"Ah, Mr. Malfoy! Welcome."

Lucius Malfoy exited the fireplace and gave a well-rehearsed smile to the rotund man sitting in the plush armchair in front of him, who was—at the moment—folding up his copy of the Daily Prophet and placing it on the nearby table. Lucius strode towards him as the man quickly stood up to shake his hand. "Burgess, always a pleasure. Though I confess, I wished that we were meeting under better circumstances. It's been over a year since we met for recreational purposes."

"Yes, the Yuletide dinner at the Greengrass house, if I'm not mistaken. Ha! I'm surprised I can remember that much, given the drinks," he chucked. While Burgess Borthwick's tone was light and casual, Lucius took a moment to eye him over and noticed his jaw was slightly clenched, and there were a few beads of sweat on his forehead. This made Lucius frown inwardly, but it wasn't as though he expected anything different, considering the reason for his visit. Borthwick's expression sobered. "Mr. Malfoy, I would like to offer my deepest sympathy for your father's current condition. Dragon Pox has claimed many great men throughout the centuries. And Abraxas, while not without his share of controversy, is without question a great man who made contributions to our world that cannot be understated."

That much is true, at least. "Your sympathy is appreciated, Burgess," lied Lucius. "The thought of my dear father passing away soon weighs heavily on me and my family. Our time on this Earth never seems to be enough, but Father can at least ascend into the afterlife knowing that he is loved and cherished."

Borthwick couldn't hide a small twitch of a smile at that shameless display of bullshit, but wisely chose not to say anything. Pressing on, Lucius asked, "The letter I received from you indicated that there were some changes regarding my father's will and the state of the inheritance. I'll admit I'm curious as to why this meeting needed to be held at the Westwell Estate and not at Malfoy Manor."

Lucius knew why, but wanted Borthwick to say it. Borthwick's fingers twitched ever-so-slightly. "Ah, well, it was at the request of your father. You see, Mr. Malfoy—you father, I mean—thought some of the changes within the will might result in further questions, which he claims he will be more than happy to answer. Given his condition, however, it would be inadvisable for him to travel to the Manor, as it might advance the progression of his illness. As I legally represent your father and will be overseeing the eventual distribution of assets, I felt it prudent to request this meeting in a way that was most convenient to the elder Mr. Malfoy."

"Not to worry at all, Burgess, I was merely curious. So, what are these changes, exactly?" Lucius asked lightly, as though he hadn't been obsessively mulling over possible answers to that question for days. Borthwick swallowed and glanced up the staircase. Father, you've got this one on a tight leash.

"I-I was specifically told by your father to let him be the one to tell you. You two will be speaking privately while I remain down here in the drawing room, and afterwards the two of us will discuss the will."

One didn't have to be a Divination prodigy to tell that the conversation between father and son would most likely go poorly. Whatever it is, he wants to see my expression. But Lucius's smile didn't fall or even show a hint of discomfort as he nodded at Borthwick and made his way up the winding staircase.

Westwell Estate was a summer property that had been in the Malfoy family for generations. Abraxas had moved permanently to Westwell once Lucius married Narcissa, which couldn't have pleased Lucius more. He would not have put it past his father to keep the main family home of Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire to himself and relegate Lucius and his wife to one of their smaller properties, considering Abraxas was still technically the head of the family (For now, at least). As reached the top floor and started walking down the corridor, he ignored the faded pictures of his long-deceased older siblings, who were now peering curiously at him through their frames and began following him.

"Oh, look who finally decided to grace us with his presence," jeered Cassius, his eldest brother. "Things too comfy up there in Malfoy Manor? Must be nice, being able to spend your days rolling in the thousands of Galleons that you stole from me." As he drifted into the nearest painting, he nudged an image of Lucius's eleven-year-old self out of the way, who gave a startled cry of protest and looked at his older counterpart with a frown, but made no attempt to follow him, unlike his older siblings.

"He didn't steal anything from you, Cassius," Gaius rolled his eyes as he lazily stepped over a snake that was hissing in the grass of one of the paintings. "You know father always meant for me to inherit everything. He knew you would squander away the fortune we worked so tirelessly to build."

"'We.' Ha! That's rich coming from you. You haven't done shit–"

"Stop it, both of you!" scolded Valeria, gently leaning up against the tree that she would later hang herself from shortly after that picture was painted. "Lucius, it's good that at least one of us was able to leave. Please don't feel guilty about that." Oh, I most certainly don't. And this was true.

Nonetheless, his eyes drifted for a fraction of a second to an empty space in the wall where his younger sister Lavinia's portrait used to be. If it was there, Lucius knew that she would let him walk to his father in peace without being bothered and talked at by ghosts of the past that he would prefer to forget. She always had a keen intuition for how he was feeling. But even before her painting was taken down, her image never moved or talked. It couldn't. That was one of the key signs that something was wrong.

Lucius considered for a brief second about asking Valeria if she knew what Abraxas was planning, but quickly decided against it. A painting was just a painting, after all: an echo, a remnant of the person who was once its subject. Lucius loathed interacting with them and had a somewhat childish and illogical view that the more he acknowledged them, the more 'real' they would become. No, that wouldn't do. All his brothers and sisters were dead; they had been for some time.

Also, he thought idly as he turned the doorknob, the man's always been infamously paranoid. Surely he wouldn't have any paintings in this room, where they could listen in and gossip freely.

Lucius's thoughts were confirmed as he walked into the darkly lit room. There was an unfamiliar fruity scent in the air, the origin appearing to be a small potted tree in the corner with what looked like upside-down radishes growing from it. Dirigible plums, he thought with disdain. Superstitious fool. Curtains drawn over the windows only let a bit of sunlight through, but it was enough to see the silhouette of his father hunched at his desk, rapidly scribbling on a sheet of paper with his back to the entrance and Jormungandr, the serpentine cane (or walking stick—-the Malfoys used the terms interchangeably) signifying headship of the family, propped next to him.

It was with great difficulty that Lucius restrained himself from rolling his eyes. When Lucius was growing up, Abraxas often would call his son into his study, where he would make Lucius stand and wait—sometimes for hours—until Abraxas finished whatever task he was occupied with before either administering whatever punishment he had in mind or, occasionally, giving advice. The message was clear: "My time is valuable, and yours is not." But Lucius was no longer a child, and could see it for what it was: A sad, pathetic old man trying to cling on to the little power and relevancy that was rapidly slipping from his grasp every day. And unlike Abraxas, Lucius now was the one with a busy life and places to be.

He tried to keep the smirk out of his voice as he addressed Abraxas: "Father, it warms my heart to see you up and about. From what the healers have told me recently, movement only comes with you with great difficulty."

Lucius heard what might have been a chortle come from Abraxas, as his father slowly turned around to face him. Lucius didn't bother to hide his smug expression anymore. The greenish and purple tinge that once covered a little more than half his father's skin had receded in order to make way for the final and lethal stage of the Dragon Pox: a grey, rough, charred texture that made him look more like a walking corpse than a living man. "I'm not dead quite yet, boy, though your cunt of a mother certainly tried her damndest." It was an open secret that Aurelia Malfoy was the one who intentionally provided him with the handkerchief that carried the disease. "Now shut the door; I don't want your nosy siblings listening in like a gaggle of bored housewives."

"My siblings are no longer alive, Father," Lucius replied automatically, though he did what he was told, over the protests of the paintings in the hall.

"Of course I know that. Otherwise I wouldn't have to deal with all this," he said, gesturing vaguely in Lucius's direction. Now that the door was shut, Abraxas leaned back in his chair and eyed Lucius over. "Well, if nothing else, you at least present yourself decently. Cassius's aesthetic sensibilities were so poor, I wondered on more than one occasion if he was fathered by Septimus Weasley. I hear you have to deal with his son in the Ministry. How is the young Arthur?"

Lucius scowled. "Trying to push through legislation that erodes our kind's natural rights and props up the Muggles and the Mudbloods, as per usual. He's a blood traitor if I ever saw one, and his broodmare of a wife ensures that the spawn they can't afford to take care of will continue to perpetuate their misguided beliefs."

"Then it's certainly a boon to the Ministry to have you working so diligently in order to help stem the tide. And there's one further embellishment that can enhance your authority to these simpletons. A man's appearance and the power he wields are often closely intertwined."

With that, Abraxas gestured to his left, where Jormungandr lay undisturbed. Lucius blinked, then looked back to Abraxas, who was smiling in a way that Lucius had rarely seen before—a smile that didn't look quite so malicious and could have perhaps even been genuine.

"Am I to understand," Lucius finally said after a long pause, "that you wish for me to officially be recognized as the patriarch of the Malfoy family?"

To be able to use the family heirloom to conceal one's wand beneath the gem-encrusted serpent was a high honor, and Lucius thought the only way he would ever receive Jormungandr would be to literally pry it out of Abraxas's cold dead hands. This has to be some kind of trap.

Abraxas nodded. "Yes, I do. It should come as no surprise that I never expected nor—in the interest of pure transparency—even wanted you to be my heir. And yet, out of my five children, only you remain. That says a great deal about your ability, Lucius."

Hearing compliments, albeit backhanded ones, from Abraxas was unusual. "Thank you, Father," Lucius replied evenly.

Abraxas leaned over and picked up the cane, caressing the head of the snake with an almost forlorn expression and murmured, perhaps to himself, "I truly believed Gaius would be the one to have this."

Fucking Gaius. Lucius clenched his teeth at the mention of the name. For over a decade, Abraxas suspected Lucius of being the one who poisoned his favorite son's drink, and made it his personal mission to be as obstructive and spiteful to Lucius as possible. He couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that Lucius didn't kill, or even want to kill, his sibling—after all, Abraxas only ascended to being head of the household by orchestrating the deaths of his own two older brothers. He erroneously projected his experiences onto his youngest son, and it was only after a very thorough and expensive investigation that he was finally cleared in Abraxas's eye. Naturally, his father didn't apologize.

"Perhaps this is Fate at work," mused Abraxas, touching the green gemstone eye absentmindedly. "Your eldest brother suspected that I would rather see him dead than to make him patriarch, which drove him to solidify his position by sending the poisoned bottle to his younger brother, under the guise of a gift. A foolish move; it would have been far more advantageous for him to have killed me instead, but then again, Cassius was never a particularly bright boy. Nonetheless, if he were successful, I daresay Cassius would have one day extended this same sense of paranoia and insecurity to you too, Lucius."

Abraxas neglected to acknowledge that Cassisus's suspicions were entirely correct and that Abraxas did, in fact, have him killed.

"But alas," he continued, ignoring Lucius's impatient expression,"I was overconfident, as is customary for men in our position. And when Gaius broke open that bottle to celebrate during that Yuletide celebration many years later, I didn't think to ask of its origins. After all, the past was a distant memory by then—he certainly wouldn't have opened the bottle, had he remembered its giver. Or perhaps he would have and, just as I did, underestimated Cassius. But the lesson learned that day by everyone present during that memorable evening was that no man, no matter how great, can ever truly escape his past. The past is simply the prologue that determines the direction of your future, whether you are aware of it or not." His eyes locked on to Lucius and possessed an uncomfortable gleam. "And now, you stand before me, the culmination of generations upon generations of our line. Overlooked, just like that bottle of wine that sat collecting dust for so many years, and possessing the same pernicious edge as well. This," he said, finally placing Jormungandr in Lucius's hands, "is yours."

The heirloom was something Lucius always associated with his father throughout his life, and as he held it, he felt all those familiar emotions rush back to him: Awe, frustration, respect, fear, bitterness, uncertainty, love, hatred. "I am honored, Father." Even though I had to sit through your pretentious ramblings to get it.

"You should be. You and you alone will be charting the course of the family's future. And now that you have this," he gestured towards the cane and frowned, "I suggest using it. That boy of yours is a brat."

In comparison to the upbringing of children in other Pureblood families, Lucius would be seen as a fairly strict and exacting parent. In Abraxas's view, however, Lucius was too permissive and Abraxas never passed on an opportunity to give unsolicited parenting advice. He knew from past experience that conversations like this would go nowhere, so instead asked, "Has Borthwick been notified about the transfer?"

Abraxas waved the question away impatiently as Lucius unclasped the snakehead to find that his father's wand was already removed. "Yes, all the necessary paperwork has been filed earlier today." Lucius waited a few seconds for Abraxas to continue, but he did not.

With frustration, Lucius realized that Abraxas was waiting for him to bring up the contents of Borthwick's letter. He wasn't going to play his father's game just yet, though.

Lucius took his own wand and attached it to the snakehead, a thrill of pride running through him. "Since we're being… transparent with one another, I'll confess I was taken by surprise that you would acknowledge me as the head of household. I was always under the impression that the title would be yours for as long as you remained on the mortal coil."

Abraxas sighed and Lucius could see the weariness on what remained of his face. "It appears as though we're both of similar minds in that regard. In truth, my reluctance to have you as my successor compelled me to request a Blood Tracing. Given my proclivities before this accursed illness, I believed there was a strong possibility of fathering some illegitimate bastard. I was curious to see if they would be impressive enough to deserve consideration for the position."

Lucius carefully kept his expression neutral, though he felt his heart starting to beat rapidly. Blood Tracing was a complicated ritual that involved rare ingredients and was usually very expensive. It was typically only sanctioned in case of Pureblood inheritance disputes, and many chose not to do it simply due to concern of what nasty surprises might be found. Could that be the reason for Borthwick's nervousness? As legal advisor and manager of the will, he would have been there. How the hell did this not get leaked to me?

Abraxas smirked. "No need to worry; I named you as my successor, didn't I? For all that time and effort, I saw, clear as day, that you were my only living child."

"Then I fail to see the reason for these theatrics. Father, I appreciate you naming me the official head of the family, though—as I'm sure you're aware—I've been acting in that capacity for almost a decade now, and the vast majority of our kind already view me as the Malfoy patriarch. And—as I'm also sure you're aware—I have an extremely busy schedule because of it. I arrived at Westwell purely because of Borthwick's letter regarding the inheritance, a topic which, up to this point, has not been mentioned once. So I will ask you, plainly and upfront: What is the change you are making to the will?"

Abraxas blinked, then threw his head back and laughed. "Emboldened now that you're the one holding our symbol, is that right? That tirade must have been cathartic. I'll answer your question plainly, too: The change I made is that you won't be getting a single knut unless you fulfill a very specific condition of mine."

A silence descended on the room. Inwardly, Lucius was experiencing a level of hatred and rage he had not felt since before the Dark Lord's death. Outwardly, his expression remained (albeit with great difficulty) impassive, though his grip on Jormungandr became much, much tighter. "And what condition is that?"

"As I was saying before your unmannerly interruption, I performed the Blood Tracing. I was found to only have one child, but to my surprise and delight, I found that I had two grandchildren."

It couldn't have been Lavinia or Valeria, so that must mean…"Cassius or Gaius?"

"Ha! That would make things easier for you, I'm sure. But no—the name that arose was connected to you. Congratulations, Lucius. You have a daughter."

"That's impossible," Lucius immediately responded.

It was impossible for several reasons. First, unlike his father, Lucius loved his wife and never considered for a moment the possibility of having an affair with another witch. Second, even if he did, he couldn't have more children. Two years after his trial, Lucius found himself cursed by a vengeful husband of an Auror he killed in battle. He barely remembered the woman, but the husband clearly did not forget how his wife's killer slipped away from the Wizengamot unscathed and decided to take justice into his own hands through the use of blood magic. Now the husband was in Azkaban, and the only remnant of the curse was Lucius's sterility, as the husband mistakenly believed the knowledge that he wouldn't be able to create more Pureblood children would devastate him. In fact, it did the opposite. Lucius was always concerned about giving Draco siblings, as he feared his children would repeat the dynamics of his siblings and his uncles. Not having to worry about that possibility was like a weight off his chest. Until now, apparently.

Abraxas's smile grew wider. "Don't take my word for it. You can see a copy of the records here." His father handed one of the papers that was on the desk, which Lucius quickly snatched. He saw the records of the living Malfoys descended from Abraxas: Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, Draco Lucius Malfoy, and a Diana Marie White, the latter two being identified as coming from Lucius. He felt a growing sense of dread; "Marie" wasn't a proper name for a witch child. Who the fuck is Diana Marie White? He scanned the bottom and saw that it was authentic and signed; Borthwick was the expected legal representative present, and Griphook to represent Gringotts.

"I don't know who this is," Lucius replied honestly.

Abraxas frowned, as if Lucius was purposely trying to spoil his fun. "Really? The name doesn't ring any bells at all? Has it really been so long that you've forgotten the details of your own trial?"

The realization finally came, and it was as though a bucket of ice cold water was poured over him. Diana…White. White. Sarah White. The Acheron. Fucking hell.

Several different feelings came to Lucius at once. It was a name that Lucius had not thought of in years, a name that was a simple footnote in dusty legal documents. A name of a moment in time that he actively tried and succeeded in forgetting, a name that was now clawing back to the present, determined to be remembered. If this were to get out…Lucius began to grow lightheaded. What would Narcissa say? What would Draco say? This is going to absolutely ruin me.

"I take it you remembered," Abraxas drawled with a smug expression.

Lucius thought carefully on how to respond next, and steadied himself for either response he would receive, unsure which answer would be worse. "Is she a witch?"

There was a pause. "Yes," Abraxas said, smiling. Lucius relaxed slightly, though that answer brought a completely new set of problems. "Septima Vector sent me a letter confirming it; your daughter's name is in the Book of Admittance. She was raised amidst the rabble, so they'll be sending one of the first year teacher's to bring her into our ways soon. I'm telling you this now so you can make necessary preparations."

"I take it that your 'condition' of the inheritance relates to this girl?" He couldn't bring himself to call her his "daughter." Lucius Malfoy fathered a Half-blood child with a Muggle…the headlines could write themselves. The Daily Prophet would be on this story quicker than starving dragons upon a fattened cow.

"It does. You see, my condition is simple: in order to get your full allotment of the inheritance, you must formally acknowledge the child's paternity and legitimize her. I want her adopted into the household, and not just tossed money occasionally like the Burkes did with their bastard."

"Why on Earth would you ever want me to do something so self-sabotaging?"

"I'm getting to that. If she dies before she comes of age, then the money and belongings I will be set aside for her will be automatically given to various Pureblood legacy preservation charities, and will decidedly not go to her next of kin."

Lucius let out a sharp laugh. "What, you're concerned I'll kill her to get the money? While I know it's difficult for you to understand, there are people in this world who don't entertain the idea of killing their offspring when they stop being convenient. What I'm grappling with now is the reasoning behind this decision, if there truly is any reasoning beyond simple animosity. Surely you must realize the ramifications of this. I'm well aware of your misgivings about me and my son, but I never expected you to be so petty as to drag the entire Malfoy name into the gutter in order to…what? Prove a point? What would your father say about this, to see you be willing to destroy everything this family has built to satisfy your own ego?"

Abraxas's eyes flashed dangerously as he stood as tall as his illness would allow him and snarled, "You impudent little shit. I earned my father's trust and confidence, while you have neither, and never did."

"Why? Because I shared a womb with a squib?" Lucius sneered. "Because you'd rather trust your 'gut feeling' and old wives tales over the opinions of every single medical professional who told you plainly that, no, there is no such thing as 'womb taint,' and that my magic wasn't impacted by her existence existence anymore than your precious Gaius? My academic records should have put those concerns to rest."

Abraxas scoffed. "You salivating over that Half-blood upstart and his band of lemmings just reinforced my belief that there was something inherently wrong with you. No self-respecting Pureblood would join a revolutionary movement when the status quo suits us perfectly fine. Draco's woefully limited critical thinking ability and poor conduct don't exactly reassure me either, though that's likely due to your poor parenting more than anything else."

"And you think bringing in a Half-blood child will…what is it you think, exactly? What's the desired outcome, besides leaving my reputation in shambles? Or is that enough of a hook for you?"

Abraxas gave a sigh and slowly sat down. The anger seemed to have left him, leaving a tired old man that looked his age for the first time in the conversation. "Approaching death in this way has been a humbling and haunting experience," he finally said. "It's made me reassess many aspects of my life, and consider what could have and should have been done differently. My life that I'm experiencing now is the culmination of all my past actions that led me on this path. A path that—despite our many differences—I don't want you to follow, Lucius. Altering the will is all meant for the benefit of that goal."

Lucius stared in disbelief for a moment, then couldn't help but let a quiet laugh escape. "Oh, my. I was warned that this might happen. Finding spirituality in old age can be especially appealing for a man with a litany of sins such as yours. And if Abraxas Malfoy has a problem, he naturally needs to make it everyone else's problem."

"It's your problem, son, not mine. This child would exist and go to Hogwarts regardless of whether or not I set forth this condition in the will. She exists because you kept company with inbred fools who encouraged you to be reckless and stupid. And even after narrowly escaping Azkaban, you still associate with their ilk. You haven't learned anything from that experience, it seems. Poor company is poison to great men."

"Easy to say for a man who keeps no company."

Abraxas gave a wry smile. "I suppose so. Luckily, it's given me ample time for other pursuits, which have proven far more valuable."

His gaze drifted to the tea cup on the left of the desk. What, he now fancies himself to be some kind of amateur tea connoisseur? Or perhaps he—oh no.

No.

NO.

Lucius strode forward to get a better look at the cup, and found his suspicions to be correct. A wave of fury enveloped him.

"You're taking away my inheritance because the fucking tea leaves told you to?" snarled Lucius.

Abraxas had always been a paranoid man prone to superstition, something Lucius and his sisters would giggle about when they were children. There were always hushed rumors that Abraxas had the genuine Sight, but if that were true, Abraxas never let it be known publicly or even privately to his own family. When Lucius was older, Avery would tell him that perhaps those rumors were on to something, given the amount of fortune and success he accumulated over the years. Complete and utter nonsense, in Lucius's opinion. There were so many things that Abraxas should have known otherwise. No, his father was just insane. That's all there is to it.

"I'm not 'taking it away.' I made it incredibly easy for it to be yours, you ungrateful brat. And they didn't 'tell me' to do anything—they simply showed me what would happen to this family if you continue the path you are on."

"Divination is rubbish. Once I go downstairs, I'm going straight to Borthwick and using this as proof that Dragon Pox has rendered you mentally incompetent. Using a tea cup to determine the fate of the family…Gods above, what utter lunacy."

"Oh, I've already been found to be perfectly competent—I made sure to do so when changing the will, since I knew you'd just keep bitching for any excuse to render it null and void otherwise."

"I can't possibly imagine why."

"What you don't understand is that this really is for your benefit. I confirmed my predictions with more than just tea leaves. I used tarot cards, crystal-gazing, dream interpretation, pyromancy, and ornithomancy."

For a split second, Lucius had the impulse to beat his father to death with Jormungandr in the same way Abraxas allegedly did to one of Nobby Leach's assistants.

"Well, I suppose if the birds say so, then it must be true."

"And I also used my own knowledge, skills, and life experience to make the decision." He frowned at Lucius. "Aren't you the least bit curious as to what the Fates showed me?"

"No."

Abraxas ignored him. "I saw your old boss. Little Tommy Riddle, coming back around again, like a persistent weed." Lucius's blood ran cold. "Going back to pretending he was someone else, instead of some unholy mixture of an incestuous fallen bloodline and Muggle stock."

"Show some respect," hissed Lucius frantically, as if Voldemort himself was standing in the hallway, ear pressed against the door. "He's the heir of Salazar Slytherin!"

Abraxas snorted. " Respect'? Why on earth should I give him that? What has Tom Riddle done to earn my respect? Because he's powerful? Gellert Grindelwald was powerful. Did I respect him and his ludicrous idea of revealing us to the Muggles? Do I respect the Smiths because they descended from Helga Hufflepuff, or am I supposed to kowtow only to Riddle because I happened to be sorted into the house named after his ancestor?"

This felt like blasphemy. Lucius opened his mouth to protest, but Abraxas kept going.

"I knew Tom Riddle since the very first day he dragged his little orphan arse to the Slytherin table. I witnessed his sad and fruitless quest to 'fit in' with the other Slytherins. I was there in the common room the day he proved his ancestry, acting like he was a god in human form instead of a child who hissed at a garden snake. I saw him clutching desperately onto this idea of having a famous ancestor as if it were a security blanket. I never bought into any of his horseshit, and the whole reason he drew you into his cult was to get back at me, like I've told you many times before."

"While it may be hard for you to believe, Father, the Dark Lord had genuine faith in my abilities."

Abraxas looked at Lucius with what could perhaps be described as pity. "He had genuine faith in your ability to give him an obscene amount of money and help finance his little operation. He had genuine faith that having the son of Abraxas Malfoy by his side would give a veneer of legitimacy to his group of instigators. He had genuine faith that you could use your influence to delude scions of powerful families into believing that it was worth it to jump off cliffs for this fool. Quite sad, really. "

Lucius gritted his teeth. "If the Dark Lord does return, then the most prudent course of action would be to remain his loyal subject."

"Not if he loses."

Lucius blinked. While he was generally satisfied with his current life, he often wondered what it would be like if the Dark Lord really did return. These daydreams would often end with himself as his Lord's right hand man, Mudbloods and Muggles in their proper place, and his family being lionized and revered for generations upon generations. Other times, they would end with the Dark Lord brutally killing him and his family as punishment for denying and rejecting his allegiance after the Dark Lord's fall ten years ago. Not once did he ever consider the possibility of the Dark Lord rising and losing…again.

"That won't happen. He's far too strong."

"He was killed by a fucking baby the first time. Is it that hard to believe he'll be killed again when that baby's an adult?"

"What exactly is it you want from me, Father?" Lucius snapped. "And how does any of this relate to the girl?"

"I'll get to that. But when he returns—and he will—I don't want you to trail after him like you did before, like some simpering, lovesick maiden in awe of the man who took her virginity. My goal is for you to either remain neutral or participate to some extent in whatever opposition emerges."

Delusional. Completely delusional. Lucius rolled up his sleeve to show his father the Dark Mark, causing Abraxas to curl his lip and recoil in disgust.

"I don't need the symbol of your willing subjugation shoved in my face! It's an insult to—"

"Do you realize what this is? What this means? I took an oath. This bonds me to him and his goals, which I support wholeheartedly. Do you want me to flee when—if—the Dark Lord calls? There is no place on Earth I could go without being tracked down by him. Or perhaps you want me to duel him on behalf of the Order of the Phoenix?"

"Of course not. Flinging spells at each other like schoolboys is for the disposables like the Prewetts. You're a Malfoy. I expect you to do what we do best: Provide assistance from the shadows in order to best manipulate the situation so that we come out on top."

"You're a lunatic. A complete and utter lunatic. I cannot believe, after all these years, you're actually suggesting—in this hypothetical scenario—I cast my lot with blood traitors and the like."

"I expect you to cast your lot with the winning side. Our line cannot maintain control and influence if we're viewed as pariahs."

"The Dark Lord is going to restore our society back to the heights it once was before we began compromising our values to accommodate the Mudbloods and theirs," Lucius insisted. "Have you not instilled in me since childhood the virtues of Pureblood supremacy? Or is this another epiphany as you crawl closer to the final judgment? Off to join the Temple of Aequitas, perhaps?"

"Sanctimonia Vincet Semper. I taught you the values of Pureblood supremacy, yes, and expect you to maintain those views. What makes something superior?"

"To be higher in—" He stopped when he realized where Abraxas was going with this.

"Exactly. There always needs to be a pecking order. Superiority is only innately possible with the existence of inferiors. The Aequitas folk will, ironically, likely be the most content if little Tommy succeeds. If you support Riddle and he wins, we lose our power. If you support Riddle and he loses, we lose our power. The only way to come out of this with our power intact is to support Riddle's opposition. Yes, I find their lot to be extremely distasteful, but I have the utmost certainty they're going to emerge victorious. By the end of the war, it is imperative that you cannot be seen as being on Riddle's side, regardless of your personal beliefs."

Lucius was silent for a moment as several conflicting thoughts flitted into his head, which he hurriedly pushed down. "The Dark Lord would kill me if I betray him." Even voicing the mere possibility of betrayal made his skin crawl. Never.

"He doesn't have to know."

"How would he not know?"

"Make bullshit excuses or let the blame fall on others; you're rather good at that. Use various means to guard the mind. Hide from him, and despite your earlier protests, it is possible. There are many possibilities. Despite the mythology he built up for himself, he's a man, not a god." Abraxas shrugged. "Perhaps do what your friend Severus did and merely pretend to be a sycophant—not too hard for you, I'd wager—and then use that information to bolster the opposition."

Gods, spare me from this drivel. "Severus is loyal to the Dark Lord."

"No, he's not." Abraxas gestured to the tea cup and Lucius rolled his eyes.

"Enough with all this rubbish. I want to discuss the whole reason for being here. Why are you forcing this girl on me?"

"It relates to my goal of having you not lead this family into total ruin. There is both public and private benefit to bringing her into the family. Publicly, her presence serves as a way to distance yourself from typical Death Eater rhetoric. Taking in this half-Muggle child would put you in a good light with proper society—"

"How the bloody hell does any of this even remotely put me in a good light?"

"It does—or could—with the people who actually matter: the court of public opinion and, naturally, the old Pureblood families. Because it shows that you—Lucius Malfoy, 'victim' of the Imperius and advocate of traditional values—are willing to acknowledge, out of the goodness of his heart, the paternity of this child and bravely face the scrutiny and scandal that would inevitably ensue, because you are placing your child's needs before your own. It's a feel-good story and the public always loves that tripe. It can be effective if you're able to control the narrative."

It's not helping Draco's needs, now that he's going to inherit less money. Goddamnit. "Who would be stupid enough to believe this?"

"Enough to give the thought validity. There are the genuine idiots, and then there are those who believe it because they want to believe it. Together, they make up the majority of our world. I certainly don't expect you to convince everyone, but assuming you don't fuck up too badly, it could manipulate public perception to our benefit."

"You realize that several of these 'old pureblood families' you mentioned support the Dark Lord's cause, correct? And many of them had family members that were, in fact, Death Eaters?"

"Sadly, I do. Being a Purebood does not automatically preclude one from being unintelligent, though I fail to see the relevance. The aftermath of this war will not be decided by knuckle-draggers like the Rowles and the Carrows. It'll be decided by those that never stirred the pot, like the Macmillans, Greengrasses, Shafiqs, and their ilk. "

"The relevance is that now I have to explain why I'm willingly acknowledging a half-Muggle child to families who want to eliminate Muggle dilution of our race."

Abraxas chuckled darkly. "You have an unusual aptitude for making up bullshit on the spot; it shouldn't be too difficult to come up with something. Tell them the truth: 'Crazy ol' Abraxas won't give me my share of the inheritance unless I acknowledge this child.' Or, 'I want to preserve my lineage, since I can't spawn any more brats.' You'll figure out something."

"And what of this 'private benefit' you claim exists?"

Abraxas looked at him with a frown. "That one should be obvious, isn't it? You get another child to love."

This was so ridiculous, Lucius actually laughed. "Your complete lack of self-awareness is astounding, truly. You, of all people, actually having the nerve to talk about parental love. You killed two of your children!"

Abraxas shifted in his seat and showed, for a split-second, a rare flicker of discomfort across his face. Lucius savored the moment. Throughout his life, Lucius could count on one hand the times he saw Abraxas being put on the spot, and this was the first time he caused it. Maybe it's worth it just for this.

"Yes, well…" Abraxas began after a pause, "It wasn't a decision I made lightly. I always…was fond of all you children, even if it didn't always seem that way." What a joke. "Even Cassius. I wish I had approached things differently. Lavinia's end was painless, and she didn't know it was happening…I realize you and her had an unusual bond, so it's expected that you'd be sensitive to—"

"If the phrase "Womb Taint" comes out of your mouth, I'm leaving," Lucius snarled.

"I simply meant the natural bond that occurs with twins. With this girl," he rushed on, eager to redirect the focus, "she also should provide some incentive to have you not throw in with the man trying to exterminate her. There is no doubt in my mind that Riddle will eventually move up to those with any Muggle lineage, the self-loathing hypocrite."

Lucius smirked. "You're hoping this girl will…what? Tug at my heartstrings? Cause me to genuinely renounce all my actions as a Death Eater? Perhaps with a choir in the background, like in the plays?"

"Having a daughter is a special experience for a father. I'm hoping her presence will lead to you making less thick-headed decisions," Abraxas snapped. "And Draco might actually be forced to gain some independence if he's not constantly being smothered with attention."

"A 'special experience.' Is that what you call it? I'm sure Lavinia enjoyed the special bonding experience of being killed by her own father."

Abraxas's eyes darkened. "You know I had no choice."

"That's rubbish. You had a choice. You always had a choice. You could have Obliviated her and sent her to the Muggle world like the Macmillans did with their squib. Or you could have kept her, like the Abbotts."

"It's a mercy to die a Malfoy than to be raised among…those people. And why on earth would I keep a squib in my home? As the patriarch, I needed to make decisions for the good of my family. Knowledge of her condition would have brought shame upon us!"

"This whole situation is going to bring shame to our family! Why is this difficult for you to grasp? The world has changed since you were active in society. Something like…what I did won't just be ignored."

"I'm not expecting it to be. But if you and your son follow Riddle like ducklings, the Malfoy name gets disgraced far more than you nutting in a Muggle ever could. If you follow him, it will take generations for the family to recover our reputation, if it ever does. If you get the Muggle Rights folks uppity, they can't do any lasting harm because they have no power unless the public gives it to them. You're going to have to deal with temporary discomfort and embarrassment in order to avoid lifelong shame."

This child is my lifelong shame. But Abraxas wouldn't understand that. His father was stuck in his outdated ways, and that was that.

"This is going to ruin me!"

Abaraxas looked unimpressed. "Don't be so dramatic. This is far from the worst scandal this family has had to overcome."

"It's the worst I will have to overcome. This won't go away—people will be talking about this for years."

"Oh, without a doubt. I'm sure Rita Skeeter will be rubbing one out as she writes. But I explained how it's necessary to ensure our family's longevity. Sometimes swallowing pride is necessary for the greater good of the family. And on that note, let's discuss this Muggle."

Ugh, let's not. "There's nothing to say beyond what was brought up in the trial."

"I'm not interested in the sordid details of your little trips to the Acheron, which no doubt pale in comparison to my own youthful excursions. What I do want to discuss with you is how to control the discourse surrounding her and your little liaison."

There were many points throughout the entire conversation where Lucius thought it couldn't get any worse, and again and again, he was proven wrong. "There's no way to spin this in a way that doesn't make me look terrible." Because I was.

"During your trial, you used the Imperius defense. Remain consistent with that. Play up how you feel guilty for taking her virtue, as if she was a Pureblood witch instead of common Muggle rifraff, even though it was out of your control. Her memory was erased, so she won't know enough to contradict your account."

Fuck, am I going to have to see her again? Lucius pushed the thought to the back of his mind. "How am I supposed to tell Draco any of this? He doesn't know about my indiscretions at the Acheron."

Abraxas peered at Lucius with a curious expression. "Just tell him you went to a house where you could fuck Muggle captives. Surely he knows about basic reproduction at this age, right?"

"I'll rephrase the question: How do I let Draco know about my indiscretions, while also discouraging him from…this kind of behavior?"

"It's honestly very simple: A Muggle should not be used for more than one night. Enchant, do your business, and Obliviate. Keeping Muggles locked in basements like your father-in-law did in his heyday is just a sign of one's own sense of insecurity and perceived powerlessness in other areas of life—so when I heard the news about your little side project, I wasn't the least bit surprised, unfortunately."

In retrospect, it was a foolish question to ask Abraxas. His father wouldn't understand what Lucius was really trying to ask; he couldn't. The generational gap was too wide. Narcissa and Lucius alone would have to discuss the best way to approach this topic with their son. The thought of the conversations he'd have with his wife and son over the next few days made his stomach churn, and a new wave of spite towards his father washed over him.

"It's not viewed as…proper nowadays to simply take the unwilling, even Muggles." He saw Abraxas's mouth open and hurriedly continued. "Regardless of personal opinion, can you must recognize how this might make matters difficult for him at Hogwarts?"

"Hmph, yes, I suppose I could see the bleeding hearts wailing and gnashing their teeth. But such a thing wouldn't be an issue in Slytherin, surely?"

"One would hope not, but Dumbledore's rot runs deep, and perhaps it may have trickled down..."

"Well, regardless, your current spiel is how you did all untoward acts under the influence of the Imperius. Within that context, what happened at the Acheron couldn't possibly be considered your 'fault.' Hopefully you weren't stupid enough to let your son know that your Imperius defense was all hogwash." Lucius remained silent. "Fucking hell, Lucius. This is why I never wanted you as the heir."

"Why?" Lucius snapped. "Because I don't lie about my core values to my son?"

"Your brat can't keep his mouth shut! If he lets slip that you're genuinely supportive of Riddle, then everything we worked for is lost."

"Oh, now who's dramatic?" Lucius scoffed.

"You need to Obliviate him. Your wife too, if she complains."

"Absolutely not."

Abraxas sighed. "Fine. You'll soon see why my way is better, once you take in the girl."

That reminded Lucius of a question that was on his mind since he discovered her existence. "How am I supposed to bring her into the household if her mother's still alive?"

Abraxas raised his eyebrows. "The same way it's always been done when a Muggle and wizard have a magical child out of wedlock. If there's proof of lineage, the Ministry takes the child and lets it be raised in the household of the magical parent—usually, the father. If the mother cooperates, she can see her child on occasion if the father agrees. If not, then a standard Obliviation will occur."

"I'm not ignorant; I know the standard precedent," hissed Lucius, annoyed at his father's patronizing tone. "I'm asking how you expect the girl to go along with any of this, given the circumstances surrounding her birth, which she will undoubtedly become aware of when she enters our society."

Abraxas blinked, looking at Lucius as if he were speaking some foreign tongue. "You're the father. Make her go along with it."

Why did I ever used to look up to this man? "I'm talking about the state of her mind, not body. You cannot simply take a child—even one who's part Muggle—and completely uproot their entire life and reveal…certain things about her conception and expect no ill effects. Are you hoping for me to come home one day to find her hanging from a tree? Is that what this is all about? Some kind of warped final lesson before Hel claims you as one of her own?"

Abraxas shifted back in his seat, shadows obscuring his face. Lucius placed his hand on the snakehead which now held his wand, keenly aware of the heavy tension that just descended on the room. He knew he had perhaps gone too far, but honestly, he thought with bitterness, Father deserved it.

His father always had a noticeable soft spot for Valeria and (in Lucius's opinion) pampered her in comparison to the others, which made Lucius question often as a child why Valeria experienced frequent bouts of melancholy and why she eventually killed herself. While he was sure his parents knew more, he never once broached the topic with them. He never found a concrete answer to his question and had long accepted that he never would, which was perhaps for the best.

"No," Abraxas finally said. His voice was even and controlled. "I don't want that to happen. That's why I wrote in the provision that your daughter needs to come of age. I don't expect you to view her the same way you do Draco, but I also don't want you to make her life so miserable that she finds death preferable to living in the Manor."

"How can she not?" asked Lucius. "She'll hate me. I–" –raped her mother– "took her mother by force." He never said it out loud before, but now that he did, it made the Acheron even more real than seeing his daughter's name on the Blood Tracing document.

Abraxas shifted in his seat and Lucius could see his father's face once again, which looked impassive. "The word 'Father' has power, especially to a child who doesn't have one. It shouldn't be hard to take advantage of those feelings and ingratiate yourself to her; she's an eleven-year old child. In regards to your previous question, I'd like you to think of how our kind looks in comparison to the Muggles. We can change the very nature of the material world, control it, shape it. We are to them what the legendary gods of old were to us. Did Hercules turn down the opportunity to attain godhood? Did Romulus? Ariadne? Psyche? Your daughter is a Malfoy. She will not turn down a seat on Mount Olympus."

Not for the first time today, Lucius felt compelled to roll his eyes at his Father's unnecessary drama and theatrics (which, as Narcissa confirmed, he unfortunately inherited).

"Are the Olympians going to judge me, or the Wizengamot? Surely your teacup told you that my…actions with her mother aren't viewed as proper. This will do the exact opposite of bolstering my image. It puts all those past lapses in judgment back into the public consciousness."

Abraxas dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. "The Mudbloods will harp on it, but their opinion—like their existence—is worth nothing. They have no significant power beyond being typical grassroots rabble-rousers. As for the Purebloods, there are a couple of factors to consider. First, you claimed you were under the Imperius, which legally absolves you from responsibility. But for those who could see through the bullshit, you needn't worry. You're far from the only man who's taken a Muggle woman for sport. While your merry little club was foolish enough to have your debauchery exposed to the world, there are others who keep their varying levels of curiosity and perversity hushed. It's historically been practically a rite of passage for our kind, up until these Muggle Rights stooges started making noise. I'd wager most families—and, more importantly, most in the Ministry—will be sweating like piglets, praying that no one in the family suggests doing a Blood Tracing and having their own dirty little secrets revealed. It would be more advantageous for them to play into the false narrative that you're being noble instead of opportunistic."

Was this true, or was this what Abraxas wanted to believe? His father had a habit of projecting his own vices and viewpoints onto others, which is why he was so adamant in his belief that Lucius killed Gaius. Then again, Lucius was well-acquainted with the darker side of humanity. There was certainly no shortage of men who presented respectable facades that were only just that—facades. But were they the majority?

"It's simply the natural effect," Abraxas continued, "of our place in the world. As I said before, to them, we are like gods. Did Zeus ask for permission when he sired Helen with Leda? Or Mars, when he took Rhea Silvia and fathered the founders of Rome? Do we wring our hands over how these unwilling women felt, or are they but a mere footnote in the saga of their divine children? The fox preys on the rabbit; the hawk on the mouse. There are those with power, and those without. It is the natural order for the strong to exert their power over the weak."

"Have you even considered for the briefest moment how this is going to affect Narcissa? Having a permanent reminder that her husband had relations with another woman?"

"Not in the slightest." Abraxas said with a shrug. "Why should it matter? Her role as a wife is to support you. Your mother" —Mother—shit, I'm going to have to let her know about the girl too—"often found herself in the same position your wife is currently in. Not the illegitimate children part, but having constant reminders of my infidelity. However, her experiences were allegedly so 'heartbreaking'—her words, not mine—because the other women were often witches, some of noble birth. She's hardly alone in that situation, though. It'd be easier to find a Pureblood man who hasn't had an affair in his day."

"I didn't have an 'affair,'" Lucius practically spat out the word, "It was nothing. Completely meaningless." His grip on Jormungandr grew tighter. "I never meant to dishonor Narcissa. I–It didn't even cross my mind that it could be considered adultery. In order to commit adultery, it needs to be with a person and she…she's just a Muggle. It was a glorified whorehouse. That's it."

Abraxas's eyes gleamed. Lucius was very stubborn when it came to not discussing the Acheron, and this was perhaps the most detailed he'd ever been. Abraxas wouldn't be getting any more than that, though.

"No need to be so on edge, Lucius. I didn't mean anything by it." Abraxas paused. "My affairs—or liaisons, or whatever term you want to use—were typically devoid of emotional entanglements as well. Perhaps it would have been better if they weren't. I could have run away with my new sweetheart and then I would be the one sipping a mimosa while sailing on the French Riviera with a partner my son's age instead, while your mother would be the one wasting away in this damned estate."

The mention of his mother's new beau—Lucius's old classmate—caused Lucius's eye to twitch slightly, but he smoothed his expression over quickly. "Unlike you, she deserves whatever happiness she could get"-even if it involves fucking Sebastian Laurent— "after putting up with your cruelty and violence for so long. As you said yourself, your current condition is the consequence of your own choices."

"Yes, and this girl is the consequence of yours." Abraxas sighed. "Look, it'll be embarrassing, but you'll survive. I timed it in such a way that the Potter boy's arrival will likely overshadow the story, or at least split the focus."

Lucius almost forgot that Harry Potter would be attending Hogwarts with Draco (and Diana, a voice whispered. He would need to get used to thinking of two children).

He tried to think of something else to say to his father, but found that he couldn't summon the proper thoughts or energy. Talking to this man was like talking to a rock: a complete and utter waste of time. As much as he loathed to admit it, he was resigned that this was going to be his life now. He would be known publicly as a man who fathered a child by rape. Goddamnit. Lucius wanted nothing more than to return to his life two hours earlier, where all the past unpleasantness was simply a distant memory. Gods, how he hated his father for doing this to him.

But…

Was what his father said true? Would Lucius bring the family to an even greater ruin by following the Dark Lord? Lucius's instinctive answer was "absolutely not," but maybe, just maybe…

Then, he looked around and surveyed the room. A Divination teacup on the desk, the smell of Dirigible Plums in the air, a fucking copy of the Quibbler with articles about the Rotfang conspiracy circled. No, Lucius decided, the man is simply a lunatic. Nothing more to it.

But regardless, Abraxas had control of the will, and Lucius had to play along with this insanity.

Still clutching Jormungandr—at least there's something worthwhile out of all this—Lucius turned around. "I believe we have nothing more to discuss. I'll be taking my leave then."

Abraxas nodded, as if expecting nothing else. "I'll likely be able to squeeze out a few more months, possibly even a couple years." Of course you will. "While you are now formally the patriarch, I'll be here for any help you require."

"Yes, how could I forget how much help you've been to me?"

He expected his father to try to stop him from leaving, but Abraxas said nothing as Lucius opened the door and left on his own terms. He felt his father's gaze on him as he strode down the hallway, past the echoes in the paintings who were questioning him for details.

"We heard yelling. What's going on Lucius?" asked Valeria, a worried expression on her face.

Cassius looked gleeful. "Looks like someone won't get the money he stole, I bet."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous." Gaius drawled, rolling his eyes. "Who else could it go to? We're all dead."

"Is that it, Lucius? Is he playing another one of his games?"

"No," Lucius replied. Thoughts were swirling in his head and he wasn't thinking straight. He felt nauseous. "He wasn't. He truly and honestly believes his fantasies. Our family's reputation—my reputation— is going to be completely and utterly fucked because of a dying, delusional old man."

There was silence. All of his elder siblings gaped at him; not once had Lucius—the real one—ever replied back to one of their portraits. They immediately bombarded him with frantic questions that Lucius ignored as he continued to make his way downstairs. Before he approached the stairwell, however, another echo made itself known.

The younger Lucius—who had been quiet up until now—poked his head into the painting of a ship lost at sea, and mumbled quietly, 'I thought things are supposed to get better if you get older."

Today was a day for firsts, it seemed. The younger painting of Lucius never before addressed his older, real counterpart, instead preferring to hide or glare whenever the real Lucius would return to Westwell.

"No," Lucius said honestly. "They don't. Getting older just opens oneself to a set of new problems. I envy you, in a way, being able to remain fixed in time at such a good age."

"No you wouldn't. Not if you could remember what it was like when you were me. But if you miss that, then I guess I am lucky."

"Say 'I suppose,' not 'I guess,'" Lucius said automatically. "The latter makes you appear uneducated."

The younger Lucius scowled and withdrew back to his original painting. Lucius felt a sense of emptiness as he watched him leave, though he wasn't quite sure why. As he headed down the staircase his melancholy morphed back to agitation. Every step he took was allowing him to get closer and closer to his new reality. The knowledge of his daughter would be following him to Malfoy Manor, following him to the Ministry, following him everywhere. Fuck.

As Lucius made his way down the spiraling staircase, he saw Borthwick sweating far more noticeably than before, with a feeble expression on his face. Borthwick correctly expected him to be livid, and Lucius turned on him with a snarl. "This amendment is a clear show of his declining mental state due to his illness. I want medical professionals here immediately to declare him incompetent and render the amendment null and void."

Abraxas said he already prepared for this, but Lucius figured it couldn't hurt to at least try.

Borthwick appeared to actually be shaking as he mumbled his next words: "Abraxas already—er, you see—he already thought of this, and wrote the amendment on the same day he was declared mentally competent." Lucius opened his mouth to speak. "And y-yes, he had five different, objective professionals assess him, three of which aren't even native to this country and won't be, erm, receptive to monetary donations. All the proper documentation has already been filed." Lucius closed his mouth. "B-but, congratulations on receiving the official headship."

"Thank you," Lucius replied stiffly.

"I-I know it might seem unnecessary, since you have been serving as head of the house for the past several years in all but name anyway." Don't remind me. "But Jormungandr has a history and power. It represents so much more than simple headship…why, I'll never forget when I saw your father bludgeon a man to death with it back in '68. The man certainly had it coming, but still…oof."

"Yes, I'm very familiar with how it's designed for….practical purposes in addition to ceremonial ones."

"Y-yes, right. Well, what made it stand out so much wasn't so much the beating—though it was rather brutal—but instead the reaction of everyone in the room. You see, it was during a party, and there were all sorts of government officials and other society echelons there. And they just…let him do it. Stood and watched. Even people who were opposed to your father's views—and there were many, even back then—just let him do it. No one wanted to risk earning Abraxas Malfoy's ire. And then Abraxas just strolled on out, giving the host enough Galleons to cover the cost of the oriental rug he no doubt stained, mangled corpse just laying there all twisted on the ground. Thirty witnesses just let him walk away with a crime that would get any ordinary man sent to Azkaban. But Abraxas Malfoy is no ordinary man. It's true power, what your father has."

Lucius thought of Abraxas's ludicrous ramblings, and how his days were now spent partially-immobile, in a darkened mansion with only paintings for company. "Had. He had power."

"W-with all due respect, Mr. Malfoy…I believe it's 'has.'" At Lucius's incensed expression, Borthwick rushed to continue. "Abraxas has his…faults, as all men do. Several, even. I-I realize you have some, er, reasons to doubt your father's integrity and decisions. And while you naturally know him much better than I do on a personal level, as legal advisor to your family for many years, I can assure you, Abraxas's mind operates on a different level from the rest."

Lucius let a sharp laugh escape him, causing Borthwick to get flustered. "Yes, I'm well aware. Now, in case you've forgotten, Borthwick, I received some rather significant news and my day has become much busier as a result. If you'd excuse me…"

"Ah, y-yes," Borthwick said, looking a bit defeated. He stammered some quick legal information which Lucius only half-listened to, and when he was finished, Lucius grabbed a handful of Floo Powder, and stepped into the fireplace without looking back.

Leaving Westwell and returning to Malfoy Manor brought a small sense of comfort that Lucius knew would disappear soon. Within the next forty-eight hours, his son would know that he was a rapist. Within the next forty-eight hours, his name would be in every newspaper in Wizarding Britain. Within the next forty-eight hours, everyone of importance would know that he fathered a Half-blood child with a Muggle.

What would the girl even look like? Act like? The thought of having a miniature version of Sarah White stumbling around the manor—a living millstone wrapped around his neck— made him feel sick to his stomach. Would everything really go as smoothly as Abraxas anticipated? Lucius found it highly doubtful.

And Sarah—no, he wasn't going to think of it. One problem at a time.

As he entered the hallway, he saw the love of his life rearranging some flowers in the vases. She looked around and smiled, eyes shining when she saw Jormungandr in his grasp. But when her eyes locked onto his, the glint quickly faded upon seeing his expression. He swallowed.

"Narcissa, there's something I need to discuss with you."