Author's Note: This one of the few fics I'm proud of. I rarely ever write songfics, and I never write them like this. The song, Emotionless by Good Charlotte (hence, the title), is one of my favorites. I had to edit the lyrics a little bit to make it fit, though. I hope no one minds!
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, being the genius that she is. Good Charlotte owns the song, which is brilliance in itself. All I own is my laptop and the idea behind the fic. Thank you very much.
Emotionless
A Songfic
by xdistantxmemoriesx
It had been seven long years since Lucius had left. Each day had felt like a decade. Lucius could hardly believe it had only been seven. But it was done, and there was no way he could go back. Not if he intended to maintain his pride, and he did.
Lucius now resided in a small town in the Northeastern area of the United States of America. It was full of Muggles, but it suited Lucius just fine. He moved into a nice house, protected by the necessary hexes and curses. He was the only one inhabiting the fine, four-story tudor, except for his maid, his chef, and his gardener.
He took up a job at the American Ministry of Magic, as a councilor on the school board for the finest wizarding school in America -- the Salem Academy. It was one of the only wizarding schools in the world that could be compared to Europe's own Hogwarts. Despite Salem's excellency, Lucius was revolted by the amount of Mudbloods the headmistress, Professor Mistefallow, was accepting into the school. Still, Lucius remained a part of the council, chalking up their horrendous Muggle-loving ways to American society.
It was a fine morning in mid-April. Lucius rose from his bed, dressed in a pair of black robes, and stood at the window in his bedroom. The sun was already up, and it glittered off the dew-covered lawn, giving the grass an appearance of having been sprinkled with diamonds during the night.
There was a knock at the door.
"Master Lucius?" came the timid, delicate voice of his maid.
"Come in, Adrana," he called, still facing the window with his arms folded across his chest.
One of the French doors opened slightly and the apron-clad housekeeper entered. She was a short, plump little witch, no older than forty, with curly auburn hair tied back in a tight bun. Her wand was sticking out of one the pockets on her aprons. Upon her arm perched a majestic eagle owl, looking around importantly as it clutched an envelope in its beak.
"A letter arrived for you, sir," she informed him apprehensively.
"Thank you, Adrana. Leave the letter on the table and send the owl on its way," he instructed.
"Sir?"
"Yes, Adrana?"
"Shall I feed the owl? The poor thing seems to have come a very long way…"
Lucius sighed. "Very well, if you insist," he said coldly. "Now go."
"Yes sir."
The poor maid removed the letter from the owl's beak and placed it on the table, as instructed, before she left to tend to the bird. As the door clicked shut, Lucius turned and strode over to the table where the letter lay. He picked up the envelope. There was but one word written on the front in calligraphic lettering.
Father
Lucius sighed as he sank back into his armchair. There was no doubt about how this letter was from. Do I dare open it? He glanced at the smoldering ashes in the fireplace. Or shall I forget it even existed?
He stared quietly at the familiar handwriting for a moment, before flipping the envelope over. The Malfoy crest -- a snake curling itself around a letter M -- stared back at him, impressed within a dollop of wax. Lucius sighed as he tore open the envelope and unfolded the parchment within.
Hey Dad, I'm writing to you, not to tell you that I still hate you, just to ask you how you feel… and how we fell apart, how this fell apart.
Lucius stared at the green ink flowing freely across the page, the words scrawled in his son's crisp, clearing handwriting. Lucius wondered what Draco looked like now. It had been seven years… that would make Draco, what, twenty-one now? He was sure his son had grown into a fine young man. He wanted to know so badly that it hurt.
Are you happy out there in this great wide world? Do you think about your son? Do you miss your little girl? When you lay your head down, how do you sleep at night? Do you even wonder if we're all right?
A pang of guilt stabbed Lucius in the heart. The little girl that Draco mentioned was the reason he had left in the first place. He could remember it so clearly, it felt like it had happened only seconds ago. His wife had given him a second child. This new child had been his shining moment of hope, since his heir, Draco, wanted nothing to do with his connection to the Dark Lord, but all of Lucius' dreams were shattered when he learned that his second child was a girl. That was the last straw for Lucius. He packed his things and left Draco, Narcissa, and his little girl, whose name he never learned.
It's been a long, long road without you by my side. Why weren't you there all the nights that we cried? You broke my mother's heart; you broke your children for life. It's not okay, but we're all right.
Where had Lucius' conscience been that night? Why didn't his paternal instinct call out to him, tell him not to leave his son or his newborn daughter? Why didn't he listen when Narcissa begged and pleaded with him? Why didn't he listen when his teenaged son looked at him and said, "Don't leave me…"?
The days I spent so cold, so hungry, were full of hate. I was so angry. The scars run deep inside this tattooed body. There's things I'll take to my grave. But I'm okay.
Teardrops stained the page and smeared the ink in places, making it difficult to read, but Lucius pressed on. He had never seen this side of his son before. He was only sorry that it had to be under these circumstances.
He noticed that as Draco went on, his script became more and more rushed and untidy, as if he was becoming angry while writing.
I remember the days you were a hero in my eyes, but those are just a long lost memory of mine. I spent so many years learning how to survive. Now I'm writing just to let you know, I'm still alive.
If only Lucius could take those years back… take them back and spend them with his son, his wife… his daughter… He would give anything. He would give up his house, his money, his pride, just to know his daughter's name, just to see what his son looked like. But it was too late now.
Suddenly, Draco's handwriting softened again.
And sometimes… I forgive. And sometimes, I'll admit that I miss you… hey Dad…
Not another word could be found on the parchment, not even Draco's signature. Lucius rose from his chair and tossed the letter into the fire. Emotionlessly, he watched the parchment curl into flames and slowly disintegrate. Then he took a roll of parchment, a pen, and a bottle of ink from his drawer and began to write.
Dear Draco…