DISCLAIMER : Some characters and events described in this chapter are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this story, which exists as a work of tribute.
3: Lucius latent
Cobby hobbled along the corridor that led from the spacious kitchens to the drawing room, where her master and mistress had elected to have breakfast this morning. It had not lifted the mood of the head of the grand house of Malfoy to find the morning paper missing. In a bout of his admirable temper, he had barked at his unworthy servant so irritably, that said servant had been so clumsy as to sprain his ankle while fleeing the room. Now, he was eager to pacify his rightfully offended master – the owl had finally made its delivery.
His head covered by the large silver tray he held above it, the elf hurried to Mr. Malfoy's side. 'The Friday Prophet, sir,' he squeaked.
'About time.' Lucius Malfoy snatched the paper off the silver platter and perused the front page. His cold eyes skimmed the articles; then he gruffly turned to page two.
The past four years had not been satisfactory for the proud man. He had been defeated by a group of wannabe-wizards in 1996 and had subsequently been incarcerated in Azkaban, a low blow to his high self-esteem. Yet it was not to be the last one. The Dark Lord was not contented with punishments exerted by others; therefore, he had shamelessly sent Lucius' only son and heir to his assets and bloodline into mortal danger by forcing him to plot against the foolhardy, but nevertheless powerful Dumbledore. This had caused Malfoy senior to question his allegiances for the first time.
Lucius understood that he had betrayed the Dark Lord's trust, that he had acted dishonourably by not fulfilling the task that had been appointed to him in the battle at the Department of Mysteries, but why did the Dark Lord wilfully risk the extinction of one of the greatest and oldest lines in pureblood society? Had they not been united in the fight for pureblood supremacy? Still, Draco, spoilt child that he was, although Lucius of course was loath to admit that, had had a chance yet to redeem his family's honour.
His son failed him. And so Lucius, even though he was freed from prison, had had to endure martyrdom beyond reckoning. What a disgrace had it been to be treated like a lesser servant in his own house! How deeply shameful to be rid of his wand in the presence of those that once had looked up to him in awe!
Silently in retrospective, Lucius was wondering sometimes why the Dark Lord had bothered with him at all after robbing him of his wand. What use was a wizard without it? It almost seemed fortunate that the Dark Lord had not seen fit to dispose of the eldest Malfoy. Perhaps he had, despite everything, foreseen a use for his qualities some time in the future?
In the end, it mattered not. Lucius' former master had gone too far. Whatever use he might have had for him, it surely was not fit for a Malfoy, and could in no way have made up for the utter humiliation the fair-haired family had suffered at his hand. Mr and Mrs Malfoy had already silently agreed after the escape of the Potter boy and his friends from Malfoy Manor that they would seize the opportunity should an opening present itself to aid the Order in their aim to vanquish the Dark Lord. They had to ensure themselves, and above all their son, a safe future.
Just when they had thought that everything was over, that opening had presented itself. Lucius had felt a wave of despair wash over him when Narcissa had confirmed that Potter was dead. Their last hope had passed away, or so it looked. Yet then the Dark Lord had been defeated.
At the end of everything, Lucius had been void of any strong emotion. All he felt whilst staring into the Great Hall of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where the dead lay mingled with the wounded and the mourners, a scene of despair spreading out in front of him, was silent relief to know that everything was over and his family had survived, as well as a muted worry about what was going to come, now. Would jurisdiction hold him to account for what Bellatrix had done to Potter's mudblood friend, and for holding Ollivander and the others captive? Surely they would re-apprehend him to serve the rest of the sentence he had received for the Department of Mysteries disaster.
Yet nothing of the kind came to pass. Potter, the fool, in point of fact attested to the Malfoys' renunciation of their previous allegiances and pleaded for them to be freed of all charges!
Lucius had thanked him and silently called him a fool.
However, since then, the Malfoys treaded very carefully. They were painfully aware that the values they upheld were not popular anymore, and they had lost the social standing that would have enabled them to change that. His new position did not please Lucius Malfoy. Many of his old acquaintances were dead or confined to Azkaban for the rest of their lives; there were few people to socialise with. The Ministry, in the process of reformation and headed by a member of Dumbledore's pitiable order, had lost its usefulness for him. What remained were long, eventless days in the Manor or in one of his other estates. The reprieve had even been welcome for a while after the Dark Lord's demise. Yet, lately Lucius felt restless and agitated. He was forty-six, still a young man by wizard reckoning! He needed a task in life, a goal. Even his wife had commenced commenting on his moods of late, which meant they were worse than he wanted to admit to himself. Narcissa was reticent when it came to openly criticising her husband. She knew her place. If she felt it was in order to point his cranky mood out to him, it must be severe.
Lucius Malfoy sipped his strong morning coffee while he leafed through the paper. An article on page five caught his eye.
Hectic movement at Number twelve, Grimmauld Place, the headline read.
As an anonymous informant told Daily Prophet reporter Albert Trebla yesterday evening, grand renovation and home remodelling works are presently undertaken at Number twelve, Grimmauld Place.
The old townhouse has once been residence of an ancient pureblood family that is extinct since the death of its last descendant, Sirius Black. Black had been falsely accused of betraying Lilly and James Potter's whereabouts to He Who Must Not be Named alias Lord Voldemort and the murder of twelve Muggles and one wizard during the first war (see earlier issues of the Daily Prophet for detailed coverage of the events). After a mysterious escape from Azkaban Prison, Black came to death in the Battle of the Ministry in 1996 before he could be cleared of all charges.
Number twelve, Grimmauld Place, gained public attention when after the war it was revealed to have served as Headquarters of the famous Order of the Phoenix from some time in 1995 onwards. Protected by a strong Fidelius Charm (a charm that prevents from passing on any information of the place's location), it grew unsafe after the - as we now know – voluntary death of Albus Dumbledore, former headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, owner of an Order of Merlin, First Class, and longstanding Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards as well as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, in 1997.
Despite that, Harry Potter and his faithful companions used the house once more as hideout for several weeks during that year. It was here that they planned their risky infiltration of the Ministry of Magic during which they managed to not only obtain one of Lord Voldemort's Horcruxes (a Horcrux is a dark magic object that contains a part of a soul) but also rescue a number of muggleborn witches and wizards from the unjust jurisdiction of the Death Eater regime.
In his retelling of the tale (see Daily Prophet issue from June 1st 1998), Harry Potter described Grimmauld Place as an unwelcoming, decayed place that was filled with dark magic objects. It seems that now he has decided to have it reworked.
The question that literally forces itself onto the tip of one's quill, now, is why Mr. Potter, who has finished the Auror training programme a few months ago and is Minister Shacklebolt's right hand in the reformation of the Ministry of Magic, would choose to take care of the house that he inherited from his godfather Sirius Black in 1996 now of all times. The young, highly admired wizard is known to share a roomy flat with his girlfriend Ginny Weasley, famous chaser with the Holyhead Harpies, in Diagon Alley. Speculations have long circulated concerning the question when the young couple will formalise their liaison by entering the state of holy matrimony. Is this new development a sign for further changes? Do Mr Potter and Miss Weasley perhaps even spend thoughts on family planning?
The article continued in that fashion for a few further paragraphs, but Lucius Malfoy had read enough for his taste. So, now the Potter boy was settling in at an old, traditional house like Grimmauld Place, undoubtedly turning it upside down with no regard for the old wizard customs that were still inherent in it. He dropped the paper and leaned back in mild disgust. What was Britain degenerating to?
The soft tap of a bird on one of the many French windows that framed the room pulled the Malfoys out of their silence. Since the House Elf had left the room, Narcissa rose to open the window herself. The owl was most likely meant for her anyway – Lucius rarely received letters these days, whereas she still maintained a wide correspondence with a number of important pureblood families all over Europe. These days, her intents were mainly to find a suitable match for Draco, but keeping in contact with similar minds also eased her own loneliness, the thing her husband so suffered from.
'A letter from France?' her husband inquired in an indifferent tone.
Narcissa returned to the table while unrolling the small piece of parchment. Her fine eyebrows rose in a look of mild surprise as she sat down, her eyes perusing the page. 'No,' she answered eventually, 'it is a letter from Mr Potter.' Ever since their virtual tête à tête in the Forbidden Forrest, Lucius' wife chose to refer to the boy with a carefully polite address, giving credit to the kindness he had imparted on them. He knew that Narcissa had not changed her opinion about the young wizard's lack of social mannerisms, she merely did what, loath as Lucius was to admit it, was best in their situation. She adapted her behaviour to be in accord with the present public opinion, the aforementioned event making the deed admittedly easier for her. Secretly, Lucius appreciated the virtuousness of his wife. She did what he could not. His pride had been hurt too deeply to just let it go and start over. Not if it meant to humbly become 'friends' with the people that threatened to expel every single thing from this society that Lucius valued most.
'Potter? What does he want from us?' Malfoy senior had always been glad not to be bothered by the upstart.
His wife passed him the letter. 'He asks for permission to visit us.'
Lucius peered disbelievingly at his wife for a moment. Then he dropped his gaze to the parchment. Indeed, there, in spidery handwriting, Harry Potter had signed his name under the curt enquiry to be allowed to Floo to the Manor late this afternoon.
'Well,' he collected himself, 'since this is expressly addressed to you…' He handed the letter back.
Narcissa rose and went over to her escritoire, where she retrieved one of her finely decorated sheets of notepaper – a stark contrast to the cheap parchment that Potter had used – and wrote the answer that she fastened to the still waiting owl.
'I assume you have agreed?'
'Offending Harry Potter would hardly be prudent.' Of course, Lucius knew that there was more going on in the clever mind of his wife, but if she chose not to relate it to him, she had her reasons.
.~*~.
Lucius had temporarily contemplated to withdraw to his study while Potter pranced – or more likely: stumbled – over the crème-coloured onyx marble of the entrance hall and the corridors of Malfoy Manor to eventually slouch in one of the high-backed mahogany armchairs in the drawing room or the library. He almost felt sorry that the young man had had no parents to teach him some manners when he thought about his entire lack thereof. Almost.
In the end, Lucius had decided in favour of joining his wife. He was going to finally overcome his reluctance and follow his own advice that he had given his son at a very early age already – that it was not prudent to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of their kind regarded him as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear… -that carried more truth than ever. Lucius had licked the wounds of his pride for two years, now it was time to find back to his old posture, even though he was not yet sure how to achieve that under the new circumstances.
The young Mr Potter did – as expected – show no grace as he exited the large fireplace in the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor. Out of the corner of his eye, Lucius saw one of the house elves – apart from his personal elf's he had never cared to learn their names, that was Narcissa's field of responsibility – frown and hurry off to fetch dust pan and brush to render the marble soot-free again.
Potter shook hands with Narcissa; Lucius merely inclined his head.
'Mr Malfoy,' he was greeted wearily.
'Shall we move to the drawing room?' Narcissa proposed and motioned for Potter to join her. 'I have ordered Swinty to serve tea.' She went ahead, Potter followed her, and Lucius moved in their wake. He could see that Potter was uncomfortable in his presence by the stiff way in which he walked.
They seated themselves and Narcissa poured them tea into the finest china. How would Potter react if he knew that two years ago, the Dark Lord had sat in the same place, drinking from the same tableware? Perhaps he was aware – after all, he had 'visited' at the time.
'May we enquire as to the purpose of your visit, Mr Potter?' Lucius finally prompted the young wizard to state his business.
'Uhm, yes of course,' Potter stuttered inarticulately. 'I sort of have a problem that I hoped you could help me with.'
Lucius raised a sharply arched brow. So now his fame had truly risen to the boy's head. What made him think he had the right to ask for favours?
'We will need more details to determine if we are able to assist you,' Narcissa said in contrast to her husband's silent indignation, once more displaying her diplomatic skills.
'It… It's about your cousin. Regulus Black.'
Narcissa allowed herself a look of mild surprise. 'Regulus? What problem could you have that involves him? Did you not say yourself in the Daily Prophet that he was dead?'
'That's it! He clearly is, but someone runs around claiming he is Regulus! I can't tell how he does it, but he manages to convince! I was hoping that you as people who have known the real Regulus could take a look at this man and testify that he's an impostor.'
Lucius took a biscuit, dipped it into his tea and savoured its taste. 'If I may, I am wondering why you are taking an interest in the matter.'
'Because Sirius was my godfather, and I don't want to see his inheritance in the hands of a cheat!' said the young 'hero' in indignation.
'Ah,' Lucius said knowledgeably and leaned back with his teacup in his hand. 'You were his heir, were you not?' Of course, Malfoy senior knew that only too well, but feigning disinterest had its advantages.
Potter breathed in deeply and showed a better control of his temper when he replied in a calmer tone, 'That's not the point. I don't need my godfather's money. I just do not want to see his inheritance in the hands of someone who did not car about him.' He held Lucius' gaze.
'Yet that cannot happen in any case, can it?' Narcissa contributed to the conversation, the questioning tone of her voice directed at her husband who had more detailed knowledge of legal affairs than she had. 'There are infallible means to determine a person's right to an inheritance, after all.'
Lucius nodded in agreement.
Potter, however, shook his head. 'I told you, he has hoodwinked everyone. He must have gotten hold of Regulus' wand, somehow, and must have thought of a very good story to explain how he managed to stay alive – he fooled both Gringotts and the Ministry!' He emptied his cup with one big gulp and put it down on its delicate saucer.
'The wand verification is not what I meant,' she said. 'The authorities may verify whomever they think is Regulus, but that will not make him the true heir. The only foolproof method is to ask the house elves that belong to the assets.'
Lucius smirked. House elves!
Potter's face in contrast lightened up like the face of a child at the sight of the year's pile of Christmas presents.
How could he have forgotten that? It was, after all, how Dumbledore had Harry test if he truly was Sirius' rightful heir only weeks after his godfather's death! There it was, the proof! 'You're right! Regulus' old elf, Kreacher, he wanted to join you after Sirius' death, thought you were his true masters' – in truth, the creature had wanted to kiss Bellatrix Lestrange's feet, but Harry thought it was better not to mention the name of Mrs Malfoy's sister – ', but he couldn't when I forbid it. I sent him off to work at Hogwarts instead and he was forced to do what I told him! That proves it! Regulus can't be alive, can he? Or else, Kreacher would neither have listened to me nor to Sirius!'
'Have you seen this man already?' Lucius was interested to learn.
Potter shook his head. 'He's always a step ahead of me. But he shouldn't be too hard to find. He seems eager to move into Grimmauld Place as fast as possible. The craftswizards were hired the same day that Gringotts forced me to hand back the key to the house.'
That explained the newspaper report, Lucius combined. However, they had now proven already that Regulus was without any doubt deceased; there was no reason for Potter to linger. Lucius rose and held out his hand. 'Mr. Potter.'
Befuddled, the young wizard stood up as well and, after some weary hesitation, briefly shook his hand.
'My wife and I are delighted to have been of assistance to you. Now that you know how to prove your point to the Ministry, I do not think you have any further need of it,' said the master of the manor in answer to his guest's facial expression.
'Right,' Potter murmured and said a quick good-bye before a house elf guided him back to the floo.
.~*~.
The evening of the following day, a white-blond wizard sat in front of a flickering fire, swivelling a glass of fine wine in his left hand. Initially, Lucius had regarded the matter as settled. Someone had tried to hoodwink Potter. That was it. What happened now, was of no interest to him. However, over the course of the day, his mind had continually reeled back to the previous afternoon's conversation.
Who was so bold as to impersonate Regulus Black, of all people? A former Death Eater that had betrayed the Dark Lord and was now a celebrated war hero! And in this manner! An impostor that moved into Number twelve, Grimmauld Place – that did not make any sense.
A log slipped off the pile in the fireplace and set off a stream of sparkles.
With a resolute thud, Lucius Malfoy placed his glass on the table beside his armchair and rose. 'Cobby!'
The house elf appeared immediately and bowed low.
'Bring my travelling cloak,' his master commanded while he walked towards the entrance hall. Once he was properly dressed and had taken care of the faint trace of alcohol that permeated his breath with a quick spell, he stepped outside and Apparated.
Thanks to Potter's new found love for the press, all of Wizarding Britain knew where the old Black townhouse and former seat of the Order of the Phoenix was situated. With his interview, the Fidelius Charm that good old Dumbledore had placed on it had lost its effect.
Mr Malfoy had Apparated to a dark, not very welcoming side alley that led off Grimmauld Square the way he had always done in his younger years when visiting one of the Black Family's social events. When he stepped up the street and halted in front of the hedge between Numbers eleven and thirteen, Number twelve immediately started to push its way into being. This concealment had been placed upon the house in the time of Orion Black and had nothing to do with Dumbledore's added charms. It was a display of the enormous wealth of the Black Family that they had been able to afford this complete removal of any trace of their existence from the Muggle world as well as a testimony of how important it was in their esteem to distance themselves as far as possible from their unworthy neighbours. The Black Family was one of the purest and proudest wizarding families known in all of Europe, and Lucius Malfoy had been delighted to find a perfect match in Narcissa. He had been revolted at the sight of the shabby state in which the house had been on the photographs that had accompanied Potter's lengthy interview.
Now, however, the head of the Malfoy Family was positively surprised by the sight that greeted him. Were the houses in the neighbourhood grey and shabby, Number twelve's fortified lower front was painted in a fresh white and the finer brick slip cladding of the upper storeys had been renewed. Its roof was still in need of repair, but its entrance had been replaced with a finely carved door in dark green that was surrounded by a white frame that gave the whole place a more welcoming look than it had ever held as long as Lucius Malfoy had known it.
He took the worn steps and seized the silver doorknocker. The serpents that formed it looked at him suspiciously, but refrained from biting him when they spotted the Malfoy signet ring that adorned his hand. Two brisk knocks; then the visitor took a step back and waited, mildly curious as to who would greet him.
After a moment's wait, the door opened a crack and an old house elf peered grimly up at him. However, his face lit up an instant later, and the door was opened wider. 'Master Malfoy!' He stepped aside and motioned for the guest to enter. 'Master Regulus is in the library, if you would follow me,' the elf said in a dark, raspy voice. Did he not know this creature? Was that not the very elf that had supplied Narcissa with insider information of the Order? Regulus' old elf? You could never quite know with these creatures. One looked like the other. And yet, Lucius believed that he recognised this particular specimen due to its outstandingly ghastly appearance.
That would mean… Lucius Malfoy's interest peaked. Could it be?
The hallway was covered with a tapestry in mint green that was permeated with fine silver ornaments that swirled around every of the recently replaced lamps. More noticeable were the glass blocks that sat in the walls to both sides of the hallway in irregular intervals and permitted daylight to trickle into what before had been a dark, intimidating place. All in all, it seemed, the new owner of the house made a point of giving it a lighter, friendlier atmosphere. Nevertheless, all the old paintings of Black ancestors still adorned the walls (some apparently in new frames), and the reworked lamps still held their serpentine ornaments.
Led by the elf, Lucius Malfoy reached the end of the hallway, where a set of ebony doors to the right formed the entrance to the library that once had held a famed collection of books on dark magic. Mr Malfoy could only guess at the havoc the Order had wreaked in it.
The elf knocked and entered the room while he waited outside. From his place, he could look up the stairs that still looked old and worn, yet the upper storeys lay in darkness. He took a deep breath and checked that his clothes were in order; then the heavy wooden doors swung open.
Lucius Malfoy's eyes widened fleetingly as their gaze fell upon his host. Slightly smaller than him, but well built and clad predominantly in black, there stood without any doubt the very person he had not expected to encounter this evening – or ever again. Lucius eyed him appraisingly, comparing his dim memories of a slight, quiet adolescent with the man that stood before him. He was not quite prepared for the situation. At the same time, he was given a likewise scrutiny by his host.
It took Regulus Black a moment to make up his mind. Then he broke out into a hesitant, reserved smile and extended his hand. 'Cousin,' he greeted him in a firm voice that spoke of a confident, controlled character – a definite difference to the Regulus that Lucius remembered. Yet who would expect to find a person unchanged after over twenty years?
They shook hands, their eyes still carefully surveying each other. 'I confess you have taken me off guard with your visit,' Regulus Black went on. 'I was not expecting any guests this soon.'
Lucius graced him with a mocking smile of his own. 'Despite the great stir you caused in the past week? That is a little naïve.'
'Perhaps so,' Mr. Black conceded with a rueful smile, his tone of voice indicating that he was not perturbed by his miscalculation. He fished with his fingers in an inner pocket of his robe and pulled a silver pocket watch out of it. 'I fear you have caught me in a position that leaves me unable to entertain you. I neither have the time nor the means' – with a movement of his eyes he indicated the stated of the house – 'to welcome you as the situation requires. I need to be back at work in a few minutes.'
Lucius noticed that the other men was clad in fire-repelling garments. He did not mind being temporarily turned away. He had been caught off guard himself, after all. 'What about lunch tomorrow at the Manor?' Lucius proposed, eager to learn more of the history of his lost cousin. If he truly returned to Britain that opened many potential opportunities for him…
Regulus Black shook his head. 'I cannot treat you so impolitely and then exploit your hospitality,' he turned Lucius' offer down. It was, of course, a diplomatic way of hiding his true reasons for not accepting the invitation. Malfoy senior was not pleased, but his cousin's subsequent proposal appeased him. 'When I explored Diagon Alley a few days ago, I noticed a very small but exquisite place for the more select taste, right next to Madame Malkin's. Let me treat you to lunch there.'
'Very well,' Lucius replied with a mild act of reluctance. 'Tomorrow at twelve o' clock?'
The other man inclined his head and offered his cousin his hand as in parting. He had a firm handshake. 'You can use the fireplace in the library, if you wish,' he annotated.
In light of the late hour and his alcohol consumption earlier, the lord of Malfoy Manor indeed welcomed the opportunity that saved him from the necessity of a second Apparation. Not that he would have admitted that. 'How have you found your parental home? With all these…' – Lucius checked his impulse to use an unflattering name and settled for a neutral term – 'strangers having walked in and out of this place in the past years, I was concerned they might not treat the family's heirlooms with the bidden respect.'
Cool grey eyes watched the owner of the house carefully as they entered the library. His reaction might reveal much about his sentiments. A twitching muscle that spoke of his tension or a too easy answer that said he had not paid attention to this matter.
Regulus, however, had perfected the Slytherin game of masks and veils and gave away nothing. 'A few items have disappeared, but that is nothing against the regrettable state the house is in,' he answered neutrally while holding a bowl of floo powder out to Lucius.
'Indeed,' Lucius replied and took a handful of the transportation agent. He recognised when his opponent was too vigilant to lure him out. 'Until tomorrow,' he said, activated the link to his home, and stepped into the flames.
Regulus Arcturus Black alias Régis Mørkskov took a controlled, deep breath while staring at the flames as thes turned from green back to their natural golden colour. So, it had commenced.
- End of Part 1 -
Notes concerning chapter 4
I was pondering for some time how Lucius Malfoy would act in the post-war society. Would he try to continue the way he always had, the kraken that had a tentacle extended into every matter of societal importance? Would he even be able to maintain this position, marked by his former allegiances as he is? Malfoy's influence sprung greatly from his wealth and the corruption within the Ministry. Now, however, there is an incorruptible man holding the position of Minister for Magic, and said man reforms the Ministry in ways that surely make it harder for Lucius to bribe influential people. Furthermore, the old pureblood beliefs that I am sure he still upholds, carry less and less weight in wizarding society. I could imagine that he feels almost like an outcast, offended by the utter disregard of his person and withdrawing to some degree because he cannot find a place in this new society. Think of the picture of the Malfoys huddled into a corner in the Great Hall at the end of the Final Battle…
cob = hazelnut
A quote from Grangerous: 'Did you ever wonder what I do right after posting the chapter each Wednesday afternoon? Well, I write. In fact, the biggest chunk of writing time each week happens right after I post the chapter because that's the point that I'm most obsessed with the story. I check the hits, I wait eagerly for reviews, and I sit here at my laptop in a minor frenzy and hope that people are not too disappointed. Now, you might think that it would be a distraction to get reviews then, but the reverse is true: they let me know whether people are interested in reading more and thus I produce more. Every review, no matter when it comes in the week, reminds me of the story and pushes me back towards writing it with a gently nudge.'
Perfectly true.