A/N: I'd like to give a special thanks to xx Starlight Moon xx, who graciously allowed me to use the backstory that she devised for Lucius in her personal canon. She is very talented, so check out her stories!
This is my first venture into Harry Potter fandom, so I would appreciate some feedback. Read and enjoy!
Girls In White Dresses
His parents are fighting again.
Lucius can tell by the tense stance of the house elf; by the way it bobs up and down nervously, like a cork in a bottle of water. It seems afraid, even by house elf standards. Under his watchful eye, the creature bows clumsily and exits the room, squeaking almost commandingly: "The young master must not leave the room!"
Lucius watches the servant leave, and then slips out of the room and into the hallway. He can hear shouts from down the hall.
"I'LL KILL YOU, DO YOU HEAR ME? I'LL KILL YOU!"
His mother and father are standing at the top of the grand staircase, about a foot apart from each other. His mother is wearing a white dressing gown. Lucius will remember this later, for no particular reason. She says something, and Father raises his wand. There is a crack like a whip.
Mother screams, and the house elf comes running around the corner, shouting.
"Master must not do this, master in not in his right mind!"
Abraxas Malfoy kicks the house elf savagely, and Mother grabs his arm, telling him to stop, to calm down. Lucius open his mouth as if to warn her, but nothing comes out.
Father turns around and shoves her. There is a moment, pure and impenetrable, of silence. Then she falls.
It is the most graceful thing Lucius has ever seen. Her white dress billows out, and her long silvery hair streams behind her. She looks like an angel. Then her slim arms go above her head, and she spins. To Lucius, she is dancing.
Father is standing like a statue, unmoving. Lucius is clapping, appreciative of the wonderful show his mother has put on for him.
They are coming to the grand finale. She is traveling through the air, towards the ceiling, spinning and twirling and spinning and twirling…
And then it is over. His mother is lying at the foot of the staircase, her mouth slightly agape, her neck at an odd angle.
He is only five years old.
****
Dear Narcissa,
It occurred to me today that I cannot remember my mother's face. I can remember a few of her physical attributes: she was tall and very pale, with long blonde hair. A bit like you, really.
Frowning, Lucius crossed out the last sentence. He didn't want to give the impression that his attraction to her had been based solely on her resemblance to his long-dead mother. Azkaban seemed to have killed his people skills. Not that he had any in the first place.
But then again, Lucius had never needed people skills. He was a Malfoy. Normally that fact would have filled him with pride, but now it just left him with a hollow feeling inside. In addition to destroying his people skills, Azkaban seemed to have left him without the ability to feel.
She died when I was very young, as you know. The story went that it was a tragic accident- she fell down the stairs and broke her neck. I believed it without question when I was a child, but now… I doubt it. Among his many other faults, my father inclined towards violence when he was drunk.
He held the ring out, intending to write more, but the words didn't come. He didn't want to write them. He looked out the window of his cell, and saw the moon. It really was beautiful. He hadn't thought that he had the capacity to be moved by nature anymore, not after everything that had happened.
Suddenly the moon was gone, and it was very cold. Lucius shivered. Dementors.
It was outside of his door. Although he knew it wouldn't do any good, he unconsciously pulled himself into a fetal position, as if to hug his happiest memories closer to himself. Unbidden, he heard voices, memories he had not even known he possessed…
"The young master must not leave the room!"
"I'LL KILL YOU, DO YOU HEAR ME? I'LL KILL YOU!"
His mother sprawled at the bottom of the stairs; his father staring down, glassy-eyed. The house-elf pulling him back to his room, whispering, "Dobby is sorry you saw that sir, Dobby will punish himself…"
Narcissa. He summons an image of her on a summer day, wearing a white cotton dress. He is happy. The Dementor feeds on the memory, and Narcissa is going far away, turning pale at the edges.
And then, abruptly, it was over. The Dementor had moved on. Lucius was left lying on the floor, breathing heavily. After a few minutes, he pulled himself into a seating position, wiping the sweat off his forehead.
Someone screamed. Lucius felt his pulse quicken as the screaming continued. He wanted to yell up at them to shut up, to tell them that they were destroying what was left of his sanity. He needed to get away.
Shaking, he moved towards the wall of his cell. It had been mutilated. Someone had scribbled words, mostly illegible, all over it.
Lucius raised his hand and used the ring on his finger to carve the words into the stone. It was mostly futile, but he liked to imagined that if he carved hard enough, the words might seep through the walls and across the sea, all the way to her. Besides, it kept him sane. He reminded himself that he needed to finish his letter.
There is not much activity around here. It is very cold, especially during the nights. I hope that, wherever you are, you and Draco are warmer.
His breathing had calmed. He looked out the window, and he could see the moon again. With a final flourish, he signed his name.
Your dutiful husband,
Lucius Malfoy
He would have considered the letter finished, except for one nagging thought. He needed to express it, somehow. He picked up the ring again, ignoring his faltering hand:
I love you.
Lucius Malfoy was not an emotional man. Emotions were weakness, and The Dark Lord did not tolerate weakness. He felt foolish writing the words, and he considered scratching them out. Instead, he wrote them again.
I love you.
How often had he said those words to her? How many moments had he wasted? They had had years, he realized. Where had they all gone? He didn't measure in time anymore. Time had no meaning here. Instead, he measured in moments. Moments were immeasurable. Like the moon, they were simply there. And then they were gone.
I love you. I love you. I love-
There was a crash, and a flash of blinding light. Lucius was thrown to the ground. When he could move again, he raised his head. There was fire everywhere. And Dementors. They were swarming through the air—he had never realized there were so many of them.
Then there was more fire, and the Dementors spun in a circle gracefully, almost like his mother falling down the great staircase. And then…
Of course. Lucius could have laughed. In front of him was that face, the face that had haunted him in his dreams since he had first seen him. A skeletal face, a flat nose, red eyes that were now boring into his own…
"Master…"
"CRUCIO!"
Lucius fell back into the flames, writhing in agony. But even as he screamed, he felt a wild happiness engulf him, swallow him whole, with just one beautiful piece of hope:
He would see Narcissa again.