Disclosure Hp belongs to JKR. The storyline, new character development, new events, and new characters are my intellectual property. Glorioux

A/n A very dark yet innocent Lucius is the new Dark Lord. His rational mind takes him for a spin into forbidden lands. He caught a 'bug' while spying on married Draco's encounter with his lover, the Mudblood. When Draco is abducted without a trace, Hermione seeks Lucius for help, hoping he is alive, nothing goes as expected. Maybe there is hope.

Warning this story contains mature content. It was published before but brought it down after the hack attack. Or it was deleted I don't remember. The ending and some pieces have changed, but the overarching concept hasn't. It contains mature situations.

I am finally getting back on my feet. Cancer is difficult. I am getting all organized to publish and move out FF. I will leave a presence here, but the complete stories will go to my new site.

Lucius couldn't stop a memory because one image haunted him. They passed the witch when he was walking with his son, and his son's eyes caressed the witch after 'casually' bumping against her. That look was only for her. When his son apologized, her smile was dazzling. He had been so wrong and blind and wished he had opened his eyes sooner. The memories that always followed were from 'The Night."

The Night

They left when the big party to celebrate the Minister's latest triumph was in full swing. His daughter-in-law was too busy playing Lady of the Manor to see her husband leave the ballroom. A husband whose actions showed he was madly in love with the other witch. Not Lucius, since he had kept a close eye on them. He knew of their love but couldn't believe it and had to see it himself.

At the first chance they had, Lucius saw them leaving. So he followed the wayward pair after hiding behind a powerful concealment charm. They had looked around carefully, and once they ascertained no one had followed, they ran away from the house, holding hands, while laughing joyously and freely as children often do.

'It' had unfolded as he witnessed their union at the horse stable. He was certain that they believed to be alone. He stayed and viewed their encounter for at least one hour. Time became a blur, etching the images on his mind. Those images robbed him of his peace for weeks, really for the rest of his life, until now.

He hid in the dark like a thief and saw them. They were kissing wildly while his son loved her with abandonment. They undressed the second they stepped into the stable and spread a horse's blanket. Both lay there, naked and pale under the moonlight, and the kisses he had witnessed were full of wild passion, more like eating each other. Their kissing left him wondering why they would do that, it seemed unsanitary, yet their memories filled him with strange longings.

While they kissed, their bodies sought one another, and their hands flew everywhere. Their cries were anguished, in pain, yet their faces glowed with something that eluded him. The young silver-haired wizard rutted like an animal; he kneeled on the ground and held on to her thighs, her feet over his shoulders. The sounds he made were primitive and raw. He had never seen anything like that, such a wild coupling. He rubbed his eyes to ensure he wasn't under a charm.

He didn't understand what he was seeing and later decided it must have been a sickness. He appraised what they did to each other to be obscene yet beautiful. When he heard his son's cries of pleasure while his face contorted in some unrecognizable emotion, the pale wizard wondered what made his son cry so loud; it was all foreign to him.

And then to see the Mudblood contorting in shared ecstasy, a witch who felt physical pleasure, was more than he could handle; it filled him with strange and desperate needs. He often remembered her small, delicate body under his son's ministrations, and during fleeting moments, he understood why his daughter-in-law would never be enough for his son. He was sad his son was married to someone he didn't want; Lucius disliked his daughter-in-law profoundly, but she was Narcissa's choice.

He could still see her smaller body glowing under the moonlight, her nipples pointing, as her breasts jiggled under their unrestrained coupling. It was right there when he started craving the taste of her sex on his tongue.

Oh yes, his son had even drunk from her sex; whereas he had read about it such aberrations, he used to fancy those practices were reserved for the depraved lower classes. Ha, once again, he was proven wrong because the act he thought repugnant must have been pleasurable. Indeed, if one were to consider how his son had licked his lips when he was done and went for more. Moreover, he kissed her mouth when he had enough, wild and drunk with her juices. He could see his son, erect, pulsing, and his lips glistening.h

Her fingers have been in all his body cavities, doing what? Well, something he couldn't even try to imagine. It seemed homosexual, but how could that be? The look on his son's face made him tremble, and his cock burned with need. His hand went to his cock once or twice, but he changed his mind.

It was at the instance the small, curly hair witch impaled herself on her lover's large tumescence when his heart nearly stopped. That would have made the third time the young wizard had climaxed within the hour; yes, she had awoken a demon inside his reserved son. As she slowly lowered her body upon his, his son's face said it all, head thrown back, eyes closed, no doubt, he was in an enviable ecstatic state. He wasn't blind, the witch was a Goddess with her wild hair flowing, her semi-closed eyes, and her lips slightly opened.

His golden son, in turn, half-opened his eyes and bent his body so he could see his large prick going inside of her while his hands held on to her perfect breasts, and her fingers pinched his nipples. The older wizard had looked at her face; her eyes were now closed, her head also thrown back, while her body trembled with new sensations. Something was clear to the father; his son knew more than him; he held an elusive secret knowledge imparted by the young sorceress.

He had to leave; otherwise, his heart threatening to explode would have had he stayed one more second. He hadn't wanted to Apparate, needing to breathe the cold air to come back to reality. He fell on the ground at least twice on his way back and had to stop to vomit on his way back to the Manor.

Upon his return, he locked his study, pulled out the memory, and relived it until the sun came up. He analyzed it and looked for books trying to find an answer, but not once he was able to understand what he witnessed. He was absent for the rest of the party, surrounded by the maelstrom of his unbridled emotions, contaminated by the ever-growing disease. His sanity was leaving him; he was tainted. He could conjure images of the naked witch in ecstasy just by breathing.

When he looked at his son the next day, he could see his state of happiness, his secret smile. He saw them at the MoM a couple of days after; how could he have missed it? They were linked; every look and smile told him that they were remembering.

His looks were only for her. How he wished he hadn't been so wrong and so blind.

Chapter 1

Descend into Madness - Months Later

The blond aristocrat sat at a bar owned by a Muggle that his son used to frequent, never mind who owned it. He told three of his men, who always accompanied him, to sit at an adjacent table. He couldn't stomach others near him, not even now when he was a public figure.

His internal loneliness was so pervasive that even when surrounded by others, he felt totally alone. The feeling of being isolated increased the desire to fade, to cease breathing, and dive headfirst into the nothingness of the darkness surrounding his twisted soul.

He would gladly welcome death, he thought. His ascent into power was meaningless without Draco. His son was the one person he had truly loved. Power for its own sake was worthless; it was a legacy for your heirs, extensions of your being, a way to a type of immortality; here he was at the pinnacle of his power with nobody to share it with.

He wore the garments Draco had worn that infamous day that night. He had picked them from his son's wardrobe when he detected his smell all over the clothes. All left of him was a mere smell; whoever took him, the shapeless masked individuals, had made him strip in front of everyone. He knew why because they didn't want a tracer they couldn't see. He groaned and closed his eyes; he couldn't think about it. He needed to make his mind stop the perpetual carousel of painful memories before his mind would stop forever. He caught the attention of the bar attendant, who, at once, came to take his order.

"Yes, bring me another double,n wait, bring me the bottle you offered earlier, straight to the table," Lucius ordered.

The bartender wanted to show his contempt, but he nodded his head gracefully for his own sake.

Lucius ruminated; he was the only one to blame for his misery. His entire life's tragedies were a direct result of his damned pride and his own doing, a consequence of his hunger for power and his thoughtless actions. He stood up to move to the table, his shoulders slumped.

"May I?" A soft and familiar female voice inquired in a near whisper. A known fragrance wafted to his nose, and at once, he knew.

A small hand touched him, and he recoiled. He looked up and saw the one he had chosen as the one to blame. The one he decided was the chief instigator of the chaos around him; the one who triggered the recent horrific events; the very one who had set the wheels of fate in motion. He still wanted to find another to be guilty of his sins. His watchdogs made a move to stop her, but he raised his hand with alacrity, and they moved back.

The tall, blond wizard's grey eyes coldly zeroed on the offending appendage that gracefully held his arm's crook. The delicate hand he knew so well had actually dared to touch him. His body tensed and readied for an expected onslaught.

"Don't touch me; the tragedy of his disappearance started with you!"

He barked between clenched teeth. He snarled at the hand's owner as his body shot up, perfectly straight, just as a cobra unfurling inside a basket, and he raised his head, ready to strike. His lip trembled in a snarl, and his eyes glowed with fury. A dark, ominous halo of angry magic emitted from his head. She looked at his hand and saw he had not gone for his wand.

Strangely enough, after the spark of recognition, neither had he attempted to move the offending hand away nor did she move it once she sat down.

He moved his stool, ever so slightly, closer to the interloper until their legs nearly touched. His eyes observed his arm; good, her hand was still there, and that was the right place for it, at least it seemed right. So right that he moved the arm closer to his body, to have her hand closer to him.

His face moved towards his companions, and his expression spoke loud and clear, "Stay away," and conveyed a command to survey the perimeter for suspicious characters.

Next, she bent her head in one swift movement and smelled his jumper's sleeve. Her voice was barely audible, "Draco, it smells of him," and an anguished cry followed the statement.

That wasn't all; she brought his wrist to her face and rubbed her cheek against his arm, to his horror. She might have kissed it a couple of times, and, finally, her hand stayed there, where it had been before, right on the crook of his arm, and her body finally relaxed and leaned towards him.

She felt dizzy; Draco's intoxicating scent impregnated his father's clothes and worsened her heartache. Draco, my love, where are you? Please answer me. She desperately tried to reach his mind, but no answer was forthcoming.

Lucius still didn't move, even when he heard the quiet sobs, not even when he saw her head collapse over her folded arm and felt her enticing warmth so near him. Her floral scent wafted to his nose, and he took a deep breath of the calming aroma. He was glad that the place was dark and provided a privacy screen from others. The loud music gave them a sort of privacy and deafened her sounds of grief. Most people would not even dare to look at them; moreover, very few would have risked even a glance; everyone knew that such an intrusion would be dealt with swiftly and harshly by one of his goons.

Her presence confused him just as it had for months now, and he saw his fingers move on their own. Detachedly, He observed as they slid, ever so slightly towards the object of their desire, as if they had their own mind. And, before he could stop himself, the fingers threaded through her silky braid, which spilled over the table and hung nearby his hand.

He knew that he had hidden his hand from curious eyes and let his mind wander out of control—Ah, his hand had found real fairy silk, and he hooked his fingers thru the plaited hair. He remembered the need to keep a stronghold; everyone well knew that fairies reclaim their property if you let it go, even for a blink of an eye—and just a few seconds later, he was oblivious that it was her hair he held. His mind was half-broken from grief, and his hold, in reality, was tenuous at best; however, the feel of her hair granted him a small respite from his never-ending sorrow.

"I loved him, you know; I still do. I hope he is still alive; I feel that he is, and he is waiting for us. He hasn't lost the hope that we are looking for him, but it might be my imagination. I just don't know—I believe that someone holds him," a visible fearful shudder, "and who knows for what nefarious purposes."

A soft tremulous voice had broken through the fog wrapped around his perception; she had to be the one just talking to him. No answer was forthcoming since he was unable to speak. Although he felt unwell, this wasn't a brand new sensation; not indeed; such malaise had been the status quo for months. And up to a few minutes ago, his internal responses to the stimulation were more of the same; however, this new sort of discomfort was foreign to him.

His consciousness lacked continuity, and the feeling of disassociation made him completely disconnected from this time and place, and he had fleetingly considered that this could be a dream. Indeed, the music sounded like a cacophony from distant lands.

The advertisement that made him come to this particular club had spoken of some kind of old but good choices- yes, it had said, come tonight, an early Valentines' lovers celebration to oldies but goodies. Whatever that meant, so this had to be real.

He couldn't have made up the infernal sounds if he tried to imagine the garish decor with tasteless cupids, kissing silhouettes, and an excessive quantity of red papier-mache. He tightened the fingers meshed in her braid, nearly yanking a piece; this he liked, it felt right, and he wanted to keep it; yes, it reminded him of better times, female comforts, and it anchored him to the ever-receding shores of sanity.

A/n This happens for spying. The original ended without finding Draco - we shall see, except a twist