A/N: sorry folks this chapter is less cracky than the others...i still tried to make it fun tho. we'll be back to our regularly scheduled nonsense next chapter!
Albus manages to convince Poppy to let him drag Lucius to his office. He does so in a daze, still blank in the face of his shock. On autopilot, he offers the man a sherbet lemon. He accepts. Albus sits himself down on the other side of his desk, Severus lurking in the corner of the room, and rasps, "Explain."
Lucius says, "Er…"
INTERLUDE → The Life and Times of Lucius Malfoy: Globe Trotter, Blood Traitor, and Master Chef
The problem with being the Lucius Malfoy is that news reaches him almost instantaneously—of course, this is largely because he hires people to ensure that news reaches him instantly, but that's beside the point. No, the point is that Lucius is interrupted from his bath by harsh banging on the bathroom door.
"Lucius!" Narcissa calls. "Lucius, come out this instant!"
Lucius, who's in the middle of exfoliating, calls, "Can it wait ten minutes?"
"Absolutely not! Come out right now!"
Lucius grumbles but leaves his legs half-exfoliated, getting in one final rinse before donning his bath robes and opening the door. He expects to see Narcissa in her night robes standing on the other side, shoulders crossed and face contorted into a pretty pout. What he does not expect to find is Narcissa in her house robes…and Terracotta Boot standing right next to her. In their master bedroom.
Lucius squeaks in alarm and slams the bathroom door shut. Clears his throat. "Mr. Boot," he says in the deepest voice he can manage, "it's a pleasure to meet you. Narcissa, darling, could please lead our guest to the parlor?"
"No," cries Narcissa. "This needs to be discussed now!"
"At least give me some time to change!"
"You can change while we talk!"
And so Lucius Malfoy finds himself standing awkwardly in his own bathroom, desperately changing into his house robes while Terracotta Boot nervously prattles on on the other side. "Well, you see," says Boot, "there was an incident at the World Cup…"
"An incident?" Lucius calls. "Well, it has nothing to do with us, does it? We left the moment the finals were over." Staying any longer would mean that Lucius would have to interact with the muggle campgrounds coordinator and Lucius hasn't talked to a muggle in twenty years and has every intention of keeping it that way.
There's an ominous silence on the other side before Boot clears his throat. "A certain…group of individuals took it upon themselves to try and make a statement."
"Who?" asks Lucius, still not seeing what's so urgent. "The MWA? The DMLE strikers? Oh Merlin, was it the Russians?"
"No!" squeaks Boot. "As far as anyone can tell…it was the Death Eaters!"
It is at this point that Lucius Malfoy slips and falls, cracking his head against the tile floors. Whoops.
"I should have seen it coming," Lucius moans, still confined to his bed. "The Dark Mark has been acting up for weeks now!"
"And you didn't tell me?" Narcissa hisses, furious. She shoves another spoonful of soup into Lucius's mouth. It's lukewarm and tastes strongly of cabbage and Lucius does his best to not show how awful it is, unwilling to upset his wife further. Ever since that brat of a boy had freed Dobby, Narcissa has had to take on tasks that no woman of her standing should have had to. Lucius's search for another house-elf has been fruitless because apparently the Malfoys are infamous for their bad treatment and no being is willing to bond with the family.
So—Narcissa Malfoy is stuck making subpar soup and fumbling her way through nursing her husband.
Lucius, who loves her very much and doesn't want to cause her any more stress, says, "I didn't want to alarm you! The Mark has acted up before but nothing has ever come of it…" Sure, this time it's been more active for a longer period of time, but that's neither here nor there. "Listen," Lucius soothes, "it's probably nothing. Just some old friends meeting up—surely it doesn't mean…" Well, he doesn't have to say what it could mean.
Narcissa, on the other hand, ignores the last remark entirely. There's a mad gleam in her eyes as she says, "Why weren't you contacted? Of all of the Dark Lord's supporters, aren't we the wealthiest? The sanest? The only other ones capable of this level of organization are the Notts…" She inhales sharply. "Did that bitch Alexandra Nott help plan it? Without me?" She violently shoves another spoonful of soup into Lucius's mouth.
Lucius struggles to not gag. "I'm sure it's nothing, dear." Though, that does get him thinking, as well. Why hadn't anyone contacted him?
But then more memories start to stream across his consciousness. Memories of Theodorus Nott and Antimony Flint desperately trying to get in-person meetings with him for several weeks, only to be thwarted by an increasingly convoluted series of interferences. His own frustration had bloomed in response to how the two had downright refused to converse with him over owl post. …Yes, that was probably their attempts to recruit him for this little escapade of theirs. He wonders if anything similar had occurred with Narcissa and her associates (he hesitates to call them "friends"). Perhaps Narcissa had conveniently missed luncheons with Alexandra Nott or charity events with Gehenna Goyle and the message hadn't reached her, either.
…Or, perhaps, they hadn't told him on purpose. The others had always looked down on him since the fiasco in 1981—which is absolutely hypocritical, of course, because most of them escaped Azkaban the same way he had: lying his ass off and claiming he was subjected to the Imperius Curse. Sure, some families simply hadn't done enough damage for anyone to care—like the fucking Gibbons—but that's beside the point.
No, by all rights, Lucius should have been the darling over the former Death Eaters!
…Unfortunately, Lucius's continued friendship with Severus has put a damper on things. Severus had just barely escaped Azkaban—everyone knew that Severus was a Death Eater, what with his whole…black and gloom aesthetic—for reasons no one knows. What everyone does know is that Severus's trial was closed, its transcripts sealed, and that it was Albus Dumbledore who saved him in the end.
As far as most people are concerned, Severus is Dumbledore's man. Lucius has no doubt that no one mentioned the little side-quest at the Quidditch World Cup to Severus.
Lucius, by association, has always been deemed a bit too traitor-ish. In the intervening years, Lucius hadn't particularly cared—the Dark Lord was dead! And Severus is a witty and altogether entertaining man to have around! So what if he's a little too sympathetic toward Dumbledore and his pet mudbloods? It's perfectly excusable.
(Narcissa had been less forgiving and it took her a very long time to warm back up to Severus…and, even now, she's absolutely convinced that Severus is just as loyal to the Dark Lord as ever. Lucius doesn't have the heart to contradict her.)
If Lucius was excluded on purpose and if the Dark Lord is returning…well, that's a problem. There's no way Lucius will stay in the Dark Lord's good graces at this rate and the thought of being seen as inferior to the fucking Notts has his blood boiling.
Narcissa, who seems to be having a similar realization, says, "We need to do something."
"Yes," Lucius says gravely.
Theodorus Nott is a bastard and Lucius returns to Malfoy Manor wanting to bash someone's head into a wall. Usually, that would mean Dobby, but since Dobby is no longer the Malfoy family's house-elf—and word on the street is that he's employed at Hogwarts by Albus Dumbledore—he simply stares sullenly into the distance. He's clutching a plate of cookies in his hands, shoved into them by a cheerful Alexandra Nott, who had apparently "baked" them "herself".
Narcissa takes one look at the plate and snatches it out of his hands, hurling it out the window.
"Why would you do that?" asks Lucius.
"Don't eat anything from a Nott!" cries Narcissa. "That's almost as bad as sleeping with a Zabini and you know it!"
Lucius knows she's right but there's something very disheartening about being deprived of proper sugar. Narcissa, in an odd fit of "femininity" or some such rot, has decreed that the House of Malfoy shall not consume any outside food until she has mastered the art of cooking. So, the cookies that Narcissa bakes him later as an apology are half-charred and half-raw and taste faintly of coriander and he chokes them all down with a smile.
The smile he gets in response makes it worth it.
Lucius has taken to secretly ordering food from the Leaky Cauldron for Draco lest the boy lose too much weight from lack of appetite or accidently vomit in front of Narcissa. Never has his son declared that he loves his father more.
Three days before the Hogwarts term starts, a visitor comes to Malfoy Manor. Narcissa, who had previously been squinting in dismay at the growing number of dirty dishes and hissing at Lucius when he dared to offer advice or to—Merlin forbid—offer to help, looks immensely happy for the distraction.
"I'll receive them!" she declares, shoving past him.
Lucius, who is glad that Narcissa hasn't once again decided to vanish the dishes entirely because commissioning exact replicas of centuries-old porcelain is expensive, stays firmly in place until Narcissa summons him. She looks exceedingly pale and Lucius is dreading whatever could have caused her horror this time, considering the disaster the last time had been.
There's a man in their sitting room. It takes a moment for Lucius to even realize how he is, but when he does, he shrieks, "Barty?"
Barty smiles at him. It's all teeth.
The thing is, Lucius never knew Barty that well. Sure, they'd run in the same circles but the boy had started attending Hogwarts the year after Lucius graduated. Their acquaintanceship during their mutual Death Eater days hadn't run deeper than Lucius being granted the right to call Bartemius Crouch Jr. "Barty", which he originally had no intention of doing…only to realize that literally everyone, including the Dark Lord himself, called the man Barty. So, Barty it was.
Now, Lucius is staring at a man who is supposed to be dead, who is clutching a bundle of robes to himself. Lucius says, "What is going on?"
"It's been a while," Barty says exuberantly. "Say, can I crash on your couch for a bit? It'll only be a few days—you see, I have a job lined up and it provides room and board."
Lucius says, "Why shouldn't I call the Aurors on you right now?"
Barty raises an eyebrow. "You're going to let Aurors come into Malfoy Manor?"
Good point. Lucius, feeling more and more irritated, points at the bundle of robes. "What's that?"
Then the bundle of robes speaks. "Lucius," says a weak, raspy voice. "Come here." Lucius recognizes the voice and it's enough to strike terror into his bones. When he looks at Narcissa, though, she's gone from looking pale to looking pleased.
Fucking Blacks.
Lucius walks over and peers into the bundle and—yes, that is the Dark Lord. Pale and shriveled and one cough away from withering to dust, sure, but definitely the Dark Lord. Lucius chokes out, "My Lord! It's…it's an honor to host you at our home!"
The shriveled baby-thing gives him an unimpressed look. "You're just as bad of a liar as your father. You're lucky you're pretty."
What?
The Dark Lord continues, "Where is Abraxas, anyway? I need to talk to someone with brain cells."
Lucius, who doesn't know what a "brain cell" is, says, "Father is currently on holiday in Greece." Of course, Abraxas Malfoy has been on holiday in Greece for the last six years, having had enough of Narcissa's "Black tom-foolery" or something like that. He'd been just as upset with their union as Narcissa's parents had been and apparently couldn't take it for any longer. After ensuring that Draco had enough inheritance to live off of for the next three life-times, the man had fucked off to Greece with nary a good-bye in sight.
The last post card Lucius had received alluded heavily to the fact that he may or may not be gaining a new step-mother soon. Lucius had burned the card the moment he'd finished reading it.
The Dark Lord scowls and says, "Tell him to come back."
"Yes, My Lord."
"Now," says the Dark Lord, "please show us to our rooms."
And Narcissa hastens to do so, withstanding many comments about how similar she looks to Bellatrix. Narcissa bears it all with the dignity required of a woman of her stature. The moment they're all out of view, though, Lucius races to Draco's room and bangs on the door. "Open up this instant!" he calls.
Draco opens the door, blinking up at him blearily. The wireless is cranked up to full volume, playing the Weird Sisters's latest hit, and Lucius doesn't let the dulcet tones of Myron Wagtail's screeching distract him. He says, "Turn that nonsense off!"
"Why?" Draco demands. "It's good music!"
"It's atrocious."
"It's not my fault that you can't comprehend true art!"
Lucius hisses, "We have visitors."
"Tell them I'm at Pansy's house." The Parkinson family's estate, colloquially known as Bethesda's Bocage, is notoriously hard to get in and out of. It would make sense for Draco to be unavailable and Lucius almost considers the lie. Then he remembers just who they're hosting and realizes that it would be entirely unfeasible.
"We," says Lucius, "are hosting the Dark Lord."
Draco stares. "Isn't he—"
"No," says Lucius. "The Dark Lord is in our home."
"…I bet Mother's happy."
"We're all happy," Lucius says firmly. "Now, turn the wireless off and come to the sitting room. Your mother has taken the Dark Lord and Barty Crouch Jr.—no, he's not dead, either—to a guest room but they may come back to continue their discussion."
"Oh," Draco says faintly. "Yes…I'll be down in a few minutes." And then he slams the door in Lucius's face.
Brilliant.
When Barty fills Lucius in on the plan, he stares at him blankly. "You're going to impersonate an Auror? Right under Dumbledore's nose? There's no way this will work."
"I bet it will," Barty says with all the confidence in the world. "I bet I'll get through the whole year without being found out."
"I doubt it."
"Are you willing to bet on it?"
Lucius's eyes narrow. "What could you bet? You have nothing to give me."
"I'll bet my father's wand," says Barty. He promptly produces the aforementioned wand. Lucius stares at it, at the wood that has been in the Crouch family for at least seven generations, its allegiance transferring smoothly between father and son. It's priceless. Lucius wants it on display in his Manor. His mouth is practically watering.
"Fine," says Lucius. Dumbledore is annoyingly competent at any rate, even if he puts on a facade of being a bumbling idiot. "I'll bet…my peacocks." Each one is easily worth over two hundred galleons so Barty is pleased.
Lucius smirks to himself. There's no way he could lose.
Somehow, Barty manages to make it through the first day without getting caught. Hm.
The Dark Lord summons him in the morning. "Lucius," the shriveled baby-thing rasps, "when will Abraxas be returning?"
Lucius swallows. "Father has refused," he says dully. "Seeing as I cannot speak of you over owl post, he sees no urgent need to return to England."
"Then you shall go to him in person," declares the Dark Lord. "Convince him. And while you're in Greece, I require you to fetch me a few books…"
Two hours and one illegal portkey later, Lucius is in Greece, squinting at the address listed on the letter his father had sent him. The establishment in front of him seems bizarrely…muggle. Perhaps even alarmingly so. Still, he has faith in his father and so he steps in still wearing full Malfoy regalia.
He's meeted with a sea of muggles who stare at him blankly.
"Are you English?" one asks.
"Yes," says Lucius, teeth grit. He has just talked to a muggle. He will need to take a good, long shower when he gets back to the Manor.
The one behind the counter snorts and says something in Greek, which prompts a few of the muggles to laugh. Lucius, who knows very little Greek—but is fluent in Latin, thank you very much!—stares at them disparagingly. The one behind the counter says, "What do you need?"
"I need to speak with Abraxas Malfoy," Lucius drawls.
The muggle says, "Who?"
"He looks like me, but older."
The muggle brightens. "Oh! Wine Man! Yes, yes, I know him!"
Wine Man? Dear Merlin, Lucius is going to yell at him the entire way home. Calming himself, Lucius says, "Can I speak with him?"
"No."
"No?"
"No. He left this morning."
"Where did he go?"
The muggle shrugs. "Beach, maybe? Or a restaurant. He took his bags."
Lucius stalks out of the muggle establishment, face red.
What follows is a wild goose-chase all over the idyllic Grecian town, during which Lucius finds that he's constantly just missing his father. Lucius talks to more muggles than he ever intended to and finds, much to his horror, that there does not seem to be a wizarding community in this place at all. What had his father been doing in such a dump?
Eventually giving in, Lucius takes a portkey to Athens and searches for the books that the Dark Lord had requested. He finds them on the black market, and he realizes that the only way to gain control of them is to either enter a gambling ring or to simply steal them.
Lucius steals them.
He returns to Malfoy Manor covered in dirt and sweat, hoping desperately he'd escaped the mafia's men. When he presents the books to the Dark Lord, he says, "What took you so long?"
Lucius grits his teeth. "Just ran into a spot of trouble…"
The Dark Lord says, "Where is Abraxas?"
"I…do not know. He appears to have left Greece entirely."
"Take rest—and then find him!"
And so Lucius takes a two-hour bath, fully exfoliates, and collapses in his bed. It's midnight. He vaguely recognizes that Narcissa is not there but he's too exhausted to think much about it. His sleep comes swiftly and feels like his mother's blissful embrace…
…And then he's woken up at three AM by a frantic Narcissa. "He doesn't know!" she says, shaking him roughly. "Lucius, we have to keep up the charade!"
"What?" demands Lucius, falling out of bed and pulling out his wand to point it at whatever threat Narcissa has recognized, only to realize that there's no threat at all. He slowly sheathes his wand and stumbles to his feet, demanding, "What are you talking about?"
"The Dark Lord!" Narcissa gasps. "He doesn't know that we don't have a house-elf! And he cannot know! It would shame our family! And my family!"
"Narcissa, darling, calm down," Lucius soothes. "Let's have some tea and talk this out—"
"Tea?" Narcissa snarls. "I'm sorry, Lucius, but who is going to make the tea? Not Dobby! It will be me!"
Lucius, who really wants tea and who also doesn't want Narcissa to be upset, says, "I'll make the tea!"
Narcissa blinks. Doubtfully, she asks, "Have you ever made tea before?"
"Have you?"
Narcissa's eyes narrow as she thinks this over. She doesn't find anything wrong with his point, however, and simply harrumphs. "Fine," she says, "you make the tea."
He ends up having to dig up an old cookbook but he manages to flip to the page detailing how to make a simple lemongrass tea and he sets to work. The cadence of brewing is…soothing, actually, close enough to potion-making that it reminds him of late nights spent studying under Slughorn's gentle encouragement. As he brings a pot to a boil, he can hear Slughorn commend his delicate handling and precise timing.
If only the cookbook could talk…
Eventually, tea is ready and he serves Narcissa. She takes a sip before him, perhaps recognizing his anxiety. She blinks. Takes another sip. Blinks again. "Oh," she says to herself. "You're the cook of the household now, Lucius."
"I've only made tea!" Lucius says but he still flushes, pleased with the compliment.
Narcissa rolls her eyes. "It's better than my last several attempts. And I know my cooking is awful—you don't have to lie to me." She sighs. "I just figured if I tried hard enough…" She shakes her head. "How did you make this, anyway?"
"I followed the cookbook."
"I follow the cookbook," Narcissa corrects. "You just make miracles."
"No, really, I just followed the instructions to the letter." Now that he thinks about it, though, he remembers that Narcissa had gotten an Acceptable in her Potions OWL and had gladly not taken Advanced Potions or sat for the NEWT. Perhaps she's not equipped for such fine skills—still, she's always been a Charms prodigy, having a rather one-sided rivalry with Lily Evans, and she always seemed determined to be a proper lady of society so a Potions NEWT was hardly necessary…
At any rate, Lucius decides that perhaps keeping her out of the kitchen is for the best.
Lucius becomes the chef of the House of Malfoy.
He doesn't hate it.
He intends to slowly warm Narcissa up to the idea of helping with the other chores, as well—particularly in cleaning Malfoy Manor, which is such a monumental task that Narcissa had taken to focusing only on their chambers and the sitting room—and, now, the Dark Lord's chambers. Honestly, Lucius should have offered his help long before now but the idea that he could actually do anything hadn't crossed his mind until he'd started doing the cooking.
Narcissa reluctantly asks for his help, seeing as a good portion of her time has now been taken up by the Dark Lord ordering her to hold ancient black magic books up for him to read.
Lucius would be able to do a lot more work if the Dark Lord didn't keep sending him on wild goose chases, though.
After the Greece incident, the Dark Lord summons him into his chambers and rasps, "How good are you at potions without the aid of Severus?"
"I received an O in my NEWT," Lucius responds.
"…That will have to do. I have the option of two different rituals…dear Barty wasn't good enough to do the superior one but you may be. It will take more time but yield better results. Are you up to the task?"
"Of course," Lucius says automatically. Then, "What task, My Lord?"
"Helping me regain a body, of course."
Of course.
Lucius is promptly sent to Istanbul and made to meet with an old associate of the Dark Lord's—a distant relative of his old yearmates Shukri al-Shafiq, if he remembers correctly. The woman is gaunt, hijab wrapped tightly around her head. She observes him with beady eyes as he explains the strange and mythical potion ingredient that he needs. The woman asks, "Why?"
"I'm working on a ritual."
"There are very few rituals that require such an ingredient and I would not like the results of any of them."
Lucius grits his teeth. "I've been assured that you will be delighted, actually."
The woman—what was her name again? Azra?—snorts. "I doubt it. Please leave. My son will be coming home soon."
This piques Lucius's interest. "I wasn't aware that you'd married, Ms. al-Shafiq."
At this, Azra smiles. "It's Erdoğan now."
"Really? I don't know of any magical houses named 'Erdoğan'…"
"That's because there aren't any. I married a muggle."
Lucius recoils. "Why?" he demands. "You're of good breeding!"
"So is my husband. The only difference is that I have magic and he does not. He's descended from the ancient Sultans, you see—and yes, they had magic, but that isn't what makes my husband special. My husband is wealthy, intelligent, and kind. In fact, why don't you dine in our home tonight? He would love the chance to meet you."
Lucius hastily comes to a stand. "I really must be—"
"If you do, I'll provide you with what you need."
Lucius shuts up and sits back down. Looks like he'll be eating at a muggle's house tonight. He'll need a very long shower afterward…
Mehmet Erdoğan is…remarkably agreeable, for a muggle. It helps that he both knows that magic exists and does not attempt to lord the so-called superiority of muggle inventions over magical ones. He's well-informed about politics, too, both wizard and muggle. In fact, Lucius several times finds himself stumbling through his vague recollections of muggle world events while Mehmet discusses wizarding ones with ease.
It's…humbling. The worst part is that the man is unfailingly kind, and not even in the grating way that Arthur Weasley is. No, Mehmet simply knows his place in the world along with everyone else's and displays kindness whenever and however is most beneficial to others.
Also, Mehmet and Azra's son, Bahadir, is adorable. Lucius has always loved young children—what with their tiny hands and huge eyes and perfectly malleable minds—and Bahadir, though he's a half-blood, is delightfully polite.
Before Lucius leaves—with the potion ingredient in hand—Bahadir shoves a muggle toy into Lucius's hand. "I heard you have a son, too," the boy says haltingly. "This is my favorite toy. He will like it."
"You don't need to give your favorite toy—"
"I have more like it," Bahadir says firmly.
Lucius, slightly dazed, nods and bids Azra and Mehmet goodbye before leaving. When he returns to Malfoy Manor, he places the toy—a small, wooden snake that flits its tongue when you press a button—on the bedside table in the master bedroom before approaching the library.
Narcissa is inside, staring dully at the ground as the Dark Lord orders, "Flip the page."
Narcissa flips the page.
With sudden ferocity, Lucius's blood boils and he feels the very real urge to give the Dark Lord a piece of his mind—but he's a Slytherin and, like all Slytherins, he has a well-developed sense of self-preservation, so he doesn't act on his instincts. Instead, he obediently presents the potion ingredient to the Dark Lord, who nods slowly.
"Good, Lucius," the Dark Lord rasps. "And how is Azra doing?"
Good, thinks Lucius. She married a muggle. She has a beautiful family. She's very happy even though she thinks her Lord is dead. What he says is, "She's fine."
"Wonderful." And then, "And what news is there in regards to Abraxas?"
Lucius clenches his jaw. "He might be in Azerbaijan…"
"Then you shall go to Azerbaijan tomorrow. Take rest today—I imagine bargaining with Azra was exhausting." The Dark Lord laughs. Lucius smiles tightly. Then, to Narcissa, "Hold the book up higher."
Narcissa holds the book up higher. Lucius has to leave the room before he starts screaming.
He manages to cook dinner that night and get started on tomorrow's breakfast before scrubbing the master bathroom floor. By the time he's settled in bed, Narcissa arrives, looking haggard. "I did nothing today," she says listlessly, "but I'm still so tired."
"I'm sorry, darling," Lucius soothes.
Narcissa opens her mouth to complain again but then the toy snake catches her eye. Her brows furrow. "Where did you get this?"
"Ah, from Istanbul. Azra's son instructed me to give it to Draco."
Narcissa's nose wrinkles. "Lucius, it's a muggle toy. Throw it out. Why did you bring it into our house at all?" And then with a huff, "I thought this Azra al-Shafiq character was a proper lady…"
Lucius doesn't end up throwing the toy snake away—instead, he tucks it into Draco's bedroom among his other toys which are more for display than play nowadays. The animated stuffed animals and figurines observe the inanimate snake with curiosity but eventually accept it as one of them.
All is sort-of well with the world.
His trip to Azerbaijan yields no results. Abraxas Malfoy is nowhere to be seen. Lucius spends the night at a bistro in Baku, enjoying fresh seafood—a luxury he hasn't eaten in ages—and observing the strange muggle contraptions outside.
He hadn't realized how far automobiles had progressed. He should look into them.
He brings home food for Narcissa. He doesn't tell her that it's from a muggle bistro. She doesn't notice the difference.
Lucius doesn't scrub himself as vigorously as usual when he showers that night.
The next three days follow a similar pattern—Lucius wakes up and finishes making breakfast, does his best to help with the cleaning while Narcissa is summoned to answer the whims of the Dark Lord, only to be sent on an ingredient-collecting errand by the Dark Lord himself, and then spend time in muggle areas while desperately tracking his father, then coming home and preparing dinner before collapsing in bed. He averages about three hours of sleep a night, all of which is restless, and eats a single meal a day when he's out on the Dark Lord's errands, if even that.
Narcissa tells him that all the glamors in the world won't be able to cover the bags under his eyes. Lucius pointedly ignores that comment.
Then—then Severus contacts him. Lucius stares at Severus's head in his fireplace for a few moments before saying, "Hello?"
"Lucius," Severus says, sounding agitated. "Lucius, I need to tell you something."
"What?" demands Lucius.
"Alastor Moody transfigured Draco into a ferret!"
Lucius stares. He, of course, knows that "Alastor Moody" is actually Barty and he nearly jumps through the Floo to tackle that bastard himself. How dare he treat Draco that way! Barty had always been bitter that Lucius had escaped Azkaban by claiming to have not been loyal to the Dark Lord and now he's evidently taking it out on Draco!
But no—he can't do anything. The Dark Lord would smite him.
Taking a deep breath, Lucius says, "Make sure it never happens again."
Severus visibly falters. "That's it? Lucius, this is enough grounds to sue him! You could get him kicked out of Hogwarts!"
"No."
"No?"
"No."
Severus stares at him before muttering wildly to himself. Then, "Fine!" The Floo connection cuts off. Lucius knows that Severus will take care of Draco as much as he can and so he lets it be.
"Lucius," the Dark Lord says one day, "since you've proven your own incompetence in the simple matter of contacting your father"—as if Lucius hasn't traveled entire continents trying to find the man—"I suppose I will have to ask you." His shriveled body struggles but eventually does manage to lean closer. "Back before I was reduced to this unfortunate state, I left something in the care of your family—or, rather, in the care of Abraxas. I want you to get it for me."
Lucius frowns. "Of course, My Lord," he says. "What is it, exactly?"
"My old diary. It's black and has the letters 'TMR' emblazoned on it."
Lucius's blood freezes. "Uh," he says, fighting desperately to keep his voice steady, "I-I will look into it, My Lord."
"Wonderful. Let's hope you're not as incompetent as I've begun to believe."
Lucius races out of the room. He knows exactly where that damned diary is—in Hogwarts! With Albus Dumbledore! And more importantly, it has a hole drilled right into the center of it via a basilisk fang! Lucius doesn't exactly know what it is but he does know that it's important and that the Dark Lord will probably be very displeased about its current state. Merlin, it probably has a myriad of enchantments on it, as well—he can't even make a replica!
He needs to lie. Something convincing enough to fool even the Dark Lord!
He's doomed…
He manages to convince the Dark Lord that the diary is with his father, who undoubtedly understood its importance and would never dare to part with it. The Dark Lord snorts in amusement but doesn't inquire further.
Thank fuck.
Whatever ritual the Dark Lord is planning, it seems incredibly complex. Lucius is tasked with gathering increasingly obscure ingredients, with international trips that often end up lasting several days instead of mere hours. Sleep becomes a luxury, meals only occur when he remembers they exist, though he always preps a surplus back at home. Lucius nearly gets killed by the Italian mafia, the yakuza, the FSB. He's taken to avoiding wizarding areas entirely in order to avoid detection.
He finds that muggles are…tolerable. Knowledgeable. Kind. Everything he'd been raised to believe they were not.
Lucius very firmly does not have opinions on it.
Lucius is in Lagos, creeping in the back alleys of its wizarding district, when he spots a newspaper. It's printed entirely in French so he can understand it clearly.
Harry Potter is the second Hogwarts champion.
…The fuck?
Well, at least it's not Draco.
He learns from Augusta Longbottom that Dumbledore is attempting to remove Barty from his position due to his use of Unforgivables on students. Lucius is tempted to let him because not only would it help him win his bet with Barty but it would also get Barty away from Draco and draw the Dark Lord's attention away from Narcissa.
Unfortunately, Lucius isn't looking to get eviscerated, so he decides to put a stop to it.
If he were in his right mind, he would enter Hogwarts via the front gates—he's not in his right mind, though, so he chooses the option most comfortable for him: stumbling through Severus's Floo. He nearly throws up and mentally curses the Dark Lord and fucking Barty, only to realize that he's not doing it mentally at all. Thankfully, Severus doesn't seem to know what he's talking about.
Lucius walks into Dumbledore's office feeling like he's about to pass out. Dumbledore says things and it takes Lucius a while to process what he's saying, probably because he hasn't slept in forty-eight hours. Eventually he manages, "You can't fire Alastor Moody."
"Why not?" demands Dumbledore.
"You can't." Words, words, how does one say words?
"I assure you, I can."
Ah! Words! "You signed off on it. The—the Imperius was in the lesson plans. The Headmaster of Hogwarts is afforded a certain amount of leeway as far as the law is concerned. As long as Alastor Moody has solely been performing the Imperius during class time for educational purposes, you have no grounds to fire him."
"That can't possibly be true," Dumbledore mutters. "The Imperius is an Unforgivable."
If Lucius were more articulate, he would snidely comment on Dumbledore's sometimes astoundingly childish view of magic. He's not more articulate, though, so he just says, "This is Hogwarts."
"I will be double-checking this."
"By all means." His mind floats off again. His last meal had been in Kyrgyzstan, something called beshbarmak which he didn't catch the ingredients of but he found quite warm and filling. He'd been covered in dirt and grime and more than a little blood, shoved into a plastic chair provided by the streetside vendor, sitting between random people milling about, speaking in a language he does not understand.
Were they wizards? Were they muggles? Lucius hadn't known. Honestly, he hadn't cared. He had food and that was that.
Dumbledore's voice filters into his consciousness. "Are you all right, Mr. Malfoy?"
Lucius jerks, panicking. "Perfectly all right!" he says. "Absolutely A-okay!"
"That's a muggle phrase."
"Oh." Lucius looks down. "Oh no. I must be taking my leave, Headmaster." He rises to do just that but then Dumbledore asks him about the Dark Lord and—
Lucius Malfoy has said a muggle phrase. Lucius Malfoy eats at muggle restaurants. Lucius Malfoy has discussed the results of the FIFA World Cup in Brazil and the advent of new cars in China and the Rwandan civil war in Botswana. Lucius Malfoy has done it all and he doesn't regret it.
Is…is Lucius Malfoy a blood traitor?
…Probably.
Oh fuck. Lucius Malfoy is a blood traitor and the Dark Lord is living in his house. He needs to do something.
Luckily, he's sitting in a room with Albus Dumbledore. Time to drop a few hints, hopefully subtle enough that the Dark Lord won't be able to pick them out of his mind. "Barty Crouch," he says slowly, "has always been a man with a large personality." When Dumbledore continues to look befuddled, he turns and says, "Right, Severus?"
Severus steps out from the shadows. For a moment, Lucius is full of hope that his old friend will understand what he's saying, but then Severus says, "I wouldn't know—my singular encounter with him was decidedly unpleasant. Though I suppose that any politician that has managed to become the head of his department must be in possession of a certain amount of personality."
Lucius stares at Severus, dismayed. His one hope is gone. Eventually, he mutters, "Well, I must be off—places to be, people to please, you know how it is." And then he storms out of the room, retreating into Severus's private chambers and Flooing back to Malfoy Manor.
That night, when he finally climbs into bed, he stares at the ceiling.
…He has betrayed the Dark Lord.
Fuck.
Lucius finally catches up with his father on a sunny Tuesday morning in Peru. He finds the man, graying but in otherwise great form, in a bar, the Andes mountains stretching wide into the distance by the windows. Abraxas Malfoy is wearing jeans and a button up.
The first thing Lucius can manage to say is, "You've gone native."
Abraxas startles, nearly spilling his beer. He turns and stares at Lucius with wide eyes, only for his gaze to dip down to Lucius's outfit—a smart suit, very sophisticated but decidedly muggle. Abraxas begins to grin. "So have you."
Lucius sniffs. "Well, I needed to blend in while I chased you across the world."
"You did very well," the man soothes.
Lucius, who has never heard his father say anything like that before, stares. "Who are you and what have you done with Abraxas Malfoy?"
His father tilts his head back and lets out a bellowing laugh. Again, something Lucius has never heard before. He's getting more and more bewildered by the second. Abraxas says, "Sit down, Lucius! Look at the view! Look at the drinks! Isn't this paradise?"
Ignoring him, Lucius says, "You need to come home."
Abraxas frowns. "Why?"
Lucius leans closer and hisses, "The Dark Lord has requested your presence."
Abraxas tilts his head, considering. "The Dark Lord isn't dead?"
"No. He is at Malfoy Manor and he instructed me to bring you home months ago. I only just managed to find you because you kept dodging me!"
Abraxas says, "Why didn't he summon me himself with the Dark Mark?"
"He's…not in a position to be able to use that kind of magic."
Abraxas turns to stare out the window. He says, "I don't care. I won't go back."
Lucius, who had been hinging on the hope that Abraxas would return and take some of the heat off of himself and Narcissa, stares in dismay. "Why not?"
"Tom and I were good friends, once upon a time," says Abraxas and it takes Lucius a moment to remember that "Tom" is, in fact, the true name of the Dark Lord. "Oh, I was awful to him at first, I admit, but…he was powerful. Charismatic. Intense. He regurgitated every lie I'd been spoon-fed my entire life about muggles and mudbloods." He pauses. "Sorry, muggleborns. I'm still working on that…"
What the FUCK?
Abraxas continues, "I was loyal to him. I was the second person to take his mark, you see. Oh sure, the first was that bastard Theodorus Nott, but don't be mistaken—I was the one who saw it first. He came to me to ask about the design, the geometry, the arithmancy behind each curve of the skull. Theodorus was a guinea pig. I was the real deal. Once upon a time…oh, Tom and I were close." He takes a sip of beer. "Best friends…brothers…closer than brothers…"
Oh dear. Lucius has the sneaking suspicion of where this is going… In an effort to spare himself the trauma, he says, "Why have you abandoned him now, then?"
Abraxas shrugs. "I went to Greece. I met people—met muggles. I realized that what I'd been taught, what I'd taught you, was wrong. I traveled the world and saw glorious things, the kind of things Tom had promised to show me one day. Somewhere between Madagascar and New Zealand, I realized that I don't need Tom anymore. I've started a new chapter in my life. There's nothing left for me in Britain and I have no intention of going back, even if Tom is wallowing in the Manor."
Lucius puts his head in his hands. "Please, Father," he says. "You don't understand what the Dark Lord is putting Narcissa and I through. We lost our house elf so now we're doing all the chores. Narcissa is waiting on him hand and foot. He's been sending me to every corner of the world not just to chase you down but also to find supplies for some arcane ritual that will restore him to his full power. You—you need to do something!"
"I don't need to do anything," Abraxas sniffs. "I've never cared for Narcissa. If you have so much trouble, pull Draco from Hogwarts and the three of us can travel together. If the Dark Lord returns, then he returns."
"You—you can't mean that. Something needs to be done about this!"
"Well, I won't do anything." He glances at Lucius. "But…I think you'll do something, won't you?"
"What?"
"Oh, drop the theatrics. It's clear that you've already made up your mind. Whatever your plan is, I wish you the best of luck." He leans closer. "And remember, Lucius—you're a Malfoy. You can do whatever you set your mind to." He pokes Lucius in the chest. "A Malfoy bows to no one."
And then he disapparates right there, in the middle of a muggle bar in Peru. Lucius stares at the place his father used to be before screeching, "You fucker!"
One of the waitresses startles. "Sir?" she asks. "Are you all right?"
Lucius sighs. "Yes," he murmurs. Then, glancing up, "Turn up the sound on the television. I want to hear the commentary on the game."
The girl smiles brightly. "Of course!"
And so Lucius sits back and watches a football game, trying to figure out what the fuck to do next.
Lucius Malfoy may be a blood traitor but he's also a coward. Also, the Dark Lord is in his house and spends most of the day around his wife. Lucius can't do anything. His only option is hoping that Dumbledore will figure out that something's wrong.
…Still, he sends Severus a letter from Peru, doing his best to inconspicuously drop hints about Barty—just for the bet, he assures himself. He really loves his peacocks, after all.
Lucius's missions slow down around December. The Dark Lord has instructed Narcissa to throw a Yule celebration like it's a normal year and Lucius has been tasked with helping her. As such, the Dark Lord—who has recovered enough strength to read books on his own—spends most of his days alone in the library and Lucius and Narcissa finally have the ability to spend time with each other in the daytime.
…Somehow, that makes everything worse.
"Absolutely not," Narcissa seethes.
"Darling," Lucius says, "we can't possibly clean the entire Manor in time by ourselves!"
"Lucius, we can't be seen hiring house-elves!" Narcissa says. "That's preposterous! Paying a house elf…what's next, voting rights for werewolves?"
"Stop putting words in my mouth!" Lucius says, though the idea does make him pause. Should werewolves have voting rights? His instincts scream NO but, well, his instincts also try to tell him that all mudbloods—er, muggleborns—should be segregated from the rest of society, so he knows he shouldn't be relying on his instincts for everything.
…If he is a blood traitor, does that mean he's required to support voting rights for werewolves? He doesn't know. It's not like someone had given him a pamphlet or something.
Narcissa is still huffing and puffing so Lucius says, "I'll be discreet, and it's just for Yule. Everything will be fine."
Eventually, Narcissa gives in.
Lucius contacts Dobby via Draco, who had been affronted by the request but had nonetheless complied. Dobby meets him under the cover of darkness wearing good-quality clothes, arms crossed, staring at Lucius with naked suspicion. "What does Mr. Malfoy be wanting?" he snaps.
Lucius has to do this carefully. "I need someone to clean Malfoy Manor on December 25th."
Dobby looks ready to explode with rage. "Dobby is a free elf!" Dobby snarls.
Lucius puts his arms up placatingly. "I know! I'm willing to pay for your services!"
Dobby pauses. "Really?"
"Yes! You and a few other house elves! I just need the Manor cleaned before and after our Yule celebration. I am not trying to gain ownership of you. I am hiring you."
Dobby purses his lips, eyes narrowed with calculation. It astounds Lucius how capable Dobby is. He'd never noticed it when he still owned Dobby, mainly looking at the creature as a servant. Now he's bartering with him. Some unexplained emotion wiggles in Lucius's chest but he doesn't mention it.
Eventually, Dobby agrees. He and a few other elves will do the job for pay, and will be paid extra to keep it all quiet. No one needs to know that the House of Malfoy has hired house elves. And, most importantly, Narcissa will not know that more than one house elf will be at Malfoy Manor.
Dobby ends up asking about the food. "Does Mr. Malfoy be needing a chef?"
"No," says Lucius, no small amount of pride coloring his voice, "because I will be doing the cooking."
Dobby eyes him skeptically. "If Mr. Malfoy be saying so…"
Rude.
He keeps sending Severus letters. They keep not working.
The week following the First Task—which had apparently been an astounding display of skill from everyone but Harry Potter—Lucius Malfoy sits down and reads the Daily Prophet for the first time in a month. He immediately regrets it.
The front page screams, DARK LORD GRINDELWALD ESCAPES PRISON, CURRENT LOCATION UNKNOWN.
He and Narcissa share a glance before both tipping their gazes in the direction of the library, where the Dark Lord is still residing. Without a word, they both decide to not let him know. Lucius is quite sure that if the Dark Lord were to find out that he has a potential rival on the loose, everything is going to get much worse. With that in mind, Lucius quickly skims the article to get the key details—marveling at the sheer incompetence reeking from the whole affair—and hurls the newspaper into the fire.
He takes great satisfaction in watching the ancient picture of Grindelwald wither to ashes. After all, the House of Grindelwald had wronged the House of Malfoy ages ago and still has yet to respond so, of course, no Malfoy had ever joined hands with that upstart.
At any rate, Dumbledore took care of it once and he'll take care of it again.
He decides to put it out of his mind.
Lucius has one last mission in Canada before Yule, which is why he's on a highway near Toronto when he receives notice that Narcissa has summoned Draco back home from Hogwarts. The fall term is over and the entire school had been on Winter Holiday and Draco was supposed to attend the Yule Ball. Unfortunately, it seems that he'd had a bit of a mental breakdown.
When Lucius returns, he tells Narcissa, "You should have left him at Hogwarts! He would get more peace of mind there!"
Narcissa is stubborn. "Nothing is better for the mind than being at home," she argues. "Whenever Bellatrix was ill, Mother and Father would summon her back to the Eyrie and she would be right as rain in a few days!" The Eyrie, of course, being the name of the house where Narcissa grew up—there is much contention around whether or not the Black family named it after the headquarters of the ICW or if the ICW named their headquarters after the Black family house.
Lucius is of the opinion that the Blacks are full of shit and that they stole the name and touted it as their own, but he won't say that to Narcissa. Instead, he says, "I don't know if you noticed, but your sister was never not ill."
"Shut your mouth!" Narcissa snarls, just as she always does when he disparages her birth family. (On a related note: the whole Sirius Black debacle is a banned discussion topic for exactly this reason.)
Lucius throws his hands in the air. "Fine," he says. "Draco can stay at the Manor!"
Narcissa harrumphs.
"Father," says Draco one morning while Lucius passes by his room, "can I talk to you for a moment?"
Lucius considers him before nodding and entering. It's the same as he remembers, with Quidditch posters and signed photos of Weird Sisters band members. The wireless is playing a standard rock song from a few years ago. Lucius wonders if there are any local stations that play jazz, the kind he'd heard in New Orleans, but decides not to mention it. The volume is turned down low, at any rate, allowing for discussion. Lucius says, "What do you need?"
Draco takes a deep breath. "Why are you warning Dumbledore about Barty?"
Lucius freezes. "What?"
"I saw the letter," Draco says. "You can't lie to me."
Lucius purses his lips. He says, "I have a bet with Barty. I refuse to lose."
Draco stares at him. "Is that all?"
"…Yes."
Draco slumps. "Okay," he says blankly. "You can go now."
As Lucius leaves, Draco cranks the wireless up to full volume and changes the channel until it's a slow, tragic melody. All sound cuts off once Lucius pulls the door shut.
…Draco definitely should have stayed at Hogwarts.
The Yule celebrations come and go. Lucius, in an effort to foster an upbeat mood, buys extravagant presents. Narcissa looks down at the diamond necklace he'd gotten her. "It's so pretty," she says.
Lucius smiles brightly. "I know! I saw it and it immediately reminded me of you!"
"So pretty," Narcissa repeats, not looking up. And then she bursts into tears, leaving the necklace on the sofa chair before racing out of the room.
Draco, meanwhile, observes his pet runespoor with interest, a spark of something finally entering his eyes. "He's brilliant," he decides, as if his mother has not just run sobbing out of the room. "What's his name? It should be something majestic. What about Bartholomew?"
"Er," says Lucius, "I think the breeder named it Adam."
Draco stares. "Can't I just rename him?"
"Adam is the name it's trained to respond to."
"Oh."
And that's how Lucius ruins Yule…though the Dark Lord comes a close second when he says, "Did you not get me a present, Lucius?"
Ugh.
Draco goes back to Hogwarts for the Spring Term. He's pale and drawn and silent and has finally given in to his mother's demand that Adam remain at the Manor, but he's not about to have another breakdown, so it's fine.
Then the Dark Lord sends him on a three day mission to Austria.
Now, listen—the last time Lucius had eaten anything was on New Year's Day. The last time he'd slept for more than two hours was the night before New Year's Day. Lucius is sleep-deprived and starving and delirious when he arrives in Austria, and what does he see when he gets there? Families fleeing. Terror in the papers. Fearmongering in public areas.
Lucius doesn't spend more time than necessary in wizarding areas but he still feels the fear. When he dares to ask, the witch he's standing next to stares at him like he's an idiot.
"The Dark Lord Grindelwald is on the loose," she says slowly. "I can tell you're an Englishman and I know that Grindelwald never touched the Isles so I will tell you this—never has Austria, has Europe, seen more devastation than during Grindelwald's reign of terror." And then, with disgust, "Don't they teach you anything on that island of yours?"
Lucius puts off the mission that's requested of him. Instead, he speaks to more people. He goes to monuments. He reads pamphlets and listens to speeches.
The House of Malfoy had always stood against Grindelwald, sure, but no one had ever been afraid of him. In fact, even the self-important purebloods had taken delight in the knowledge that Albus Dumbledore, perhaps a half-blood but still a full-blooded Englishman, had defeated Grindelwald. Suddenly, everything feels so real.
Grindelwald is not a far-off threat for Dumbledore to defeat—he's another Dark Lord waiting to wreak havoc. Surely not even Dumbledore could handle two of them at once!
So Lucius (globe trotter, blood traitor, master chef—sleep deprived, half starving, stark raving mad) decides to finally stop being a coward and make a decision.
He needs to kill the Dark Lord.
It's easier said than done, of course. There's no telling what kind of powers the Dark Lord still has, what he could do to someone who wishes him harm. He doesn't know for certain but he suspects that either he or Barty have something to do with the sudden reclusiveness of Bartemius Crouch Sr. He needs to do this carefully.
The first order of business is getting Narcissa out of the Manor. He realizes with horror that the only time Narcissa had left the Manor after the Dark Lord's survival was when she went to pick up Draco from Hogwarts.
She deserves some time to herself to relax. Perhaps one of those spas? Actually, no, that's a muggle thing and Narcissa would not appreciate it. Maybe just a nice trip to the beach…
At any rate, Narcissa cannot be in the Manor where she may get caught up in the backlash. He arranges it all as quickly and as subtly as he can manage, promising that he'll take care of everything and that Narcissa doesn't have to worry about a single thing.
Narcissa, delighted, goes on the trip.
Then comes the second step of Lucius's plan.
The Dark Lord needs to be caught unaware. That leaves only a single time that may work—at night, when the Dark Lord is sleeping. Lucius plans very carefully, casting preliminary spells to make sure he will be silent at the hour of extermination.
Then, that night, when the clock strikes three in the morning, Lucius rises.
The trek to the Dark Lord's room is as quiet as ever and, contrary to his belief, there aren't too many protections layered over him. In the end, it's like taking candy from a baby.
Then he's carrying a tiny, shriveled up, very dead body. "Um," says Lucius vaguely, "this…doesn't feel right."
He promptly turns to the side and vomits the contents of his stomach onto the floor. Ominous laughter echoes in his ears and when he looks up, the Dark Lord is still sitting on his bed. "Oh, Lucius," the Dark Lord croons, looking absurdly similar to an actual baby rather than his usual, shriveled-up self, "you've betrayed me." The baby flies closer. "Don't worry, I have contingency plans. I would never trust someone so close to Severus Snape." And then, "You're lucky you're pretty."
The apparition of the baby Dark Lord bursts into nothingness, leaving Lucius staring at it.
Oh, he thinks vaguely, I've fucked up.
The worst part is that the corpse is definitely that of the Dark Lord and Lucius has definitely killed it, so he doesn't understand. He has killed the Dark Lord. Perhaps the baby was just a hallucination? Yes, that's it…
But just in case, he can't let this go. What "contingency" would the Dark Lord have in place? It strikes him suddenly. Barty! That foul man probably knew the moment Lucius struck down the Dark Lord! And, more importantly, he's in the same school as Draco!
Lucius stumbles to his feet and goes to the Floo, toppling into Severus's chambers. Severus stares down at him with wide eyes. "Lucius?"
"Blood traitor!" gasps Lucius. "I'm a blood traitor…doomed us all…werewolves deserve voting rights!"
"What?" Severus demands, visibly confused.
Lucius is not entirely sure that his mouth is actually making words and not noises. He keeps going, anyway. "Barty! Barty the Bastard! Barty the Tricky Worm! In the castle! Close to Draco!" He grabs Severus's arm as the man tries to lift him up. "Contingency plan!"
"Lucius, you're not making sense!"
"Mad-Eye is not Mad-Eye!"
Finally, he must be speaking sense because Severus's eyes widen. Then, with astounding timing as always, Dumbledore bursts in.
"What's going on here?" Dumbledore demands.
Lucius, putting all his concentration toward speaking, says, "It's…Barty Crouch…not Moody!"
Severus says, "We need to talk."
And that's when Lucius finally passes out.
The first thing he sees when he wakes up is Narcissa. The sight fills him with pleasant warmth, as always, but the look on her face is ugly.
"Lucius," she whispers, "what have you done?"
The ensuing conversation ends up going in circles as Lucius attempts to explain himself and Narcissa attempts to tell him off, all while neither of them can actually say what they want. Then Dumbledore and Severus come in and Narcissa attempts to take him back to Malfoy Manor as if it's not the absolute last place he wants to be.
Coming home is not enough to cure an illness!
Narcissa eventually says, "What I know is that you're an impulsive, hot-headed, unrepentant—"
"Unrepentant?" Lucius demands. "For what should I repent?" He's a blood traitor, dammit, and he's not sorry about it!
Narcissa says, "Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, how dare you—"
Draco wakes up soon and Narcissa goes storming out of the room. Lucius sends Draco after her. Finally, Dumbledore says, "I think you have something to tell me."
Lucius nods. "I do." And then: "I killed the Dark Lord."
…The look on their faces makes it all worth it.
"Explain," Dumbledore says in his office.
Lucius, who has accepted a sherbet lemon because he is a blood traitor and that's what blood traitors do (at least, he thinks so—again, he never got a pamphlet), says, "Er…it's a long story."
"I don't have anywhere else to be."
"Right," says Lucius, calculating just how much he should tell the man. "Well, it started with Terracotta Boot bursting into my master bedroom…"
A/N: Someone (on AO3) complained about how it's unnecessary to make everyone gay so here, have some Lucius Malfoy, a straight man! Now that my Straight Quota is complete, please assume that literally everyone else in this fic is queer unless explicitly stated otherwise, thank you.
…Honestly though, I'm this close to commenting on those OP/Multi-Lord/Harem!Harry fics and going "why is everyone straight?" Because that's always what goes through my head when I stumble across one but you don't see me complaining smh. Let Queer People Have Good Things.
Anyway, on to actual story notes: as you've probably noticed, Voldemort never made Nagini a horcrux in this AU! I have my reasons for that but don't think too much about it lmaoo. This fic is still pure vibes, no matter how much plot is happening. Anyway, because of this, I will edit chapter 4 and get rid of the mention of Bertha Jorkins's death. Sorry about the retcon, folks, but I hadn't planned the plot that far ahead yet (and also I hadn't realized that she only died because she saw Wormtail…or that it happened while she was on holiday in Albania…whoops). So…just pretend that never happened!
Also, sorry about the interlude. I really wanted to tell this portion from Albus's POV but that would mean that Lucius would just…info dump, which wasn't fun to write and definitely wouldn't have been fun to read. And I know that the tone of this chapter was a lot darker than the others but it dealt with some darker themes so…yeah. Dw, we'll be back to regularly scheduled crack next chapter!
And yes, I know that Lucius's whole character arc probably isn't canonically sound and idk how feasible it is for someone to deconstruct an entire ideology in just six months but this is my fic and I wanted Lucius Malfoy to not be a bigot anymore so. Yeah.
Also Lucius calls himself a blood traitor a lot in this fic and it's canonical that the term "blood traitor" is pretty derogatory. Lucius was just raised calling people with his ideology that and so that's the term he defaults to.
As for the family dynamics, idk if I laid them out clearly enough but the implication is that, while all three Malfoys are pretty prejudiced, Lucius is more flexible, Narcissa is more set in her beliefs, and Draco just agrees with whatever his parents think—until he starts to think for himself… Again, idk if this dynamic is canonical but it's the one I tend to see in my own family so I decided to write it this way.
Also: I'm thinking of changing the summary of the fic. Thoughts?
I hope you liked this! If you did, please FAVORITE and REVIEW! Also if you wanna chat about this fic (or about anything tbh), I'm sssrha on tumblr!