Sanity
Lucius finds the darkness constricting.
Breathe.
In. Out.
In. In. InInInIn…
And Lucius finds himself choking on his own breath.
He hears a sound, a sweeping of long robes against flagstone, and a figure appears haloed outside the bars, holding a lantern. The light throws out a halo, or maybe a noose.
Perhaps it's the Minister come to sneer at the fallen again. Perhaps it's another Dementor come with tidings of the past. Perhaps it's his darling Narcissa. Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps.
Lucius hears an intake of breath.
InInInIn…
And the memories return.
-
"Will he ever recover?" Narcissa asks the Dark Lord. Her voice is steady but her hands tremble within expensive silk robes. She wipes her palms against the silk but the sweat doesn't come off.
"Doubtful," the Dark Lord says with a sneer.
Narcissa follows his gaze and sees the broken trembling body of her husband. "Why is he still like this?"
"He's trapped in his memories of Azkaban. He believes himself still there." The red eyes turn towards Narcissa and she shivers involuntarily. "Weak. Like father, like son."
She does not reply but her hands clench involuntarily and she suspects the Dark Lord sees her automatically narrowed eyes.
He smiles.
-
Lucius counts the days and weeks on his arms. Every day he scratches the inside of his left wrist until he bleeds, and every week he scratches one mark on his right wrist.
(Blood is always caked under his fingernails.)
As far as he can count, he's been here over a year.
One meal a day. One scratch for every meal.
As the blood drips and trickles down his arms, down the once-expensive robes, Lucius feels almost sane.
-
The Dark Lord watches as Lucius uses a long hooked nail to scratch a bleeding mark onto his arm every meal.
When they first rescued Lucius from Azkaban, the man was covered with festering sores, dried blood and excrement. Now, he is clean, his long blond hair combed to silkiness and all sores healed, but he's still a destroyed man.
The Dark Lord thinks that he likes him better this way.
Pliable.
(Oh how the mighty have fallen, thinks Tom Riddle)
-
The cell door opens and Lucius is horrified as a Dementor glides in. It slides closer to him. Briefly Lucius wonders why he isn't being thrust into his memories, but thinking becomes difficult, suffocating, as it stops in front of him.
Slowly, the Dementor lifts its hood and Lucius wonders whether this is it.
The Kiss.
Maybe the Ministry decided that it would be safer with him dead.
Maybe this was retribution.
Maybe this was justice.
Maybe this is the end.
(but ends are always beginnings)
-
The Dark Lord sees Lucius cringe into the corner and laughs. He reaches out and slides his fingers through the other man's silky, blond hair. "You're really quite beautiful," he says. "My own beautiful broken servant."
He lifts Lucius up against the wall. Lucius remains there, slumped against the wall and trembling slightly.
"Beautiful," the Dark Lord murmurs again as he lifts Lucius's robes up. "You're beautiful."
He strokes Lucius's cock to life and watches as it pulses in his bone white (death white) fingers.
Pump. Pump. Pump.
He turns Lucius around and pushes him against the wall.
-
Lucius finds himself choking. This cannot be happening, he thinks. This is a dream. I have finally gone insane.
But he can't. He can't slip into oblivion because every time he tries, he feels the thrust into him from behind and feels like he is being ripped into two.
Thrust ThrustThrustthrustthrust.
And he feels it shudder behind him.
It sucks in a breath and Lucius trembles.
-
"Can you cure him," the Dark Lord asks.
Snape stares at the shaking body curled up in the corner of the room and can't imagine that this is Lucius Malfoy. He can't imagine this is his old friend, his mentor, his lover, his betrayer"I'm not sure," he admits. "His mind is still intact."
The Dark Lord's thin white lip curls. "Are you sure?"
"Positive," Snape says with a nod. "He's hiding from reality, but he's still in there somewhere." He can't read the expression on the Dark Lord's face at these words.
Later, Snape stands over Lucius, panting. Reaching down, he wipes Lucius's face clean with a handkerchief. "I like you better this way," he whispers.
-
Escape is the only word on Lucius's mind as he is pressed against the cold stone walls again and again and again. It hurts less now, but Lucius finds this worse.
(It wasn't like this before, Lucius thinks.
The Dementors weren't so active.)
He sits with his arms around his legs (they go around so easily now) and clings onto the last bit of his sanity and reality. It's the only thing he has left.
Threads of reality spin around him and intersect with fantasy.
Reality. Fantasy.
Fantasy. Reality.
The two melt together.
Fairy tales. Wave your hand and the universe rights itself. Fairy godmothers and hungry wolves. Wicked witches and happy endings.
Reality.
Grasp it while you have the chance.
But Lucius has lost the chance.
-
"He's slipping," Snape tells the Dark Lord. "He can't keep on going like this. His mind is hiding from reality for a reason and it's slowly tearing him apart." He hands over a small bottle. "This is the last possibility. If this cannot cure him, nothing can."
When Snape leaves, the Dark Lord stares at the bottle and throws it in the bin. Lucius is far better this way.
The Malfoy family is unnecessary to his plans. As he said to Narcissa, like father, like son.
The Dark Lord smiles and plans to get Draco sent to Azkaban as soon as possible.
-
Lucius sees nothing but darkness nowadays. Darkness and the constant intake of breath…
InInInInIn…
He curls up and tries to stay sane.
But it's already too late.