Hello! Took a while to get this chapter up—not because of boredom, but because of laziness. Sorry! The reason for this quick note is to tell you guys that this chapter spans a whole lot of time, in case you get confused. It's short, I know. But it spans from right after the previous chapter, up to nearly 3 years after graduation (Lucius'). The reason for this is because I didn't want the story's falling action (is it? confused...) part to be all about Garednon, since, as you know, it's supposed to be all about Voldemort. I did not skip a few years to give the story a rush ending! Lucius would kill me for that!
But, yes, the end is near. Very near. scary music
Chapter 48
You know what happened afterwards. I poisoned Garednon, he died, and the irreversible rift between Lily and I grew deeper and wider. She knew I'd done it.
When Dumbledore announced the death of our teacher, all went according to plan and no death threats were suspected. He'd suffered a prolonged allergic attack—I had been lucky that these attacks had come often even before the use of the Menandrus.
Instead of the usual pangs of guilt, I felt nothing but the cold glare of her eyes against my back. When I turned around to look at her, she'd turned the other way. Maybe I'd imagined it. But my imagination was limited, regarding these things.
That conversation we'd had that night had been our last. A part of me wanted her to find the bit of herself that loved me, and forgive me for what I'd done.
Maybe she would have, had I asked. But I didn't—knowing somehow that it would have been wrong to.
But, right or wrong, I couldn't understand her pain—I'd been too young to remember thoroughly the death of Iole, and the thought of losing either Crabbe or Goyle wasn't too bad. I highly doubted I would spend too many hours mourning their empty little souls. Lives were expendable. End of story. I could never love with the depth and feeling that she could.
It was beyond me, and I knew it.
I took the N.E.W.T.S (with remarkable results, might I add), had my commencement exercises without a hitch, and took over the family business of doing nothing. Malfoy's didn't work for money—people gave it to us because we were Malfoys.
All right, maybe they didn't just give it for no reason—usually thousand year-old interest payments, black market deals, and the like.
I was hardly what you would call busy. I spent the majority of my time roaming the manor, thinking idly about the world's unexplained mysteries.
The strange allure of red hair, for one.
And the captivating magnetism of green eyes; how rare they were.
And freckles!
Right.
Bloody bugger—I couldn't get her out of my mind. I'd seriously considered stalking her and making it my profession. Thank Severus, for sending me owls laced lightly with bits of news about her, or else I would have gone spare with desperation. Only hints--nothing too direct, of course, lest he provoke my unusually quiescent anger.
'Had a run-in with Potter, arrogant little words were crossed out repeatedly here idiot. Evans, prefect that she is, was surprisingly impartial for a Gryffindor and gave him detention for use of curses in the hallway.'
I'd smiled (well as a rule, I didn't really smile anymore, but you know what I mean)—it was good to know their enmity hadn't changed.
Meanwhile, my Lord had started gathering more followers. There were many Death Eaters, and we'd gained such popularity (or unpopularity) that parents had been known to use us to scare their children.
'If you don't keep the Wizarding Wireless down the Death Eaters are going to come and get you'
For some reason, we'd been mentioned in the Daily Prophet articles as the Knights of Walpurgis, and many of us had taken to that name. However, officially (if there was anything official about a roomful of pureblooded men, guzzling firewhisky and arguing about the best way to quarter someone—unicorns, horses, or thestrals?), we were still the Death Eaters.
Lord Voldemort had not mentioned anything about Garednon's death. I had a feeling he'd been planning the Menandrus as well—though why he would kill one of his most devoted followers, I would never know. The knowledge of the master's volatility kept me wary, although I knew well enough not to show it.
With everything as it was, I became Lord Voldemort's new right-hand man. After all, it was only I, among the rest, who had the most connections (and curses). I'd convinced Severus to join us—and, with him, a few other promising Slytherins as well—Bellatrix Black, Crabbe and Goyle (need you ask? They trailed after me even after we'd left Hogwarts—I doubted they had anything better to do), Peter (again, Parkinson, not Pettigrew; don't get ahead of yourselves), and a rather eager fellow, Jugson.
As I know you all would rather have an hour-long round of the crucio than hear what I have to say about the rest of my first year out of Hogwarts, let me take this opportunity to jump to two years after that. When everything began to change.
Lily had, by this time, graduated. Yes, she still haunted my thoughts. And, what haunted me even more was that she'd gone and gotten herself married. To who else, but, surprise, surprise, Potter. Right out of school. They'd graduated, gone off somewhere and flat out eloped.
Well. Of course that bothered me. To no end. Potter?She'd had good taste when she'd dated me, but why the sudden jump from handsome pureblood to pureblood git?
Then again, when I think about it, I really did have no right to be angry at her. I was engaged myself, to Narcissa Black. Don't blame me—it was out of pure boredom. With a bit of lust mixed in there, probably.
Ahem.
Anyway. . .
Time moved on, and nothing was different—except the news of attacks. They'd become more and more frequent. At first, the ministry had tried to cover everything up—those fools really hated to admit that such 'barbaric prejudice' still existed in our very 'modern society'. Those quotes were direct from the minister himself, by the way. You see, the ministry was afraid—knee-trembling, relieve-yourself-in-your-knickers afraid.
'We can't possibly have another Grindelwald on our hands, Albus,' the minister had bawled to Dumbledore. Yes, we'd heard them talk—we had more spies than anyone knew possible. What the old man replied was unheard, unfortunately. Seems Dumbledore had known about spies and cloaked the rest of the conversation.
You would think everything was getting swimmingly along with me. Well, it was. Until, of course, in the middle of cleaning out my trunk (actually, I was lazing around on my bed while the elves did the work), I remembered a certain secret compartment I'd had in there. With a certain, secret spy-on-Lily device.
Now you must understand—I hadn't seen her in years. Not even a glimpse of her in Diagon Alley. Or Hogsmeade. And let me tell you, I'd spent some time looking. Well. Moving on. . .
I looked at the old clock that hung on my wall—ten in the evening. Right. If Potter and she were doing something. . . er. . . explicit, I would stop the spell. Hopefully they weren't. Hopefully she was alone and pining for me. Not bloody likely, but there was always the possibility. I made my decision.
"OUT!" I roared, and, after a nanosecond of stunned silences, the house-elves complied and ran for their pathetic lives.
Good.
Nice to know they obeyed orders.
I ran my hands deftly over the inside of the trunk, like I'd done so many years past. Yes, the compartment was still there—as was the Murtazzo. The device. This time around, I didn't stare in amazement at the light emanating from the disc once I'd said the magic words—I stared in amazement at Lily.
She was sitting on steps, I assumed (as only Lily was shown). But the biggest surprise was—well—she was—urgh—pregnant (either that or extremely fat stomach-wise, but I could tell the difference). With Potter's child. I wonder what it felt like to have something as hideous as Potter's spawn growing inside you, and I shuddered. I wasn't meant to carry babies (obviously, as I don't have the right—equipment, physical or mental).
At the time, of course, I'd already gotten married to Narcissa. And gotten her pregnant as well. Of course, compared to Lily, who seemed to be in full bloom, rosy cheeks and all, Narcissa seemed to do nothing but throw up. I tolerated it since she was carrying, after all, the new Malfoy heir. Although how much bolus the new Malfoy heir seemed to be forcing out of his mother's stomach, I didn't really want to know.
I sat up straighter on my bed to get a closer look at Lily. A look of pleased contentedness came over her face, and, closing her eyes, she craned her neck a little to the right—as if someone was behind her, rubbing her cheek. My temper flared, even as I told myself I had no right to be jealous.
"If you're trying to win over the argument, it's useless, you know." She laughed, and for a moment, I could do nothing but stare at her. Her smile brought back so many memories. "There is absolutely no way you are going to name this child Harrieta." More laughs. "How did you ever convince me to let you name this one?" A pause, then an embarrassed giggle. She turned bright red. "Oh—right."
I stopped the spell, and covered my face with my hands, shaking my head.
She'd seemed so happy.
I'd never brought anything to her but tears. Maybe Potter was right for her—he'd made her smile—and laugh—more often that I had.
She deserved to be happy.
Something I could never do for her.
As if to remind me of my place, heat blossomed on my forearm. Immediately, I touched a Portkey, and, in the swirling black abyss, I realized something.
Only I could protect her from the wrath of Lord Voldemort. Potter could, but that was only to a certain extent. She would need my help--my protection. And I would give it to her.
Little did I know that the promise I'd made then could and would get horribly, irrevocably broken.
Author's Notes:
Thank you to:
Briana Marie—for the Nth time, the first person to review after I put up a chapter! Thank you! I'm glad the emotions got through there. I was listening to these sad songs when I was writing, and I couldn't help but tear up and all. sniff And yes, Uncle Mordum is just called 'uncle' for the sake of it—in no way related to Lucius (although you never know—pureblood families are supposed to be all mixed up. Eew.)
Tiamat—a new reviewer! Thanks for the review—it really kept me on my toes (very Slytherin)! Thankfully the story met all the requirements—I don't think you were too haughty when you said things about correct grammar—I know what you mean! Some stories have great plots, but then you think 'oh, if only they'd written it properly'. : p Hope you liked this chapter.
Claire—thank you for the short but sweet review!
Addy—you're back! sigh I know that chapter was sad. So, so sad. But it's Lucius. A typically sad, sad Lucius. : (
