Lucius can't sleep one night, so he goes into his study and writes his memoirs, trying to prove to himself that his life hasn't been pointless... my first HP fic, r/r!
Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance - Lucius M. - Chapters: 4 - Words: 5,708 - Reviews: 7 - Updated: Jun 14, 2003 - Published: Jul 11, 2001 - id: 350904
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Memoirs of A Malfoy
Disclaimer: I dun own any of the HP characters, or anything that has to do with HP, only my made-up characters are mine ^^
Author's Note: Hey everybody! Okai Lucius might be outta character, but I believe he really is like this inside. if u dun like it, o wellz~ flames will be used to make s'mores ^.~ reviews are welcomed. sorry the prologue is soooooooo short! it will get longer as the story goes on, promise... okaiz~ i fixed some mistakes, enjoy!
Dedicated To The Ones Who Lost Their Lives In The Disgusting Act of Terrorism on 9/11/o1 May our hearts and prayers go out to the families of the victims... may the Lord give them strength
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Prologue
I remember, sitting here in my study, the first time I saw Hogwarts. It was a grand castle, with flying buttresses and heavy-glassed windows. Albus Dumbledore wasn't headmaster yet, but Professor Melissa Alacante was in charge. Now that I'm looking back, I decided that my life wasn't a total waste. I have a loving wife, and I sired a son, who, by far, has a better soul than I. As I look back, I realized I wasn't always evil. I just wanted to make a name for myself. I thought joining sides with Lord Voldemort could have done just so.
I was always under the shadow of my older brother, the great Gabriel Malfoy. He was one of those Slytherins who didn't turn to out to be a dark wizard. He grew up to be an auror, but Voldemort killed him. I can't sit in this room anymore. I have to get out. I wander the manor for awhile and end up at my son's bedroom door. He was away at school, but somehow, I could still hear him breathing, and every now and then, a snore. My wife Narcissa is sleeping. I should get to bed as well, but I wasn't sleepy.
I head back into my study and pull out a bunch of parchment and a quill, my very best, and some blue ink. Black ink is dull, and would probably bore the hell out of me. I look at the paper and decided my life story needs to be told. The Malfoy name needs to be clean once again, and my son, needs to know who his father really was, not this calloused shell I now am.
I look at the parchment, not knowing where to begin. My early childhood years were a complete bore, but going strait to my early teens would be too far, plus I wouldn't know where to begin. After much thought, I decided that I would begin on my eleventh birthday, and a letter, written in emerald green ink from a certain Professor, had arrived for me that morning in this very manor, so many years ago...
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