A/N: Directly continued from the end of last chapter. Also, just to mention that I don't approve of the use of derogatory slang, but it's used a bit in this chapter to capture the attitude of the person speaking; sorry.

School and Career

Lucius couldn't overcome the feeling that his life was flashing before his eyes and watched in near awe as Amycus, who somehow did not have his feeling of complete paralysis, deftly leapt up, roughly pulled his sister into the room and slammed the door shut behind her.

"DON'T PULL ME INTO YOUR SICK ORGIES!"

"Lower your voice, Alecto!" her brother hissed.

"I WILL DO NO SUCH THING—" In the most time-honored way of abruptly shutting someone up (short of silencio, which Lucius was still too paralyzed to even think of casting), Amycus clamped his hand over his sister's mouth.

"Now will you hush up?"

"Fine," she spat once he had removed his hand. "Putting your hand over my mouth? Honestly, what are we, five?"

"So, Alecto, I imagine you had some reason for so rudely bargin' into my room?" Amycus acidly, threateningly asked.

"Oh no, don't you go tryin' to blame this on me." Alecto wagged her index finger as though scolding a dog or a small child.

"Really? 'Cause I'd have to wonder why you were snoopin' around my room otherwise."

"I was not snoopin'! I knocked for your information an' the only reason I'm even here is 'cause Mum wanted to know if you knew where the spatula was."

For a moment thought Lucius thought he had gone utterly mad. His life as he knew it was about to end—he would probably be disowned, exiled to live with the Muggles for all he knew—and here Alecto was talking about her mother's spatulas.

Amycus seemed to have at least a somewhat similar reaction for he blinked in a rather confused manner before uttering a single word: "What?"

"Bugger me why you would know where her spatula is, but she seems to have lost it an' she told me to ask you if you had any idea."

"Tell Mum I don't know where she put the spatula. That all? Okay, thanks, bye."

He gave his sister a small push towards the door but she immediately whirled around and snapped, "Don't try an' weasel out of this. What the hell were you doin'? I'll—I'll tell our stepfather!" That seemed to have earned Amycus's attention, as judged by the look of fear that suddenly appeared on his face. "That's right," she crooned victoriously. "Why, I'll bet you wouldn't be able to walk for a week if he caught wind that you were a faggot."

"Alecto, that's—that's really not necessary. It's not what it looked like, I swear, we're just friends," he breathed, his eyes nervously darting in their sockets in a manner reminiscent of a caged animal.

"Really? 'Cause it looked like you were trying to eat each others' mouths, an' maybe it's just me, but my friends and I don't consider snoggin' each other to be an acceptable past time."

"That's not what it was," Amycus meekly looked away, clearly not believing himself but at a loss as to what other lines of defense he could use.

A timid rapping at the door silenced all three of them and all three twisted their heads to see Mrs. Carrow's head peek through the doorway. "Amycus, dear, have you seen my spatula?"

"Uh, no, Mum. I haven't. Sorry."

"Oh, alright." The room was completely silent before she spoke again, what felt like decades later. "Oh, there you are, Alecto. I was wonderin' where you'd disappeared to. Oh, you're all here. How nice. What're you doin'?"

If the previous silence had been decades, then this one stretched for eons before finally being interrupted by Alecto Carrow, "N-nothing."

"Oh, alright." A second later their mother had left, leaving the three teenagers to regard each other.

Alecto was the first to regain her senses. "Alright, maybe I'm wrong about you," she snapped, nodding towards her brother, "But you." She pointed an incriminating finger at Lucius. "I shoulda known you were a faggot. Why else would you be so disinterested in me? I'm warnin' you, though: stop corruptin' my brother," she hissed the final sentence.

Still too paralyzed with the possibility of the end of his life as he knew it, Lucius did little else than utter a resounding "Uh." It occurred to him that even if he was the average sort of teenage boy, he still probably wouldn't be interested in Alecto, but he thought it better to not say this aloud.

"So, Lucius," Alecto took on a rather smug, bossy tone, "I think it'd be best if you left."

"Is that really necessary?" Amycus blurt out, but his sister continued as though she had not heard anything except perhaps a faintly annoying buzzing sound.

"An' I think you shouldn't come back here again. Ever," she resolutely continued, her eyes victoriously glinting as she regarded Lucius.

"Now, really, Alecto! Don't be so unreasonable," her brother cut in.

"Amycus, I'm tryin' to protect you from the likes of a faggot like him. An'—an' if he does come back, I'm tellin' our stepfather! It'd be for your own good."

Realizing that it did not seem to occur to Alecto that she could easily ruin Lucius's life by mentioning this incident to his father gave Lucius the strength to finally stand up and say, with as much Malfoy dignity as he could muster, "Very well then. I can see that my presence is not desired and I shall leave immediately.

Amycus gave Lucius a pleading, apologetic gaze but said nothing else as he left the room and went directly towards the fireplace.

1 September 1971

The slight crinkling sound of the textbook page seemed to resonate through every last stone in the Common Room. Lucius paused, mid-turn, his ears alert for any sound besides the echo of his reading. With a disappointed sigh, he finished turning the page and vacantly skimmed the history of the Draught of Living Death—quite a misnomer, considering it didn't actually kill the person but only caused them to appear dead.

Was that—was that a sound? Lucius immediately abandoned his attempt to read so much as another word and breathlessly focused all of his attention on listening for even the slightest sound. Yes, that was a sound, that was a most certainly sound. Could it be footsteps? He strained his ears further but was unable to tell where fact ended and fantasy began in his interpretation of the sound.

The next thing he heard, though, was indisputably what it was: a greeting.

"Evenin', Lucius."

And then, as though nothing had ever happened, as though they had continued seeing each other through the end of summer, as though they had spent the entire summer owling each other instead of abruptly stopping all communication partway through August, there stood Amycus, a diagonal slant of a grin spread across his perfect face.

"Ever the diligent worker, I see," he grinned knowingly before taking a seat next to Lucius and resting his chin on the other boy's shoulder. "'The Draught of Living Death was originally invented in the 1500's in Verona, Italy.' Sounds fascinating," Amycus sarcastically articulated.

"I'm so happy to see you!" Lucius blurt out. "I wasn't even sure what was happening with us." As soon as he finished speaking he felt like giving himself a solid kick. Malfoys were supposed to be the epitome of culture and self-control and haughtiness and probably just about any other trait he was not displaying at the moment. He had undoubtedly just ruined what could have been a perfect moment, a perfect reunion.

Instead Amycus gave him a grin, one of which he had never seen the likes of before. It wouldn't have surprised if Lucius if the room suddenly exploded with light, or if choirs of angles begun singing from nowhere, for it seemed that nothing less would be appropriate for the wide smile spread across Amycus's face, the joyful sparkling in his eyes. It was the type of smile directed at one person and meant solely for that one person.

Lucius Malfoy felt on top of the world.

"I'm happy to see you, too," Amycus finally spoke, as though such a message had not been abundantly clear in his shining smile. "And what do you mean, what's happening with us? You mean after the incident with Alecto?"

Lucius was surprised to hear him mention the 'incident' in such a light, unworried tone. "Yes, that," he skeptically replied.

"I wouldn't worry about that. I talked with her later and even though she didn't say as much, I gathered she was a bit insulted that you rejected her school-girl crush on you. Her offense'll probably wear off, though."

"Your sister's not the type to hold grudges, then, I take it?" Lucius did not even realize that he had tensed until he felt himself relax at his own sentence.

"Er—actually, she's just the type. But, still, I wouldn't worry about it," he made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "I managed to convince her that from now on you and I are just friends." He accompanied the last sentence with a mischievous, conniving, secretive smile and a brush of his fingertips against Lucius's skin.

Lucius smirked before taking Amycus's hand in his own. "Why, quite the liar, aren't you?"

20 December 1971

"Son, I thought that I ought to inform you that I am planning to invite Narcissa Black and her family for Christmas dinner."

"That sounds excellent, Father. I look forward to seeing them," Lucius formally replied over the House-elf prepared breakfast. After having spent every breakfast this school year sitting next to Amycus, who would alternately do such things as try hash browns with cream cheese or color change the milk so that it was green, having breakfast with his family felt forced, unnatural.

"I am quite interested in discussing the legality of Wizards investing in Muggle-owned businesses with Mr. Black. I imagine that he is familiar with both the laws and the most efficient way in which we could promote change," Lucius's father continued in his clipped, business-like tone.

"Abraxas, have you seen the front page of the newspaper?" Lucius's mother raised her eyes from the paper to regard her husband's countenance. "It seems that there have been more protests. It would appear that there are some people who do not like the way society is structured."

"The New Order would never do something as ineffective as peaceful protests," Lucius's father scoffed. "The Dark Lord knows the most effective way to improve the structure of society. What are these protests of which you speak? More remnants of the Muggles' social movements? Racial equality? Women's rights?"

"There are some people protesting for the right to freely express one's sexual orientation."

"Oh, those sorts of beasts? I tell you, they will never be accepted in the upper tiers of society, no matter how many of these silly protests there are."

Lucius meekly took a sip of orange juice and thought that somehow he was neither surprised at his father's opinion, nor did he doubt that his father spoke the truth.

18 May 1972

"Lucius, mate, I feel like I haven't seen you in ages."

Lucius raised his eyebrows in slight surprise before offering a return greeting. "Hello, Rabastan. I suppose you're here for an appointment with Professor Slughorn, too?"

"Matter of fact I am. He seems to be running late, eh? Seems a bit silly that we have to discuss our future career plans with him, anyways. So how've you been? We haven't talked much of late. What with Carrow taking just about every waking second of your time," Rabastan grumbled the last sentence in a slightly quieter tone.

Lucius hadn't originally intended it to happen, but somehow the amount of time he spent with Amycus had snowballed until every meal, every study period, every weekend, was spent with him and only him. Seeing Amycus, knowing that he could be himself without any worry of proper social conventions was simply such an addictive, intoxicating way to spend time that the amount of time he reserved for Narcissa and his friend Rabastan had slowly dwindled into nearly nonexistent.

"I've been fine," Lucius finally responded in a rather neutral tone of voice. "NEWTS have been keeping me quite occupied."

They were saved from having to make further conversation, though, for the door to Slughorn's office swung open just then. "Ah, Lucius, m'boy, come in. So, last I remember, you were interested in potentially working at the ministry?"

"Yes, sir." His father had discussed this with him before (or perhaps 'discussed this at him' would have been more accurate). One simply could not enter the real world assuming that one would live off of the Malfoy wealth and name. No, Lucius would have to enter the working world doing just that—working. After attaining a respectable position in the world, he could then use his influence to shape the Wizarding World and take a more leisurely approach to work—working part time as, say, a Hogwarts governor. Lucius's eventual success was expected by his family, and he was sure he would be able to meet such expectations.

"I see your grades are quite acceptable, and I'm sure you will garner a good number of NEWTs. Now, as I'm sure you're aware," Professor Slughorn lowered his voice slightly to match his almost conspiratorial tone, "There's a good deal more to succeeding in the Ministry than grades. Good grades will earn you an interview for a position, but that's about it."

"I know, sir. Who you know is very important."

"Ah, you already know, good, excellent, excellent," Slughorn clapped his hands together in a relieved way, as though it was even conceivable that a Malfoy could be unaware of how important one's connections were. "Now, I don't mean to pry, but I've heard that you and Narcissa Black have been together for quite a long time, yes?" Without waiting for Lucius to reply he energetically continued, "The Blacks have a wide sphere of influence, perhaps the most connections of any Wizarding family in Britain. And, with your relationship with Narcissa, I imagine it would be easy to keep a positive relationship with the Blacks. Yes, that could be quite, quite, beneficial for your career."

Lucius frowned and felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He could easily picture Narcissa, could easily imagine dining with her and Mr. and Mrs. Black in their extravagantly decorated manor while discussing some sort of official ministry business. And even if Narcissa had been slightly less affectionate towards him as of the past few months, it was clear she was still quite fond of him. His mind wandered to what his starting position in the Ministry might be. Not your normal starting position, he was sure of that much. And with the Blacks' support, who knew not only how high he might start, but how quickly he might climb. Why, he idly fantasized, he might be able to become the most powerful man in Britain—no, the world.

A slight, restrained smile formed on his face. Imagine that. Being on top of the world.