Epilogue
3 June 1998
"I fail to see why I am expected to change cells. I am awaiting the verdict of my trial, why does this require a different cell?" Lucius drawled at the prison guard with as much dignity as he could muster, given the situation.
"These are the holding cells before we transfer you to Azkaban." The guard let out a spiteful laugh at seeing the blood drain from Lucius's face.
"As far as my understanding goes, my verdict has not yet been issued. Therefore, there is no reason to put me in the holding cells for Azkaban. And why does the legal system insist on separating me from my son and wife? All of our verdicts are being issued at approximately the same time, therefore, why are they not with me?"
In response, the guard started laughing harder. "Hearing you talk like you still have authority is funny, Malfoy. Now get in the cell." With as dignified a scowl as he could mange, Lucius delicately entered one of the three waiting cells in the room.
The room itself was rather small. Smudged, windowless white walls, the three cells awkwardly spaced, as though the architect had been unaware of an idea called "space efficiency." In such an insecure local—a ministry building with only charms to prevent escape attempts, the small room was probably an attempt to prevent large groups from conspiring together and breaking out. The cell directly opposite of him was empty, and while he couldn't see into the cell directly adjacent, he assumed it was also empty until he heard a voice issue from it.
"Mornin', Lucius."
He closed his eyes and released a single heavy breath. The voice that he would recognize anywhere. The voice he still occasionally heard in his dreams. The voice that brought memories of his time at Hogwarts whirling to the front of his mind, memories of the Slytherin Common Room, of its smell of salt and stone late at night. "Hello, Amycus," he finally replied.
The room seemed to positively ring with the ensuing silence. What could they say? What was there to say? They were both potentially awaiting life sentences in Azkaban.
After what felt like hours, but was most likely only minutes, the other man spoke again. "How are your wife and son?"
"What do you care?" Lucius snapped down the man's attempt at small talk, too worried about Narcissa's and Draco's fates to contemplate them.
"They're clearly important to you," he replied in a rather indifferent tone, before making another attempt at small talk. "I met your son last year, you know. How do you like being a father?"
Lucius sighed, and felt the edges of his heart soften. "It's simultaneously the most wonderful and most wretched experience in existence. When Draco was born I got this feeling that he was perfect, just perfect, and I was responsible for keeping him that way, for helping him through every stage of life, for helping him be happy and successful. Whenever I succeeded, it was feeling of such joy, but the feeling of failure is awful, absolutely horrible." After another lengthy pause, he decided to venture a topic that, while a bit heavy for small talk, was still a topic of conversation. "Are you waiting for your verdict, too?"
A one word reply, "Yes," before he rushed onto another topic of conversation, clearly anxious to not have his potential imprisonment be the last topic hanging in the air. "You know, one of the reasons I joined the Death Eaters was because I was hoping to see you again. I wasn't really imagining while we were waiting for our trial verdicts."
"Technically we 're not seeing each other right now, due to the location of our respective cells," Lucius let out a hollow laugh to mimic Amycus's.
"Admittedly." Another pause. "You know, this generation is fine with gays. If we had been born just a generation later we could have had it all. You ever get the feeling there are some Greek deities up there, pulling strings, and laughing when things go horribly wrong for us little puppets?"
"You know, the Greeks said that there were two contributors to tragedies: personal flaws, and fate. Fate is a cruel mistress. So are muses. How is your muse of love treating you?"
Instead of replying, Amycus shot back another question. "Have you become disenchanted with your muse of ambition, then, yet?"
There was the sound of an opening door and then two sets of footsteps: one heavy and slow, the other light and fast, her heels click-clacking against the tile floor.
"Narcissa!" Lucius blurt out at seeing his closest friend's face appear in front of his cell door. "You're—you're out! Are you free?"
Narcissa was smiling, tears streaming down her face as she nodded. "The guard said I could tell you. Your verdict came in. They said your wife and child needed you. You're free to go."
Explosions of pure joy burst before his eyes, in his heart, throughout every limb of his body as though he was far too ecstatic for the emotion to limit itself solely to his brain. Shaking, he whispered, "Say it again."
"You're free. You're free, you're free, you're free!" she excitedly whispered, as though she, too, was unable to fully grasp the meaning of her words.
"And Draco?" Lucius asked breathlessly yet confidently, because surely Narcissa could not be so happy if their son had received a prison sentence.
"He's free, too. He's filling out some paperwork right now, but he'll be officially released from his cell in about half an hour." There were more tears of joy streaming down her face, and he felt as though he might join her any second. Everything was turning out perfectly. The best of all possible worlds.
"Alright, enough of a reunion," the guard gruffly interrupted and, almost as though he was disappointed at having to release a prisoner, he waved his wand and allowed Lucius to leave the cell.
Narcissa squeezed his hand, and feeling, as though he was liable to be imprisoned again any second, they started for the exit.
"Congratulations, Lucius," a sullen, conflicted voice came from the remaining occupied cell. The reminder of Amycus's imprisonment caused Lucius to involuntarily think: perhaps not the best of all possible worlds.
As they stepped away from the cell block, Narcissa told her husband in a secretive whisper, "I heard Carrow's verdict, too. They'll probably be telling him any minute, now. He received life in Azkaban."
Lucius froze where he stood. Life? He would never have the chance to see Amycus again. His dear friend from Hogwarts would spend the rest of his life miserable.
He risked a glance back and, for a second, Lucius thought he saw a youthful face with a slanted, devilishly handsome grin gazing at him from behind the bars of Amycus's cell. Then the smell of salt and stone faded, and a tired, defeated-looking man took his place, slowly disintegrating into a million miniscule grains of salt, as surely as grains of sand move through an hour glass.
"You're looking back at your cell; did you forget something, dear?" asked Narcissa, her voice tinged with concern at her husband's odd behavior.
He shook his head and mechanically continued stepping towards the exit. "No. I've forgotten nothing."
...
A/N: This is officially the end of The Boy of Salt and Stone (and probably of my updating in general until spring or summer break, because college has been piling on the work). A huge, huge thank you to tat1312 for all of their supportive comments throughout the story! Thank you also to anyone else who has been reading along; I'd love to hear from all of you, even if in just a two word review :)