Revisiting the Past
"He who cannot revenge himself is weak; he who will not is contemptible." (Italian Proverb)
Lucius Malfoy woke up to the acute sensation of a mountain troll trying to cleave his skull in half. With a deep groan he lifted his head and realized that he was for some reason sitting at his desk. Before him stood an empty bottle of Scotch, a heavy glass tumbler beside the bottle had been knocked over, and a puddle of whisky had soaked into his shirtsleeve. The smell of the alcohol almost made him gag.
Slowly he pushed himself away from the table dry-heaving as he felt his head pound even worse. Foggily he blinked his eyes. He hadn't had a hangover like this in many years. What in the name of Merlin had happened? He tried to focus and the first memory that came back to him was an image of his wife confronting him in the entrance hall of their home, wand pointing at him and their daughter clinging to her.
With that the whole string of horrible events unfolded in his mind. He might have drunk himself to oblivion but he felt hardly obliviated. In fact, his recollections were painfully sharp and detailed: Maleficia's confession, the conversation with the healer at St. Mungo's, Lavinia stretching out her arms to him.
Groggily he staggered to his feet, trying to wipe that latest image from his thoughts with a muttered curse. With an effort of will he banished any thoughts of his squib daughter and instead concentrated on a memory that actually fueled his anger: his wife of three years had simply walked out on him.
"The second time," he muttered angrily, fighting a bout of dizziness. "Witches! Who needs them?"
Four years ago his first wife had dared to divorce him, now his second wife had left him.
"Bitches!" he spat as he made his way to the potions cabinet in the bathroom to combat the after-effects of his previous excess.
About an hour later, and after a reasonable breakfast, Lucius began to feel more like himself again. Of course the fact that he was sharing the large dining-room table with no one besides the portraits of his ancestors, who looked down on him in various stages of disapproval only served to remind him of his current predicament: embarrassingly enough he was the father of a squib.
'Just sit here in your mansion and rot with the rest of the Malfoys in your own damn stuck-up pride,' Eleanor had told him just before she had left, and somehow that was exactly how he felt – rotten. He pushed back his plate and angrily tossed his serviette onto the table. By Azrael, he was not going to sit here and mope, not after this whole damn situation was her fault, brought on by her damnSartorius stubborn pig-headedness.
There was one thing he could do, one thing he should have done weeks ago, one thing that would take his mind off this whole miserable situation: to go to 12 Grimmauld Place and finally confront the author of that damnable biography that had caused him so much aggravation already.
He walked from the dining room, snarled at a house-elf to bring him his cloak and briefly checked his appearance in the large serpent-frame mirror in the entrance hall. The last thing he wanted to do was to give Narcissa the faintest indication that his current domestic affairs were in any kind of disarray. He was setting out on a punitive expedition and didn't intend to leave her gloating over him.
After a quick invisibility spell and the short moment of disorientation that accompanied an apparition he found himself standing in the dingy square in front of Narcissa's home. It seemed she had lifted the charms the previous owner, her late cousin Sirius Black, had put on the place and he could step right up to the front door. He hesitated for a moment, then gripped the heavy silver knocker in the shape of a twisted serpent and hit it against the black, battered wood of the door.
Kreacher, the ancient Black family house elf opened and he lifted his arched brows in surprise as he stepped into the front hall and became visible again. From his earlier visits to Grimmauld Place he remembered a rather dark and forbidding place, not the airy, elegant and well-lit environment that surrounded him now. The old heavy serpent candelabra he recalled had been replaced by a small glittering Venetian glass chandelier, the walls were upholstered in pale blue silk and the floor had been recarpeted. Narcissa had also removed the rather tasteless troll-foot umbrella stand that used to stand by the door and most of the old grimy paintings.
Masking his astonishment at the changes Lucius pulled his gloves off and addressed the elf.
"Announce me to your mistress," he commanded the servant.
The elf bowed, cringing at the visitor.
"Master must forgive," he pleaded. "Kreacher is not to disturb the mistress. She has visitors."
Lucius took a step back in outrage at being denied and gave the creature a quick, practiced swipe with his cane.
"How dare you?" he hissed at him. "Have you forgotten who I am? I don't care if you have to punish yourself for disobeying her, but you will take me to her now! Where is she?"
The wretched elf cowered at his feet whimpering in pain and dismay at being torn between two conflicting commands.
"I-in the s-s-salon," he finally stammered and then zoomed off to smack himself straight into the nearest wall. Lucius' lips twitched as the elf impacted with a dull thudding noise and fell back unconscious. It seemed he would have to introduce himself after all.
Without another glace at Kreacher he tossed back his cloak and made his way down the hallway until he heard the sounds of an animated conversation behind a door and recognized the high-pitched laughter of his ex-wife. Apparently Narcissa was enjoying herself. Well, he would take care of that presently.
With a swift move he threw open the door and strode into the room where several witches and wizards looked up in surprise at the intruder. Lucius recognized Rita Skeeter, formerly reporter for the Daily Prophet and now director of Witch Weekly, Narcissa's latest lover, the junior editor of Pentacle Publishing, a few of her obnoxious socialite girl-friends, and a rather alarmed-looking Mundungus Fletcher who desperately tried to avoid making eye-contact with him.
The blond wizard acknowledged the guests with a brief, arrogant nod and then addressed his ex-wife.
"We need to talk," he announced curtly.
Narcissa leaned back in her chair.
"Well, well, well," she said. "Ladies, gentlemen, I assume you are familiar with my former husband. As you all know from my book, he can be a little – abrupt… And of course he would never dream of apologizing for his rude interruption. As usual I will have to do that for him. So on behalf of my former spouse let me say that I'm deeply sorry for the complete disregard of the basic rules of polite society we are witnessing here."
Lucius snorted at her.
"Well, if you are counting Skeeter and Fletcher among 'polite society' you've sunk deeper than I've expected since your divorce. So why don't you get rid of this gaggle of simpering sycophants, hm?"
"Afraid of witnesses?" she challenged him, her cheeks flushing in anger.
He gave her a grim smile.
"With the reputation you've given me, my dear? No, these days any potential witnesses tend to be afraid of me," he growled. "Need any proof?"
He cast a threatening glance round the room and saw to his satisfaction that Narcissa's current toy-boy was already pushing back his chair, getting ready to leave. The socialite witches whispered nervously among themselves.
Narcissa forced a look of long-suffering on her face, sighed and gave up.
"See, my friends, just as I have written about him… Simply awful! Would you mind very much leaving us alone for a few minutes? As you can plainly perceive it would be for your own safety."
With obvious haste the visitors stood up and thronged out of the room, giving Lucius a wide berth. The last guest quietly closed the door behind them, and Narcissa immediately dropped her polite demeanor.
"I thought you'd never darken my door again. What was that all about, your pathetic affirmations you would never speak to me again? Yeah, in a bat's eye!"
He leaned his cane against the table and took his time sitting down.
"I could curse you instead," he offered. "That way I wouldn't break my promise, if you prefer that."
Narcissa inspected her carefully manicured nails and pretended to yawn.
"Quit playing games, Lucius, it's so old. You know you won't do that, not with so many potential witnesses in the next room. What do you really want? Are you finally fed up with your red-haired slut? How long has it been – nine years? Triple goddess, you must be bored out of your skull by now. At least I allowed myself a bit of variation."
Lucius lifted an eyebrow.
"You may not believe it, but unlike you she knows how to keep a man's interest," he mocked her. "I bet you had to change out your studs, simply because they eventually started falling asleep on top of you. I certainly did in my time…"
He would be damned if he admitted to his ex-wife that he and Eleanor had finally hit a rough spot of their own.
Narcissa compressed her narrow lips. She seemed to be at a loss for a sufficiently vitriolic comeback.
"Well if you came here to insult me you might as well leave again. I'm afraid your barbs have lost their bite for me," she said eventually.
Lucius shrugged.
"You started it," he said. "I've come about this."
He reached into his robes, pulled out Sedgewick's copy of "I Married a Death Eater" and slammed the book on the table between them.
"What in the name of the furies possessed you to do this?" he asked angrily. "And are you now passing round gratis copies behind my back at the Ministry to stir up trouble?"
Narcissa gave a mirthless chuckle.
"Typical!" she said. "As usual you think this is all about you. Me, me, me, Lucius the Magnificent Malfoy, the magical universe revolves around me. Have you ever considered that I couldn't care less about you?"
He stared at her now.
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, the idea never even occurred to you! How hilarious!" She seemed truly amused now. "Merlin, you are such an arrogant asshole, aren't you? Look around you. Your return to the wizarding world and acceptance of the divorce left me with nothing," she spat at him accusingly. "There I had to move into this miserable dingy place. I had to take care of myself.
So I sold the one thing I still had of yours that I could cash in on – your reputation. It worked rather well, didn't it? I've been on the Daily Prophet bestseller list since the week of publication. I'm already getting royalties from a French and German edition, Icelandic and Russian to follow.
I don't have to go round making life difficult for you. You'll find a way to do that for yourself, as usual. No, I'm busy making friends, getting Grimmauld Place together, and finally living a full and meaningful life without you. Sorry if my story displeases you, but it's the one thing I ever got out of this marriage that was worth the miserable times I had to spend with you."
She pulled the copy of the book over to her and absentmindedly rubbed at the faint ink stains that still adorned her portrait.
"I heard someone is sticking knives into your new muggle friends," she taunted him. "Shouldn't that worry you more than a simple little book?"
"Not when it makes the rounds among my contacts and serves to make me the prime suspect," Lucius snarled. "And I dare you call them my 'friends.' I'm trying to prevent this place from being overrun by this scum!"
"Yes, Lucius, and as usual you don't mind a bit of murder and mayhem in the process, do you? Still the faithful Death Eater…"
Lucius interrupted her.
"Wait a minute: 'Sticking knives in muggles,' how do you know a muggle was stabbed? That's not even made the news yet."
Narcissa leaned back and made him wait for her answer.
"I have my contacts," she said silkily.
"What contacts?" demanded the blond wizard. "You better tell me…"
"Or what?" she provoked him. "Remember everyone else is just a thin wall away. Anyway, I don't mind telling you: Mundungus Fletcher told me. As a matter of fact, he tried to sell me the dagger a few weeks earlier when I was looking for interesting art objects to furnish the house. I declined. The less I'm reminded of you and your family, the better."
Lucius stared at her in surprise. Narcissa was in deeper with the slimy little thief than he had expected. Something strange was going on here.
The witch pushed back her chair and got up.
"You know, Lucius, this conversation is starting to bore me. I didn't pass any copies of my book to anyone. And anyway, do you really believe I would give away free copies when I'm out to make money? You have so many wizards and witches out there who would pay a small fortune to see you back behind bars, they are probably out there cursing each other over the privilege of doing you in. The only reason they don't come right out and finish you off is that they are terrified of you."
She placed the book back in front of him.
"Because of this, my dear. You should thank me instead of coming round here and insulting me and terrorizing my friends. Now why don't you do us all a favor and get out of my life?"
The wizard picked up the volume and gripped his wand as he prepared to leave. Narcissa's ridiculous claim had sparked an idea. Some people might be truly afraid to attack him openly, for other reasons than merely his reputation, but he had to finish his business with her first.
"You know," he said. "Unlike you, I found this conversation strangely amusing and invigorating. I think I will concern myself with you for a little while longer. In fact, I think you have just become more interesting than you ever were when we were married."
He paused and had the satisfaction of seeing a brief expression of anxiety cross her face.
"I shall enjoy bringing you to your knees. And no, don't worry, not for that. Curses are really such a crude means of satisfaction – the demise of the Dark Lord has taught me that. But nothing surpasses the agony and anguish that a good lawsuit can produce. I think it's time I took a stand against this libelous and slanderous piece of drivel you produced. I shall be talking to Marcellus Tethering. And you will soon wish you still had Mr. Greenleaf fucking you, instead of that little useless twerp of a publisher, my dear."
He took an exaggerated look around the room, walked across the soft carpets that adorned the floor and ran an appraising hand over the new textile wall covers.
"I think it's time the Malfoys got themselves a nice little town house in London. Yes, Narcissa, I believe this place will do very well. I'll see you at auction when you have to sell off Grimmauld Place to pay your court fees, your lawyer and my solation."
He had finally hit a nerve.
"You bastard!" she screamed and Lucius saw her reach for her wand. She had never been a Death Eater or had otherwise much used her dueling skills, and so the wizard merely turned with lazy nonchalance as he pointed his wand at her.
"Oremobsera!" he drawled and had the satisfaction to see her mouth snap shut.
He sheathed his magical weapon and regarded her with a smirk as she unsuccessfully tried to pull her locked jaws apart making little panicked mewing sounds in the process.
"You know my sweet, during all these years of your nagging, I have so wanted to do this!"
He bowed in mockery and turned to leave.
"Good luck, sweet Narcissa, you will assuredly need it."
Lucius found himself deep in thought when he walked into his study at Malfoy Manor and pulled out the chair behind his broad oak desk. His visit to Grimmault Place hadn't quite furnished him with the answers he had expected, but it had not been wasted either.
Firstly it had proved to be a welcome distraction from the awful events of the previous day, about which he still tried to think as little as possible.
Secondly it had made him think that perhaps there was something to Narcissa's suspicion that people would not dare to attack him openly. A few people would know that a direct attack was in fact impossible. It would be all those who had witnessed the destruction and dedication of the Mirror of Battle at the manor three years ago. The shards of the mirror still held the power to deflect any act of aggression right back at the initiator. Those in the know would need to find more subtle ways to get at the Malfoys. Those in the know were also only a small and select band of people. They could be investigated.
But first things first: he needed to write Tethering about his plans to sue his ex-wife, then he would shortlist the witnesses. And he would get to the bottom of Mundungus Fletcher's strange and persistent interference in his plans. He had obviously underestimated the man's agenda.
As he reached for a fresh sheet of parchment, his eyes fell on a paper-wrapped parcel that a house elf had placed on the writing surface in front of him. With raised brows he ran his hands over the red wax seal on the twine that held the parcel together.
He untied the box and paused when he saw the contents. Among a padding of rice paper a gorgeous colorful dragon made of cloth and sequins stretched and blinked up at him lazily. Lucius leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He had ordered the dragon to replace the one that had got destroyed in the apparition spell when Libby had left it lying around in the front hall. It seemed an eternity ago.
Slowly he lifted the enchanted toy and absentmindedly ran his fingers over its soft, glittering skin. He had looked forward to seeing Lavinia laugh when she would see his present. She had been quite inconsolable when she had found that her first dragon had "died", and he had promised her he would make it well again.
Now he would never see her smile at him again. He couldn't. Stiffly he got up, still holding the dragon, and without paying attention walked from the room.
When he realized what he was doing he found himself standing in the doorframe of her room. The dragons and unicorns and other magical beings that adorned the walls milled around listlessly staring into empty space. The room seemed cold and empty without Lavinia running forward to meet him with outstretched arms and a delighted cry of "Daddy!"
Lucius' steps were tentative as he slowly walked towards a high-backed chair in the center of the room and heavily sat down in it. The sudden discovery of his daughter's toy had caught him unaware and with his defenses down, and he bit his lips at the sudden, almost visceral pain he felt at her absence. Without meaning to he mouthed her name, then the name of his wife.
"I had no other choice," he said softly, as if he was explaining himself. "Malfoys have never acknowledged a squib. I won't be the first. I can't be the first. You knew that. You should understand."
The immense silence and emptiness of the house seemed to crowd in on him as he sat, feeling the toy dragon move slightly under his hands. 'I will have no one left if you leave,' he had once told Eleanor, and he had been right. Anger rose in him at her abandonment, at her betrayal. How could she, how dared she walk out on him over this? She had promised him at their handfasting: 'strength to do what you must do, when you must do it, and together as one.'
This had required her strength and her loyalty as his wife. He had asked her to stand with him, together as one and see this through, and she had baulked at it. She had left.
The anger felt better than the silence, better than the pain. With sudden resolve he got up, tossed the toy dragon across the room where it landed in Lavinina's empty bed and walked back towards his study. He still needed to owl Tethering. He had better things to do than mope over a mere wastrel of a kid and yet another mistake of a wife. On the way back he clapped his hands.
"Nibbs! Nibbs, you lazy son of a bitch, a bottle of Scotch and a glass in my study, now! And bring me a bird from the owlery!"