Note: this story in AU in that it is pre Ootp
Chapter 4
Lucius watched bemusedly as Fudge bumbled his way through yet another
mindless meeting with his most trusted advisors. He resisted the urge to smirk,
wondering idly just how much influence he actually held over each individual sitting
before him, and just how much more influence he could have exerted had he not joined
the service of the Dark Lord. He didn't even bother to reprimand himself for his
wayward thoughts; they occurred so often these days.
After his somewhat less than graceful exit from the board of governors of
Hogwarts School, Lucius had tapped into his wonderful reserves and easily secured a
position of some authority in the ministry. Fudge was so easy to manipulate it bordered
on ridiculous. He scarcely noticed the Malfoy sphere of influence permeating his
administration; although many others did. Following the untimely death of Mr.
Bartemius Crouch Sr., Lucius had been promoted to head of the Department of
International Magical Relations, a position for which he was somewhat excessively
qualified due to his....ah... diplomatic skill and authority. And, to top it all off, to
Lucius' utmost satisfaction he had inherited his predecessor's personal assistant, Percival
Weasly.
The senior Malfoy suppressed a grin as he gazed nonchalantly at the other heads
of various departments who were currently debating over meaningless muggle drabble.
Alright, so the Weasly boy might be a ridiculous stickler for the rules, something Lucius might not have valued in an assistant... And Merlin knew his obnoxious devotion
to his work bordered on heavily irritating, but it was all worth it; to flaunt it in Arthur
Weasly's face... To feed Percival tiny amounts of power... to make him nearly worship a
Malfoy...
Lucius indulged in a malicious smile and then returned his attention to the
meeting; temporarily forgetting about the tiny phase (yes a phase that was definitely what
it was) he appeared to be passing through. He was even grateful to get his mind off the
subject.
..................................
Hours later, Lucius', dare we say happy mood had evaporated and his temporary
return to normalcy was all but forgotten. In the dark cradle of the Malfoy's formidable
study a house elf tentatively clutched a rather substantial bottle of whatever alcohol he (or
she, it was rather hard to tell) had pilfered from the cellar, hopefully without alerting
Narcissa. With trembling little hands, it placed the bottle on its customary small side
table before the fire, and then scuttled off as fast as its spindly little legs could carry it.
'Stupid mindless being,' Lucius thought to himself, more out of habit than anything else.
The beverage glittered dangerously by the firelight.
'Merlin how he wanted it!'
He wanted to taste it, to feel it running down through his innards before rising
subtly up to befuddle his thoughts.
'When did I become so dependent?'
The question echoed in Lucius' mind. For a Malfoy, dependence was among the deepest layers of sin, the ultimate position of failure, of lowliness and filth. The need to
drink was sickening in its power, the epitome of unMalfoyish behavior. The wrongness
of what he was doing grated against Lucius being, disgusting and yet desperately calling
to him at the same time.
He raked a hand though his hair and stared, with deceptive calm at the glass
before him..
'Wait! Hold on a moment; when had he poured that?'
Lucius recoiled as if struck and fell into his lavish armchair. He stared at that
little glass and his face was again forced into it's usual mask of serenity. Oblivious to
anything and everything around him, he stared, transfixed at the crystal, whilst an inner
battle raged. Thoughts scampered across his consciousness.
'He couldn't... Narcissa and the Dark Lord... this was madness... ... maybe just one
glass, just a small taste to calm his nerves and ease his headache...'
Lucius remained motionless for a small eternity before, ever so slowly, a hand
stretched out towards the liquid. His turmoil was betrayed only by the shaking of his
hand as the pale fingers closed clumsily about the glass. The glass rose, ever so slowly
towards his hungry lips......
"My, my Lucius, I never would have believed it had I not seen it with my own eyes: a
Malfoy losing his control? Tsk tsk."
The voice cut through the dimness of the study with all the warning of a stab in
the back. The glass slipped and fell for an age before shattering, splintering into a
thousand pieces that tinkled to the floor.
Chapter 4
Lucius watched bemusedly as Fudge bumbled his way through yet another
mindless meeting with his most trusted advisors. He resisted the urge to smirk,
wondering idly just how much influence he actually held over each individual sitting
before him, and just how much more influence he could have exerted had he not joined
the service of the Dark Lord. He didn't even bother to reprimand himself for his
wayward thoughts; they occurred so often these days.
After his somewhat less than graceful exit from the board of governors of
Hogwarts School, Lucius had tapped into his wonderful reserves and easily secured a
position of some authority in the ministry. Fudge was so easy to manipulate it bordered
on ridiculous. He scarcely noticed the Malfoy sphere of influence permeating his
administration; although many others did. Following the untimely death of Mr.
Bartemius Crouch Sr., Lucius had been promoted to head of the Department of
International Magical Relations, a position for which he was somewhat excessively
qualified due to his....ah... diplomatic skill and authority. And, to top it all off, to
Lucius' utmost satisfaction he had inherited his predecessor's personal assistant, Percival
Weasly.
The senior Malfoy suppressed a grin as he gazed nonchalantly at the other heads
of various departments who were currently debating over meaningless muggle drabble.
Alright, so the Weasly boy might be a ridiculous stickler for the rules, something Lucius might not have valued in an assistant... And Merlin knew his obnoxious devotion
to his work bordered on heavily irritating, but it was all worth it; to flaunt it in Arthur
Weasly's face... To feed Percival tiny amounts of power... to make him nearly worship a
Malfoy...
Lucius indulged in a malicious smile and then returned his attention to the
meeting; temporarily forgetting about the tiny phase (yes a phase that was definitely what
it was) he appeared to be passing through. He was even grateful to get his mind off the
subject.
..................................
Hours later, Lucius', dare we say happy mood had evaporated and his temporary
return to normalcy was all but forgotten. In the dark cradle of the Malfoy's formidable
study a house elf tentatively clutched a rather substantial bottle of whatever alcohol he (or
she, it was rather hard to tell) had pilfered from the cellar, hopefully without alerting
Narcissa. With trembling little hands, it placed the bottle on its customary small side
table before the fire, and then scuttled off as fast as its spindly little legs could carry it.
'Stupid mindless being,' Lucius thought to himself, more out of habit than anything else.
The beverage glittered dangerously by the firelight.
'Merlin how he wanted it!'
He wanted to taste it, to feel it running down through his innards before rising
subtly up to befuddle his thoughts.
'When did I become so dependent?'
The question echoed in Lucius' mind. For a Malfoy, dependence was among the deepest layers of sin, the ultimate position of failure, of lowliness and filth. The need to
drink was sickening in its power, the epitome of unMalfoyish behavior. The wrongness
of what he was doing grated against Lucius being, disgusting and yet desperately calling
to him at the same time.
He raked a hand though his hair and stared, with deceptive calm at the glass
before him..
'Wait! Hold on a moment; when had he poured that?'
Lucius recoiled as if struck and fell into his lavish armchair. He stared at that
little glass and his face was again forced into it's usual mask of serenity. Oblivious to
anything and everything around him, he stared, transfixed at the crystal, whilst an inner
battle raged. Thoughts scampered across his consciousness.
'He couldn't... Narcissa and the Dark Lord... this was madness... ... maybe just one
glass, just a small taste to calm his nerves and ease his headache...'
Lucius remained motionless for a small eternity before, ever so slowly, a hand
stretched out towards the liquid. His turmoil was betrayed only by the shaking of his
hand as the pale fingers closed clumsily about the glass. The glass rose, ever so slowly
towards his hungry lips......
"My, my Lucius, I never would have believed it had I not seen it with my own eyes: a
Malfoy losing his control? Tsk tsk."
The voice cut through the dimness of the study with all the warning of a stab in
the back. The glass slipped and fell for an age before shattering, splintering into a
thousand pieces that tinkled to the floor.