A/N – Mostly conversation in this chapter, to (further) establish the tangled Draco-Lucius dynamic. Also, lately I have been seriously tempted by a Lucius/Ginny plotbunny. Much effort has been spent in heroically fending it off, but the remnants of temptation can be seen in this chapter.

(Seriously, haven't you ever wondered…?)

(splashes cold water on her face and wrists)

Disclaimer – I don't own Lucius Malfoy. Worst luck.


Chapter 6 – If Only


The investigative and analytical discussion of Sir Samuel Griffith's death continued late into the night, until Moody finally called a halt when it became clear they were going over and over the same ground with no result. Things, he said, would be clearer in the morning – after a good night's sleep at the rustic hedge-tavern that was the only thing that passed for accommodation this far into the country.

The landlord had been thrown into a panic at the thought of so many guests all descending on him at the one time: the food, he'd explained, dry-washing his hands, was solid, honest fare, the rooms were clean and the bedding well-aired – for we're simple people, here, not used to fine folk from London…

Lucius had seen Moody's eyebrow twitch at this highly unlikely description. But as he'd said it, the landlord's eyes had been focused on Lucius – and not in recognition of an infamous Death Eater who should have been locked away in Azkaban. No, the landlord had recognized him as a Malfoy, as a scion of the highest, oldest house of the wizarding aristocracy, and had accorded him due deference.

It had been a very long time since he had seen such an innocent reaction.

Draco, of course, had been less than impressed – he'd always despised what he termed 'cringing, undue servility', and despised being associated with Lucius even more – and had disappeared as soon as possible. Moody, looking on, had looked insufferably amused; Ginevra had looked troubled and had gone after him. And then, after a short while, after Lucius had inspected his room, pronounced it to his taste, and gotten rid of the innkeeper as politely as possible, he joined his son outside.

It seemed Draco had something on his mind that he wanted to discuss.


Ginny had never before seen the true deference that the Malfoy name commanded. Watching the innkeeper bow and scrape, she had realized just how unusual her father was, in his refusal to kowtow to Lucius Malfoy: it was something that she'd always taken for granted, but – as she'd discovered as she grew older – extremely unusual in the still very class-conscious wizarding world.

"Is it always like that?" she asked Draco quietly. She had followed him out into the night, troubled by the way he'd left the inn – or rather his father's presence.

"Always." He dragged in a few shuddering breaths, and then forced himself to laugh shortly. "No, that's not quite true – usually, the deference is tinged with fear, with the ever-present knowledge of his true nature. Evidently, we must be stranded so deeply in the country news takes centuries to travel…"

She took her cue from him, kept her voice light. "Now you're being a snob, Draco."

He grunted.

A rich, smooth voice spoke from the shadows. "Actually, Ginevra, Draco is one of the less hidebound of his generation." She turned around to face her father in law, and wondered guiltily just how much he had heard. "He has a great dislike for unnecessary pomp and circumstance…"

"Unlike you, you mean?" Draco snarled in reply, startling her. "You, who couldn't care less about your rights or your responsibilities, but still insist on empty formalities? You once told me that accepting such homage was against all the principles of your youth – what changed you, Father?"

The sudden flare of anger was uncharacteristic, and Ginny could not help but wonder what lay behind it – whatever it was, it was very old, and very personal. But Lucius Malfoy, who had undoubtedly recognized the ancient, exposed hurt, nevertheless chose not to acknowledge it.

He laughed.

"Peace, free love and rock and roll? Or perhaps equality, self-determination and, if necessary, revolution? My father found such long-haired radical idealism dangerous – which, of course, is why I so indulged in it…"

Draco looked angrier than she'd seen him for a long time. "Then why indulge in Voldemort's ultra-conservative, pureblooded drivel? If you believed anything of what you played at –"

But his father cut him off. "Come, Draco, you should know better than that. Fanatics and true believers are unpredictable and dangerous –"

"Bullshit, Father. You've never believed a word of your own rhetoric. Everything you do and everything you say is a lie, a performance – is there anything, in the course of your sordid, misspent life, that is not tainted by manipulation or hypocrisy?"

Perhaps because Draco was facing away from him, and perhaps because he had long since stopped trying to look, only Ginny saw the fleeting shadow cross Lucius' face, and then vanish. She had the impression that he wanted to reach out and lay a hand on his son's shoulder – a comforting paternal gesture her own father used often – before he got himself back under control and any hint of vulnerability vanished.

"Of course not, dear boy. In the end, life's nothing but a grand, ridiculous game."

Draco rounded on him, but was prevented from violence by the cool, ironic confidence in Lucius' amused face. Ginny wondered if this was not the first time that Draco had been routed by that terrible unconcern, and whether it was the true root cause of his twisted relationship with his father.

Finally, Draco got himself under rigid control and stalked off back into the inn, all but vibrating in fury. Lucius watched him go, something unfamiliar darkening the normal lazy gleam of his eyes.

"You should not have said that," Ginny said cautiously.

He turned to her, and there was no trace of amused irony now. "What should I have said, then? Comforting platitudes that he will not believe, sentiment that only serves to romanticize?"

"What about the truth?"

Once more, he laughed – and this time it was a genuine laugh, Draco's laugh, and it lit his face the way Draco's lit when something truly delighted him, making it radiant and so beautiful it caught at her heart.

She drew in a shocked breath.

The Lucius Malfoy who had so insulted her father and had slipped the enchanted diary into her school things had been a stereotype, a sneering, arrogant example of everything that was corrupt and twisted in wizarding society. This was not that man.

This was what Lucius Malfoy could have been, this golden illusion of a bright, laughing creature: this was 'if only': the potential for another man, another life, another fate, if he had only made a different choice, if things had only gone a different way.

What could have, might have, would have been.

He was beautiful.

And then his smile tilted, the mockery returned, and the illusion was gone.


"Malfoy," Moody called out as Draco made his way up to his room. He could tell the younger Malfoy was in no mood for talk – not after that fascinating little tableau he'd witnessed outside – but this was too important to wait.

"What is it?" Draco scowled. "Sir."

Moody let it pass. "Do you know who Sir Samuel was?"

Draco laughed, and not in amusement. "I think we all knew who he was. I could hardly forget him – or his face as he read out the sentence." He was quiet for a moment. "I wanted to kill him, then. I wanted to kill them all…"

Moody knew the other man would never have dared to say that to anyone else – Draco, too, had learned to choose his words and actions carefully. But paranoia and decades of constant vigilance had put Moody as far out of normal society as Draco's upbringing had done for him – despite their often mutual antagonism, they shared an odd sort of understanding.

"And did you know that all the other victims were also enemies of your father in some way?"

"My father had legions of enemies," Draco scoffed. And then, "Are you suggesting…? No." He paused, and then said, again, "No."

His reaction fascinated Moody. "Just like that, you're defending him? No evidence, no facts, just faith – even though he's a hypocritical, manipulative liar who thinks of nothing but himself?"

He stiffened. By God, the boy stiffened. "My father may be many things, sir," he gritted out from behind a perfectly blank face, "but whatever else he is, he does not kill pointlessly – and there is no gain for him in this. If he arranged the assassinations to get out of Azkaban, why would he be so stupid as to implicate himself? The same reasoning applies to your theory of revenge. It's simply not logical."

He cleared his throat. "As it happens, I don't believe your father arranged this, Malfoy. You're right, there's no point to it for him. But there is another important point here."

Draco nodded. "Someone wanted us to think that he did it."

"Or that you did, Malfoy. Oh yes," he said in response to Draco's shocked look, "you said it yourself – you wanted to kill Sir Samuel, and all the others who gloated at your father's trial. You claim to dislike your father, you have repudiated him and all his works, and yet you still poker up when anyone but yourself insults him, and you defend him automatically.

"Some people," he continued, "might get the wrong idea. And I don't need to tell you how damaging that would be – not just in relation to this case."

There was silence, then, as Malfoy's pride and indignation warred with his intellect and common sense. Finally, he nodded sharply and turned away, heading up to his room – escaping, no doubt, from the tangled web of love, hatred, expectations, disappointment, divided loyalties and futile regrets that was his relationship with his father.

Moody sighed.

The older he got, the more he appreciated the fact that he'd never had children.


Thanks to all my reviewers. Your thoughts and comments are great, especially because this fic is so unlike any of my others.