Sir Icarus was lowered into the family vault on New Year's Eve, the event solemnly witnessed by the Minister of Magic, various dignitaries, representatives from the many charities he had patronised, family, colleagues, friends and his only son. Fifty-eight was no age for a wizard to die, they all agreed in reverent tones, yet he had achieved so much in his short life! And, they supposed, he was at peace with his beloved Lady Aph and dear, beautiful little Julia, safe from the demons which had driven him to drink.
Lucius had played the perfect host during the ceremony and the wake, with ample assistance from Rastaban Lestrange, and his godfather Algy Cholmondley-Fanshawe who had sobbed silently into his enormous yellow handkerchief all afternoon. By five-thirty the wake was over, the great and the good had departed, full of brandy and mince pies, leaving Lucius and his friends alone. Araminta flung herself down onto a chaise-longue and thrust a foot in the air.
"Razzie, be a dear and get these blasted boots off for me," she pouted. Rastaban Lestrange muttered about the existence of perfectly good spells for that sort of thing, but did as he was told. "They're the loveliest boots in the world," she continued, "But they hurt like hell."
"Funerals are so utterly depressing," sighed Rodolphus, lighting a cigarette with his wand and inhaling deeply.
"They're supposed to be, idiot," snorted Bellatrix, having no patience with melancholy or solemn reflection. She sidled over to Lucius standing pensively at the fireplace and massaged his shoulders soothingly, but with a spark of something predatory in her eyes. "So how does it feel to be Lord of the Manor?"
"Wonderful," he grinned. "Rather dizzying, but wonderful. I've spent a week with the lawyers, the accountants, the Ministry and every kind of clerk you can think of, and I still haven't finished measuring all the assets. I don't understand how, but it manages to be simultaneously wildly exciting and brain-curdlingly tedious. But I suppose that's part of growing up."
"And this little hut is all yours too!" beamed Araminta, looking around the room as if conducting a hasty valuation. "Found out any interesting secrets now you're the only master?"
"One or two," he replied guardedly. "Though I admit the secret passage between my father's study and the wine cellar came as no surprise." Bellatrix found this hilarious. Charging their glasses with the remains of the funeral brandy, she raised the toast.
"To the late, great Sir Ick! And to Lady Aph!" They downed their drinks in honour of the illustrious dead Malfoys.
"Now," grinned Bellatrix with glee, "About that wine cellar…"
The combined effect of having spent most of the day on their best behaviour, knowing that there was no one else in the house to be disturbed, and being overexcited about the arrival of a highly promising New Year meant that the party became very crazy very quickly. The gramophone was placed under a triple sonorus charm, forcing even the portraits to cover their ears, and the dining room was completely cleared of furniture, making a superb dancefloor. Narcissa arrived at about ten o'clock, fresh from the more sedate Black family celebrations ("Sooo tedious, Bell, you were right to skive off. They think I went to bed with a headache!") followed half an hour later by Augustus Rookwood and a tray of suspiciously herbal-tasting cauldron cakes.
Lucius watched the unfolding chaos with a benevolent air, pleased that the first house party was going so well. There were so many choices ahead of him, he thought with a contented sigh. Further studies, a job at Gringott's, something in the Ministry, charity work, or even an idle life like so many of his friends. Generations of shrewd investments had ensured that no Malfoy would have to actually earn their own living, but there was an unwritten rule that total dissipation was 'not done'. No, Lucius knew he was destined for some great purpose, he just needed a little time to decide what.
Midnight approached, and Rodolphus had removed the helmet from one of the suits of armour and put it on, chasing the others around the room shrieking and falling over in a very unruly version of Blind Man's Bluff. Bellatrix dived under the table to escape, and Dolph, cheating shamelessly, raised his visor to peek and crawled in after her, accompanied by salacious whooping and cries of "cheat!" from the rest of the room. Lucius was clapping and jeering with the rest, when Rastaban tapped him on the shoulder and beckoned him away.
The conservatory was not the ideal place to be at this time of year, though heating spells kept it tolerably warm. Hundreds of panes of glass looking out into a rainy winter's night robbed the comfortable wicker furniture of its relaxed summer elegance, and the candles flickered so violently in untraceable drafts that monstrous shadows jerked from corner to corner. As a child, Lucius had once played a joke on Severus by locking him in, hoping to frighten the smaller boy. It backfired somewhat when he had marched in an hour later as triumphant liberator, and an uncowed little Snape had stalked him through the shadows, his breathy cackles echoing terrifyingly through the room before the ominous click of the lock announced that the captor had become the captive. Adult Lucius shivered at the memory of his first lesson in Why One Should Not Underestimate Severus Snape.
"Cold?" asked Rastaban mildly.
"No," answered Lucius, "Just remembering something. What did you want to talk about?"
"Oh, you know. The future. Your plans. Politics."
"I haven't made any real decisions yet. Why politics? You think I should enter the Ministry?"
Lestrange gave a long-suffering sigh.
"The Ministry is a creaking dinosaur run by old men too afraid of change to question the status quo. Even if you became Minister of Magic, the red tape would choke you before you could implement the most minor change."
The conversation had turned unexpectedly serious. Rastaban had always been a passionate young man, argumentative even - questioning everything he was told and permanently in detention at school for back-chatting teachers and even, on one legendary occasion, getting into a violent screaming match with McGonagall over why the wearing of a house tie was an infringement of basic human rights. Lucius made an effort to think soberly.
"Well, yes. But that's the way life is."
"Why?" Lestrange's brown eyes bored into Malfoy's blue ones.
"Why what?"
"Why should you, an intelligent young wizard, be like all the other sheep."
"Sheep?" Lucius bristled, "I don't believe I follow you."
"That's the way life is. That's how we've always done it. It was ever thus," his tone was mocking, and Lucius was beginning to get annoyed. "Can't you see what's happening? Millennia of wizarding traditions are being wiped out by new-fangled muggle rubbish. Clothes, music, language to name but a few and we just sit passively and let it happen."
"I know what you mean, but that's
no danger to our society, really."
Rastaban was on his feet now,
brown curls flying out from his head in all directions.
"Yes it is! They say we are better living apart from muggles, keeping ourselves to ourselves from choice, but it's not true. The old men are afraid. Imagine! Afraid of a bunch of idiots with no magic who can't even cure the common cold!" Warming to his theme, Lestrange was fervently pacing the room while Lucius stared at him, open-mouthed. "We live in hiding, concealing ourselves from them. Why? Because hundreds of years ago a handful dotty old witches fell foul of a bunch of religious maniacs. What's the point? A few well-placed curses and we would be ruling the world, all the wealth and wonder we could image. The human race would be better-off – muggles as well as wizards – our potions could cure all their illnesses, their puny wars would be settled much faster and with less bloodshed! Can you imagine that world, Malfoy? Can you?"
"I…" began Lucius, not knowing what to think. He wasn't certain he could imagine it, actually, but Rastaban was not listening. He continued his impassioned speech, voice echoing against the smooth flagstones, drowning out the sound of the dark panes rattling in the wind.
"How many times have you or your family been in trouble with the Ministry for doing something perfectly natural which happened to affect the odd muggle?"
Lucius frowned. Many, many times, actually. His personal worst had been when that brainless muggle woman who could barely string a sentence together had witnessed him performing a very minor time-telling spell just after he left school. She had been in gibbering foul-mouthed hysterics and he had received an official warning, a fine and twenty types of grief from his father and everyone else, but no actual harm had been done to anyone. He nodded to Ras, who went on.
"Why? Why do we punish ourselves? Why does the Ministry continue its repression, making us all suffer for the supposed 'greater good'?"
"Lucius!" Araminta chose that moment to stagger through the door, a bottle of Sir Icarus' – no, Lucius' – finest vintage champagne tucked under her arm. "There you are! Do come on, it's nearly midnight!" She grabbed his arm and pulled him back to the dining room where everyone was hastily filling glasses and exchanging incantations for celebration spells in preparation. Rastaban followed, looking thin-lipped.
"We will continue our discussion later on, Ras," Lucius promised. He bowed his head solemnly in agreement.
"Ready!" squealed Bellatrix. "Ten!" They all joined in the countdown, except Rodolphus who was being quietly sick into the 15th century knight's helmet, Lucius noted sourly. "…Four! Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!" The air was filled with sparkling stars, curling streamers and some impressive purple roaring dragon-illusions. Rookwood cranked up the gramophone again, and a popular American muggle disco tune started the noisy revellers dancing again. Lestrange flared his nostrils in disgust and stalked out of the room. Lucius was in no mood to digest the rather interesting things he had just heard, so he knocked back his drink and accepted a pipe containing Merlin-knew-what from Augustus, his last coherent thought being along the lines of 'but muggles have all the best tunes'.
…….
Lucius awoke on the first day of the rest of his life with a furry mouth and little recollection of the previous evening. He was also face-to-face with a pair of feet whose toenails had been carefully painted iridescent green. He studied them lazily for a few moments before the sound of a quiet chuckle came from the doorway. He looked up to see a thin, dark figure smirking into the room.
"Wrong Black, Lucius," mocked Snape delightedly.
"Eh?" groaned Malfoy, not really ready to understand anything yet. Snape merely grinned even wider and pointed to the other side of the bed. Lucius' eyes widened. Bellatrix. Uh-oh.
"Bugger off, brat," he hissed,
before noticing with immense relief that they were both fully
clothed. More or less, anyway. Feet padded gently away on the think
carpet. "Snape! Where are you going?"
"I'm buggering off,"
came the soft reply. "I think I'll go downstairs and get some
breakfast. I haven't spoken to Narcissa in a long while." Lucius
was on his feet in an instant, his hands at the dark boy's collar.
"Don't you dare, you little swine!" he hissed. On the bed, he heard Bella stir and give a little moan. Not yet ready to sptart sparring with her, he hustled them both out of the door and closed it silently behind himself, not releasing his grip on Severus. "What do you want?"
Snape gave an attempt at a casual shrug, but his face betrayed a hint of anxiety.
"This is your house now," he began, looking at the floor and avoiding Malfoy's eyes. "Any decisions about entertaining house guests rest with you."
Lucius was managing to shake off his lethargy, but was still not in the mood for cryptic conversations. Was Snape sulking because he hadn't been allowed to come to the party? Or because he knew that even if he had, the grown-up crowd would not have wanted some weird kid getting under their feet?
"Just spit it out, I don't have the energy to mess around yet," his tone was harsher than he intended, so he let go of Severus' robes to show that he wasn't really angry.
"Mother's having another episode. I wondered if I was still welcome at the Manor," the voice was so quiet Lucius only managed to catch the question because they were standing close together. He gave a snort of laughter.
"Is that all you're worried about?" Severus nodded miserably. Lucius was inexplicably overcome with the urge to give him a hug. He shook his head to clear the odd notion. "This house is your second home, Severus. I hope you will continue to use it as such." Snape's mis-matched, angular little face shone with relief. Had he honestly believed that Lucius would throw him out? For an intelligent child, he could be incredibly dense at times. Fighting the urge to cuddle the brat once more, Lucius cleared his throat and punched him chummily on his bony shoulder, adopting a manly bantering tone. "Now, did you mention breakfast?"
"Pork and leek sausages," he beamed back, rubbing his arm. "And eggs benedict, and kippers and kedgeree, and Rookwood was making prairie oysters too. They look disgusting!"
The house elves had certainly outdone themselves that New Year's day. The former Slytherins ate enough to feed an army as they sat around the table trying to remember what they had been up to the previous night. It seemed odd to have them all chattering merrily, still in their mourning robes from the funeral, downing Rookwood's special hangover-busting prairie oysters as they had the morning after the NEWT results party.
As they donned fur cloaks and hats for a post-brunch walk in the grounds, Rodolphus began teasing Snape about insanity running in the family. Lucius looked up from his conversation with Narcissa about the potential renovation of certain parts of the Manor, to see that Severus had gone quieter than usual and was hanging back behind the group with a calculating expression on his unusually pink face, his breath steaming like dragon afterburn in the freezing air. Having an idea of what that meant, Lucius took Narcissa's arm an quickened his pace to put more distance between them and Rodolphus.
"What are you doing?" asked Narcissa, turning her rich blue eyes on him. "The ground is quiet slippery, we should be careful."
"Trust me," Lucius smiled confidently. There was a moment's silence as they hurried along an immaculate gravel pathway into a secluded little grotto, the sounds of the others talk and laughter muted by the conifers.
"Actually, I do," came the quiet reply. They stopped walking and studied each other. Really, Malfoy thought, the woman was perfect. How often did one find a beautiful, pure-blooded witch of good family who actually had a brain? Girls of her class were often removed from school after their OWLs and sent to one of those specialist finishing schools to learn how to arrange flowers, host parties and land a rich husband – all of which were considered more important for their futures than worrying their pretty little heads over intensive studies. Narcissa had batted her long eyelashes at her father and told him sweetly that she would indeed be enrolling at the Zermatt Academy for Gentlewitches, but only after sitting her NEWTs at Hogwarts. Bellatrix gleefully reported that Galileo Black's monocle had fallen right out of his eye, bounced off his cucumber sandwich and landed on the floor, where one of the more excitable Labrador puppies had eaten it and promptly vomited all over the priceless antique Persian magic carpet. It was at that beautifully chaotic moment that Andromeda had chosen to stand up and announce that she was pregnant with the child of the scruffy muggle-born musician whom Galileo had chased off the property a month earlier for having ideas above his station as regarded the courtship of the eldest child of the Black dynasty. Mrs Black had taken to her bed for several weeks in order to avoid the worst of the scandalised gossip, and had developed an absolute mania for making sure her two younger daughters made respectable marriages. At subsequent dinner parties, Lucius always found himself placed between them. It was really rather amusing.
Narcissa was standing very close now, still looking immaculate despite the cold.
"I saw Rastaban collar you last night," she said sweetly. "Is he still recruiting for his political action group?"
"Group?" Lucius struggled to remember the odd exchange in the conservatory. "Oh dear. He made no mention of a group. A gang of hot-headed young men desperate to put the world to rights through revolution, no doubt."
"No, actually," she contradicted his sneer. "They seem efficient and well-organised, with their feet firmly on the ground. The man in charge is very charismatic, you should meet him, I think he's a Lord or something."
"You are interested in politics?" Malfoy frowned at her.
"Oddly enough, witches can have opinions too," she raised her tiny hand for him to kiss, smiling sweetly as she walked away.
"I didn't mean that!" Lucius ran after her. "I know you do! That's why I love you!"
They both froze. Lucius felt his cheeks grow bright red in mortification under her steady gaze. Where had that come from? How painfully, dreadfully embarrassing. Mercifully, there was a sudden cracking sound, a scream and a splash on the other side of the hedge. Glad of the distraction, Lucius dashed over to see Rodolphus flailing wildly in the icy water of the large mermaid fountain in the sunken garden. Everyone was looking on in alarm, except Bellatrix, who was laughing uproariously, and Severus, who had his arms folded smugly across his chest. He shot a quick look at Lucius, who twinkled back at him.
…….
Rodolphus had been swiftly extricated from his chilly predicament once his friends finally tired of his yells. Rastaban had stalked off in disgust, keen to put as much distance as possible between himself and his idiot brother, who had apparently sunk to new depths (as it were) by allowing himself to be bested by a teenage boy unable to legally use magic. Lucius found him brooding in the library, standing on a ladder peering at the dusty volumes on one of the highest shelves.
"I've been thinking about what you told me last night," he said casually. Rastaban looked down at him with some condescension.
"I am amazed you can remember anything," he muttered, turning back to his inspection of the ancient tomes. Lucius was slightly irritated, but clamped down on it, continuing seriously.
"I feel as though we only scratched the surface last night. There is clearly much, much more to discuss," he added, trying to cover his unease with a casual tone. Rastaban glared down at him calculatingly for a few moments, before hopping excitedly down the ladder.
"I knew I could count on you, Malfoy," his eyes had taken on a gleam of interest. "Will you come up to London tomorrow?"
Lucius thought it over. It couldn't hurt to find out more. Lestrange had made some extremely interesting points during his rant, and he did have to go up to Gringott's anyway.
"Why not. Stay tonight and we'll floo over in the morning." Rastaban smiled and nodded.
"Excellent. There's someone I would really like you to meet."
…….
A/N: Ooh, guess who! That one took ages to update, sorry about that! Thanks for the many kind reviews – it's really heartening to get feedback! You're all so polite, bless you x.
In the previous chapter, I had Lucius wearing Chinese silk mourning robes. Apologies to those who pointed out that the Chinese do not wear black silk when mourning, I merely meant that he had chosen that sumptuous embroidered silk for his English-cut black robes. My Lucius has no particular links with Asia, we just both think he looks sexy in that fabric, hee hee x
