The Mirror of Narciss

by the rosenthal-effect

Recognizing oneself in a mirror is a proof for intelligence and self-consciousness. Loving oneself in a mirror is called narcissm. One dare say Lucius Malfoy is all of the above. But will he die forgetting the world around him upon the sight of himself like the greek half-god Narciss did?

4. Chapter 4

How he came up with the ridiculous name, derived from a muggle comic strip, he didn't know anymore. The irony behind copying from 'Batman' however, was not lost to him. He knew all of his many names and titles and knew even better how to play them. Inside his establishment he was known as the owner. When people spoke about him they rarely knew who he was, having never seen the dark clad and masked figure observing the Lounge from a balcony every now and then up close. He kept his anonymity - it was his life insurance in more than one way.

Although he was not too proud of the inspiration for his establishment, he mentally congratulated himself for the feat of running the most successfull underground organization. It was not exactly illegal what he was doing - but it wasn't explicitly legal either. People clung to their anonymity and he was complying to their wishes. In a relatively short time he had branches in the trade of magical artifacts, potions, supplies and social occupations. While it had been the potions that brought in the most money first, this - his interpretion of the Iceberg Lounge - earned him influence. So it was not as confusing as it once would have been, that he, abhorring people, was once again upon his balcony, studying the groups of well known Purebloods, politicians and managers chatting upon their drinks.

The waiters and waitresses clad in dark blue suits were carrying trays and plates through the Lounge giving it the appearance of an ants nest. They were his eyes and ears. Of course his visitors had no clue that they were spied on - that was the point of it. Like a spider in a web he sat in his elevated position, all information finding its way into the centre of his web; the huge name giving iceberg. The coloss reached to the ceighling, several floors high. It filled most of the attrium, the bar carved into its foot, built around it like a fence. It was made of real ice and a blueish glow emanated from within. Only few were allowed to come inside, to visit him in his frosty office. He had come to embrace the cold. The cold was what had saved his life not too long ago. The Iceberg Lounge seemed like a tribute.

Lost in thoughts about a time that he was another man, living a life for others, denying himself, he first did not see the white blond wizard purposefully striding in his direction.