I-" In one swift motion, he stumbled over and pulled a startled Gil into an unexpected, fervent kiss. When the boy recovered, the other two were already out the door. Snape was staring pointedly at the sky, though he was smirking innocently at those lazy clouds.

Despite the heat still lingering on his lips, the memory of a hand pressing urgently against his back, Gil felt a chill sweep through his body. Every cupbearer has his end.

Without speaking, he knew the summer - and all its frantic glory - was gone.


-=-=-=-


Twilight had settled around the mansion by the time Lucius returned and the stars twinkled like so many displaced diamonds scattered through the sky. Gil was perched on the edge of a rusted lawn chair, a bowl of melted ice cream lying discarded at his side.

"Lucius?" All too aware of his lonely puppy dog tone, Gil scrambled to his feet. "Is that you?"

The tall figure loped across the lawns, every motion in the shadows betraying his weariness. He collapsed in the chair Gil had vacated.

"Are you all right? Do you want me to get your mum?"

"No!" Lucius glanced upwards, eyes glittering oddly in the evening light. He sighed and repeated more softly, "No, Gil. I'm fine. She can't do anything, anyway. It's Father who runs this house, albeit from a few countries away."

Silence fell over the two, shuddering in great waves over the hills, interrupted only by the distant hoot of an owl. Gil bit his lip, gnawing nervously, twisting his hands together. "Um, Lucius?" The other boy didn't look up. "I wondered - er, Snape said -"

"Gil, please. Not now."

The boy could not, however, suppress the growing fear in his stomach. "But-"

Lucius sighed heavily. "Okay! Okay, just remember, you wanted to know!" Thrusting his arm angrily towards his companion, he waited. "Roll up my sleeve."

The wind shivered, lonely, through the flowering trees. Relative silence fell over the lawn. Gil's hands trembled like the leaves on the trees, fearfully brushing back the other's robe. Even in the shadowy dusk the mark spread like a bleeding stain on his pale skin. "I-" He knew he was gaping but could not disguise the horror in his eyes. "How - how could-"

"Don't blame me." The voice was emotionless, glassy, chilled and bitter like antique wine. "You knew. Don't tell me you didn't know."

"Knew what?" Gil recoiled from the bruise-like stain. "How-"

"Don't be a bloody idiot, Gil! I know you can be obstinate when you want to be. I was the Head Boy, I was in Slytherin, I'm - goddamnit, I'm a Malfoy! What did you expect, Gil? I told you what was going to happen after graduation, I warned you, didn't I?"

"They killed my parents," he said, voice as controlled as he could make it - otherwise, he might be screaming. "Death Eaters murdered my parents. And you-"

Lucius yanked his sleeve back down as if the mark repulsed him as well. "Don't pretend I had a choice."

"You did! You could have fought back, could have done something! But you just plodded along, all settled in the life you were handed; 'This is my last freedom, Gil, then I have to get married and kill people.' What, was it too much effort to try and change the way things were?"

"You don't know my father," Lucius growled, hands clenching and unclenching spasmodically.

Gil looked away. "I don't have to. I know you. You said it yourself; after Hogwarts, you were destined to become him."

"Gil…" For the first time he could remember, Lucius sounded desperate. "Don't hate me for who I am. You never did before."

"You never had that before!" Furiously blinking back tears, Gil looked away from him and into the edges of the shadowed grove. An owl hooted once more in the distance, its whoo, whoo rustling through the forest like an alarm. Wouldn't it be nice, Gil thought roughly, if all predators warned their prey? Lucius' face was imperturbable, though his hands were periodically relaxing and clenching back into fists. His eyes were the same impassive silver. "I - God, why, Lucius?"

"Because." His voice was tired, worn thin and ragged. He looked broken like a toy, broken like the iron heart he never let anyone else touch, broken like the pieces of their own hearts he shattered without looking back. Why? Because. "This is what I am. This is all that I am."

Gil was surprised to find his hands trembling. The night seemed colder than it had before, the blanket of stars less comforting. They had laid on the lawn one night, pointing out constellations to each other. It held none of the silly romance that some often jested about from the roof of the Astronomy Tower; neither did it hold any serious school feeling. It was peaceful, somehow lazily right, with the grass tickling his neck and Lucius' breath on his cheek. And now-

Hesitantly, Lucius said, "When you graduate, you could join us and we-"

"What?" Gil could do nothing more than stare incredulously. "You want me to become - become that? You want me to become you, just because you had to follow the footsteps of a whole line of dead Malfoys?"

"Because I-"

But Gil didn't want to hear it. He was, perhaps, afraid to hear it - afraid those simple words that rang in his head every time he saw Lucius would be too false to believe in. How could a Death Eater love?

"I'm the same person, Gil," Lucius said gently, instead of the words that had come so close to clumsily tripping off his tongue. He had seen Gil's tormented expression, anyhow, and quickly backtracked from such a painful path. "It isn't as if Voldemort plucked out my soul and put it in a little glass vial, replaced it with some dark shadow. I'm still Lucius."

"I know," answered Gil. "That's the problem."

"So - so you aren't going to-"

"To follow you around like a sad puppy? No. I have better plans for after Hogwarts." In truth, he had none. He had hoped - in some distant, yearning corner of his mind - that he might indeed stay with Lucius. But that was folly; he knew that. So why did it hurt so much?

"Gil-"

"Don't touch me!" His shout was more vehement than he'd expected, though it achieved the supposedly desired result. Lucius withdrew quickly, folding his arms instead. "I - I can't stay here," Gil said quickly. "Not like this."

"I'm the same person," he insisted again, but Gil shook his head.

"With a different master."

"Voldem-"

"Don't say the name!" Gil's somehow stubborn yet conflicted expression faced Lucius, who obligingly whispered, "You Know Who."

"Just let me go. You've prolonged it long enough, haven't you? You knew this was going to happen. Did you think I'd be happy?"

"I-"

"You thought I'd still follow you anywhere?" His voice broke. "You thought I'd still love you?"

Neither had ever spoken the words. Of course, they may have in the seclusion of their own minds, but the actual sound had never touched air.

Lucius was silent.

"Promise me you won't lead your future son into this," Gil insisted when he got no answer. He hadn't expected one, eyes glittering strangely. Determined. "The Malfoy inheritance of that-" he gestured roughly towards Lucius' arm - "has to stop somewhere. Don't put him through your torture."

"I-"

It was strange how, after the initial fury faded, all that remained was the hollow feeling. The endless aching goodbye. Some part of him shouted that it didn't matter, none of it - a mark on his arm, that was all. There was nothing to be so upset about. Nothing to end the summer about. Nothing to end...everything. "I'm sorry," Gil said quietly, "but I - I can't stay."

"Where are you going now? School doesn't start again for-"

"It doesn't matter where," Gil said roughly. "Not here."

Lucius shut his eyes for a moment; scratched his head agitatedly as if thinking. "Stay the night, at least. Don't go running out there and get in some terrible accident. And don't you dare try to Apparate. You'll probably get Splinched."

"Nice to know you believe in me." Gil glanced away, over the trees.

"I'm serious, Gil - please! I don't even have to be here, I'll go - damn, I'll go somewhere, and you can stay the night and leave in the morning, okay?"

"I-" Gil still could not bring himself to meet the other's eyes. He didn't want to see; they might be the same, the emotion might be there, and then his resolve would be shaken, and then what? "When mortals believe in gods," he said instead, "what do gods believe in?"

There was silence, and eventually Lucius turned and strode away. His defeated figure shifted through the darkening night, disappeared into the lonely shadows.

Gil had not the heart to follow.

-=-=-=-


"Couldn't sleep?" There was still dirt lingering staunchly under the partially coral fingernails of those gentle hands. The fingers curled around a cup of tea and her pale eyes smiled welcomingly at Gil, signalling for him to take a chair. He did so.

"I guess not. You're still up, again?"

"I don't sleep much," she smiled, carefully pouring the steaming liquid into a cup for her young companion. "I see it as a waste of time. Why be caught up in the madness of dreams when you could be sitting here, drinking tea, contemplating into the dawn?"

"Er."

She pushed the cup across the table towards him and he took it gratefully. It stung his throat, but the warmth felt comforting. "Any particular reason for tonight's insomnia?" Portia Malfoy inquired, perceptive as ever. "My son didn't happen to return, did he? I know he tends to stay out late sometimes, but-"

Gil looked away. "Yeah. He came back. But I think he went back out drinking, or something."

"Without you?"

"Yeah. Without me."

A fondly sorrowful smile passed over her lips and she sipped her tea, nostalgia in her eyes. "Lucius has always been a unique boy. I remember when he was younger, he'd never obey his father, always do just the opposite. He got so frustrated that he told Lucius the opposite of what he wanted done." Biting her lip, she gazed past Gil and into the shadows of the adjoining room. "He even used to say, 'I hate you,' before leaving for work."

Gil remained silent, though his mind was filled with images of a much younger Lucius waving goodbye to his father, the word hate echoing in his ears. He, too, looked away into the other room.

"My husband is not the most affectionate man," Portia said gently. "Lucius knows that."

"He fell out of a tree, though." Gil was not entirely sure what the point was of saying so. Portia, however, smiled eagerly.

"Oh, did Lucius tell you that story! How wonderful. Yes, he was only six years old and fell out of that huge tree by the lake; you know where it is, don't you?" She sipped again. "We were all so worried."

Gil's half-smile couldn't help but be bitter. "And when he woke up did his father say 'I hate you' as always?"

Portia reached over and took his hand gently. "I don't think," she told him, "that he said anything at all, he was too relieved. What's the matter, Gil, dear? Did something go amiss today?"

"I suppose you could say that," he said reluctantly. "You know Snape - er, Severus Snape - stopped by? To take Lucius off."

Gil was suddenly afraid that Portia would misinterpret him and think that perhaps he was jealous that Snape was stealing his time with Lucius, but he was startled when Portia gasped. "What's today's date, Gil? D'you happen to know?"

"It's August. August first."

Her voice was rather hollow when it came, and she looked into her tea as if seeking an answer. "Oh. I wonder if he knows..." Her head jerked quickly, then, and she glanced to Gil. "Did he say anything when he came home?"

"He said quite a bit," Gil sighed. There was no turning back now. "So did I. And he showed me his arm."

"His..." She shut her eyes. "Oh, Gil, I was expecting this." Gil did not respond. "You know," she said quietly, "I thought that perhaps things would be different. And when he invited you for the summer, I thought-"

"I guess the moral of that is not to think," Gil interrupted bitterly. Every time I think, I think of you...

Portia squeezed Gil's hand gently, gesturing towards his cup. "Go on, dear, drink up. It'll make you feel better; never fails, tea." She watched him pointedly until he halfheartedly drank. The liquid was a scalding comfort in his throat. Her eyes, so like Lucius', were disconcertingly trained on him. "Are you going to be a Death Eater, Gil?"

"They...they killed my parents."

"I'm not surprised," she said, in a tone that made him jerk his head to look at her. Smiling sadly, she added, "I've known one of the worst for twenty one years; I consider myself somewhat of an expert. But Gil, I know better than anyone - Death Eaters aren't evil. Not necessarily. This probably isn't what you want to hear, or maybe it is, but they're just the same people as you and I. They only answer to something darker."

"You aren't, er, one of them, then?" he asked carefully.

Portia chuckled. "No, Gil. I'm not of much importance to Voldemort, anyway. And," there was an unexplainable softness in her eyes, "Julius requested that I not be dragged into the business. It was granted."

"He asked You-Know-Who to...to not use you, and he agreed?" Gil said skeptically.

"Yes. He did."

"But - I thought you said he was - one of the worst-"

"He is, Gil. He's killed people. He's hurt people. He's no father, nor a husband. But the thing you have to understand is that he's still a person. As are all Death Eaters, you know. Sometimes love has to transcend the barriers we erect."

Instead of asking just what that implied, he looked away. Should I stay? Should I really? "Do you - do you love him, then?"

"Do I love Lucius? Without a doubt. He's my son and I will love him until he kills me." Seeing Gil's expression, she smiled. "No, not that he necessarily will, but I would love him if he did. Do I love Julius? I don't think those are the words. But I miss him at times, and I love some of the things he says, at times. I suppose that's enough. We don't speak much; he's rarely home, you know. And when he is, we still don't speak. Yet, I suppose he means something to me, in one way or another."

The shadows flickered in the hall. Gil sipped his tea quietly. "Do you think it matters, then? That...that..."

"It doesn't matter if I think it matters. It matters if you think it matters. Does it?"

"I - I'm scared," he admitted. "What if I give up everything and nothing matters? I mean, what if it turns out to mean...nothing?"

"I wish I could tell you the meaning of life," Portia said softly, rising to take her empty tea mug to the sink. "I wish I could explain to you the world and the ups and downs of love, but I don't think I can. It isn't something you explain. It's something you experience."

"A...good experience?"

"An experience," she shrugged. "Humanity is just a word, Gil. But it is most probably the word. I need a bit of Bach before I sleep, if you'll excuse me." She patted his hand and gave him a smile, but too soon she turned away.

She left him sitting in the darkened kitchen, sipping his tea gone cold and staring into the shadows. The gentle strains of piano music wove into the night, chords and fluttering thirty-second notes all blurring into a bittersweet haze.

He fell asleep on the table, cheek pillowed on his head, and when he woke it was dawn.

She was still playing.

-=-=-=-


Lucius' bed was unslept in when Gil retrieved the last of his rumpled clothes and crept back out into the lengthening shadows of dawn. He did not see Lucius as he dragged himself across the lawn and into the driveway, wearily holding out his wand hand.

He almost wanted to see Lucius; he was sure that if he did, he would be convinced to stay.

But the picture in his mind's eye was not strong enough and, when the purple bus came rumbling by, he climbed on without a second glance behind.

Soon Malfoy Manor was a watercolor blur that disappeared into the horizon.

Gone.

"London, y'say?" The middle aged Stanley Shunpike was bouncing a four year old child on his knee, smiling warmly. There seemed to be no other passengers. Gil nodded.

"I'm going upstairs to sleep. Wake me when we get there." And without a word he turned and walked away.

He didn't want to sleep, really; he was haunted enough in his waking hours. He could picture Lucius coming home, possibly drunk, maybe just tired, opening the door, stumbling inside...his hair would be rumpled the way it always was, certain pieces upright and tousled, others flat against his forehead. His eyes would be bleary and he would stare at Portia until she paused her cramping fingers and looked up tiredly...they would call his name, maybe, but already know the truth...

He tried to cry but the tears did not come. For the first time in his life, they did not come. Gil thought perhaps he had wasted them, poured them forth for petty things like childhood fights and bullies, failed exams and parental disappointment. Now there were none left.

Or maybe, maybe tears just weren't good enough. Weren't strong enough.

Outside the sky rumbled as the bus jolted over potholes. Gil could hear the wavering voice of Stanley singing to his infant son, also named Stan. The clouds combined, rolling together in lonely masses. If humanity was but a word, so was love. Did it matter if it was a word or the word?

No.

He slipped into a restless sleep, the sort that leaves you as weary as you were before, the sort that gives you haunting dreams that follow you down the street with your shadow.

Outside, the London sky cried, because he could not.

_______________________________________________________________________
Belated A/N: Here ends Part One of The Lockhart Story, otherwise known as the Hogwarts years! The next chapter takes place two years later, after graduation. Um. Yeah. No real notes, other than perhaps Portia had a spell to relieve the cramping in her fingers - hours upon hours of playing, whoo! And I suppose the Knight Bus is a family business, yes?

And a gigantic thank you ~tosses grateful flowers~ to Sky and Rhi: much, much love! You're the best; as are the rest of you (few) readers out there.