Disclaimer: Not mine, all non-profit work, rights are fully owned by JKR, WB and others.
A/N: As per usual, this short fic is unrelated to the previous three. My dear reader Shogi requested a Lucius-Lily pairing - thank you for the prompt! Please keep in mind while reading that the first and last sections occur a month after the first fall of Lord Voldemort. I hope this meets expectations!
In regards to whether I write slash, the answer is absolutely - I have simply received no requests to that end. If someone were to request it, however, it would be my pleasure to write. Please read and enjoy!
War's Bedfellows
Azkaban.
The high, forbidding walls of the island fortress rose in front of them, the dense mist of breeding Dementors surrounding the sharp cliffs, wrapping the world brought forth from nightmares in an unnatural cold.
Lucius Malfoy shivered as the chill soaked through his heaviest cloak, the silk underneath it, and into his bones. One could not arrive at Azkaban via Apparition, Portkey or flight. The only way in and out was by boat – a route through the freezing, shape-shifting fog sure to impress on the visitor how deeply they never wished to commit even the slightest crime.
The damning effect of the Dementors soaked the stone as surely as the sea spray, and Lucius struggled to summon pleasing thoughts to keep his internal demons at bay. There were many now, born of the struggle over the past decade, howling lustily to ensnare him in his own darkness as the rickety wooden craft drew ever-closer to the jagged base of the prison.
It didn't help that his errand would have been difficult to complete without the Dementors present to prey upon his worst fears. He focused on his beautiful wife, his healthy son, longing for the relative security of the bay in the lagoon underneath the rock...
"Visiting whom?" a dry, bored voice asked, and Lucius shook himself out of his half-trance, Evan Rosier's dying scream fading his head. They had arrived. The soul-eating ravages of the Dementors were dampened down here, where the human guards lived and worked. One could not afford jailers as mad as the jailed.
"Sirius Black," reported the small man who had rowed them across the channel. The stringy wizard seated behind the desk gave Lucius a long look, thin face twisted with disgust as he recognized the aristocrat who had occupied the front page of the Daily Prophet for over a month, his trial and subsequent acquittal having provided a field day for the press. He leaned over his water-warped workspace and spat on the ground at Lucius' feet.
"Consoling your old comrade, eh? I know the Wizengamot let you plead the Imperius Curse, Mr. Malfoy, but I saw the Prewett brothers' bodies." His light blue eyes glittered like ice in the torchlight, and Lucius shivered. He had never been a coward, but he had always possessed an unerring instinct for those who truly wished him harm.
This man would kill him without hesitation and without conscience.
"The bastard who did that enjoyed it."
Lucius remembered too well the day the other man referred to. He had enjoyed it. They had been a threat, and they had fought brutally, granting no quarter and receiving none in return. He had watched his protege Timothy Wilkes die in agony, an Entrail-Expelling Hex from one of the two brothers splattering his insides on their sitting room walls. The taste of revenge meted out on their bodies had been sweet enough to linger in his mouth for weeks.
The younger guard who had stepped up to guide the Death Eater into the bowels of the pit coughed in embarrassment, breaking their deadlock. "Erm, sir, be that as it may, we do have our orders..."
"Right." With reluctance, the man turned away, jerking his head at his colleague. "Richardson here'll take you." He turned to his inferior. "If he tries anything, shove him into a cell. The court can work it out later."
The man murmured an uncomfortable, "Yes, sir," before gesturing for Lucius to follow him.
Ah, the mercy and temperance of wizarding justice, Lucius thought as the young man led him down the hallway, his face apologetic for the actions of his supervisor. No wonder he had joined Voldemort.
For all his high security, Black was swiftly located, swathed in Dementors who resentfully moved aside at the guard's order. Lucius found himself staring into a haunted face – one that still retained the shape and finely-sculptured features of his wife's ancient line, but whose eyes told the story that flesh would soon echo: despair.
His supposed ally, locked up a month prior when the Potter's house in Godric's Hollow had been blasted into ruins. Not that he had ever met the man in the confines of the brotherhood, but that mattered little. The Dark Lord had been nothing if not secretive. And now it would save Lucius the necessity of pretending to like the vain bully he recalled from Hogwarts.
But it was not of their mistaken allegiance that he had come to speak. This meeting was over a separate matter, a different set of promises they had both made to another family.
"Where is the boy, Black?" he asked quietly.
Black's head jerked, swinging strands of already-filthy hair from his eyes. He stared at Lucius, then laughed, the sound halfway between a sneer and a pained yelp bouncing off the stones. "As if I would tell you, Malfoy. Anyone sane – and mind you, there don't seem to be a lot of them – knows that you were the power backing Voldemort's throne."
Both Lucius and the guard winced at Black's casual use of the name. "Rumor has it that you claimed that seat for yourself," the blond parried swiftly. The other man's eyes shuttered, enormous sadness slamming home in the formerly carefree obsidian orbs. Lucius blinked. Either Black was giving a performance worthy of a standing ovation or Magical Law Enforcement had gotten the wrong man.
Interesting. Irrelevant.
"Where did you take him from Godric's Hollow?"
"I didn't," Black answered. "Read the Prophet, Malfoy. Everyone knows that my traitorous friend and I duelled that same evening, when would I have had time? Go back to your manor, and continue to donate Galleons by the ton to your 'excellent causes' or whatever else buys you the indulgence of the Ministry and the blind eyes of the Aurors. I don't know what happened to Harry-" his voice cracked on the name of his godson and Lucius knew, then, that regardless of the proof, the man before him was innocent of the Potter's deaths – "and believe me, if I did, you are not amongst those I would tell."
He turned his back on the bars and shuffled to the back of his cell, away from the paltry light that penetrated into the heart of the bastion, wrapping himself in shadow.
The prisoner of Azkaban did not speak again.
I have failed her, Lucius thought grimly as he emerged from the isle of permanent decay and back into the spring afternoon – he had forgotten, in the space of a few hours, how glorious the sun felt on one's skin.
You hardly loved her. And the boy will be under the protection of the old man, provided and cared for. He must be. The hero of the wizarding world cannot simply disappear.
But little Harry Potter, younger by a few months than his own Draco, had completely vanished. The same night that wizards around the country had whispered his name as savior or cursed the death of the Dark Order.
And although he had not loved her, nor she him, he had promised. Sworn to Lily Potter in the darksome night of their mutual desperation. Vowed to keep the boy should it be necessary.
James and Lily Potter were dead. Their best friend and the boy's godfather sat locked in Azkaban, wrongly convicted, but never to be released. It was necessary.
And he could not keep his word.
888
Nine Months Before the Fall of Voldemort...
Lily Potter's wand was pointed directly at his heart, her six-month-old son floating behind her in a modified bubble-shield spell, levitating him off the ground and simultaneously deflecting all manner of flying objects, magical and mundane.
The child was...uncanny, Lucius had to admit. Instead of taking up wailing like the rest of the babies nearby, his eyes – already bearing her startling shade of green – were wide and focused on the masked and robed figure that inspired abject terror in adults.
There was no fear. A healthy dose of curiosity, to be sure, but the boy was not afraid. And Lucius hesitated. Black hair, green eyes, chubby cheeks, the child did not remotely resemble his son. And yet...he was Draco's age, and as the image of Narcissa defending the boy from death flashed before his eyes, Lucius knew he would not be able to kill this woman.
A member of Dumbledore's rumored secret order. Adored by her husband. Her death would cause devastation, to be sure...
He cursed himself as the words would not come, as crashes and screams flooded his ears from other parts of the hospital, the sound of his fellows merrily wreaking the havoc they had been ordered to.
St. Mungo's had always been a tempting target. For inspiring terror in the masses, Lucius could think of no better place to attack than a hospital. Of course, they had to be careful – no purebloods, with the exceptions of blood traitors, and no sympathizers to their cause could be present, but having a contact in intake had certainly helped. The loyal wizard had deftly pulled and rearranged schedules to give them a window of opportunity three hours long this afternoon.
And now he stood, tongue tied in front of this ferocious mother lion, unable to summon the will for even a schoolboy's jinx to taunt her.
A swift slash of her wand, the Slicing Hex hurling towards him. He sidestepped, flicking up his own wood to counter it. Her eyes followed him warily, her instinctive crouch that of a fighter, gaze never leaving his face. His eyes would betray his intention before any spell would. Someone had trained her to fight. An expert, it seemed, and she had taken the lessons to heart.
He wouldn't be able to hurt her. He was wasting time.
"You know the fire escape?" he asked her suddenly, breaking their commandment of silence when masked. What good was covering one's face when voices were just as recognizable?
Lily's eyes widened fractionally as she nodded, and then hardened again as a gleeful whoop sounded quite close by, followed by the renewal and abrupt, horrific, cessation of a baby's cries. "Get out of here," he hissed at her. "Save your son. Use that exit, none of us are guarding it."
It was all too plain that she didn't believe him, but as the noise of carnage pressed closer, she gave him an unreadable look, snatched her son from the bubble shield and ducked out the far door, pelting for the narrow staircase that would disgorge her into Muggle London. She was a Muggle-born, and her excellence at Transfiguration would ensure that both she and her son could pass unnoticed in a matter of seconds. If she could get there unhindered, she would be safe.
"What have you been up to in here?" Rodolphus Lestrange's hand clapped him heavily on the back, looking at the pristine room, everything absurdly neat in comparison to the damage strewing the rest of the bright-white corridors.
Lucius curled his lip in disdain. "There was nothing in here. I was hoping for someone cowering under a bed – perhaps a new mother or a healer, but this place is empty."
"Pity. But come on, we still haven't hit the fourth floor long-term ward," Lestrange replied eagerly. "There should be plenty of sport there."
"Lead the way," Lucius answered smoothly, casting one more glance down the corridor where Lily had disappeared.
Foolish as it was, he hoped she and her son had survived to stand up to him and his fellows another time.
888
The Hogsmeade klaxon blared its warning of imminent attack, instantly transforming the lazy mid-spring streets.
For an instant, Lily Potter froze with the rest of the shoppers, arrested in the act of selecting ingredients at the apothecary, and then, like her fellow witches and wizards, she moved rapidly for the doors, the store proprietors pale but determined as they herded innocents through front and back entrances. She wondered if she dared attempt to hand Harry to Aberforth at the Hog's Head and join the Order...they would be clambering through his fireplace soon enough-
She halted that line of thought. She had never relished a fight, and James risked his life too often to have both of them on the front lines. Even though that line could be anywhere.
She had never told anyone about her brush with the Death Eaters in St. Mungo's two months ago when she had gone with Harry for his routine check-up. It would double James' worry and encourage Sirius to do something rash, potentially to the very one who had released her. And though she hated the self-styled lord's ideals and felt little more than contempt for those who followed him...this one had granted her life.
When she had hastily turned from casting the Shield Charm on Harry to see the death's mask leering from atop its shroud, she had been convinced that her life was forfeit. Powerful witch though she was, she knew she could not hope to escape a hospital full of Voldemort's followers.
She had resigned herself to taking the man with her when she caught the glimmer of hesitation in his eyes, the way the pale grey flickered to her son, back to her. She had recalled her duelling lessons with Filius Flitwick and dropped into a low stance, sending a Slicing Hex at him. If, perhaps, she could catch his legs, incapacitate him and run for the fire stairs...
He had blocked the hex and, in a gesture of totally unexpected mercy, he had let her go. Had suggested that very route himself and sworn his friends weren't watching it. And they hadn't been.
After two months of analyzing the situation, Lily still couldn't figure out why. She was known to be loyal to Dumbledore, her husband a pivotal figure in the resistance. Her death would have brought the man the favor of his lord, had he survived. In spite of this, he had released her from a situation in which he undeniably had the upper hand.
But he had locked eyes with Harry, and then could not bring himself to kill her. The only thing she could think of was that the man was a father himself...
"They're here – quick, Miss, the storeroom. You can't get out the doors," gasped the young man who worked behind the counter, seizing Lily's upper arm and pulling her with him and out of her memory. She cursed herself for being six kinds of a fool. She had been lucky once. No one received fate's fortune twice-
"AvadaKedavra!" The young man in front of her dropped in a glow of hell's green light, and Lily recoiled as the death-curse brushed against her own skin, as if eager to consume more. She spun, facing the Death Eaters who had attacked them from behind.
"Merlin's Teeth, you idiot! Look before you fire – that man has been highly useful!" That voice was too familiar...no...it couldn't be-
"I thought you said no one here worked for us," came the unrecognizable first voice, offensively careless as the owner bore down on Lily. "But this one looks luscious," he purred as he neared her. "Perhaps she should be spared." His cold brown eyes flickered down to Harry. "Too bad about the brat, though, he'll have to go."
Lily's wand was up, fierce anger leaping to the defense of her baby, guiding her movements as muscle-memory and sheer rage replaced planned attacked.
The red light of a Stunner seared into the man's back before she could complete her first curse, and she could see a faint expression of surprise light his eyes as he toppled over.
Two of his comrades stood behind him, both looking thoroughly disgusted and Lily thought that Voldemort should do a better job with his masks. Eyes gave away entirely too much, even though the rest of the face remained covered.
"Are you all right?" the slightly shorter man asked, moving towards her almost awkwardly...and she placed the voice as she saw sincere concern ignite in those too-black eyes. She scrambled backwards again, running into the counter as she whispered in hoarse horror:
"Severus?"
"Damn it, man, you know you're not supposed to talk!" snapped the taller, and she knew him instantly. The Death Eater from St. Mungo's.
The man who had spared her life.
"Lily – trust me," Severus murmured, ignoring his companion.
She nearly laughed in his face. Trust him? Sirius had always hinted that he thought Severus had become a Death Eater, but she had never wanted to believe it...somewhere, buried underneath the neglect of his childhood, there had been a gentle soul dedicated to learning-
And here stood the product of that learning, dressed in the black that heralded death for her ilk, with a pleading look in his gaze tied to the unfathomable obsession he had with her that she had never returned nor been comfortable with.
Instead, she looked to the other, searching the pale grey eyes for some signal. One of the two had saved her from the third's unwanted attentions and Harry from the punishment of his wand. Would she be allowed to go again?
"You have an unfortunate habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time," the taller one said slowly, responding to the recognition he saw flare to life in her eyes.
"Can we get her out?" Severus pressed him.
"I thought you came for Potions ingredients. That's why our master ordered this raid."
Severus snorted in disgust, rifled through his pockets and poured out a small fortune in Galleons on the counter top, enough to pay for more than half the store's stock.
"Ever the noble one," Grey Eyes taunted easily, but there was no rancor in the words.
"I have no intention of stocking my own stores," Severus retorted, now flitting amongst the shelves and taking what he needed. "They must have money to buy more. I would have gladly walked in and done this legally and without the pomp and circumstance of this foolishness. Besides, the Order will be here soon."
"Dumbledore's unlikely army is hardly a threat," Grey Eyes discounted idly, and Lily felt a flare of indignation. Unlikely, true, but they had caused damage to Voldemort's army – it was almost painful to hear them summarily dismissed.
"Be that as it may, pitched battle is never the best option. Make yourself useful and get her out before they arrive," Severus snapped, jerking his head at Lily.
"Spinner's End?"
"Merlin, no! That's no place for a child." A beat, and then, "Your Manor."
"You must be daft!" Grey Eyes sputtered.
"Your wife is out of town, which will save you unnecessary explanations, and if you were going to kill her, you'd have done it already. You know she can't get out of here with the anti-Apparition spells cloaking the place. And Draco could use the company."
"You almost done in there?" Lily could see a burst of fire through the window and Gladrags Wizardwear went up in orange flames. "We've got some lovely Mudbloods all rounded up. Come join the fun, Lucius!" a voice called from outside, drifting through the partially-open door.
Lucius? Lucius Malfoy? she thought, feeling cold sink to the bottom of her stomach. Lucius Malfoy was one of Voldemort's generals, no common Death Eater, this man-
A black glove gripped her upper arm. "This is not going to be comfortable. Keep your hold on the boy," he ordered, and she barely had time to obey before they were squeezing through space in Side-Along Apparition...
...to emerge in a beautiful study lined with books and sparsely furnished, heavy green drapes obscuring the windows. Simultaneous thrills of fear and anticipation jolted through her. She had no idea where she was – probably the Manor Severus had suggested – and she felt, perhaps foolishly (but nevertheless, instinctively) that Lucius would do her no harm.
"I thought there were anti-Apparition wards?"
"There are. They are adjusted to allow those with the Dark Mark through, naturally, in case we needed support or wished to leave with prisoners."
"Is that what we are?" she asked boldly.
He laughed, removed his mask and absently pulled out the black ribbon that had tied back his too-identifiable blond locks. "Of course not. For one, Severus would kill me...and for another..." he turned back to her, but his eyes were only for her son. Almost as if enchanted, he reached up to touch the boy's skin. Harry considered him seriously as the slender fingers brushed his round cheek, as if reserving judgement on this man.
"You will not harm me because I am a mother."
He gave her a sharp glance, dropping his hand. "Make no mistake, Madam, we have killed plenty of families from all walks of life, and I have slain mothers and children alike." He swallowed bitterly and admitted, "But it has become much more distasteful after the birth of my own. I spare them, now, whenever I can."
Both disgust and sympathy welled in her at this revelation. She was revolted by the knowledge of his activities, and oddly warmed that the aristocrat's personal experience had wrought a fundamental change in him.
"May I see him?" she asked quietly. With a name like Draco, she hoped it was a boy.
A moment of hesitation, and then he shook his head. "No. It would not be wise. You should leave. This house..." he sighed. "I will lower the Apparition wards tied to my bloodline. It is safest if you go directly from this room. Much of the manor is booby-trapped against one with your blood."
She looked momentarily startled, and then embittered as she understood. "Muggle-borns," she said flatly.
"I am a prominent member of a Pureblood movement," he countered quietly. "Of course."
"What prevents me from turning you in once I go?" she asked suddenly.
"Your sense of Gryffindor honor," he replied immediately. "I have spared you and your son twice. You will not throw that in my face."
He was right. Lily abruptly hated him for it. The Death Eaters were the enemy, and they did the members of the Order a favor by hiding behind their masks. Human beings did not inhabit the midnight-colored robes and bone-white face coverings, they were demons. Better to think of them as inhuman...
...not as those with their own families, their own cares, their own deeply-held beliefs. Easier if they could not love or hate, feel joy and despair, or be capable of acts of justice, gentleness and mercy.
A flick of his wand, an unspoken shimmer of power throbbing in the room, a nod of his head. She could go.
"Do endeavor not to be in the next place we raid," he told her as she steadied herself to go, and she was surprised to see a glimmer of humor there.
Out of all context with what he was and what he did, Lily returned the sentiment, surprised by the depth of feeling that went into it. "Keep yourself safe," she bid him quietly.
And Disapparated.
888
Lucius scanned the crowd desperately as the searing of his Mark faded. They had perhaps five minutes before the Death Eaters descended and the Ministry Pentecost Ball was thrown into complete disarray. Five minutes to find her. Five minutes to get his son out.
Narcissa had already vanished to don the robes and mask that would conceal her identity. Sometimes, she was nearly as fanatical as her half-crazy sister...
There! A flash of those beautiful red-gold tresses, a glance of those sparkling eyes. Lily Potter stood with a group of people Lucius couldn't name, and as he made his way over to her – just barely collected enough not to arouse suspicion – she caught his eye, and raised her eyebrows.
"Mrs. Potter," he said shortly, snatching up her hand and bowing over it in a semblance of centuries-old courtesy. "May I have the honor of this next dance?"
He could see the puzzlement in her eyes as she acquiesced and he twirled her out to the floor. He couldn't blame her. They had deliberately avoided each other at the few social functions they had attended in common, knowing that if anyone else discovered their peculiar connection, both were lost. She as a Death Eater spy, he as a Mudblood sympathizer.
"What is it?" she asked breathlessly as their feet automatically danced the steps.
"The Death Eaters are coming. Draco is here in the nursery. Take him away from here."
Lily caught her breath in horror. "Here? Now? With all the children-"
"Yes here, yes now, yes with all of them present and everyone unprepared. This is the perfect opportunity for him – and you must get my son out! Take them to the kitchen in the manor."
"Them?"
"You aren't going to leave Harry behind, are you?" he snapped in reply. They had reached the far edge of the square, closest to the room where the littlest children were playing, watched over by a few very attentive house-elves. It was traditional to bring one's children to the semi-formal summer ball so that, at least once a year as they matured, they were exposed to the Ministry of Magic and a vast assemblage of their own kind.
The perfect opportunity. Voldemort had a distinct flare for turning the realms of concentrated innocence in the wizarding world – St. Mungo's, Hogsmeade, the Ministry – into bloodbaths. She realized bitterly that it was hardly surprising that tonight should rank amongst them.
"Don't run," Lucius murmured in her ear, allowing the closeness of the dance to cover his betrayal. "You must keep your cool. And don't come back through here – you should be able to Floo directly into the kitchen. It's Wiltshire Manor." Then he was practically pushing her off the dance floor, and Lily was moving as quickly as she could without causing a panic, wishing that watches were deemed a 'lady-like' accessory. She had no idea how long she had to get the boys and find the fireplace...
Into the nursery, a swift smile to the House-elves and she gathered up her own son, Harry burbling at her happily. He was almost a year old, and was proving to be quite loquacious. Now...Lucius's son...
Worry choked her as she realized that she'd never so much as seen a photograph, and then she spied a head of white-blond hair crawling determinedly over the carpet. When the boy raised his head, she could see eyes of a pure storm-grey. If this wasn't Lucius' boy, she'd take the Mark.
She stepped over to him and grabbed him up as well. He eyed her suspiciously, all too well aware that this was certainly not his own mother, but she was grateful that he did not strike at her or burst into tears.
She turned to face the house-elf in change and crouched suddenly. "You have a magic all your own, yes?"
The little creature blinked. "What does Miss need?" she asked in a wobbly voice.
"Seal this room with whatever power you possess. The Death Eaters are coming – they must not get their hands on these children."
"Miss..." breathed the small creature, large eyes almost popping with terror.
"They must not. The Floo?" A brittle finger pointed towards the main chamber, the tiny elf unable to speak.
"Thank you." Lily spared her a half-smile and darted down the corridor until she found herself in the entrance hall, golden statues glinting eerily in the dim, after-hours light. The wizard assigned to guard duty saw her and lifted a lazy hand to wave goodnight before returning to his perusal of the Prophet. Lily considered him, thought of the undefended hall and the close to a thousand people in the ballroom oblivious to the danger about to descend on them. Could she warn them? Surely it was her duty...
Time was short and she owed Lucius. She had to get Draco and Harry out...
She was too late. The fireplaces began roaring green, and the black robes of their dearest enemies rapidly filled the hall. The guard wizard's paper had been ignited in his hands with the first wave and he howled as they advanced, firing curses playfully, their laughter bouncing back off marble walls to overlay and echo maddeningly.
"Going somewhere?" hissed the one who had just stepped out of the fireplace closest to her. "Shame, Mudblood, that you got caught before you could run."
Lily backed away. She couldn't reach her wand with a boy on each hip, and she had but a pinch of powder...
"Please," she begged, slowly taking steps backwards, straining her ears. "Please, I have two children..."
"I can see that. But don't worry. I'm not heartless. They won't suffer." He paused and chuckled cruelly. "Much."
Another step, and another. She had to keep begging. Had to keep talking. Just keep his attention engaged on her. The terror twisting her insides told her it wouldn't be much of an acting job.
"They're completely helpless. Please, sir, I beg of you, do what you want with me," she pitched in the formal address for good measure, could see the gloating in his narrow eyes, "but don't hurt my boys."
A flicker of orange in the corner of her vision...
"Maybe," he said smugly. "If you would agree to be a good little Mudblood whore-"
A toss of her wrist, the flames blared green and she darted for the fire. Her assailant was quick and seized her, but she was fast enough to place both boys in the flames, hoping they wouldn't inhale too much ash even as the Death Eater began to jerk her backwards, away from her salvation.
"Wiltshire Manor Kitchens," she whispered hoarsely, praying the man now twisting her arm could not hear her. Both babies began to spin and vanished. An unlikely sense of relief bubbled up within her. They were safely away. Hopefully the house-elves at the manor would retrieve them from the fire...
A blow connected with her jaw, sending her reeling backwards. "Stupid bitch," the man sneered viciously, seizing her hair and bending her neck back in preparation to backhand her again. "Saving your precious children. It's not going to do you any good." He struck her again, grabbing the wand she was fumbling for and throwing it across the hall before forcing her to her knees.
Lily felt her legs folding under her, blood flowing freely from her nose, unable to focus her vision as pain ratcheted through the bones of her face. The horror stories of what Death Eaters did to their female victims pushed themselves to the forefront of her mind, but she could not summon the strength to fight-
She felt a dead weight collapse on her back and she tumbled the rest of the way to the floor, limbs tangled awkwardly with those of her attacker. Another set of dark robes entered her vision and she struggled to right herself, to Summon her wand-
"When will you stop getting yourself into trouble?" whispered Lucius as he scooped her off the floor, glancing around as he straightened, holding her in his arms as if she weighed nothing.
"Draco?"
"Gone," she sighed against his chest. "He and Harry – to the Manor..."
Lucius Accio'ed her wand, and squeezing darkness enveloped her next, and then the bright, cheerful lamps of the kitchens in the Malfoy ancestral home.
Lucius glanced down at the woman he cradled. Her nose had likely been broken in the assault, and it was bleeding freely, but there seemed to be no spell damage, so she would recover with a little time and rest. He rested his hand on her nose and wandlessly healed the break, wiping the blood away with his sleeve. He looked up from where he had emerged in the middle of his kitchen, looking for his son-
-all three house-elves were rushing about two boys who looked slightly sooty, quite surprised and none the worse for wear for their near-death experience and solitary travel through the Floo network. In fact, the two started busily blowing raspberries at each other as the house-elves doted on them and attempted to clean them up.
A rush of emotion, primal and overpowering, swept over the aristocrat. The young woman in his arms had almost certainly known that she was sacrificing her life when she placed both boys in the fire and faced his colleague on her own. Once again, luck had played its part in their lives and spared her, but she could not have known, or expected, that he would arrive. He had been unsure what prompted his arrival in the hall himself – perhaps the overwhelming need to see his son safely away...
...and maybe concern for her. For her unerring knack of getting into trouble. For her rabid defense of her son that meant she would rather die than see him touched.
He had mocked Gryffindors all of his life, but her bravery and selflessness startled and touched him. She was fire where Narcissa was ice, wild where his wife was tame. She had not turned him in, in spite of her knowledge of his activities, holding true to the honor that was a trademark of her house.
And she had risked everything to save his son.
As she opened her emerald-bright eyes, registering where she was and who was holding her, Lucius lowered his head without thinking and touched her mouth with his, wondering what it was like to drink of the life force she emanated so strongly.
His mouth was warm, and tentative in spite of the hunger Lily could sense there. She slid her hand up into his fine, silky hair, pulling him in, encouraging him wordlessly to surrender to his appetite and devour her fully instead of nibbling daintily. The surprise she should have felt, the guilt, the revulsion, did not make an appearance. Right now, she was not the wife of James Potter, member of the Order of the Phoenix, and he was not the right-hand man of Voldemort. She was the woman who had brought Draco to safety and he was the man who had rescued her.
Again.
She had expected to die in the Ministry, and waking to find her nose sore but healed, in the arms of the aristocrat was a welcome change of circumstance. Adrenaline still spiked her blood, feeding a sudden flush of arousal brought on by the pliant mouth and she tugged at him wordlessly, wanting more.
He seated himself on a rough wooden table-top, shifting her to fully sit in his lap as he withdrew and brought a handkerchief from his pocket to blot away the few crimson streaks still painting her face. She captured his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm in a gesture of pure gratitude and he sought her lips again, one hand pulling her elegant curls away from her face, crushing hours worth of preparation for the ball in his fingers, splaying the other on her back to keep her from sliding off his knees.
His next kiss was scorching, sending a shiver of fire through her nerves to pool in her lower body, and Lily could feel wetness there, even as she could feel his erection growing against her thigh through his heavy robes. He suddenly rose, bringing her with him, and she could see lust disturbing the cool of his gaze, and felt her face heat in response.
He did not say anything, and, indeed, he didn't need to. This dance was as old as humanity itself – those who kissed death frenziedly sought the intimacy of life, needing the release and reassurance that the veil had not claimed them. He strode from the kitchen, still carrying her like a storybook hero, and ascended a spiral staircase, emerging in a traditionally sumptuous room dominated by a large bed. He bent to graze her neck with his lips, sending another dancing tendril of flame down her spine. When he reached her ear, he murmured, "We stop now or at the end, Lily. What do you desire?" His tongue slowly, deliberately traced the outside shell of her ear and she stifled a groan, knowing what she should say, unable to deny herself.
Instead, she arched into him, allowing her body to give her answer. He chuckled, the rich sound rumbling through her where she snuggled against his chest, and lay her on the bed.
888
"Lucius?"
Her voice sounded tired, lackluster, defeated. He rolled to face her, concern darkening his eyes as he reached for her, brushing wild locks away from her face. The faraway look in her eyes made her...old.
"Yes, Lily?"
"Promise me something?"
He stiffened next to her. Promises were slippery things. He had promised himself to the Dark Lord, only now to fear that the man would destabilize the world so badly that it would be safe for no one. He had sworn himself to Narcissa under a white canopy, and now he lay next to this woman, feeling not the tiniest bit of guilt or remorse for his tattered vow of fidelity and, in fact, grateful that his wife was out.
His delicate partner was staying with the Lestranges yet again, needing the mind-numbing fanaticism of her older sister to soothe her nerves after the assault on the village of Godric's Hollow today. Though Lily had not been present, Lucius had known that she would come to him this evening. Several of the Order members had been badly wounded, and though he had not had to rescue her since that evening at the Ministry, she never failed to arrive at the manor after a horrifying reminder of their own mortality had shoved itself under her nose.
He did not love her, and held no illusions that she loved him. In spite of his broken marriage pledge, he was fully devoted to his consummate Slytherin wife, she to her completely Gryffindor husband.
But their fascination could not be ignored, and he knew that they cared for one another in a way that could not be described as healthy, but was, undeniably, genuine. Here in the manor they transcended the masks they wore for other people. With Lily spread beneath him or riding him or even playing with Draco and her son, Lucius the aristocrat, the Death Eater, the wealthy patron and blood purist disappeared. And she was not Lily Potter, wife of a man regarded by many as a hero, a member of the opposite side, a woman who embodied everything he stood against. He was a man, she a woman, and their mutual love for their children was a bond more significant than any magical or ideological tie.
It was this Lucius who finally answered. "If I can."
Her eyes were glossed with tears as she locked them on his face. "Please..." she whispered. "Please, if anything happens to the Order, if Voldemort wins...swear you'll take care of Harry? Promise me you'll raise my son with your Draco? And give him all the love and devotion I know you have for your own?" The weight of her forlorn desperation rocked through him and he suddenly realized that he had never thought about the war ending. They had been embroiled for so long now, he since he had graduated from Hogwarts eight years ago, that it was normal. Make an offensive, retreat, enjoy the panic, strike again. It was the formula by which he lived his life.
But one day it would end. One side would stand victorious. And he realized that, with an almost childish naivete, he and Lily could not both be winners. They stood at polar opposite ends of the spectrum. Searching the empty exhaustion that had consumed her face, he knew that she expected the Dark to triumph.
The thought brought him no joy, but a renewed pit of pain. This is not life, he reminded himself harshly. This is a stolen season. You cannot expect her to come to your bed for the next sixty years.
"You have my word." And if his master lost... "As long as you swear to me in turn that Draco shall have your support, love and place in your home should we lose."
"I would not have it any other way," she answered fiercely, and wrapped her arms around him, tucking her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes.
When the gentle rhythm of her breathing told him she was asleep, he slowly pulled his hands through the hair he loved so. It really was her best feature, although she was a beautiful witch in many respects.
A stolen season. The war was increasing in pace. He did not know if they would ever have this uninterrupted chance again.
But they had completed something this evening, and Lucius was surprised to feel lighter. If the Dark fell and he and his wife were both sentenced to prison, Draco would not suffer for their crimes. If the Light collapsed and his lover were executed, her son would be raised a loyal adherent to the Dark Lord, partaking of the special privileges granted to Lucius' illustrious line.
Either way, the boys were safe.
888
"Was Azkaban informative?" Narcissa asked as Lucius entered her sitting room. Her husband shook his head wearily.
"Black knows nothing of where our master might have gone, or if he could have survived." Truth mixed with lies. But he could hardly have told his wife of the true motive for his visit to the isle. "It did, however, impress upon me how grateful I am for our deep coffers – and Cornelius Fudge's eagerness to see his pet projects advance." He shivered and dropped a casual kiss on the top of Narcissa's head. "I shudder to think of you in there, my love."
"Indeed." She was still for a moment, and then turned her blue eyes up to his. "Perhaps it is for the best...that our master is gone, I mean." Permanently. The word hung in the air between them.
"Oh?" he answered politely.
"Yes," she said softly. "After all, the world is safer now, and we have Draco to consider. I will feel better knowing that his childhood will not be punctuated by the activities of the Death Eaters."
"Quite," Lucius answered abstractly, a peculiar tugging at his heart. They should have two sons. The blond pride of his heart and the bouncy, messy-haired, jade-eyed son of Lily Potter...
The Boy Who Lived. An infant celebrity. A child who had disappeared. The promise, a remembrance of her, he could not keep.
"Lucius? Is something wrong?"
He focused back on the worried gaze of his wife and stretched his mouth into a credible imitation of his arrogant smile.
"You know the Dementors, love, they always leave one drained. It's nothing."
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A/N: Thank you for reading! As usual, all ideas are welcome, please pitch some my way! It might take me a while to get inspired, but I intend to write a piece for every request I have received.
Reddy: Wow. Thank you so much for your last review. It was really touching to know that someone has been watching my writing evolve - I feel like it has come a long way with practice, but your comments were wonderful to read.
Excessivelyperky and DanniV: Thank you for reading - I seem to be into bittersweet these days! And thank you, Perky, for catching my mistake with the flora and fauna...that's what I get for not having a beta...