Chapter Ten : Fallout
"I should kill that Weasley for this," Lucius states, his voice as cold as death and just as unnatural. Of all the people who died in that Quidditch game, Draco's death may have very well been the worst to Lucius, and his Death Eaters will be the ones to pay for it in the end.
Percy stares at Lucius for several moments and pulls his black cloak tighter at his neck before responding. "Don't you dare touch a single hair on my brother's head." He doesn't look at Lucius as he speaks; he feels he doesn't need to to get his point across. Instead his attention is drawn out a glacial patterned window, where a lonely red-breasted robin sits upon a branch of a budding tree.
"If it wasn't for him . . ." Lucius shifts uneasily at the memory, crossing his right leg over his left, before deciding that the other way is more comfortable. Both Death Eaters sit around a circular table made purely from glass and steel, and the many windows enhancing the small chamber cast a bright light upon them.
"Draco would still be dead. All Fred did was break your wrist, and that's hardly worth an execution when I am around, Lucius. It was a small price to pay for what you did, and what you wanted to do!" Percy snaps, staring Lucius in his ice blue eyes as he leans forward with his elbows resting on the table. "Were you fool enough to believe that you could kill me, and it would justify your son's death?"
"Watch your tongue, Weasley."
"You watch your tongue, Lucius. Or I may just cut it out."
"With a spoon, I hope." And his mind soberly wanders back to his son. Without a word of a respectful good-bye, Percy stands to leave, slamming the door on his way out; it causes the room and any décor to clatter. Lucius sits alone in a heavy silence for nearly an hour, staring through the glass of the antique table, which used to be Draco's favourite when he was a child.
* * *
"Mister Weasley!" Pansy Parkinson calls as she rushes to catch up to Percy, who walks with purpose down the hall. Slightly out of breath, she places her hand over her chest and breathes in deeply through her nose. Tight blonde curls bounce just past her shoulders, and her copper eyes have lost their light since the events that took place this morning. "There is a Mister Charles Weasley who wishes to speak with you before he's taken back to Alpha. He's in the infirmary with Miss Penelope Clearwater. I'm surprised you haven't gone to see her yet." Penelope's welfare should have been Percy's first priority if he loves her as much as he says he does.
Percy sighs. "Lucius wished to speak with me first."
Pansy nods as she bites her lip, understanding all too well. "It is a terrible loss; Miss Chang has even locked herself in his quarters. She refuses to leave, crying hysterically that he promised to meet her after the match. Between sobs, all I heard was 'he would never stand me up. He will come.' I'd be with her now, but I've had my hands full with . . ."
Percy unexpectedly raises his hand to hush her. "Don't." The one thing he doesn't want to hear ever again is the bloodshed of that Quidditch match.
She averts her attention to the ground, ashamed at bringing up something as tragic as that. "I'm sorry, Mister Weasley."
"May I see my brother now, Pansy?" Percy asks politely, almost scared of talking to him again. Their first reunion, nearly three months ago, was all but joyous.
Pansy simply nods and spins on her heels, heading back in the direction of which she came. Percy hesitantly follows her into the doors of the infirmary, which is warm and inviting, unlike most of the castle. Tiers of white candles hang from the ivory walls, illuminating the place with an old-fashioned air. A tan curtain is drawn across half of the room, separating the ill from the healthy. Charlie sits alone in one of the chairs, and Penelope rests upon the medical bed.
"Is this about the Quidditch match?" Percy sits next to his older brother, attempting not to wake Penelope. He considers repeating the question when Charlie doesn't answer him, but as he opens his mouth to do so, Charlie finally speaks with a hushed tone.
"Once I got past the initial shock of everything that happened, it just seemed dim. I don't understand how this Quidditch game was supposed to raise the morale of the prisoners . . . But then it hit me. It wasn't supposed to. Not in the end. It may have been your intention at the beginning, but your selection of the Slytherin captain was a damn foolish one. Sure, he's great in the air, he was captain for four years. And Flint probably would have pounded on you, as he did during your days at Hogwarts, if you passed that position by him. We both know that that bloke's power lies not in his wand, but in his hands.
"I can remember times when you'd come home over Christmas with bruises on your back, and you'd claim that Penelope or Oliver gave them to you while you were just joshing around with each other, it was no big deal. You never admitted that a couple of Slytherins were getting the best of you. So why make Flint the captain? Then I remembered--you are a Death Eater. You and he share a common bond, although you don't want to admit it."
Charlie pauses, but only to crack his knuckles. "We both know that with a simple curse, you could kill Flint. But then, if you killed one of Malfoy's loyal Death Eaters--granted, you'd be doing a couple of people a favour by killing him--Malfoy would hang you for treason. It'd be an easy way to get rid of you. And I know that if Malfoy rid himself of you, he'd be doing himself a favour. Because you seem to have the leader of Britain in your debt; you seem to have a power over him that no one else has. I was watching you on the Pitch after Draco died. Malfoy was ready to kill you, and if you were any other Death Eater, I believe he would have. But you are who you are.
"So, Percy. My question to you is, why did you kill Lord Voldemort?"
Percy's jaw hits the floor, staying there for several seconds as he frantically stumbles for words. Inhaling deeply, he takes a quick look at Penelope before giving his full attention to Charlie with an explanation in mind. "I didn't think anyone had noticed who killed Voldemort. No one seemed to care in the end. I did something not even Harry Potter could do, and I did it because of the people I love. A rule under anyone who isn't Voldemort would be more lenient. The Death Eaters would rather have people to torture and a dead Dark Lord, than live in fear that if they even breathe too heavily, Voldemort would kill them. Those people in the camps would be dead, you'd be dead, and Penelope would be dead."
Percy sighs, and stares over at Penelope as she mumbles something in her sleep. She remains undisturbed, though, and Percy continues on with his reasons. "Lucius came up to me a month after the battle, claiming that I was stronger than he was, and that I was a threat to his power. So I showed him exactly how much of a threat I could be. And because of me, Penelope is alive, my family is alive, and I have more power than I could have ever dreamt of."
"So you're pulling the great Lucius Malfoy's strings?"
Percy smiles slightly. "I guess I am."
* * *
Lucius retires to his chambers around midday with dry eyes and a headache plaguing his mind. Upon entering, he's greeted by a darkness which matches his heart, and a sound of hushed wailing comes from somewhere beyond a closed door. Swallowing dryly, Lucius slams the chamber's door shut, and the woman's tears are interrupted by a startled scream.
Marie Amitri shakily emerges from the locked bathroom, sniffling and wiping away crystal tears. With a pale hand, she flicks the light switch on, and the chandelier high above them gives off a dull light. "I . . . I never expected you to return so quickly," she stutters; many expected the Quidditch match to last at least six hours; however, most were wrong. Even in that short time, irreversible damage was done.
"You've heard?" He assumes the tears are for Draco and the others.
"Heard what?" Marie's voice cracks again, and her hand automatically cups over her mouth, and the other rests on her stomach. She slowly takes a seat on the king-sized bed, smoothing out the wrinkles on the zodiac-printed sheets before becoming fascinated with the hems of her sea blue robes.
Lucius remains silent; maybe if he doesn't acknowledge the truth, maybe if he doesn't say the godforsaken words, it won't be true. This is a magical world they live in, but where's the magic when you bloody need it?
"W--what was I suppose to hear?" Marie presses again, tugging and twisting on the hems of her robes now. A quiet ripping of the seams is heard, and blushing, she places the robes back onto her lap.
Lucius glances at her, pacing back and forth with his hands clasped behind his back. Unable to look Marie in the eyes anymore, he glances in the mirror, but he only sees his reflection. Once again he's reminded of how much Draco looked like him, of how much he loved his son.
"Lucius? What's wrong?" There's a slight panic in Marie's voice.
Momentarily, Lucius drags his eyes from the mirror back to Marie, but replaces them a few seconds later. "It's Draco," he whispers, cracking his knuckles. Gazing back into the mirror, he's greeted not by his reflection, but by the posh face of his deceased wife. His eyes remain fixed there, staring at Narcissa's straight blonde hair, unemotional grey eyes, and high cheekbones. With his eyes on Narcissa, he takes a deep breath. "Draco was killed during the Quidditch match." He forces the words out, but it's as though someone else is speaking them, and he's hearing them for the very first time.
Marie cups her hand over her mouth; nothing she can say seems enough of a comfort. "Oh, my . . . I'm so sorry . . . I don't know . . ."
"I do not wish to talk about it. A change of emotion is now in order. Tell me, why were you crying, Marie?" His voice again resembles death, and he takes his eyes from her, noticing for the first time how many photos of Draco there are in his chambers. Lucius places his eyes back on Marie because of this.
"I . . . I wasn't crying." Marie doesn't care that her lie is obvious.
"You are a terrible liar. Now, tell me."
Marie unenthusiastically chuckles and quickly changes the subject. "Who won the Quidditch match?" She fakes a smile, and quickly adds a reason for her absence. "I would have attended, of course, but Madam Greingrass wished to see me before she continued on her way." She notices the confused look upon Lucius' face, and clarifies that this Madam Greingrass is the head nurse in the district. "Apparently . . . the contraception charm never worked . . . I'm pregnant, Lucius." She bursts into tears once more.
And this only makes Draco's death hurt more.
Once Marie has dried her tears, Lucius unwillingly relives the events that took place.
"I should kill that Weasley for this," Lucius states, his voice as cold as death and just as unnatural. Of all the people who died in that Quidditch game, Draco's death may have very well been the worst to Lucius, and his Death Eaters will be the ones to pay for it in the end.
Percy stares at Lucius for several moments and pulls his black cloak tighter at his neck before responding. "Don't you dare touch a single hair on my brother's head." He doesn't look at Lucius as he speaks; he feels he doesn't need to to get his point across. Instead his attention is drawn out a glacial patterned window, where a lonely red-breasted robin sits upon a branch of a budding tree.
"If it wasn't for him . . ." Lucius shifts uneasily at the memory, crossing his right leg over his left, before deciding that the other way is more comfortable. Both Death Eaters sit around a circular table made purely from glass and steel, and the many windows enhancing the small chamber cast a bright light upon them.
"Draco would still be dead. All Fred did was break your wrist, and that's hardly worth an execution when I am around, Lucius. It was a small price to pay for what you did, and what you wanted to do!" Percy snaps, staring Lucius in his ice blue eyes as he leans forward with his elbows resting on the table. "Were you fool enough to believe that you could kill me, and it would justify your son's death?"
"Watch your tongue, Weasley."
"You watch your tongue, Lucius. Or I may just cut it out."
"With a spoon, I hope." And his mind soberly wanders back to his son. Without a word of a respectful good-bye, Percy stands to leave, slamming the door on his way out; it causes the room and any décor to clatter. Lucius sits alone in a heavy silence for nearly an hour, staring through the glass of the antique table, which used to be Draco's favourite when he was a child.
* * *
"Mister Weasley!" Pansy Parkinson calls as she rushes to catch up to Percy, who walks with purpose down the hall. Slightly out of breath, she places her hand over her chest and breathes in deeply through her nose. Tight blonde curls bounce just past her shoulders, and her copper eyes have lost their light since the events that took place this morning. "There is a Mister Charles Weasley who wishes to speak with you before he's taken back to Alpha. He's in the infirmary with Miss Penelope Clearwater. I'm surprised you haven't gone to see her yet." Penelope's welfare should have been Percy's first priority if he loves her as much as he says he does.
Percy sighs. "Lucius wished to speak with me first."
Pansy nods as she bites her lip, understanding all too well. "It is a terrible loss; Miss Chang has even locked herself in his quarters. She refuses to leave, crying hysterically that he promised to meet her after the match. Between sobs, all I heard was 'he would never stand me up. He will come.' I'd be with her now, but I've had my hands full with . . ."
Percy unexpectedly raises his hand to hush her. "Don't." The one thing he doesn't want to hear ever again is the bloodshed of that Quidditch match.
She averts her attention to the ground, ashamed at bringing up something as tragic as that. "I'm sorry, Mister Weasley."
"May I see my brother now, Pansy?" Percy asks politely, almost scared of talking to him again. Their first reunion, nearly three months ago, was all but joyous.
Pansy simply nods and spins on her heels, heading back in the direction of which she came. Percy hesitantly follows her into the doors of the infirmary, which is warm and inviting, unlike most of the castle. Tiers of white candles hang from the ivory walls, illuminating the place with an old-fashioned air. A tan curtain is drawn across half of the room, separating the ill from the healthy. Charlie sits alone in one of the chairs, and Penelope rests upon the medical bed.
"Is this about the Quidditch match?" Percy sits next to his older brother, attempting not to wake Penelope. He considers repeating the question when Charlie doesn't answer him, but as he opens his mouth to do so, Charlie finally speaks with a hushed tone.
"Once I got past the initial shock of everything that happened, it just seemed dim. I don't understand how this Quidditch game was supposed to raise the morale of the prisoners . . . But then it hit me. It wasn't supposed to. Not in the end. It may have been your intention at the beginning, but your selection of the Slytherin captain was a damn foolish one. Sure, he's great in the air, he was captain for four years. And Flint probably would have pounded on you, as he did during your days at Hogwarts, if you passed that position by him. We both know that that bloke's power lies not in his wand, but in his hands.
"I can remember times when you'd come home over Christmas with bruises on your back, and you'd claim that Penelope or Oliver gave them to you while you were just joshing around with each other, it was no big deal. You never admitted that a couple of Slytherins were getting the best of you. So why make Flint the captain? Then I remembered--you are a Death Eater. You and he share a common bond, although you don't want to admit it."
Charlie pauses, but only to crack his knuckles. "We both know that with a simple curse, you could kill Flint. But then, if you killed one of Malfoy's loyal Death Eaters--granted, you'd be doing a couple of people a favour by killing him--Malfoy would hang you for treason. It'd be an easy way to get rid of you. And I know that if Malfoy rid himself of you, he'd be doing himself a favour. Because you seem to have the leader of Britain in your debt; you seem to have a power over him that no one else has. I was watching you on the Pitch after Draco died. Malfoy was ready to kill you, and if you were any other Death Eater, I believe he would have. But you are who you are.
"So, Percy. My question to you is, why did you kill Lord Voldemort?"
Percy's jaw hits the floor, staying there for several seconds as he frantically stumbles for words. Inhaling deeply, he takes a quick look at Penelope before giving his full attention to Charlie with an explanation in mind. "I didn't think anyone had noticed who killed Voldemort. No one seemed to care in the end. I did something not even Harry Potter could do, and I did it because of the people I love. A rule under anyone who isn't Voldemort would be more lenient. The Death Eaters would rather have people to torture and a dead Dark Lord, than live in fear that if they even breathe too heavily, Voldemort would kill them. Those people in the camps would be dead, you'd be dead, and Penelope would be dead."
Percy sighs, and stares over at Penelope as she mumbles something in her sleep. She remains undisturbed, though, and Percy continues on with his reasons. "Lucius came up to me a month after the battle, claiming that I was stronger than he was, and that I was a threat to his power. So I showed him exactly how much of a threat I could be. And because of me, Penelope is alive, my family is alive, and I have more power than I could have ever dreamt of."
"So you're pulling the great Lucius Malfoy's strings?"
Percy smiles slightly. "I guess I am."
* * *
Lucius retires to his chambers around midday with dry eyes and a headache plaguing his mind. Upon entering, he's greeted by a darkness which matches his heart, and a sound of hushed wailing comes from somewhere beyond a closed door. Swallowing dryly, Lucius slams the chamber's door shut, and the woman's tears are interrupted by a startled scream.
Marie Amitri shakily emerges from the locked bathroom, sniffling and wiping away crystal tears. With a pale hand, she flicks the light switch on, and the chandelier high above them gives off a dull light. "I . . . I never expected you to return so quickly," she stutters; many expected the Quidditch match to last at least six hours; however, most were wrong. Even in that short time, irreversible damage was done.
"You've heard?" He assumes the tears are for Draco and the others.
"Heard what?" Marie's voice cracks again, and her hand automatically cups over her mouth, and the other rests on her stomach. She slowly takes a seat on the king-sized bed, smoothing out the wrinkles on the zodiac-printed sheets before becoming fascinated with the hems of her sea blue robes.
Lucius remains silent; maybe if he doesn't acknowledge the truth, maybe if he doesn't say the godforsaken words, it won't be true. This is a magical world they live in, but where's the magic when you bloody need it?
"W--what was I suppose to hear?" Marie presses again, tugging and twisting on the hems of her robes now. A quiet ripping of the seams is heard, and blushing, she places the robes back onto her lap.
Lucius glances at her, pacing back and forth with his hands clasped behind his back. Unable to look Marie in the eyes anymore, he glances in the mirror, but he only sees his reflection. Once again he's reminded of how much Draco looked like him, of how much he loved his son.
"Lucius? What's wrong?" There's a slight panic in Marie's voice.
Momentarily, Lucius drags his eyes from the mirror back to Marie, but replaces them a few seconds later. "It's Draco," he whispers, cracking his knuckles. Gazing back into the mirror, he's greeted not by his reflection, but by the posh face of his deceased wife. His eyes remain fixed there, staring at Narcissa's straight blonde hair, unemotional grey eyes, and high cheekbones. With his eyes on Narcissa, he takes a deep breath. "Draco was killed during the Quidditch match." He forces the words out, but it's as though someone else is speaking them, and he's hearing them for the very first time.
Marie cups her hand over her mouth; nothing she can say seems enough of a comfort. "Oh, my . . . I'm so sorry . . . I don't know . . ."
"I do not wish to talk about it. A change of emotion is now in order. Tell me, why were you crying, Marie?" His voice again resembles death, and he takes his eyes from her, noticing for the first time how many photos of Draco there are in his chambers. Lucius places his eyes back on Marie because of this.
"I . . . I wasn't crying." Marie doesn't care that her lie is obvious.
"You are a terrible liar. Now, tell me."
Marie unenthusiastically chuckles and quickly changes the subject. "Who won the Quidditch match?" She fakes a smile, and quickly adds a reason for her absence. "I would have attended, of course, but Madam Greingrass wished to see me before she continued on her way." She notices the confused look upon Lucius' face, and clarifies that this Madam Greingrass is the head nurse in the district. "Apparently . . . the contraception charm never worked . . . I'm pregnant, Lucius." She bursts into tears once more.
And this only makes Draco's death hurt more.
Once Marie has dried her tears, Lucius unwillingly relives the events that took place.
