NOTE:

I'm terribly sorry, but we have decided to abandon this fic. This will be the last chapter.

Nah, just fucking with ya.

Lucius Malfoy was not as patient as he seemed on the outside.

When Draco faltered in his steps to stare at the fountain, he had to remind himself that it was his son's first time visiting the Ministry proper. It really should not have been. At age thirteen, his son was already older than Lucius had been when Abraxas Malfoy began his education. The blame for this could be laid on none other than himself; he had neglected his son's education, the relationship he'd had with his own father tainting his view of his and Draco's. No matter. Abraxas had had one foot in the grave for years already, and would be dead soon enough. Perhaps then he'd find it easier to pursue a proper, paternal relationship with his own children.

"This way," he said, and Draco hastened to follow.

While he felt that Narcissa did a good job loving both their children equally, he knew that Draco felt neglect. While eccentric at best, Lyra nonetheless possessed a genius that overshadowed her brother at every turn. As Narcissa began feeding into that old fool's rhetoric through their daughter — and didn't it pain him that Dumbledore had used his daughter to sow seeds of doubt! — Draco was feeling more and more isolated. He was eager to please, and his mixture of excitement and nervousness was so obvious that Lucius could only feel shame. It would not be adequate compensation to what he had gone through but Lucius would hopefully try to alleviate Draco's concerns, starting today.

Lucius had kept ears at the school, of course. Draco's attempt to rally Slytherin House to him, as Lucius himself had done when he was younger, was distressingly pathetic. Again, the blame did not fall upon Draco. Neither Lucius nor Narcissa had an idea of what a model parental relationship looked like, and they knew it; Lyra had barely needed parenting, and in that sense Draco was their first true challenge as a family. Meaningless praise at a young age had swelled his ego without proper discipline to temper it. And now, feeling neglected, Draco made rash power-grabs in hopes that he'd impress his parents, but they would backfire due to his lack of education.

"I will teach you the most basic principle of politics," said Lucius, stepping inside an elevator. Draco remained silent, quizzing him with his eyes. "It is that everyone involved in politics wants something."

He allowed Draco to mull over that for a moment.

"And what do you want, Father?"

Stability. Safety. Family.

"That is for you to figure out," Lucius said. "Tell me, Draco, what do you think the current Minister of Magic wants?"

"Power — no," Draco immediately said. He was learning to look beyond the surface, then. "Gold?"

"I would take it one step further."

Draco furrowed his brow. "I can't think of anything else that oaf could possibly want."

As nobody else was around, Lucius allowed himself a snort of amusement. "Crude, but an adequate summary. I could tell you, but it may seem obvious in hindsight. Would you prefer to take a few more guesses, or shall I say it?"

"I have no guesses, Father."

"Cornelius wants luxury," Lucius said. "He wants to live out the rest of his life comfortably with his wife, with a suitably young mistress if he can afford one. This also expresses itself in his desire to be well-liked. He did not become Minister by virtue of his hardly revolutionary policy; the post of Minister is the first prize of a glorified popularity contest, and Cornelius with his love of luxury and comfort is well-suited for candidacy."

Draco nodded. "I understand, Father."

Lucius briefly wondered if he truly had, but he decided it was not worth worrying over. Draco wsa plenty smart in his own right, and while it was unfortunate that his scores were being beaten out by some mudblood, he constantly excelled in academics on his own merit. He took it seriously, unlike his older sister, and that would serve him well in the future.

"Some desires are less easy to manipulate," Lucius continued, as the elevator shuddered to a stop. "Vengeance is easy to serve; justice, on the other hand, is not. That's why Bones has been found to be more incorruptible than her predecessors. She wants justice for her lost family, and that of others. Sometimes they want things that depend on too many independent variables. Augusta Longbottom wants the Longbottom name to find its former glory, for example."

"That's hardly possible with that clumsy fool carrying on the name," Draco muttered.

"That's preciselyright, Draco."

Draco briefly looked both pleased and confused at the sudden approval, but he quickly grasped it. "Madam Longbottom can't control the natural ineptitude of her grandson, but neither can we, so we can't give her what she wants."

"If she needed money to hire private tutors? To give the heir Longbottom the best equipment? Then we might help," Lucius said. "But the Longbottoms can afford all of that. All that remains is the complete lack of talent shown by the boy. That, unfortunately, is nothing we can fix that is worth the time or effort spent on it."

"What does Dumbledore want?" Draco said. "That essay was obviously designed to encourage the wizarding world to integrate into the muggle one. But why?"

"Some foolish sense of sentimentality, perhaps?" Lucius said, even though he knew it was a weak explanation. No, Dumbledore had to be preparing for… a certain someone. Lucius did not want to believe it. He'd rather believe Dumbledore was simply senile in his old age. He'd never been this overt in his actions and statements before, which meant that He was still not ready, that Dumbledore had the upper hand and was making his first move. That relieved Lucius a little, but it didn't help the near-constant anxiety he had these days. He subconsciously scratched at his arm before forcing himself to cease such uncouth behavior.

"Does he truly want to eradicate wizard culture?" Draco asked, unbothered by any of Lucius' thoughts.

"All of it?" Lucius said. "No, likely not. But most of what we know as the 'old' ways are centered around families often associated with Slytherin, and Dumbledore definitely does not favor those ways."

"So he champions muggle-borns instead," said Draco. "With the slowly increasing muggle-born population, it wouldn't be hard to integrate pure-blood wizards into his new order in a few generations."

Lucius hummed in agreement. He suspected the reality was slightly more complicated than that — in the end, though, it made little difference. Whatever the reason was, Dumbledore's recent actions were determined by his love of mudbloods and his desire to see the old order torn down. Lucius stopped in front of a pair of heavy stone doors, and Draco paused beside him.

"Wizengamot meetings, save matters of national security, are generally open to invited observers," said Lucius. "While I am unfortunately not part of the Wizengamot proper, I often come to observe in person when something piques my interest. Also, there is a period for mingling and refreshments after each meeting." Lucius glanced at Draco with a slight teasing look. "I'm sure you'd be looking forward to that."

Draco blushed brilliantly and mumbled something incomprehensible under his breath. He was a teenaged boy, after all. His gluttony was well within normal range, but that didn't stop parents from teasing at their expense.

"And it is during this period that reporters may come and ask their questions," Lucius said, pushing open the doors and allowing Draco through. "If a bill is controversial enough, it may take longer for the Wizengamot to come to a majority decision, meaning that these periods of mingling will serve as networking opportunities as well, even for observers. Networking, Draco, is the most important thing when it comes to power in this world; it is so crucial that even the muggles do it. I'd have brought your sister along, had she not claimed she was busy."

Then Draco stopped in his tracks. "Lyra?"

"Who else?" said Lucius, turning around to look at him with exasperation. But then he saw Draco was looking past him, and he followed his son's gaze...

Lyra, his daughter, sat among the observer benches, with two mops of red hair that could only belong to the Weasleys, her mudblood friend, and an old man that Lucius did not recognize — another one of Dumbledore's cronies, most likely.

Before he could move past his surprise, she looked over at him and blinked, making an o with her mouth.

"Lyra," he said smoothly, capturing the attention of the weaselly fops. "I was not told you'd be here."

Lyra scratched her cheek. "I wanted it to be a surprise." She leaned over closer to him and whispered loudly, "I'm here to infiltrate Dumbledore's group of flaming flamingos."

"Flaming flamingo?" said Stark, the mudblood. "Isn't that you?"

"Sirius, more like," said Lyra, head swiveling to look at the Wizengamot chamber.

Dumbledore was at the head, of course, as was Fudge and the vile woman below him, but one person he did not expect to see was Sirius Black, representing the hereditary seat in the Wizengamot belonging to the House of Black. Beside him was, arguably just as surprisingly, Andromeda Tonks, clearly acting as Sirius Black's right hand. Black was dressed in rich black robes, as according to the Wizengamot dress code — but indeed, as Lyra hinted, he'd gone overboard:

Glitters of gold could be seen from beneath his collar, upon his fingers, even on his earlobes. All of them were tasteful pieces designed to display the power and wealth of his clan; he was only a crown away from appearing like a king of old. His slightly gaunt look accentuated his high cheekbones and the disdainful look. If Lucius didn't know any better, he'd have thought that Black had finally seen the right of things.

But, of course, Black was Dumbledore's mutt, forever and always. It so happened that Black was a very big mutt; over the generations the Black clan had stuck their fingers in a wide variety of pies, which made them quite the annoyance. The fact that Andromeda was here also was a message sent on Dumbledore's behalf: the House of Black was no longer fractured as it had been.

Lucius turned back to his daughter. He didn't know who the old man near her was, but she was surely here at Dumbledore's behest. He gripped the head of his cane hard enough that his knuckles turned white. The audacity of Dumbledore to think he could groom Lucius' own successor for him.

Lyra flashed him a look of annoyance, having noticed his anger and probably his thoughts.

"Sit," she said.

The only thing worse than her demanding tone was the fact the nearest available seat to his daughter was next to the mudblood, Stark, who seemed to notice the issue.

"Good morning, Mr. Malfoy," he said in a perfectly polite tone. One thing Lucius hated about the whelp was that he was entirely unflappable, even on their first ever meeting. He acted entirely deaf about Lucius' veiled curses, but the occasional return-fire made it obvious enough that James Stark had indeed recognized Lucius' attempts to perturb him, and that they'd failed.

"James Stark," Lucius said with a nod of acknowledgement. Their feud was unworthy of pursuit. Stark would get his comeuppance eventually, but it need not be at Lucius' hands, and Lucius felt nowadays that developing a proper relationship with his daughter was a far more worthy endeavor than showing up a child. "And the two of you must be William and Percy."

Both Weasleys looked surprised that Lucius knew of them.

"That's correct, sir," William said, recovering first and standing briefly to shake Lucius' hand. It was a good thing he made a habit of wearing gloves. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

William didn't mean that, of course, but he concealed it surprisingly well. Percy was not nearly so well-trained, and as a result his greeting was visibly unenthusiastic. Then again, by all reports that particular weasel was not well-suited to politics. He would be irrelevant in the future.

Lucius turned to the last member of the group, a geriatric working a crossword puzzle in the morning edition of the Prophet.

"I'm afraid we've not been introduced, Mister…?"

"Ah," the old airhead finally said, standing up and brushing off nonexistent dust from his tweed jacket. He was spectacularly unintimidating, with close-cropped white hair and beard, as well as the pince-nez spectacles making him look more like a curator than a politician. He held out his hand. "You must be Lyra's father. I am called Nicolas."

Lucius took the hand, and froze.

Nicolas… he couldn't possibly be Nicolas Flamel?

As Lucius took his hand back, he glanced again at Dumbledore, who was looking right at him. He suppressed his flinch and sat down beside Stark, the weasels grudgingly making space so they could all fit on one bench. Draco sat to his opposite side. Dumbledore turned back to focus his attention on the Wizengamot proceedings, as if nothing had just happened.

"Mr. Flamel," Lucius said. Draco missed a step, and the Weasleys also glanced at the old man with some panic in their expressions. "Would it be acceptable to call you as such?"

"Please, call me Nicolas," he said easily. "I find it gets me a little more anonymity these days. Might I call you Lucius?"

"By all means," Lucius said, bowing his head. "I had not known that my daughter and yourself were acquainted."

"Oh, we weren't, not until this morning," said Nicolas. "Coincidentally these youngsters were interested in observing the Wizengamot meeting, same as I. They most kindly helped me up the stairs on my way here. I am rather old, as you know."

That was certainly an understatement. His story was also a blatant lie, but from his tone Flamel clearly did not care whether he was called on the lie or not. So great was his reputation, greater than even that of Dumbledore by several orders of magnitude, that nobody would believe someone else over the legendary Nicolas Flamel. Only his wife, Perenelle, was afforded the same near-mythical status. If Lucius pushed here, Nicolas would push back, and that was not an outcome anyone wanted.

Lucius gave a curt nod, and glanced at Lyra as if to ask her what she was doing.

"I wasn't even planning on coming," she said casually, as if the thought sprang up from nowhere. "But Daphne Greengrass said I should meet her father and become acquainted, and Horace Slughorn reached out to me and James and suggested it too, while back."

Bill Weasley gave her a curious look.

Lucius curled his lip. "Of course Slughorn reached out to you. I'll have to have a talk with him in the future on what is socially acceptable or otherwise."

"He'll deny it," said Lyra. "No point, Dad."

Lucius felt a mixture of exasperation and warmth at her use of Dad. It wasn't often she called him something so familial. That didn't mean he overlooked her lying, of course — did she really think she could fool her own father after so long? Especially when she looked so much like her mother when she wanted to hide something. He was sure Dumbledore was the real reason she was here.

But he'd send a preemptive letter to Slughorn anyway. It sounded like just the thing the old fool would do.

"Greengrass sent a letter to you too?" said Draco, frowning. "Why didn't you tell me when I showed you the one she sent me?"

"It came after yours."

"Daphne's growing a harem," Stark said. "Good on her. She could use some joy in her life with the way she is. I assume her dad brought home some sort of Unspeakable experiment and had babies with it."

As one, everyone but Lyra (and strangely, Nicolas) gave him looks of disgust. Truly, what was wrong with his mind?

"Apparently," said Lyra, "her parents fed her so many Calming Draughts when she was a baby to stop her crying that she can't feel anything else anymore. Just tranquility." She sighed. "Lucky her."

"Now, now," said Lucius, "it's not kind to gossip, Lyra."

"I'm going to ask her father," she said, and Lucius sighed. Draco stared at his sister with conflicting emotions.

"He wouldn't be the first parent to do something like that," said Nicolas after a moment, as if just catching up on the conversation. "My wife once dealt with a scenario where a father tried to fix his child's poor vision, and generally try to find out the magical secret to fixing eyesight, by giving her so many Supersight and Supersensory Potions that her head enlarged to the size of a small boulder and sprouted tentacles that sucked the father's brain out of his ears."

Everyone stared at the old man. Lyra and Stark glanced at each other.

"That was two hundred years ago," Nicolas clarified.

"That's not what we're confused about, but thank you," said Stark.

Nicolas smiled. "You're welcome."

This time, Lucius and Draco shared a look. Draco was clearly out of his depth; even Lucius was feeling a little overwhelmed. Still, Nicolas was trying to push them off balance, for his own entertainment if nothing else.

"Is there any reason you found an interest in the Obliviation Squad?" Lucius asked.

"To be entirely honest, I couldn't care less about the topic," Nicolas said, scratching his chin. "I just came here to heckle my old student and his colleagues."

Just then, a woman's voice rose as she spoke to the Wizengamot.

"I must repeat! This review will take far more effort than the Ministry is willing to expend," said Undersecretary Umbridge, to a chorus of jeers.

"I wouldn't want to be told that by a woman who created the eight-person strong 'Lunch Break Enforcement Squad'," shouted Rudolph Macmillian.

"Maybe she wouldn't have had to if you indolent gentlemen took more pride in your work," said Madam Longbottom.

"We can't all feed on the blood of unicorns to stay healthy at your age, Longbottom!" Elphias Doge said indignantly, and Macmillian shrunk back into his seat with an expression of relief on his face as Longbottom's ire turned elsewhere.

"Let's get back on topic," said Tiberius Nott over the clamor of the chamber. "As we have already discussed, the Ministry has financial constraints as well as manpower constraints… there is little sense in bloating the Ministry expenditures on what is, at best, a paranoid suspicion."

"I don't want to be lectured on paranoia from a snake-charmer!" said Sirius Black suddenly, sounding far more confrontational than he had looked a mere second ago; snake-charmer, an inane insult to those like Lucius himself, who were under suspicion of colluding with Him, and it had been used for some time. However, ever since Tiberius Nott had been discovered passed out at a dinner party having had too much champagne and cuddling with Jonathan Goyle of all people, it took on a new meaning generally specific to Nott.

Nott's face turned puce. "I am not a homosexual!"

"We've nothing against your sexual orientation, dear," said Madam Marchbanks. "Merely your taste in men."

"My husband has a better work ethic than you," Longbottom's voice cut through the clamor, "and he's been dead for twelve years!"

"Surely it's a sign when even Goyle's embrace is warmer than your wife's?" Black said.

"You — I challenge you to a duel, Sirius Black!" Nott said, his face cycling through various shades of red and purple, and Lyra — his own damn daughter — threw her head back and cackled.

"Enough!" said Crouch. "Children, the lot of you!"

"I'm just giving out relationship advice!" said Black. "Goyle would even be better shaven than Nott's used to."

Crouch looked as though he was about to challenge Black to a duel himself, but Nott was already on the move.

"Order! I will have order!" roared Crouch.

But it was drowned out by the dozen or so various arguments that had cropped up.

Lucius felt the urge to roll his eyes as Nott scrambled up towards Black and lunged. Black pushed between the other Wizengamot members to escape Nott's grasp, grabbing their shoulders and throwing them towards Nott to impede him. Dumbledore looked up at the observer stand with an expression of exhausted resignation. Nicolas and Lyra, meanwhile, were laughing themselves sick.

"Is this what usually happens at Wizengamot meetings?" Draco asked.

"It is uncommon," sighed Lucius, "but it does happen."

"Did that man just throw a chair at Sirius Black?" said Draco, craning his head to get a better look.

"I can certainly understand his sentiment."

"Why aren't they fighting in a more dignified manner, at least?" Draco said, turning a little red from second-hand embarrassment.

"It's a faux pas to brandish one's wand against another member of the Wizengamot," Lucius said. "I'm uncertain why, but using minor offensive magic will earn more scorn from your peers than if you throw a chair at them. No, Lyra, you may not join in and debase yourself."

"Oh, c'mon," said Lyra, looking ready to leap into the crowd herself. "I debase myself regularly anyway."

"Come on, Albus, show those old farts those muscles you were so proud of back in your 20s!" Nicolas called. "You got into weightlifting to impress a few of your fellow gentlemen, didn't you? Where's that machismo now?"

Dumbledore pretended to ignore him.

"Pathetic," Nicolas said, waving it away. "The Philosopher's Stone garbage is a lie, you know. I survived this long with regular exercise and lovemaking."

Lyra's mad grin disappeared in a flash and she turned to him. "What? Is it actually? A lie, I mean."

"What is, dear?" said Nicolas, his eyes on Nott and Sirius's struggle as he turned his head slightly toward her.

"The Stone!" she said, looking as though she was thinking of throwing him over the railing. "Does that damned thing even work?"

"Oh, of course it works," he said, "but it does indeed require a bit of lovemaking!"

Lucius wasn't sure if he was joking or not, and Lyra seemed to be wondering the same.

James snorted. "You'll never be able to create your own now, Lyra."

"Father?" said Draco.

"Yes?" said Lucius, grimacing slightly as Black threw one last kick at Nott as others pulled them apart.

"Could you help me make sense of, well" — he gestured to the pandemonium below — "that?"

"Ah. It's fairly straightforward, once you ignore the flying chairs. The Obliviation Squad is still keeping up with their tasks, although only barely. Sirius Black, at Dumbledore's behest I imagine, proposes to increase Oblivation funding by fifty percent. Naturally, this is an unnecessarily large increase — it might have passed if Black had gone for a fifteen or twenty percent increase, but then again, it's not about passing the bill."

"Then what is it about?"

"Dumbledore's making a show of force, I would suppose," said Lucius mildly. "He's showing Fudge, as well as the traditionalists, that he still has true power. Black is the most vocal of the supporters, of course, but you can see a few of his oldest allies — Tofty, Ogden, Marchbanks, Doge — raising their voices as well. At a glance, I'd say Dumbledore has scrounged solid support from a third of the Wizengamot, which is quite the force."

"Terribly simple stuff, in the end," said Nicolas with a wink to Draco. "Mon Dieu, you should have seen the Holy Roman court, before the Statute came into effect. I learned fairly early that if I did not bring my much more intimidating wife with me, I would not get anything done."

"I see," Draco said, looking back down. The Wizengamot members were slowly settling back into their seats, albeit grumbling. Then he looked over Nicolas, Lyra, Andromeda, and the Weasleys; and Lucius hoped he understood what was left unsaid, that they were all part of Dumbledore's show.

"I propose we hold our discussion here," Madam Bones said, glaring at Black and Nott. "Give our more immature members some time to cool their heads."

"This is merely further evidence that you bureaucrats get nothing done," Longbottom said, not bothering to keep her voice down. Bones shot her a flat look. "Perhaps if these men were a bit more respectable, we wouldn't need Wizengamot breaks by necessity."

Draco glanced at Lucius. "Will you be going down now, father?"

"Certainly," Lucius said. "I have no strong opinions on this topic one way or the other, but I am interested in the courtly divides that are being created."

The Wizengamot members removed their formal headwear as they went down to the central platform where tables were loaded with finger foods and a variety of beverages. Following Nicolas Flamel's party of younglings, Lucius snuck a glance at Dumbledore. He was speaking with Doge, his arms tucked into his sleeves in a serene manner. Lyra began immediately stuffing her face in the most uncouth manner — probably to deliberately annoy him.

His daughter was firmly on the old man's side, Lucius knew; she felt nothing but disdain for the old ways. It was an unfortunate turn of events, but she could be as strong-willed as her mother, so he saw no way to convert her way of thinking. Narcissa was also less receptive to those ways, and would not join the Dark Lord if he returned. A bigger problem if he returned was Bellatrix, who was more unhinged and violent than even her master, which was saying something.

Bellatrix would not take any sort of betrayal lightly, not even for her own sister's family. He knew, the mere thought accelerating his heart, that she would not think twice to kill Lyra, as well as 'send a message' to the rest of his family for their perceived betrayal.

Which meant that Lucius was at a crossroads. And there was no treading the middle, as he had done before. There could be no divide within the Malfoy clan, lest they all fall one by one.

He looked over at Lyra, who had moved from the food to talk to Greengrass, and then to Umbridge, probably to say something ridiculous, and then soon to Longbottom, where the old woman seemed to pat Lyra's shoulder gratefully. She flitted around like some social butterfly, making members of the Wizengamot smile, and he could only imagine if she held his beliefs.

He squeezed his son's shoulder. Draco looked surprised, but happy.

Perhaps one day, Lucius could learn to live with the choices he'd made.