Cho's Chic
Chapter 13
Cho awoke very early on Monday morning at Glen Moy Castle, knowing that she must soon leave for work. She lay in Lucius' bed, and propped herself up on one elbow to look at the sleeping lion, his tousled mane tumbled on the pillow. It had been very late indeed last night when he had joined her, and in spite of his earlier assurances, she had eaten dinner alone. Cho then realised that he was not asleep, and was looking back at her. He rolled over lazily to face her, and she saw in his eyes what he wanted. It was no hardship at all to comply, and she opened both her arms and legs to him equally willingly.
When Cho had disapparated, Lucius remained alone at the castle, his thoughts turning to the contents of his dungeon. Even Lucius hardly dared contemplate what now lay there. He wondered how long he would be able to avoid visiting the room. He felt an unaccustomed reluctance to go there unless he was summoned.
As if his mind were being read, the Dark Mark on his left forearm began to darken and to throb painfully. Lucius dressed as slowly as he dared, sought his Death Eater mask, and put it on. Unwillingly, he was drawn to the dungeon, and he entered the room he had vacated the previous evening.
The once empty space was almost filled by a sepulchre of flawless nephrite jade, its smooth, slightly transparent surface gleaming with a silky lustre, palest green in the torchlight. This sepulchre had one unique feature: an open archway allowing passage in and out. For this construction was not for the dead, but for the almost dead yet clinging desperately to life.
Jade: the magical substance with the power to preserve the body after death; with the ability to absorb bodily harm and injuries; with the power of immortality; a source of cosmic energy.
Jade: the most precious of stones; symbol of virtue and beauty; the concentrated essence of love; symbol of harmony, humanity, intelligence and justice.
But all that is good can be used for evil by those who serve the Dark Side. Practitioners of the Dark Arts instinctively know the way to invoke the mirror image of virtue, and mould the magic to their own ends.
So, in a last desperate move, jade was now being used to preserve the life of the most evil man ever to walk the Earth. The Dark Lord's rapidly accelerating deterioration had been halted. Encased in a living tomb, sucking his very existence from Peter Pettigrew, Voldemort clung desperately to life.
Lucius approached the entrance, and in the archway, he knelt and waited. It was not long before the dread figure appeared, emaciated and barely able to walk, shuffling along in a manner that would, had it been any other man, have induced pity in any watcher other than a Death Eater. As it was, Lucius felt waves of revulsion spread over him, and wondered not for the first time whether death would indeed have been preferable to this alternative. The creature, who looked less and less like Peter Pettigrew, sniffed at Lucius like an animal. Rheumy eyes stared at Lucius from the back of Wormtail's head, and the high, cruel voice said, "You took your time, Lucius Malfoy. What do you have to do that is more important than serving me?"
"Nothing, Lord," replied Lucius. "I am sorry if I have displeased you. I came as soon as I could."
Wormtail sniffed again, looking more rat-like as he did so. "I know why you delayed," the voice pronounced triumphantly. "You were with a woman. I can smell her on you, and the scent of your own seed. Nothing changes does it, Malfoy? Forever the seducer. Tell me, what was she like? Young and willing? Oh, the unbearable sweetness of a young girl's flesh! Or older and skilled, able to make you last longer than you ever thought possible? Tell me about her. It is my misfortune that in this body no woman would willingly permit me to enjoy her."
"She was young, yes," replied Lucius, hoping that Voldemort would not pursue this line of enquiry. However, the voice was insistent, Voldemort wishing to know who the girl was, and what she and Lucius had done together in as much detail as possible. As he listened to Lucius' unwilling account, Wormtail slipped a hand to his withered groin, and began to stroke himself, urging Lucius to ever more graphic descriptions. For his part, Lucius watched the whole thing in fascinated horror, all the while recounting a fictitious violent coupling with an imaginary woman who was an amalgam of all those he had known. When Wormtail finally climaxed, and both his faces registered equal bliss, Lucius hoped that he would be allowed to leave his disturbing presence; but Voldemort turned his ravaged face towards him, and said, "Next time, bring the girl with you. I want to see her for myself."
Taking this remark as a dismissal, Lucius left. He fervently hoped that Voldemort had not been serious. He planned to persuade him that this was a very bad idea indeed, as few people as possible should know about his continued existence: but if he insisted, Lucius would need to procure some unimportant female to present to the Dark Lord for his entertainment. A Muggle girl would do, there were plenty in the village.
After spending a successful morning in Diagon Alley browsing in the Restricted Section at Flourish and Blotts, Hermione went into The Leaky Cauldron for a pick-me-up, where she noticed Bill Weasley sitting alone at one of the tables. She went over to him, and asked if she could join him. Bill looked up in surprise, he had obviously been deep in thought. His face broke out into a wide smile that made Hermione's stomach give a little flip, and he pulled out the chair next to him and gestured for her to sit down.
They both ordered butterbeers, and exchanged pleasantries. Noticing that the normally cheerful Bill was unusually subdued, Hermione said, "Tell me if it's none of my business, Bill, but you don't seem very happy at the moment. Is something wrong?"
Bill smiled wryly. "I'm not feeling too great, no. I've just been dumped. The worst thing is, I thought we were getting along just fine."
Hermione, thinking immediately of Harry and the photos of Cho with Lucius Malfoy, said, "Are we talking about Cho Chang here?"
Bill nodded. "That's right. I just don't understand it. Last time we went out, we had a great time. We laugh at the same things, we both like Quidditch. She introduced me to her family and everything. I even went to her grandfather's house, and in the Chang family that's seen as really getting your feet under the table. Now I've finally got my own flat, I was just planning to ask her to stay over. Then last night, after we'd had a really great evening at that new Italian restaurant just off Diagon Alley, she turned to me and said she'd enjoyed our time together, but she was sorry, she'd met someone else. I was gobsmacked. Last time we met, she said it was great that you invited her to your party, she never gets chance to meet people our age, she works so hard and most of her customers are older. So I wonder where and when she managed to meet her new man."
Hermione, who of course knew precisely who Cho's "new man" was, shook her head in sympathy and squeezed Bill's hand, murmuring inconsequential placating words, and simultaneously privately wondered if this might be her big chance with him. She gave Bill her full attention, preparing to let him talk out his feelings for Cho for as long as he wanted, while planning how to turn the conversation round to asking him out.
Lucius found himself spending more and more time at Glen Moy Castle. Voldemort called him constantly. If he ventured home to Malfoy Manor, he would be summoned back to Scotland by the stabbing pain of the Dark Mark. Even Narcissa, who knew nothing of Voldemort's survival, noticed his ever increasing absences, and ventured to enquire what took him away so often nowadays. "Is it a new woman, Lucius?" she asked him over lunch one day. Lucius manufactured a supercilious smile for her benefit, and agreed that it was. "She must be good," replied Narcissa, shaking her coiffeured blonde head, "to make you look so worn out. Perhaps your age is starting to tell at last, my love? Can't keep up with the nymphets any more, eh? Ah well, it was bound to happen eventually."
So he looked worn out? Lucius looked in the mirror, and had to agree that Narcissa was right. Dark shadows under his eyes made him look older than his years, whereas he had always prided himself on looking younger; and were those grey hairs starting at his temples? Thankfully, grey would not show against the blond tresses, unlike his old friend Snape, whose black hair was becoming streaked with lighter flecks. Perhaps the white blond head would just become whiter? Lucius, ever self-sufficient, for once wished that he had someone in whom he could confide. The other Death Eaters in the know were no support at all. They were all happy to have delegated this task once Malfoy volunteered to carry out the plan, and beyond a few encouraging noises from a safe distance, were only seen when the Dark Lord summoned them too. When this happened, Lucius could see the horror in their eyes behind the Death Eater masks.
Lucius felt a longing to see Cho again. He had avoided contacting her since her visit to Glen Moy Castle. He tried to work out what his true reason was for this. He had wanted to see her - more than see her, damn it, he found he dreamt about her, and woke up with an extra hard erection each time - but he wanted to prevent her discovering the Dark Lord's existence and more precisely, his whereabouts. He knew from various remarks made to him over the years that occasionally he spoke in his sleep, especially when he had matters preying on his mind. He had therefore been unwilling to risk spending a night with Cho. Then there was Sun Chang. The jade was now all safely delivered, but it had not yet all been paid for, so it was still important not to cross the old Mandarin, lest he demand that the huge outstanding account be settled.
Lucius wondered if his concern for Cho's safety was only linked to her grandfather, but decided that there was more to it than that: he kept imagining Cho ravaged by Voldemort, and the picture revolted him. She had always been compliant with his every demand, yet he felt she still retained enough independence to have chosen him of her own free will. In spite of prolonged contact with him, she still had a refreshing innocence. He felt he owed her his protection from this greatest of all horrors. He could not bear to think of her fragile beauty soiled forever by contact with the Dark Lord's sordid excesses.
His dreams also contained other disturbing images. He felt as if he were the Dark Lord himself, lying buried alive in the jade tomb, forever destined to be no more than a pathetic creature living parasitically on another. He also felt the numbing horror inside Peter Pettigrew's mind, permanently subjected to the will of a greater, more evil power.
Lucius had not thought about his appearance for what seemed like months, but in fact was only a few weeks. He looked in the mirror again, and decided he looked a mess. He had not shaved for a week, and his hair, usually his crowning glory, hung in clumps darkened with grease. He summoned a house elf, and demanded to be shaved.
Lying still as a rock as the elf enveloped him in soft towels, worked up a foam on his face, and skilfully wielded the deadly cut-throat razor, he closed his eyes and wondered, Why? Why had he followed the Dark Lord, and why was this duty so onerous now? The reasons for his devotion had been legion: for a long time, the Dark Lord had looked certain to be the victor, and it was important to be on the winning side. Lucius had enjoyed the torture and killings that had formed such an essential part of following him, and had been able to live out his blackest fantasies in reality, without any need to consult his conscience. Then there was the power and influence, and he had loved dressing the part: evil had always had such great style throughout wizard history.
The house elf finished shaving him, and waited for further instructions. Lucius ordered him to draw a bath. While the water slowly filled the large Italian marble bath, Lucius selected a fresh outfit, realising that he had been wearing the same clothes for days. He then sank into the hot water, making himself bear the touch of the almost scalding liquid, and told the elf to wash his hair. As the expert fingers massaged his scalp, he thought about what had gone wrong.
The Dark Side was meant to be fun. It wasn't fun anymore, it was terrifying. Voldemort was now a dreadful half human taking over Lucius completely, and he was appalled that he could not see an end to this horror.