Lucius Malfoy, convicted deatheater.
Is that what they are calling me now? How vague, how understated. I am not as lowly as Pettigrew or Lestrange, I am Lucius Christopher Malfoy the Second, Voldemort's trusted follower, loyal deatheater and I exercise more influence over the Ministry for Magic then even Dumbledore himself did.
I am not just a convicted deatheater. In fact, if what Narcissa has just written to me is to be presumed correct, I am no longer convicted, even. I am to be released from this confinement today. After suffering years of my worst torment, I am freed.
The dark, damp walls of Lucius Malfoy's cell held an eerie chill, unnatural, even for Azkaban. They seemed to mock him, appearing only to be three walls and a metal gate. No sunlight, no happiness, no warmth. The past years had done much to Lucius' appearance, though nothing to his ego.
Lucius' white-blonde hair hung limp and greasy from his scalp, plastered against his sallow countenance with something akin to vigor. His cold, unfeeling ice-blue eyes remained the same, if not sunk further into his skull than they had been. Lucius has certainly lost most of his body weight, it seemed now his skin hung off his bones, no muscle tissue or fat in between. His sneer, like his eyes, remained the same mocking feature, though weakened somewhat by his overall feeble physique.
Accompanied to her husband's cell by a dementor was none other than the ravishing Narcissa Malfoy. The past few years had done little to alter her outwardly appearance, though her mind had been slowly withering into nothing. Life without Lucius had been hard, both on her and Draco, this was evident in her eyes. Nacissa had never been one to carefully conceal her emotions, and this wasn't the time to try.
"Oh Lucius, look at you!"
Narcissa was plainly horrified at what met her eyes. Lucius Malfoy, reduced to skin and bone, quite literally.
After an unwanted harassment by a few less-than-happy dementors, both Lucius and Narcissa walked out of Azkaban. Whole. Lucius, you see, had refused to let four walls and a bone-chilling memory rob him of anything but his body.
No one - save for the ever-persistent members of The Order of The Phoenix - could disrupt the feeling of absolute bliss that enveloped Narcissa entirely. And who but these aforesaid mentioned prats decided to appear before them?
Narcissa's smile was wiped clean from her face. Clinging onto Lucius' arm worriedly, Narcissa let a look of absolute horror take her features over by storm. Dumbly, as though being imprisoned had affected his eyesight, Narcissa stated the obvious; "Lucius - it's the Potter boy."
Shooting first Narcissa - then Harry - a look of complete disdain, a sneer wound its way upon Lucius' pallid features. Crossing his thin arms over his chest, Lucius took a step forward, as though challenging Harry. As though in response, Harry did the same.
Both Narcissa and the members of the Order were taken somewhat aback at the confrontation, obviously they had not meant to have such a run-in. Though, the Order seemed infinitely more pleased than the ever-worried Mrs. Malfoy.
"Potter."
"Lucius."
Boldly, Harry found the courage to speak Mr. Malfoy's first name in a degrading, scornful tone. He was not sure as to just where the courage came from, Harry had trouble not displaying this fact on his countenance. His green eyes alight with loathing, Harry also had trouble keeping a condescending sneer from his face.
Lucius' face contorted in rage, the insolence . Would Potternever learn?
"Do not use that name, Potter, it is unfit for your half-blood lips." Lucius spoke in the same cool, drawling, demeaning tone as his son, and the familiarity was striking. Lucius cast his icy-blue gaze upon the army of wizards and witches who stood behind his young foe.
"All this, for me? I am truly touched. I never expected such a turnout for my welcoming party."
"Maybe we're celebrating your belated death, Lucius."
This escaped, not from Harry's own lips, but from Hermione Granger, who was standing but two feet behind. Her bushy hair constricted to a ponytail, her eyes wide with hatred, she looked quite the sight, half-buried under layers of clothing.
"What was that, filthy mud-blood scum?", Lucius snapped. Drawing his wand he pointed it directly for her throat. His voice a low growl, Lucius repeated, "What did you say?"
"Oi! Don't you dare point your wand at her." Harry's wand was raised, pointed at the man before him. Hastily brushing aside disheveled bangs, Harry's gaze never faulted.
"Avada -", Lucius began -
"Avada Kedavra!" Harry shouted this. With a flash of green light, a moan, and a heavy thud, Lucius Malfoy was dead. On the cobblestone streets, but twenty minutes from the Malfoy's Manor, Lucius Christopher Malfoy the Second was dead.