A/N: I don't own this and I'm not profiting off of it. Read, review, and enjoy!
As briskly as he could, without damaging the precious contents of the goblet he held, Lucius Malfoy made his way to his sitting room. His own steps, echoing crisply through the hallways, were marred by the clunking boots of the masked men who accompanied him, the seniors Crabbe and Goyle. Even they, dull as they were, perceived the tension in the air tonight, and were afraid.
Lucius himself felt a mixture of fright and delicious anticipation -- tonight, he would finally take his place at the right hand of his master. Tonight he would surpass all others in the service of the Dark Lord. A chilling draft blew through his silvery hair, perfectly arrayed about broad shoulders. The manor was always cooler when his master rested within it, and thus he relished the cold.
Reaching the large, wooden doors, Lucius had his escort hold them open while he stepped into the room, feeling no heat from the cheery fireplace. He could see the Dark Lord's hands -- one in his lap, the other resting gently on Draco's golden head. Lucius allowed himself to smirk, proud of his son's achievement and devotion.
"Come, Luciusss." One hand left the son to beckon to the father. Lucius felt the familiar tingle in his spine. There was something so sensual in the way his master spoke his name, yet underneath rang the voice of a dead man. As he moved to stand before the one he served, Lucius met the Dark Lord's eyes and felt a renewal of his loyalty.
He could feel the creature's power emanating from him like rays from a dark sun. Still holding the goblet reverently in his hands, Lucius fell to his knees and held it before him, an unholy offering. He fought the urge to blurt words of praise and worship, knowing he should not speak until spoken to. As it was, his thoughts lay open to his Lord, his shadowy divinity -- soon to achieve the full glory of godhead.
"Ahh..." hissed the Dark Lord, his own voice hoarse and affected. "You have finished it..." He seemed to lean forward slightly, as if breathing the scent of Lucius' offering. Compulsively, he reached out to remove it from his servant's trembling hands. Tonight, he was greatly pleased. Lucius had found favor in his eyes as he never had before.
"You have completed it as the text requires?" Lucius replied without daring to meet his eyes.
"Yes, my Lord," he nodded at the rug, one which Narcissa had purchased shortly after their marriage. "We soaked it in beer, and dissolved it in water. We know it has dissolved--"
"And when I drink it, I will know what has been in the book." Voldemort's face twisted in a grin as he finished paraphrasing the text. "I assume you copied the book yourself?"
"Yes, my Lord. I personally recorded every word, and can assure you they were correct, though I could not read them."
"Where is the original?" he asked, not wishing to share his oncoming glory with any other.
"It has been returned to the waters of Coptus, to be guarded as it was in ancient times. The book could not be destroyed by any means." Malfoy sounded a bit nervous, as though he had somehow failed his master because he could not accomplish the impossible. Indeed, on any other night, he would have been punished for this understandable difficulty.
"I understand, Lucius." The kneeling man's shoulders sagged slightly with ill-concealed relief. Perhaps he would endure no pain -- the Dark Lord was feeling uncharacteristically forgiving tonight. Voldemort was clearly excited, even allowing himself to shake with anticipation as he eyed the beverage before him. Twisting his face again, he declared, "I will now imbibe it, and be granted all the knowledge of the Gods!"
His snakelike face exuded triumph as he brought the goblet to his lips and tilted his head back in unbridled ecstasy. Half a minute later his serpentine throat stopped bobbing and he sighed with satisfaction, casting the goblet carelessly over his shoulder, shattering a rather costly vase in the process. Draco cast his father a sympathetic look and cast a quiet reparo.
Silence reigned, and Lucius noted that his knees and back were beginning to ache. He wasn't a teenager any longer, after all. He dared to sneak a glance at the Dark Lord's face, noticing how his eyes were closed and he seemed pensive. It had worked, hadn't it? If he had failed, Lucius knew without a doubt that this night would be his very last. If he survived to see the sun rise, it would only be in terrible agony. His heart began to thud in his chest as the silence stretched on and on, a gravid quiet that extended to eternity. Was his master pleased or furious? He didn't dare ask, and could only wait to find out.
Everyone in the room jumped when Voldemort began to recite something in Egyptian, the guttural words bursting from his reptilian mouth and raising the hair on Lucius' arms. Draco seemed terrified, and Crabbe and Goyle were beginning to breathe heavily, clearly contemplating escape.
Suddenly the air around them was filled with raw power, and Lucius was knocked flat on his back with the sheer strength of it. Draco's spell was cast in vain, as the same vase flew into the wall, while Draco barely avoided bashing his head in. Everyone present felt an ancient power seeping into them, sucking out pieces of themselves as they gave into its pure, sensual force. What had been fear turned to bliss, and Lucius opened his eyes to gaze adoringly into the face of the Dark Lord, who by now must truly be a God.
As abruptly as it had begun, the chanting stopped. Slowly, the effects of the spell subsided and Lucius dared to reclaim his position at the knees of his Lord. Keeping his head carefully bowed, he waited to hear the Dark Lord's response, knowing in his heart that they had succeeded.
Moments later, Lucius felt his own head anointed by his master's hand. Voldemort was indeed pleased with him.
"My servant," hissed the Dark Lord, "you have performed admirably." Pride filled the kneeling Malfoy as he reveled in his master's praise. But the moment had passed before he could fully enjoy it. Voldemort stood quickly, nearly knocking his servant backwards. He was again visibly excited.
"I can feel it!" He growled triumphantly. "I have charmed the very sky, and I can see the Moon in its form of rising!" His voice dropped in a more ominous tone.
"I can speak to the very stones of Hogwarts, and they will not deny me."
As briskly as he could, without damaging the precious contents of the goblet he held, Lucius Malfoy made his way to his sitting room. His own steps, echoing crisply through the hallways, were marred by the clunking boots of the masked men who accompanied him, the seniors Crabbe and Goyle. Even they, dull as they were, perceived the tension in the air tonight, and were afraid.
Lucius himself felt a mixture of fright and delicious anticipation -- tonight, he would finally take his place at the right hand of his master. Tonight he would surpass all others in the service of the Dark Lord. A chilling draft blew through his silvery hair, perfectly arrayed about broad shoulders. The manor was always cooler when his master rested within it, and thus he relished the cold.
Reaching the large, wooden doors, Lucius had his escort hold them open while he stepped into the room, feeling no heat from the cheery fireplace. He could see the Dark Lord's hands -- one in his lap, the other resting gently on Draco's golden head. Lucius allowed himself to smirk, proud of his son's achievement and devotion.
"Come, Luciusss." One hand left the son to beckon to the father. Lucius felt the familiar tingle in his spine. There was something so sensual in the way his master spoke his name, yet underneath rang the voice of a dead man. As he moved to stand before the one he served, Lucius met the Dark Lord's eyes and felt a renewal of his loyalty.
He could feel the creature's power emanating from him like rays from a dark sun. Still holding the goblet reverently in his hands, Lucius fell to his knees and held it before him, an unholy offering. He fought the urge to blurt words of praise and worship, knowing he should not speak until spoken to. As it was, his thoughts lay open to his Lord, his shadowy divinity -- soon to achieve the full glory of godhead.
"Ahh..." hissed the Dark Lord, his own voice hoarse and affected. "You have finished it..." He seemed to lean forward slightly, as if breathing the scent of Lucius' offering. Compulsively, he reached out to remove it from his servant's trembling hands. Tonight, he was greatly pleased. Lucius had found favor in his eyes as he never had before.
"You have completed it as the text requires?" Lucius replied without daring to meet his eyes.
"Yes, my Lord," he nodded at the rug, one which Narcissa had purchased shortly after their marriage. "We soaked it in beer, and dissolved it in water. We know it has dissolved--"
"And when I drink it, I will know what has been in the book." Voldemort's face twisted in a grin as he finished paraphrasing the text. "I assume you copied the book yourself?"
"Yes, my Lord. I personally recorded every word, and can assure you they were correct, though I could not read them."
"Where is the original?" he asked, not wishing to share his oncoming glory with any other.
"It has been returned to the waters of Coptus, to be guarded as it was in ancient times. The book could not be destroyed by any means." Malfoy sounded a bit nervous, as though he had somehow failed his master because he could not accomplish the impossible. Indeed, on any other night, he would have been punished for this understandable difficulty.
"I understand, Lucius." The kneeling man's shoulders sagged slightly with ill-concealed relief. Perhaps he would endure no pain -- the Dark Lord was feeling uncharacteristically forgiving tonight. Voldemort was clearly excited, even allowing himself to shake with anticipation as he eyed the beverage before him. Twisting his face again, he declared, "I will now imbibe it, and be granted all the knowledge of the Gods!"
His snakelike face exuded triumph as he brought the goblet to his lips and tilted his head back in unbridled ecstasy. Half a minute later his serpentine throat stopped bobbing and he sighed with satisfaction, casting the goblet carelessly over his shoulder, shattering a rather costly vase in the process. Draco cast his father a sympathetic look and cast a quiet reparo.
Silence reigned, and Lucius noted that his knees and back were beginning to ache. He wasn't a teenager any longer, after all. He dared to sneak a glance at the Dark Lord's face, noticing how his eyes were closed and he seemed pensive. It had worked, hadn't it? If he had failed, Lucius knew without a doubt that this night would be his very last. If he survived to see the sun rise, it would only be in terrible agony. His heart began to thud in his chest as the silence stretched on and on, a gravid quiet that extended to eternity. Was his master pleased or furious? He didn't dare ask, and could only wait to find out.
Everyone in the room jumped when Voldemort began to recite something in Egyptian, the guttural words bursting from his reptilian mouth and raising the hair on Lucius' arms. Draco seemed terrified, and Crabbe and Goyle were beginning to breathe heavily, clearly contemplating escape.
Suddenly the air around them was filled with raw power, and Lucius was knocked flat on his back with the sheer strength of it. Draco's spell was cast in vain, as the same vase flew into the wall, while Draco barely avoided bashing his head in. Everyone present felt an ancient power seeping into them, sucking out pieces of themselves as they gave into its pure, sensual force. What had been fear turned to bliss, and Lucius opened his eyes to gaze adoringly into the face of the Dark Lord, who by now must truly be a God.
As abruptly as it had begun, the chanting stopped. Slowly, the effects of the spell subsided and Lucius dared to reclaim his position at the knees of his Lord. Keeping his head carefully bowed, he waited to hear the Dark Lord's response, knowing in his heart that they had succeeded.
Moments later, Lucius felt his own head anointed by his master's hand. Voldemort was indeed pleased with him.
"My servant," hissed the Dark Lord, "you have performed admirably." Pride filled the kneeling Malfoy as he reveled in his master's praise. But the moment had passed before he could fully enjoy it. Voldemort stood quickly, nearly knocking his servant backwards. He was again visibly excited.
"I can feel it!" He growled triumphantly. "I have charmed the very sky, and I can see the Moon in its form of rising!" His voice dropped in a more ominous tone.
"I can speak to the very stones of Hogwarts, and they will not deny me."