u/Avaday_Daydream: Upon the diary horcrux's destruction, Lucius Malfoy (who was in the diary's thrall) makes a SPECTACULAR about-face on the Voldemort/pureblood issue. Bonus points if he proposes to Harry or Dumbledore (poor Narcissa!)
A Change of Heart
Draco Malfoy stared in disbelief.
His father ran into the Great Hall in the middle of lunch, looking more harried than Professor Quirrell with a troll on his heels: jacket askew, ink smudged across his face, no cane, wand held openly in one clenched fist.
Lucius stormed up the dais to Dumbledore, who stood swiftly at the intrusion. But Lucius knelt, proffering his wand on his upraised hands. Dumbledore took it, a puzzled look crossing his ancient face.
"Father! What are you doing?" Draco hadn't planned to jump to his feet, hadn't planned to speak at all; it just burst out of him. He felt himself flush hot with embarrassment - now both Malfoy men had made a fool of themselves.
Well, he'd begun, may as well continue. He strode up to the dais himself, ignoring the sudden flurry of whispers behind him, and grabbed his father's arm.
"You can't proposition Dumbledore in front of everyone!" Draco hissed. "I don't care if he leans that way, you're making a scene."
Lucius accepted the wand back, as Dumbledore held it out to him, a thin line of blue magic twining around both of their wrists for the brief moment when both hands held the wand.
Draco wanted to scream, but he pressed his lips tightly together and dragged his father to his feet.
"We're leaving," he declared loudly, with as much forced dignity as he could muster.
He caught sight of Dumbledore watching them, bemused. Draco forced himself to look away from the old headmaster. Bad enough his father had finally snapped beneath the pressure, worse that he'd done it in public.
He suspected his face would never be the right colour again. His ears felt so warm he was surprised they weren't on fire.
Of course, the moment he thought it, his not-quite-completely-under-control-after-all accidental magic had to go and enflame him. Titters and jeers from the Gryffindors followed him as he pulled his father after him out into the corridor and away from the watching students.
The moment they were alone, Lucius dropped to his knees. "Draco, forgive me. I've been a terrible father, and you deserve better. I've decided to dedicate my life to everything the Dark Lord opposed, in vengeance for the darkness he has wrought on our family and our world through me."
"That doesn't explain why you just proposed to Dumbledore in front of the entire school!" Draco whispered, voice cracking with the effort of not shouting.
Lucius waved it away as though inconsequential. "I was simply pledging my life and soul to the service of the Light, nothing so dramatic as all that. Relax, Draco, I need to look at you properly. Stand still for me, please."
Draco found he was pacing, and forced himself to stillness. He met his father's eyes, and they were nothing like he'd expected. Actually, his whole face was wrong. The detached air of aristocratic grace had vanished, replaced with a warm and desperate desire so open that Draco felt his face heat again.
"Father, what is wrong with you?"
Lucius leaned down, wrapping Draco in his arms. Draco went still and stiff, unsure of how to deal with this. Then he understood, and he scowled. "You're being controlled by the Imperius, aren't you?"
Lucius let him go, laughing, tears leaking freely down his face. "Oh, Draco, no. For the first time in far, far too long, no! I'm free, finally free. And now I can meet you properly. I'm so sorry, I wish I'd been able to stop him. If you've any redeeming qualities, they're no thanks to me."
Draco's scowl deepened. That had sounded suspiciously like an insult, despite its jovial delivery.
Then Lucius was hugging him again, and he didn't understand and wanted it to stop but he just kept laughing and crying and holding on like he'd never let go.
"Father, that's enough," Draco said, trying very hard to seem calm. "I. . . I love you too." The words felt stiff and awkward, but he forced them out anyway. Whatever Dumbledore and the Light had done, this seemed to be the proper response.
Lucius finally released him, and just as well for the doors opened and the rest of the students emerged to head to class. Draco caught more than a few curious looks, and that was just standing. If they'd been caught embracing it would be absolutely humiliating.
"Perhaps we should take a walk outside, Father," Draco suggested, taking Lucius's hand and leading him gently away from the press of students. His father didn't resist, only held his hand a little tighter. Draco was now quite sure that his face would be solid red forever. This wasn't proper! Why was he the only one who cared about propriety any more?
When finally they reached a secluded area of the grounds, away from the greenhouses and common routes of travel between classes, Draco wrenched his hand free of his father's grasp and took a deep breath.
"Father. You are acting disgracefully and besmirching the Malfoy name. Cease at once."
Lucius's smile faltered, but not enough. His eyes still showed his every emotion, his previously commanding presence relaxed into something so unrecognizable that Draco almost wondered if he were an imposter. But, no, he had his own wand. Anyone else attempting to so much as touch Lucius's wand without permission would be burned by it.
But the time it had taken them to reach a new location had given Draco the time to calm down somewhat and finally remember the family protocols for any suspicious behavior. At the first sign of his father being controlled by an outside party, Draco's first task would be to usurp their control in order to at least shield the family from the repercussions of whatever may come next.
Imperio couldn't be used to eliminate itself, but it could be used to override a previous instance of the spell, or at the very least initiate a magical contest of wills between the original caster and second over who claims control of the subject. In this case, Draco and Lucius's family connections should give his father sufficient motivation to surrender to Draco's control in preference to his original assailant. It wouldn't be a permanent solution, but it would buy time.
Draco prepared himself, summoning up his willpower and focusing on how desperately wanted, needed, to control his father's actions. The desire wasn't nearly as hard as holding the target in his mind. It was so unthinkable to be casting such a powerful spell against his own father, whatever the circumstances, that Draco nearly balked. But, necessity helped steel his resolve.
"Imperio," Draco incanted quietly. And just like that, he was in complete control. He'd expected something more, a resistance perhaps, or some contest from whoever had initially caused Lucius's current inexplicable state. But no, neither Lucius nor his controller made the slightest resistance to Draco's usurpation of control.
"Tell me who is controlling you, father," Draco commanded, somewhat awkwardly. It still felt so wrong.
"At first it was Lord Voldemort," Lucius replied, his voice dreamy and disconnected. "After he fell, I know not. One of his followers I assumed. Until today."
Draco blinked and stared for a long moment before he regained the ability to speak. "Lord Voldemort? You mean that you've been under the Imperius constantly since before the Dark Lord fell, since before I was born?"
"Yes. This is the first time I've met you without another controlling my actions."
For a second something jumped within the spell, Draco's control wavering as Lucius's emotion peaked. His wand hand trembled, but he didn't release the spell. It could still be a trick, a trap of some sort. He could only know the truth if he held on.
"So that nonsense with swearing yourself to the Light? With Dumbledore?"
"Yes. Once I would never have considered pledging myself to the Light, but now I find that the Dark has little to offer me and perhaps in my youth I was more misguided than I knew. I've seen how you were brought up, Draco, and I would never wish that upon anyone again. If that is what darkness demands of me, then I will oppose it with all the strength in my soul."
"Because of me?" Draco wasn't entirely sure what to make of that.
"Yes. My family is more important to me than any cause or custom. I would fight Voldemort himself for you, Draco, and you know the Light values family in a way the Dark cannot comprehend."
"You'd forswear yourself of the Dark, abandon centuries of family dedication, just like that? If you are only released from your Imperius today, how can you have had enough time to make that decision? Don't you need to give the matter consideration before just throwing yourself into a new cause?"
"I have thought of it for decades. This is no rash decision, Draco. It's the inevitable result of what has been done to me. I can do nothing else. I am not in error and I will not be swayed. No matter what it may cost me."
Draco let his hand fall, the spell's connection breaking along with his concentration. His father, defecting to the Light? Forswearing their family allegiance to the Dark? It seemed so impossible, so unthinkable.
But then he met eyes which were open and loving instead of cold and distant, and some part of Draco realized he'd always known, always feared, always hoped that there should be something more. The revelation stunned him, yes, but it did not truly shock him as much as he'd have expected.
"What does this mean?" he whispered, his voice trembling, just shy of breaking. It was all too much, even for a 12-year-old.
"It means things are going to change," Lucius said, drawing Draco into another hug. "Starting with you. I love you, Draco, I love you and you're never going to have to doubt that again."
Draco's long-trained stiffness didn't dissolve at once, but he forced himself to give in to his father's embrace. Little by little he relaxed, and then suddenly he was crying into Lucius's shoulder. Relief and fear and confusion all burst from him in a flood of tears which he couldn't hold back any longer.
He pointedly ignored the dampness on his own shoulder, the trembling of the other body pressed against his. It was not the ideal reunion of two souls held apart for so long. If anyone had seen the two Malfoy men hugging each other and sobbing they probably would have assumed Narcissa was dead. But this was not grief, and when they finally separated and self-consciously got out their embroidered handkerchiefs in unison and laughed freely with each other, Draco began to understand that perhaps his father's about-face was not quite so unreasonable as he'd first assumed.
For in the end, why should dedication to a political and magical ideal hold any weight when compared to family?