BEHIND LOCKED DOORS
WARNING: Rated R for profanity and homosexual relations of the incestuous kind. But this is actually a story with a plot, not smutty homosexual porn. Flames only keep me warm in winter.
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Chapter One: Amidst this emptiness
WINTER HOLIDAYS. DURING DRACO'S THIRD YEAR…
Lucius dipped his quill into the inkwell to continue writing his speech for the next Ministry meeting. He paused to roll his eyes. The job, while high-paying and commanding respect, was not in his favour. Quite honestly, it was unquestionably dull in comparison to the job he had before the fall of Voldemort, barely thirteen years beforehand.
He had much preferred the days of the Death-Eaters. Days when he was free to inflict death or mind-bending pain upon the impure kind with a flick of his wand. Days when Voldemort had trained him and many other faithful servants how make fire dance from their fingertips, how to make the strongest Mudblood shriek in agony and how to force darkness to envelope the minds and souls of unwilling victims.
But those days were long gone, and Lucius seriously doubted he would ever have the chance to experience his old life once more. He hated that, but he was smart enough to know better than to voice his opinions and tarnish the Malfoy name. This was especially important in the presence of the other high-class, pureblood families such as the Parkinsons, the Zabinis, the McNairs and, to some extent, what was left of the Black family. After all, his wife, Narcissia, was a Black.
In their eyes, and in the eyes of several other lower-class wizards, Lucius Malfoy was nothing short of faultless. Not only was he handsome, aristocratic, rich and pureblood; he also had a very beautiful pureblood wife, was known for his generous donations to certain facilities, and his son and heir, Draconis Consternatius Malfoy, was growing up to become a stylish, intelligent young gentlemen who could be considered a good catch for whoever he would end up betrothed to.
Yet none of this seemed to bring Lucius any happiness, for all this perfection was merely superficial. Underneath it all, there was nothing but dark, neverending emptiness teamed with deep bouts of depression that seemed to take a sadistic form of pleasure in mocking him day in, day out. Nothing that anybody, including himself, said or did, seemed to be capable of filling the emptiness of lifting the depression.
Lucius sighed in frustration, discarding his quill for the moment. He wasn't a fool; he knew the reason why the emptiness and depression remained just underneath his skin, day in, day out. Loneliness. To bystanders, it probably sounded absurd. After all, not only had Lucius been married for many years, his circle of high-society friends was definitely not minuscule.
He snorted resentfully. So what? They were only his friends when it suited them. Lucius knew that if he had been any less than high-class, or his bloodline had the slightest impurity, they wouldn't hesitate to leave his side. And when it came to his marriage to Narcissia, marriage didn't necessarily equal true love and happiness. There was definitely no love between them. It was an arranged marriage with the simple intent of keeping their bloodlines pure and producing at least one heir to carry on the Malfoy name…
A sharp knock on the door interrupted his train of thought. Lucius frowned in annoyance. He had told Narcissia only to bother him if it was genuinely important.
"This had better be good, Narcissia." He said irritably, swinging his chair around to the door. It wasn't Narcissia. Draco raised an eyebrow, holding out a piece of rolled-up parchment to him.
"Your owl bought this just now. It's from the Ministry, Father." He informed. Lucius nodded apathetically, taking the parchment from him and unrolling it. After scanning through and seeing nothing of particular interest or use to him, he discarded it in the fireplace. Draco was still standing there, eyes fixed on him.
"What is it, Draco?" Lucius asked impatiently. "Do you have anything else you wish to inform me of?"
"I…Mother and I just need to know…"
"Yes? Come on! I don't have all afternoon!" Draco bit his lip, feeling rather small under his Father's penetrating stare.
"Will you be joining us for dinner tonight, or would you prefer to have a tray of food brought up to your study?"
"I would prefer the latter. You and your Mother are aware that I am very busy and I don't like being away from my work for too long."
"Oh." There was obviously a tinge of discontent in the 'oh.' Lucius frowned, but remained silent as Draco left his study.
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Some hours later, Lucius heard a sharp knock at the door. He opened it, expecting to see one of their many house-elves struggling under a heavy tray of food. He was surprised to see Draco again, silently holding out the tray of food to him. It was strange, considering that 'helpful' or 'considerate of others' were not phrases he would use to describe his only son.
"Are the house-elves alright?" He asked warily.
"Of course!" Draco replied confusedly. "Why would you ask that?"
"You were never a considerate child unless you had an ulterior motive, Draco." Draco smirked, but Lucius noticed a slight hurt in his silver eyes. The truth could hurt.
"You caught me out again, Father, and I do have a motive for my hospitality. But I doubt you can guess it."
"Very well. Come in." Lucius gave an indifferent wave of his hand and took the tray from his son, placing it on a small mahogany table between two comfortable armchairs.
"So, what is it you want this time, Draco?" Lucius asked, helping himself to the venison and expensive Ice Brandy. "A new broom, perhaps? A raise in your weekly allowance, which, may I add, runs well into four figures. Your own private wing in the Manor? Permission to test your hexes on the house-elves?" A smirk curled on the man's thin lips.
"Actually, none of those are right, Father. What I want has more to do you with you than with me." Draco answered, taking a mouthful of Ice Brandy. Lucius had been allowing Draco to drink ever since he had started at Hogwarts.
"Oh? And what about me?" Draco paused for a moment. He seemed to be carefully considering his words before speaking.
"Well… …I know I shouldn't be prying into your business… …but… …I can't help feeling there's really something wrong with you!" He blurted out. Lucius' face twitched, momentarily expressing surprise which he was quick to mask over.
"Something is wrong with *me?* Why, in the name of Merlin, would you be thinking that I have any problems?" He demanded, wondering if Draco was sharper than he had been given credit for in the past.
"Well… …" Draco hesitated for a moment, then began to blurt out all his reasons. "You isolate yourself from Mother and from myself. You sit in this dark, lonely room all day, supposedly writing speeches for Ministry meetings. I cannot remember the last time I witnessed you smiling or laughing without malice and I know you suffer from insomnia because I am a moderate sufferer of the affliction. Oh, and there is one more sign that I am not going to ignore…"
"And that would be?" Lucius asked in exasperation. He winced in pain when Draco roughly grabbed him by the left arm and forced up his sleeve to reveal numerous scarlet lines, some long, some short and all made by the same, double-edged dagger. A frown crossed Draco's face as he examined the wounds. Many were covered in scabs or still slightly raw in appearance, a telltale sign that they were fairly new.
"Why do you do this, Father?" He asked, a mixture of barely subdued rage and great sadness in his voice. Lucius yanked his arm out of his son's grasp and glared at him, trying to mask the vulnerability he felt from his son knowing his dark little secret. The vulnerability seemed to ignite a strange sort of rage within him and, almost unconsciously, Lucius reached out and struck Draco across the face, leaving a red imprint of his hand against Draco's pale cheek.
"Get out." Lucius ordered through gritted teeth. Draco slowly shook his head once. Left, right, back to centre.
"No." His voice was calm. "I will not leave until you at least let me know-"
"It doesn't concern you!" Lucius hissed vehemently. "You are but a child. I am your Father, and I am ordering you to leave my study IMMEDIATELY!" Draco's jaw clenched momentarily in defiance, then relaxed as he reluctantly stood up, a strangely sad look on his young face.
"I'm only pointing out the obvious fact that you have some serious issues, Father." His voice had dropped to just above a whisper. "I sincerely doubt you would be able to handle them alone, but, seeing as you have cast off my attempt to help, I can say that you are on your own now. I bid you good night." Without another word, he left the study, shutting the door behind him.
Lucius stared blankly at the door for a moment. His next movement was to swear and scream in frustration, throwing the expensive tableware off his tray to smash all over the floor. His breathing was shuddery as sweaty, shaking hands fumbled with the lock on the desktop's chest. A sharp 'click' told him it was open and he reached inside the chest to grasp his dagger.
It was a truly beautiful yet horrifically ugly thing all at once. Its blade was paper-thin, yet, like the edge of paper, it could cause pain and draw blood. Several small rubies were encrusted on the handle. Red rubies, like the red blood the dagger would soon draw from him.
Lucius gritted his teeth as he sliced through a still-healing wound and the blood began to run free down his arm. He inhaled sharply as the dagger came forth again, tearing across a small patch of unwounded skin. The blood ran in tiny rivulets down his scarred forearm, separating at his fingers and dripping onto the pale grey marble floor, dotting it a dark crimson. A strangled sob rose in his chest.
He hated feeling this way. So full of bottled-up rage and frustration, yet so empty and alone, with only the dagger to remind him that he was still alive. He hated his life. He hated the daft aristocrats that filled his social circle. He hated depending on the dagger clasped in his right hand to remind him he was still alive. And he hated himself for not being strong enough to do anything about it.
Wake up, Grab a brush and put a little (makeup), Grab a brush and put a little, Hide the scars to fade away the (shakeup) Hide the scars to fade away the, Why'd you leave the keys upon the table? Here you go create another fable You wanted to, Grab a brush and put a little makeup, You wanted to, Hide the scars to fade away the shakeup, You wanted to, Why'd you leave the keys upon the table, You wanted to, I don't think you trust, In, my, self righteous suicide, I, cry, when angels deserve to die, Die, Wake up, Grab a brush and put a little (makeup), Grab a brush and put a little, Hide the scars to fade away the (shakeup) Hide the scars to fade away the, Why'd you leave the keys upon the table? Here you go create another fable You wanted to, Grab a brush and put a little makeup, You wanted to, Hide the scars to fade away the shakeup, You wanted to, Why'd you leave the keys upon the table, You wanted to, I don't think you trust, In, my, self righteous suicide, I, cry, when angels deserve to die In my, self righteous suicide, I, cry, when angels deserve to die Father, Father, Father, Father, Father/ Into your hands/I/commend my spirit, Father, into your hands, Why have you forsakee, In your thoughts forsaken me, In your heart forsaken, me oh, Trust in my self righteous suicide, I, cry, when angels deserve to die, In my self righteous suicide, I, cry, when angels deserve to die. "Chop Suey!" - System of a Down