Chapter 49
Narcissa and I had what I considered an almost perfect marriage. Almost perfect because I still saw her on the weekends, as opposed to my fervent wish of not seeing her at all. The woman was eight months pregnant, and, instead of resting like a normal, pregnant woman would do, she devoted every ounce of spare time she had to sending me owls. Owls, I tell you.
Letters were a luxury I could not afford then (time-wise, obviously, as I happen have the largest account there is in Gringotts). Why, you ask?
The Dark Lord was becoming frantic.
Apparently, a month or two ago, one of our number had overheard a certain prophecy describing Lord Voldemort's downfall at the pudgy little hands of an infant, no less. Or, if we opted for the less embarrassing choice, at the hands of a full-grown man, almost half a century younger than him. Whatever the choice, facts remained facts: He would meet his end at the hands of the infant born at end of the seventh month. Lord Voldemort believed it.
You want to know what I thought?
I thought the prophecy was (excuse the language) bull.
You have to understand, back then, Dark Lords did not go about getting Avada rebounded on themselves. Then, Dark Lords weren't rendered half-dead by helpless babies who'd yet to live through their first year.
But I'm getting a little ahead of myself (again).
Now, where was I.
Oh, right.
So the Dark Lord was searching, searching for this little imp, to squash him (I could say 'her', but we all know how the brat turned out anyway) while he could. For once, however, I couldn't find it in myself to fully trust the Dark Lord's paranoia. Weren't we, Death Eaters, all for the common goal of eradicating the world of dirty blood? Then why on earth were we wasting precious propaganda time (translation: muggle torturing time) hunting down an unborn child?
Because of a little something called power.
I understood all too well about power. Lord Voldemort wanted it so badly he could taste it, and not only that, but I think he could have swallowed it whole.
And I think he did try to swallow it whole. And then he choked on it.
Not good. Not good at all.
But that was later.
Now, now, we are in the May of 1980.
May, 1980.
Voldemort searches for strange infant with possible super-wizard powers.
Lucius Malfoy decides to—
To what??
Do you want to know what I was doing?
The world was turning, time was ticking, people were dying and I? What was I doing?
All right.
I'd decided to lay low a bit. Why?
You know me well enough to understand that a Malfoy never does anything with reason. And my 'laying low' had several reasons.
First and foremost was, of course, me. And let's not forget my wife and my then-unborn-to-be-named-Draco son. At that time, our reputation was at stake.
The ministry was up my arse, demanding searches inside the mansion, sending Aurors to watch me, and, most infuriatingly, coming up with witnesses claiming I'd done this or that bit of dark magic.
Lies, all of them.
Yes, I was a Death Eater.
And that meant, yes, I was a sometimes, more-often-than-not muggle murderer.
But no, I did not leave witnesses lying around, ready to 'expose the horrible Malfoy secret'(and I'm quoting off the Daily Prophet here) to the public. I was thorough in doing what I did.
I was good at what I did.
Very good.
Reason number two. To my dismay, everything, everything was going back to that woman I had allowed to come into my well-planned life, and turn it upside down. You know who it is. A thousand galleon bet says you say Lily. Because that would be the right answer, and I pride myself in having rather smart readers who can tell a foreshadowing when they see one.
So what was it about Lily?
I'd done some research on my own (in fact I'd been doing it since I'd left Hogwarts) and I knew everything there was to know about her. My little trip-down-memory-lane with the Murtazzo had only confirmed it: She was pregnant.
Additional research, and it more-than-proved the fact that she was pregnant. It told me when (I try not to think about her with Potter, I really do because it's just disgusting. Potter? POTTER? I couldn't understand her) the possible date of conception was, and that in turn told me she was, at that moment, exactly seven months pregnant.
That moment was May 31, 1980.
Two more months.
July 31, 1980.
The end of the seventh month.
And that, that was the instant I changed my mind about the prophecy.
You could pretend you didn't know the future and say that pregnancies, and deliveries, are never exactly 'on time'.
But muggle-blood or not, she was a witch. And witches are always on time. Lord Voldemort would look for her. He would find her child, and kill it.
I knew.
There might have been another wizarding couple expecting a child at the end of July.
But they were purebloods. Voldemort didn't like killing purebloods—at least, he didn't then.
And here, here was Lily, the mudblood, the woman I could have—and, in his eyes—should have—killed all those years past.
Now you think about it.
Potter, the politically delusioned pureblood, and Lily, the mudblood. A perfect union—perfect enough to spawn the Dark Lord worst enemy: His downfall.
I knew it.
And so did Lord Voldemort.
A/N:
Sorry!!! Sorry! I've been SOO unbelievably busy. Seriously. In fact, I didn't really have time to really edit this chapter, so if it's a bit rough around the edges, sorry :p
I haven't forgotten about Lucius, of course, but. . . you know how it is.
I'd gotten to that part when I wasn't sure which direction to head—it's like, which foot do I use to make the last sprint? Something like that.
I'd like to thank ALL of you who replied last time, a long, long time ago, and, especially I'd like to thank The Redheaded Duck, for reminding me all about Lucius, and for inspiring me to write again!!! So, this Chap's dedicated to her (or him? I'm sorry I just naturally assume Lucius-lovers are all 'her's).
So please, read and review! One more chapter to go!!!! Enough reviews and I might be encouraged to post a bit faster :p
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