LUCIUS

"…and for these reasons, the Wizengamot finds the accused guilty as charged. Lucius Malfoy, for your actions as a so-called Death Eater on behalf of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, you are sentenced to life in Azkaban without the possibility of parole."

The gavel hammered down onto the podium and Rufus Scrimgeour motioned that the dementors were now free to escort Lucius back to his cell, his home from now until his death. The courtroom was nearly full because of Lucius's ranking among the wizarding community and he had been tried separately from the other Death Eaters due to his wife's persuasion, but it all amounted to nothing now that he was to spend the rest of his days as a prisoner.

He remembered seeing Narcissa's eyes bristling with tears, yet none fell as she watched her husband still with a neck brace stand shakily, his chains clinking together with every movement. He recalled his son's face, downcast as he refused to look his father in the eye for the last time. These were the last memories he would have of his family, the last happy thoughts he could cherish before he was left as an empty shell, a mere shadow of what he was before.

Lucius rubbed his calloused thumb over his chains for the thousandth time as he sat in his cell, listening to the other Death Eaters in the neighboring cells jeering at the dementors and vowing vengeance. Dolohov was actually singing somewhere to Lucius's left. At first, it had been nearly impossible to try and sleep with the racket of the dying and the desperate. Hundreds of souls cried out in the night and the Death Eaters mocked them for their fears. But Lucius had grown accustomed to the noise and found that he was able to block it out if he thought hard enough of home, of the comfort of his own bed, of Narcissa beside him.

Six months. The hearing had been six months ago if his suffering memory served correctly, and Yaxley reminded him every day because the man was a stickler for dates. Six months Lucius had slept with his head beside his toilet, eaten two slices of bread and a piece of mysterious meat twice a day, drank four cups of water to accompany the meals, awoken drenched in sweat from horrid nightmares, shouted out in pain when his body made an involuntary movement and upset his still healing neck. In Azkaban, any injuries received before entrance were not tended to with magic, only time, and Lucius had spent six long months living in pain from within and without.

No news reached them in here, yet as the days passed, Lucius felt a shift in the dementors' demeanor. They were growing anxious—if they could emote such a feeling—and the prisoners were feeling the effects because even the most rambunctious of the Death Eaters sat subdued in their cells for most of the hours of the day. For once Lucius could actually hear the ocean crashing against the prison far below him and it reminded him of how utterly alone and lost he was. It was no wonder that escape from Azkaban was impossible without help. He would know; he had assisted in the mass breakout a year ago. But the Dark Lord had demanded it because his most loyal followers were the ones behind bars at the time: Bellatrix, Dolohov, Rowle, the Carrows. Now, an odd mixture of both invaluable and worthless followers sat in their cells, awaiting the Dark Lord's rise so as to escape Azkaban (in some cases yet again).

Lucius wasn't sure if he preferred living out the remainder of his life behind bars and have the happiness sucked from his body until he simply shriveled up and died on the filthy floor or if he would want to suffer the Dark Lord's wrath once he was freed and made an example of for failing to retrieve the prophecy. If he could choose, Lucius wanted a quick, painless death in a swift beheading or a relatively fast-working poison, but neither of these options were available to him.

A rattling sound from outside his cell announced the dementors and the guards approaching with his evening meal, and though he knew he needed to get the food down to maintain some level of energy, Lucius felt that consuming food at this exact moment would make him vomit all over himself. He wasn't too keen on using some of his water supply to scrub out his clothes again either, so he left the meal at the catflap and tucked his hands deep into his armpits as he sat with his back resting against the far wall of his cell.

A small window near the top of the wall showed an overcast sky that blotted out the stars. A storm was coming and the nights would be even colder until it wore itself out. Lucius had come to hate clouds, even if it meant blistering hot days in the summer and stale air in the fall and spring because clouds obscured the constellations and Lucius had had time to memorize the sky in a way his great-grandmother would have been proud of. She had encouraged the study of astronomy and fully supported the tradition of having children in the Malfoy line have some manner of astrological name.

It was not for her Lucius studied the skies, though; it was to find the great dragon Draco and think of his son. Now that his happy memories were beginning to fade, Lucius felt himself clinging to the stars in the hopes that by finding them when he was weakest, he would be able to keep himself sane. The dementors could not take away his sight and so he clutched at the dragon overhead as if it were his life force. But on overcast nights, that life force was invisible and Lucius had to pull thoughts of his wife and son from deep within where he hoped the dementors could not access them.

"Pssst."

Lucius could tell that it was Nott whispering to him from across the way, but he had neither the strength nor the motivation to get up and go to the cell door to reply, so Nott raised his voice.

"Ministry officials came by a few days ago," said Nott and now that he was pressing his face between the bars, Lucius could see that he had developed a sort of infection in his teeth, making them appear black and broken. "Word is that the Dark Lord murdered a family whose children had come home from the holidays. He's either recruiting or on a killing spree because it's not the first time he's tried this in recent months. The Muggle-lover Dumbledore's been having students transferred back to Hogwarts via special Floo Network access all over the country."

"Doesn't matter if they're at the school or with their families," said Dolohov from Lucius's left and given that Nott looked over towards him, Lucius concluded that Dolohov might actually be his direct neighbor. "The Dark Lord'll slaughter their families while they're away and make 'em join or kill 'em when they come home."

"I heard more news," said Nott, ignoring Dolohov. "Minister himself visited your manor, Malfoy. It's all over the Prophet; they think Narcissa's acting on the Dark Lord's orders and they're trying to catch her at it."

Lucius sat forward at this news and receiving a painful crick in his neck. "The Dark Lord has no reason to speak with her."

"Most likely he's speaking to her concerning that boy've yours," said Dolohov with a burp. "Ain'tchoo 'eard? Draco's taken Daddy's place now; he's branded. The Dark Lord's got 'im doing whatnot up at the school, maybe trying to recruit from inside or have a stab at Dumbledore himself. Either way, Draco's not cut out for it. He ain't got the stomach for none've it. You raised a weakling, Lucius."

"You'll not talk about my son like that," said Lucius as viciously as he could, but Dolohov laughed so hard he started choking and after a moment of respite, he replied.

"Or you'll what, eh? You're locked up, same's me and your neck's broken in three places. Even if you could get out and 'ave a go at me right now, you'd be as useless as your boy."

"When I get out, I'll see to it that you eat your words, Dolohov. It's easy for a man of no honor and no title to mock a family of position. The Dark Lord chose you because you didn't possess the brains to say otherwise."

"And you didn't 'ave the balls. You're like a beaten dog, Lucius. The Dark Lord commands you to take a shit and you do it."

"Quiet up there!" shouted the guard and Lucius saw the glow of the guard's Patronus as it glided up the corridor.

"Piss off," said Dolohov, rattling his bars and whooping manically.

Lucius saw the guard appear, protected by a silver badger, and the man summoned a dementor to force Dolohov to the back of his cell. In a few moments, all was quiet and Nott had shrank away from his own cell door at the dementor's approach, so Lucius settled back into his sleeping position, shivering and wishing for a spark to ignite a fire. The chill was more than just the weather, though; was the Dark Lord really contacting his wife? Had he accepted Draco into the folds of loyal followers and ordered him to carry out deeds inside Hogwarts's walls? What if they were caught? Would they be able to convince the Ministry that they had been threatened, or would the fact that Lucius was already a known and convicted Death Eater convince the Wizengamot that the entire Malfoy family was guilty? Lucius refused to entertain the notion that his wife and son would ever have a cell in this god-forsaken place.