A/N: Lucius is loopy too! It all runs in the family, you see . . .

Disclaimer: You know the one. Not mine.

WARNINGS: Loopiness. Slashiness. Angsty-ful.

Bury Me

I can't handle many things in life.

I know that I'm supposed to, I'm a Malfoy, I know that I look like I can, I'm a slimy bastard, but I can't.

How the fuck am I supposed to handle the fact that the Dark Lord shagged my son senseless?!?

You probably think that I think you deserved it, or you think that I would have rather been in your place, but you are my only son, godammit! You do not deserve to be treated that way, no matter how much of a bastard you are!

Just the memory . . .

You came out of the guest bedroom. I was surprised. I knew that My Lord was going to be using that room, but I had no idea that you'd be there too.

And I knew. I knew what had happened.

As soon as I saw you walk out of that room, with that expression on your face, as if you had just been told that you were going to be disinherited and had to live as a filthy muggle with nothing but the clothes on your back for the rest of your life.

I knew that he had fucked you.

You looked at me for a few seconds, and I saw the loathing and disgust in your eyes, hell, I practically felt it!

Disgust at me, for joining such a creature. Disgust at him, for doing that to you. Disgust at yourself, for letting him.

But it wasn't your fault Draco, you know it wasn't.

You ran to the bathroom right after, and spent over three hours there, trying to wash the filth off you.

I wanted to say something, believe me, I did, but . . . you don't know what it's like, being a Death Eater. Once he has you, there's no way out.

I can't just say, "I'm sorry Tom, I've had enough, I'm leaving, and God bless you." I'll probably be tortured and burned to death, my wife raped by all the Death Eaters and then drowned, and my son kept alive for many years as the Dark Lord's sex-toy, just because I wanted to leave.

And I can't do that, Draco. I can't let them do that to you.

So I just smirk and scowl and sneer and pretend that I still want to do this, still believe mudbloods are the scum of the earth.

You hate me, you spoilt little brat, I know you hate me. And it's not because I was a bad father, but because of what happened so long ago . . .

I know you know, godammit, I know that you know!

What you don't understand is that I only put that pillow over you because I was high. I was bloody high. A Malfoy high on muggle drugs. The Malfoy family name would be forever shamed if this got out. That's why I was screaming at you, and trying to . . . to . . . smother you.

And that Mudblood gardener stopped me. And I thanked him. I had come down by exceptionally quickly, and thanked him. I felt that I actually owed him.

Strange, really. He's the only Mudblood that I've ever thanked in my entire life.

And then you killed him.

When the Dark Lord asked you who you wanted to kill and you said, "Our gardener" . . . I was surprised. And I rarely get surprised. In fact, I may have even showed my surprise a bit, although it probably came off as me looking embarrassed.

I mean, that Mudblood saved your goddamn life! You've got him to thank for living!

But you never thanked him. You just put him into the ground.

Strangled him with your own bare hands, and buried him in the cold, raw earth.

I never understood you, Draco.

But I can see where you get it from.

Because while you were burying the gardener . . . I just wished that you were burying me.

Wished so hard that I actually thought you were burying me . . . burying me in the cold earth, where I wouldn't have to feel anything anymore . . .

God, what on earth happened to me?

When I was young, I was happy, I didn't live with my father anymore and he couldn't control my life, I didn't live with my mother anymore so it didn't bother me that she didn't love me, I was in a happy relationship with a pureblood wizard called Jamie, I was splashing all my galleons in style, I was working at Durmstrang as Master of the Art of Defence . . .

Then I met Tom and my life went down the drain.

And now my life is so very fucked up and I'm risking my life for something I don't believe in, fucking a woman who I never loved in the first place, and looking into the eyes of the son who hates me, loathes me, resents me, begs me.

But now it's my turn, Draco. It's my turn to beg you.

Please, Draco, please son, you're my lovely little boy with the wide grey eyes and the pointed features and the pale face, and please, pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease . . .

Bury me, Draco.

Just bury me.

End.