Disclaimer - I don't own Harry Potter. Don't sue me.



CHAPTER 17 - REAFFIRMATION


In the drawing room of the Castle, Narcissa Malfoy stood at the window and looked into the east, where the darkness of night was coming down, inevitable and unstoppable. Soon all of the lands that had belonged to the Malfoy for thousands of years would be cloaked in darkness, and not even the Veil could stop it.

Voldemort was coming. And not Lucius, not Luc, not even Brandon Malfoy himself, should he somehow, miraculously come back to life, could stop him. Very soon, very very soon now, she would see her arrogant fool of a husband brought down. Lucius had only played at being evil; his sense of honour and his ridiculous Covenant had forbidden him from fully embracing the opportunities Voldemort had represented.

So the Dark Lord had ordered his father's death. What of it? Old Marcus Malfoy was a fool who hadn't had the balls to play the Game ruthlessly enough to survive. She had to admit that Lucius was far more ruthless than his father had ever dreamed of becoming - and Luc even more so - but still his ridiculous honour held him back.

She had thought, when she had first set her sights on the new Malfoy Lord, that here was a man who could go all the way to the pinnacle, and take her with him. He'd been the perfect Death Eater - ruthless, cunning, conscienceless and completely immoral - until he'd taken the Mask off and she'd seen the true man.

He was first and foremost the Malfoy Lord - everything else came second to that. Even the Dark Lord.

And his brother, who also could have been so much more, was just as honourable, and even more crippled by the death of his mudblood whore. Her death had almost broken him - almost smothered the fire and had come so, so near to destroying all that raw, unclaimed potential.

At the time she had chosen the brother she thought to be the alpha male. She'd known he would be hard to manipulate, but she'd been confident they'd at least share the same ambitions, dream the same dreams. She hadn't counted on his positively archaic attachment to this land beyond the back of nowhere.

She'd taken it for as long as she could. She'd given him his precious son and heir, whom he doted on almost as much as he did the land. She'd stood by his side and had watched as he played puerile political games with muggle lovers and fools, and had endured in silence all the years where she was considered to be of equal legal standing to old hags like Molly Weasley. All the years when the fools and canaille had looked at her and had dared to judge her, dared to even think that they were just as good as she, a Beaumont and a Malfoy.

And now the Dark Lord had returned, and those years were at an end. But Lucius, although he had gone back at first, had turned against his rightful lord and had arrayed himself on the other side, with the muggle loving fools.

So be it.

She would not go down with her husband like that weak, spineless fool Ruth in the Christian stories. No. She would see Lucius fall, and she would use it as leverage on her way up. If she could bring her son in with her, all the better. Perhaps he would be more easily controlled than his honourable, strong willed father.

Narcissa was a lovely woman. But in that moment, as the last lights of the sun in the west gave way to the darkness in the east, she smiled - and it was a terrible, terrible smile.

**************************************


Dominic de Sauvigny, who alone among his family had not fled overseas, perched on the edge of Rayden Lestrange's desk and watched appreciatively as Benjamin Greyson, somewhat deflated but still superior, demanded that Rayden, now the Minister of Defence, save his wife from the evil clutches of the tai-pan, and while he was at it use everything he had to get the man dismissed and thrown into Azkaban.

Evidently he hadn't yet grasped the fact that Rayden and Luc were best of friends, and only de Sauvigny and Malfoy support could have been enough to ensure the election of a man who had been suspected of involvement with the Dark Lord, and whose elder brother and sister-in-law had actually been convicted and sentenced to life imprisonment. Rayden had not forgotten, and was not likely to.

He listened to Greyson politely, impassively, before nodding gravely, assuring him that every effort would be made to locate his wife, and then dismissing him. Then he turned those penetrating green eyes - particularly striking with his white, white hair - onto Dominic, who had always been a little in awe of him, and onto Albus Dumbledore, who had never been in awe of anyone, let alone Rayden.

He raised an eyebrow, inviting comment.

"Actually," murmured Dominic nonchalantly, "I've been wondering about that. Where is Luc?" He asked it as if he wasn't nearly frantic with worry about Luc's uncharacteristic despair, about the attack on the Ministry, about the rumours running wild that Lucius Malfoy had become a Death Eater again...

"And more to the point," said Dumbledore gravely, "What has he to do with the attack on the Ministry today?"

Rayden closed his eyes wearily. He'd been frantically trying to recreate order, to calm down panicked citizens, most of whom he'd been ready to blast himself, and to find out just what had happened in that hearing room today. He held up his hands. "I don't know where Luc is," he started. "I don't know where Greyson's wife is, or whether she's gone off with him or not. I do know that the attack today was aimed specifically at Luc - so somehow they knew that Greyson would get his blood up and go after him...but something went wrong." And here he smiled somewhat grimly. "Lucius evidently decided to try his luck on the other side, this time." He said that as if he, too, hadn't decided the grass was greener on the side of the so-called light.

Dominic said nothing. It was not his place to judge - but he had never been a fan of Lucius'. "And the rumours?" he asked, his tone still ice-edged. Lucius' sudden change of allegiance was just too sudden for his taste...

Rayden sighed. They had been over this before - Dominic disliked and distrusted Lucius, but that didn't mean the man was completely evil. Rayden knew all too well the pressure the High Clan had been under to turn, to succumb to Voldemort - he hadn't needed the example of Lord Harcourt, Dane Harcourt's father, to understand the price of defiance...he'd taken the easy way, himself, but Dominic hadn't had to choose at all.

"Lucius was taken by the Death Eaters in Luc's place," he said softly, holding himself tightly composed. He knew what would happen to the Malfoy Lord - he'd seen it done, he'd done it himself...and now he suspected that he'd have to try and stop it. He was the Minister of Defence, the man ultimately in charge of the nation's defences - and he was obligated to crush out Death Eater activity when and where he could.

Obligated. That meant he had to rush out to the rescue, wands blazing, braving what he knew to be a trap with every instinct he had, to save a doomed man Voldemort would never, ever give up - or at least send someone out to do it for him - like some foolhardy and idealistic Gryffindor. He winced inwardly at the thought of himself acting like James Potter and - (his mouth wanted, desperately, to twist) - Black.

Life was much simpler without obligations.

Meeting Dumbledore's eyes, he saw the knowledge there, along with a sadness, a lingering regret that he'd only been mature enough to see the first time he'd met the Headmaster after Voldemort's first defeat. So many faces missing from the Hogwarts year book, so many lost and broken lives, whether they'd fallen under the Death Eaters or had been sentenced to Azkaban or had fled overseas, away from the strife.

And he had understood then, understood with real astonishment, that Dumbledore had mourned him, too, when he'd turned away from the light. Every one of them - Lucius and Luc and Snape, Dirk, Brandon, Shan and Rayden himself - had been under by the old man's care, and he had truly regretted their defection.

It made him bristle instinctively, until he'd seen the limitless care and love in those blue, blue eyes. There was a capacity for love that he'd been almost ashamed to witness. He'd been humbled by that truth, by that openness - and it had made turn away discomforted, all the cynical truths he'd learned at such price, all the walls and defences carefully cultivated over a lifetime of danger and treachery almost defeated by such defenceless compassion.

Dumbledore grieved for Lucius Malfoy, who had done his best to bring him down, who had embraced darkness for his own ends, and who assuredly had done things to merit his own painful death. And he grieved for Luc and everyone else who would be affected by that death.

Ah, Lucius...well, he would do his best to bring about a rescue. He'd set the arrangements in order almost immediately he'd had confirmation that Lucius had been taken. He didn't need to find out where they would take him. He already knew.

***********************************

Harry shifted, trying to find a more comfortable spot, trying to remember Professor Malfoy's lessons on staying still for long periods of time. Exercise each muscle separately without moving, breath slowly and regularly, concentrate on stillness - still water, unbroken and perfect reflections...he could see the professor if he concentrated hard enough, silhouetted against the fading light and almost indistinguishable from the trees around them, he was so still.

He'd evidently had a lot of practice at staying still - and no, he didn't want to think about it. It was enough to even know that he'd been a Death Eater, without speculating on it.

They'd been sitting in the drawing room earlier, Mrs. Greyson (who was apparently an old flame of the professor's, if what Marc said was correct) staring out the window at nothing, the professor staring at her with an absolutely expressionless face, and Malfoy watching the professor with troubled eyes.

Hermione had been watching them all with big, curious eyes, drinking in this silent, ice-edged conflict, and Nick and Marc had been quietly, nonchalantly, playing cards. He and Ron had stared uncomfortably at nothing, and Brandon had held a tissue under his nose and glared viciously at the professor's back, looking away when the professor glanced at him every now and then.

It had been utterly, unbearably silent.

Finally, Draco had spoken. His voice, when it came, was filled with a new, odd strength, a confidence that Harry had never heard before. "I wish to Witness my father's death," he stated - not said, not asked, not demanded. He simply stated it as if it were inevitable that he would get his way.

Harry waited for the Professor to say "no", but strangely enough, he didn't instantly dismiss Draco's statement. He took his gaze away from Kate's back, turned it on Draco in evaluation, in completely dispassionate measurement, and then raised an eyebrow, evidently inviting more information.

Draco continued. "There must be a Witness when a Clan Lord dies," he said softly, in the same unnerving tone and in the curious manner of every High Clan child Harry knew, when they talked of their odd customs. "As the Heir, it is my right. My duty."

Marc nodded in agreement, but said nothing. This was between Draco and his uncle, and nobody else.

Luc finally spoke. "As the Heir, it is your duty to stay alive."

Draco stared at him with expressionless eyes. "I was not proposing to go alone." He somehow stared challengingly at Luc without disturbing the dispassionate tone.

Luc looked away from him and around the drawing room, taking in all seven of the students and Mrs. Greyson, and then back to Draco. "I have more than one obligation here," he said. "Would you have me take them as well?"

Draco's mouth turned up in the merest hint of a smile. "Can you protect us all?"

Luc shook his head, amused despite himself. "Not without great difficulty," he murmured absently, "not without resorting to old, old methods..." He turned his attention back to Draco. "You are convinced of this, Caius Draconis, son of Lucius?"

Draco inclined his head.

Luc closed his eyes almost as if he were in pain, and brought his hand up to cover his eyes. When he lifted his hand away and raised his eyes, Harry flinched back almost instinctively. They had gone silver. Not the blue-grey colour they normally were, but pure silver, and cold, oh so cold...the utterly feral gaze of a predator on the hunt. A predator with a decided taste for playing cruel games...

Only Draco failed to react to this new side of Luc - Draco and Kate, who was still staring out of the window. She was still standing there, indifferent, when, coldly amused, Luc rose to his feet and led everyone else out of the drawing room. They'd walked through the old, elegant house, past paintings of past de Sauvigny ancestors and of past, long forgotten scenes, into the very heart of the house and into a masculine, ruthlessly organised office that seemed to be the tai-pan's lair, in this house at least. And there, behind the arrogant painting of a golden haired, handsome man in Regency clothing, looking down his nose at them with the coldest and most sardonic green eyes Harry had ever seen (Jean-Marc de Sauvigny, Marc whispered to him) was a carved wooden box.

Unlocking it with almost reverent hands, Luc lifted the lid to reveal the faint scent of sandalwood and a cascade of black cloth that sent a chill down Harry's spine. Lifting the cloth, Luc shook it out to its full length, revealing a full length, stark black hooded robe - even without being worn, it seemed to exude a stark aura of menace. These robes would confer automatic, terrifying anonymity on the wearer - and the sense of invulnerability that would let them commit hideous acts.

Death Eater robes.

Harry wanted to say that he was surprised by this revelation, but he knew that Luc's actions on the Hogwarts Express had, subconsciously, told him that Luc was either an auror or a former Death Eater - and since Sirius had told him, quite emphatically, that Luc had never been an auror...

Next, he pulled out a smooth, ivory mask - fitted to completely cover the face with openings only for the eyes, for breathing, and a small slit for the mouth. As Hermione and Ron gasped and the others watched in sick fascination, he held it in both hands, again almost reverently, and lifted it up to his face slowly...it was a perfect fit, and it masked any trace of his humanity instantly.

Luc became colder and colder before their very eyes.

Finally, at the very bottom of the box, was a pair of...muggle guns? Semi- automatics, sleek, streamlined and matte black with the cold functional beauty of the perfect killing weapons they were. They all, even the High Clan children, knew what they were...and their one and only function. They watched in almost stunned silence as he lifted them out, checked them, and pulled out four magazines of silver, enchanted bullets that would go through any shield, any spell, any defences...

They'd been notorious, once - the mark and calling card of Voldemort's most effective and ruthless assassin. Those bullets, silent, swift and sure, had unerringly found their mark, eliminating most of the influential opposition to the Dark Lord's rise. There had been, at one point, nearly one million galleons on his head. There had never, ever, been any indication of his identity - no suspicions, no clues, no leaked information - nothing at all to show that Luc Malfoy himself, the tai-pan, had adapted a muggle weapon for use in the wizarding world...

But they knew. And Harry knew that if they ever showed any inclination to share that information with the Ministry, he would dispatch them as coldly and as calmly as he had killed all the others. He had too much to lose now.

And he was risking it all so Draco could Witness his father's death. Harry shook his head. The High Clan were a damned strange bunch.

He only hoped this wouldn't lead to all their deaths - that was, he hoped Luc was as good as he thought he was. He rather thought, and it was not a happy thought, that Luc was every bit as good as his reputation and his self-confidence proclaimed him to be - and a good deal more, on top of that.

And so here they were, in dark cloaks much like Luc's, with their faces blackened and camouflaged, looking rather like the American soldiers he had seen on television. They even had the hand signals - basic ones like "stop" and "go" because they hadn't had much time to prepare - and they were hiding in the forest around the entrance to Malfoy land. Or at least Luc assured them they were - it looked like the edge of a rather high cliff to him.

And there was Voldemort - standing, like an ancient jungle shaman, with the light of the bonfire illuminating his bone white, serpentine features, pumping out malevolence so strongly the very air seemed to shimmer darkly around him. The Death Eaters, masked and cloaked and hooded, all gathered around in a circle, and a pale, white skinned man with long white hair was bound to a frame, with a tall, thin oddly graceful man standing over him threateningly.

With a jolt Harry recognized Professor Snape as the tall, thin man - only he didn't look so evil or so menacing, now that he was surrounded by others who seemed more evil than he could ever dream of becoming...but what was he doing to Mr. Malfoy?

And then, when he was concentrating on Snape, he heard Voldemort's strange, hissing voice. "Well, well, well..."

***********************************************

As soon as Luc heard Voldemort's hiss, he dived into action. Gathering his power and tapping into the residual well of power that existed this close to the Veil, he pulled a small but highly concentrated illusion around himself and the students - silence, lower than blood temperature heat/warmth stealth and not invisibility but reflection - and made with all speed for another part of the woods. Even as Voldemort finished speaking, the trees where they had been hiding exploded and caught fire.

He wasn't even swearing, his concentration was so complete - it was a good thing Kate had stayed behind. She was absolutely hopeless in the woods...

He moved again, eluding the destruction once more, and thus began a deadly game of cat and mouse - with the best of the Dark Lord's hunters, the most intelligent and the most deadly (Hartley, von Griff, Daratzanov, Forrester, de la Tour) as the cats, and his cunning and experience as the mouse's only chance. Wasn't it lucky that he was the absolute best of them all? Otherwise they'd all be dead within a minute...

One minute. More taunting laughter, comments, and the silent knowledge that Snape was working on Lucius. Two minutes, and the hunt was in earnest - the hunters' interest whetted at the thought of a worthy chase.

Three minutes. Four minutes, and he could feel his charges beginning to tire, the tension starting to get to them.

Five minutes, and he could hear Voldemort gleefully detailing Snape's artistry, taunting him and Draco.

Six minutes. Seven.

Eight, and he could hear a whip crack, and the dull, sickening thud as it met flesh.

Nine minutes, and Brandon nearly fell - the slight noise attracted the first hunter, Daratzanov the Russian tracker who could track the wind over cold stone - Luc met him with a cold, poisoned knife and slit his throat.

Ten minutes, and after finding the Russian, the chase became personal. The whipping continued, and Voldemort informed them Snape was now turning to sense-enhancing potions, and possibly even dranath.

Forrester and de la Tour fell, to the knife and to an illusion that the Malfoy power granted temporary reality.

Von Griff, cunning, bestial and completely amoral, whom Luc had trained beside, almost trapped them - Luc dropped a thin wire around his throat and garroted him, keeping his thrashing limbs from causing any noise. It took a surprisingly long time - he had a thick neck and a very stubborn spirit. Afterwards, he retrieved the wire and wiped off the blood and other matter, slipped it back into his sleeve and ignored his student's revolted glances.

Twelve minutes, and only Hartley was left - Hartley, whom Luc had trained personally, who had been the most apt student he'd ever had, other than Draco. Master and student, they knew each other's every move - only Luc hadn't been keeping in practice, and Hartely had. He had very probably surpassed his teacher now...

If it hadn't been for the children, Luc would have actually been enjoying himself. There was nothing quite like the thrill of hunting the most cunning of the major predators - man. Especially a fully trained man. But the children slowed him down, and he knew that Hartley knew...

Thirteen minutes, and he could feel the amplified and slightly out of control taste of the ardeur in the air - Lucius had been given dranath, then - Luc's senses, still slightly out of whack from his own dose, suddenly, uncontrollably responded to that with a corresponding rush of ardeur...it brought Hartley down on them, and unprepared, there was nothing to do but fight.

A duel, because Hartley knew of his weakness in wand use, and because he knew Luc had been given veritaserum and could not rely on his ardeur...pulling out his wand, Luc matched curse for curse and hex for hex, but it was not enough, he was not quite fast or good enough for Hartley's unparalleled skill. And every second he delayed brought the rest of the Death Eaters down on his head.

Rolling after he'd been knocked to the ground, he came up to his feet in a rush, threw a curse more for distraction than anything else, and spinning with the force of the counter-curse, used the momentum to pull out his gun and, robes still whirling around him, arm fully extended, pulled the trigger three times at point blank range, feeling the jolt of the recoil through his whole body. Hartley collapsed slowly, as the echoes of the shocking noise rang through the whole forest.

Fifteen minutes, and the mouse had won.

***********************************

Lucius breathed slowly through his nose, concentrating on the physical action and not on the pain and desire coursing through his veins. Curse Snape for being such a successful torturer - when they'd been practicing in school, they'd never thought they'd one day turn that skill on each other. But then Lucius knew about loyalty, and the lengths one would go to in order to maintain it. He only hoped Dumbledore's trust was worth Snape's going through this much.

He had heard Voldemort's words of welcome. What in the Lady's name was Luc doing here? Did he think he could take on the whole coven of Death Eaters by himself?

Clenching his teeth, he concentrated enough that he could hear Voldemort's rage. Luc had eluded his most successful hunters...Lucius smiled mirthlessly, then hissed as Snape hit him with the Cruciatus again. Oh, Lady, it hurt! He'd been tortured before, but he'd never been subjected to the Potions Master's special attentions - it felt as if everything he was and everything that was him was being bitten by fire ants, fire rushed along his veins in an excruciating flood, and then everything was freezing cold, and the sensation was amplified a thousand fold by the dranath. And that was just the constant sensation that had been maintained ever since they had begun.

Luc had come to Witness his death, he realized through the pain. And perhaps even to ensure that it did happen - if it came to the point where Voldemort realized what Lucius was trying to achieve, then Luc may have to kill him himself...

The last, and most important act of a younger brother for his elder, of a Malfoy for his Clan Lord...he began to laugh silently, helplessly, shaking with pain and bitter, bitter amusement.

******************************************

Rayden stopped, listened, and identified the sudden, shocking sounds in the distance.

Gunshots.

So, Luc had resurrected his alter ego - he waved his aurors closer, and signed for them to close up on the bonfire they could all see on the horizon. It looked like the action would begin soon...

************************************

Realising it would be wasteful to send Death Eaters into the forest after them, Voldemort applied himself to getting them to come out of the forest. Direct force hadn't worked, so this time he tried persuasion.

"Harry Potter," he called, almost crooned in his most hypnotic, powerful voice. "Come out of the forest, and you can save this fool, this wretch. Do you know who he is? He's no one important, just a random fool picked out to be an example because we knew you were coming tonight..."

Ron, now that they were all closer to the edge of the forest, could see the circle clearly. He could also see, illuminated by the firelight, Harry's face. He almost groaned. It wore that grim, half haunted expression he got whenever he thought about his own role in the war and everyone who had died in his place.

"This is your fault, Harry," Voldemort continued. Harry's face looked stricken. "But you can change his fate - come out of the forest, give yourself up for him..." He made a half-hearted attempt to rise, and fell back when Ron tugged on his arm and jerked him back down.

"Don't be stupid, Harry," he whispered fiercely. "Sit down, he's just trying to lure us out."

Deprived of Harry, the Dark Lord turned his attentions towards someone else. Someone with more demons and shadows in his past to manipulate. "My dear Lucien," he crooned gently, "why do you deny me? What have I done to deserve this? Come out to me, and we will embrace and all will be well..." Ron winced at such blatant blarney, but saw Luc's posture and went still - he was tense and stiff and on edge. There was something about what Snape was doing that he recognized. "Don't you recognize Snape's handiwork? He is most skilled - something he learned from his own father, so I'm told...he's treating your dear brother Lucius exactly as you treated your other dear brother, so long ago..."

Luc looked stricken, even beneath the mask and all-enveloping cloak. And no wonder - public recognition that he'd offed his own brother (Caine, was it?) and in a very nasty way, too, if what Snape was doing was any indication. And just what was Snape doing here? Ron really didn't want to know...

"You'll be responsible for the deaths of both brothers, now, Lucien," Voldemort continued, relentless in his venom. "Both of them dead in the exact same manner! How wonderfully ironic...but only come out of the forest, into the light, and I'll tell Snape to stop..."

Luc did nothing, but his whole body vibrated with tension. His lack of reaction enraged Voldemort. "Fool! Muggle-loving fool! Watch him die, then! Sit there and do nothing!"

He turned to Draco, this time. "Why let your father die for your uncle's fear and hatred, Draco? He sits there and just watches his own brother die - and for what? Why? Do you know? Because he has always hated Lucius," he hissed, "and he has always, even from the start, wanted to rule Beyond the Veil. The House was nothing to him - he's always aimed to be the Malfoy. And when your father dies, who will oppose him? You will be the only thing that stands in his way...will you let him kill you, too?"

Voldemort's voice continued, venom and honey mixed in with just enough truth and lie to make his words almost plausible, almost believable. Ron had heard stories of the Christian devil, and of his temptation of Jesus in the desert. And so, it seemed, had the Dark Lord. Draco went extremely pale beneath the camouflage paint, and looked almost fearfully at his uncle, but still he did not come out of the trees.

Thwarted of Draco, he turned to Nick and Marc, pulling their darkest fears and their greatest temptations out of their psyches, mixing Marc's most secret desire for his real father with tales of how Caine had died, how Luc had hated him, feared him, killed him...and holding out the chance to be first to Nick, swearing he would never have to walk behind anyone ever again...

Poisoned words, striking deep into the hearts and minds, burrowing, leaving tiny seeds of discontent and distrust, fear and hatred and suspicion. Ron held his hands over his ears to stop the relentless, remorseless voice as it targeted Brandon, already more than ready to hate his mother and his blood father, who was a murderer, a Death Eater, an assassin, a bastard who had raped his mother and killed countless others...then Hermione, who was promised knowledge, the power to bring him down, the acceptance of like minds, not the ignorant fools she called friends...and Ron himself, who was promised glory and fame and the respect of all his fellows...

And then, as they lay helpless under the force of the temptation and the compulsion, as the only sound was Voldemort's voice and Mr. Malfoy's occasional hisses and the blundering searching of the Death Eaters who were still searching for them, a foreign sound intruded.

A "pop" of apparition. Aurors. Luc grabbed them all and pulled them all down, slithering on his belly to a sizeable clump of wet bushes (a fire retardant) and pulling them all along with him into the shelter. And just in time, as all hell broke loose around them.

Luc started to laugh. "Rayden," he murmured, smiling in what looked suspiciously like relief. "How Gryffindoric of you, my dear..." and abjuring them all to stay where they were, he stood up and went to help, pulling his guns out and slinking silently off into the shadows.

**************************************

Of course he was not going to stay here and watch, thought Draco. Not now he had a chance to help his father. Ignoring the hissed warnings and the shocked questions of the others, he rose and pulled his wand, vanishing into the shadows with not quite as much grace and skill as his uncle, but headed in the opposite direction, towards Snape and Lucius. As he got closer, he could see that they were in some sort of argument - now that Voldemort and the others were distracted by the aurors, Snape could drop his Death Eater façade and show his concern for the Malfoy Lord. He could hear the words now.

"Quickly, Sev, before they notice and come back - do it now," Lucius hissed softly through clenched teeth.

Snape looked horrified. "What? Are you mad? I can't kill you, that's exactly what he wants."

"Exactly! But my death will renew the Covenant again, this time with a younger, unmarked Lord..."

"What's wrong with your Covenant?"

"My Dark Mark corrupted it, corrupted the land...I'm slowly strangling it. Now will you stop arguing and just do it?" He tilted his head back obligingly. Snape picked up a long, slender knife and brought it up to Lucius' throat, looked into those eyes, so grey and so resolved, and was overwhelmed by memories. He tried again, tried to apply pressure, tried to draw blood from that white, white skin...but he couldn't do it. He simply couldn't.

Scowling, he cut Lucius' ropes, put the knife in his hand and snarled, "Do it yourself!" before stalking off, deaf to everything Lucius shouted after him.

Lucius couldn't do it himself - suicide was not one of the ways that the Blood, the Covenant, was passed on. He had to be Killed, and not by the source of his corruption, either, or the magic that would be unleashed by his death would be twisted. Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be anyone else in sight - and then he heard the laughter, the chilling laughter that sapped courage and inspired endless nightmares.

Voldemort.

"Well, well, Lucius, you have been holding out on me..." He turned desperately, facing the Dark Lord, and stumbled painfully to his feet.

Draco stood, frozen.

Luc, fighting on the other side of the clearing, turned and witnessed the small, frozen tableau, taking in the situation with one glance. He dropped back, let another take his place, and moved to a space where he could have clear aim at Lucius.

Rayden watched, alarmed at the situation he had stumbled into, and saw Luc taking aim, not at Voldemort, but at Lucius. "What are you doing?" he asked sharply, breaking Luc's concentration, earning a dark scowl for his efforts.

"Shut up Rayden, I don't have time for this," Luc hissed almost desperately, seeing how much closer the Dark Lord had come. He took aim again, breathing slowly, and pulled the trigger.

Rayden knocked the gun out of his hands, and the shot went awry. Luc rounded on him and Rayden, green eyes concerned, took out his wand to petrify him, but received the butt of the other gun across his cheek, knocking him backwards. He recovered and went in low, tackling him, ignoring Luc's hissed "You fool! You'll ruin everything!" - taking it as evidence of the Imperius, explaining why he'd just tried to kill his own brother. They lost precious seconds rolling on the ground wrestling for the gun, and Rayden, stronger and a better wrestler than Luc, came up victorious with a headlock on his friend. Thwarted, Luc saw that Voldemort had closed in, and he called out desperately to the only person close enough now to get to Lucius before him.

"Draco! Draco, you have to do it now!" Rayden gasped in surprise and clapped a hand over his mouth, swearing viciously when Luc, pushed by desperation beyond all restraint, bit down hard on his hand.

He shouted again. "Draco! Do it now! Now, Draco!" Anything else was smothered by Rayden's now gloved palm, and despite all his struggles he would not be budged.

Draco was on his own, the only person standing between Voldemort and the land Beyond the Veil. And all he had to do was kill his father, and it would be safe from the Dark Lord forever. Huh. Easier said than done. This was his father! The white haired god who had taught him everything he knew, who had dominated his life with his wisdom, his teachings, his shaping, his discipline...Luc had taught him much, but it had been Lucius who was everything to Draco. His mother had been nothing, not even a voice in Draco's influences - Lucius, Lord Malfoy, had dominated his son's mind, soul, and heart...

"Draco! Do it now!" He heard Luc's voice calling, heard the desperation, heard the clear desire - and he knew, rationally, that he had to, that it was for the best, but even so he heard an echo of Voldemort's insidious voice (he's always wanted to be Malfoy - once Lucius is gone, who will protect you?) and for a moment he doubted. Luc wanted to be Malfoy - was it because of this that he had insisted Lucius must die? Was it possible that he could live? For the smallest moment, he desperately wanted to believe it so.

And in the moment of doubt, Voldemort moved in, wand raised and Avada Kedavra on his lips, and for the last, final chance Lucius' desperate grey eyes, the Malfoy eyes that every single scion of Malfoy Blood had ever born, met Draco's - the Lord and the Heir - and Draco knew the truth. Lucius had to die. His blood would feed the land, would purify it and renew it and cleanse the corrupted Covenant, and most important of all it would renew the Veil and ensure the safety of the Clan for the next thousand years...and Draco himself had to kill him.

His lips formed silent words (Father, forgive me...) before he lifted the knife, and bent over the man who was his father, who was his sworn liege lord, who was everything to Draco, and steeling himself with a prayer to the Lady on his lips, he closed his eyes and plunged the knife home an instant before the flash of green light hit.

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The chilling, feral scream of rage drew them all out of the bushes where they had been hiding - Harry and Ron and Hermione and Brandon and Nick and Marc - and the first thing they saw was Draco, his hands stained crimson, bending blindly over his father's bleeding, still body. Then they looked up and saw the fleeing Death Eaters apparating, the aurors giving chase, and the white haired man who was holding Luc in a death grip, but was dressed in the navy robes of an auror.

Professor Snape was standing, breathing heavily, still robed but with his hood down and his mask off, looking down at Draco and what had once been Lucius Malfoy. The auror warily released Luc, who straightened his robes pointedly and walked over to stand by Snape's side, joined soon by the other.

Draco quivered, vibrating with the force of his emotions, although his face was completely blank. Luc made an odd gesture as if he reached out to touch him, but thought better at the last moment and withdrew his hand. Lucius' blood was crimson and slightly viscous, bright against his white skin - it vanished when it touched the ground, absorbed by the land, hungry for the sacrifice that would restore the balance and the Covenant.

As they all watched, the skin on Draco's white forearms suddenly broke open, forming an inch-long slash on each arm just above the wrist that started to fill with crimson blood, suddenly welling until it overflowed and trickled down his arms and onto his hands, the stigmatic mark of the true Lord of Clan Malfoy. This was the blood that, shared with the land and the people, formed the Covenant - when the Lord gave his blood and even his life for the land, it was meant quite literally...

An unmarked, uncorrupted Lord to bring balance and life back to the land Beyond the Veil. And the price? Why, the King must die. That is all, and everything...and surely a small price to pay, for the greater good of the Clan and the Land?

But at the moment, Luc and Draco didn't quite appreciate the thought.

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