LUCIUS MALFOY SAVES THE WIZARDING WORLD! (…SORT OF…)
Prologue: Uh…Where Am I?
Consciousness was slow to return to him. And the first thing he noticed was how terribly dry his mouth was. Smacking his lips, he opened his eyes and stared into the dim room, his eyes on the ceiling above the bed he found himself lying on.
Whoa…that's a pretty ornate ceiling.
Barely had the thought run through his head than he realized how badly his head hurt. Thankful for the dimness, he turned his head to the left to check the clock on the nightstand. But the movement caused a surge of nausea to spike through his guts, and he had to close his eyes again and swallow around his dry mouth to fight it off.
When it had passed and he was able to once again open his eyes, he frowned. Where's my clock? Nothing sat on the small table except for a half-melted candle, the flame wavering some as a slight breeze moved through the room.
The big room. No, scratch that—the enormous room. He looked back up at the very ornate ceiling and frowned. My bedroom doesn't have a fancy ceiling like this. With a careful turn of his head, he glanced to his right. On the other side of the huge bed stood another half-melted candle on another small table. Slowly raising his head, he looked across the room…two candles stood at either side of a very ornate mantle atop a fireplace that took up one half of the wall across from him
His frown deepened. Fireplace…I don't have a fireplace in my bedroom, either. It took him several more minutes of frowning into the semi-darkness before he convinced himself that he needed to get out of bed and try to figure out just exactly where he was. It took even more time, fighting surges of nausea at every stage, before he was able to finally sit all the way up. After several deep breaths, he swung his feet off the bed and onto the cold floor.
He sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, for several minutes before the room stopped spinning and he was able to stand. When after several false starts he made it to his feet, he swayed, clutching at the bedpost to steady himself. His headache had escalated to the point where he felt his skull might split. In fact, he almost wished it would split, just to stop the pain and pounding. And this is precisely why you gave up drinking, old man…the morning after. I must have gotten plastered last night.
Using his eyes to glance around the room—moving his head made him too dizzy—he noticed a door about ten feet away. He took a tentative step toward it…then another…then another, until he was finally in front of it. After steadying himself against the door for a few moments, he opened, only to find it led to some sort of closet. He saw a few items that were obviously suits hanging there, but the majority of the clothes were not at all familiar. He wasn't even sure what they were: cloaks or robes or something of the kind…mostly dark grey or black in colour. These can't be mine. Whoever's room this is must be some kind of Goth or Emo.
He shut the door, and very slowly turned, still leaning his hand against the closet door. His eyes having adjusted to the dim candlelight, he noticed an area far across the room that seemed to be an alcove. He could just make out what looked like a large mirror hanging. Probably a dressing area. He sighed…the alcove with the mirror was at least three times as far from where he was as the closet had been from the bed, and he had barely made it to the closet.
Then he noticed what looked like a cane propped against a large, antique looking chair, along with some boots that rested on the floor beside it. He didn't need the boots, but that cane would make walking much easier. Once again taking his time, he shuffled over to the chair and collapsed into it. After resting for a few minutes, he felt his strength sufficient to try for the alcove once more. Grasping the cane, he used it to push himself to a standing position once again.
He paused and glanced down at the cane. Leaning against the chair, he raised the cane to eye level and squinted at it. What appeared to be the head of some sort of animal adorned the top, two eyes glinting at him out of the gloom. Weird.
With the aid of the cane—and several pauses along the way to regain his breath—he finally made it to the alcove containing the mirror. He felt along the wall for a light switch, and swore when he couldn't locate one. He leaned closer to the mirror, squinty once more in the gloom. He couldn't make out much detail of his face, as the candles were so far across the room that their light didn't help much. However, he was able to note that his hair, which he usually kept rather short, appeared to have grown out to a frightening extent. What is going on around here?
Leaning back from the mirror, he turned around again and surveyed the unfamiliar room. Noticing another door about fifteen feet to the right of the alcove, he began shuffling that direction, once again leaning heavily on the cane. Upon reaching it, he grasped the knob and gave it a very slow turn. Opening the door, he found a hallway. Sticking his head out, he looked up and down the corridor, seeing nothing but door after door on both sides of the passage. Candles, in groups of three, lined the walls at even spaces as far down as he could see.
He frowned. What the bloody hell is going on? Where am I? He considered going off on an explore just to see where the hallway led, but decided against it as another wave of nausea swept through him. The pain in his head had increased as well. Closing the door with a weary sigh, he turned to head back to the bed when without warning, there was a loud crack in the air, and some sort of deformed dwarf was suddenly standing in front of him.
He let loose with an "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!" jumping to the side; the sudden movement causing him to lose his balance, and he collapsed back onto the bed. The misshapen dwarf-like creature let loose with a cry of its own. "Oh Master is awake! I must tell Mistress!" And with another crack, it was gone as suddenly as it had appeared.
He gaped at the spot where the creature had been standing, unable to tear his eyes away, though there was nothing left to see. What is going on?! Still staring at the spot on the floor, his thoughts turned a different direction. I'm starting to think I had more than alcohol last night…someone must have slipped me a strong dose of Psilocybin or something. I've never hallucinated when I've been drunk before…
Just then there was a knock on the door, which opened to reveal a tall, elegantly dressed woman. Her long blonde hair cascaded around her shoulders and trailed a little way down her back. She had a rather aristocratic bearing to her. She walked straight over to the bed, and leaned in to look at him. The light was too dim for him to make out her eye color, but there was a glorious scent that wafted out from her…subtle, not overpowering, but it was the sweetest scent he'd ever encountered.
He gaped up at the woman. For the briefest of moments, he swore a look of relief and happiness sweep across her face before a cool, emotionless mask seemed to descend on her features. "Lucius, I'm glad to see you're finally awake."
He blinked stupidly at the woman for a moment, still gaping. "Ummm…yeeesss?"
She pursed her lips, peering intently at him, studying his face. "How do you feel?"
He scoffed, rubbing his eyes. "I feel like sh—like garbage. My head is literally killing me, and I feel like I may vomit any second."
The woman nodded. "Yes, the healer said there would be some lingering after effects." She felt his forehead, her cool hand bringing a moment of relief to the pain; he closed his eyes and sighed.
She withdrew her hand and put it into a pocket of her…robes? Is she wearing robes? Is this some kind of fancy hospital?
She withdrew several small vials of different colored liquids, examining them closely before she thrust two of the vials toward him.
"Um…what's this?" He asked as he reached out a hesitant hand and took the vials from her.
"Potions," she replied. "One is for your head, the other for your stomach."
He tore his gaze from the vials to squint up at her face. "Potions? Did you say potions?"
The woman nodded.
He laughed. "What am I, five? Heh, and I suppose you're a witch, right?"
The woman sighed. "Of course I'm a witch, Lucius. Now drink."
Mumbling something under his breath, he swigged the potions one after the other. The first tasted sweet, almost like a cough syrup. The second was so vile in comparison that the shock was so great he almost spit it out. "Good Lord, what IS that?" He sputtered.
The woman rolled her eyes and sighed again. "I told you, they're potions, Lucius. Now drink this one." She handed him a third vial. He eyed it suspiciously. "What's this one for?"
The woman paused for a second. "It's a restorative."
"Restorative…what, like a liquid multivitamin or something?"
The woman shrugged in reply. Sighing, he drank the liquid down. This one tasted almost like root beer. "Hmm, this one isn't so bad." But after a moment the room started growing dark as his eyelids closed o their own accord. As his head slumped back against the pillow, he thought, the little minx! She slipped me a mickey… Then there was only darkness.
(XXX)
When he awoke next, the room was much brighter. He lifted his head, which felt perfectly fine now, and glanced around. He was in the same room, on the same bed. Someone had tucked the covers around him. Across from him he now saw there was a large window with thick curtains covering it to the right of the fireplace, which someone had cracked open, allowing a bit of sunlight to seep into the room.
He found that he was very hungry. He also realized he needed to use the restroom. Sitting up and getting out of bed was much easier now, and he was able to explore the room better. But before he could attempt to locate a bathroom, he caught sight of himself in the big mirror. With the sunlight streaming in, he was able to verify that yes, his hair had somehow grown very long. But more disturbing to him was the fact that it appeared to be platinum blonde.
"What in the name of all that's holy…" he began, but again there was a knock at the door, and the same woman from the previous night entered again. Her hair was up in an elegant bun, and she had a gorgeous green dress on. Glancing at the empty bed, she looked around until her eyes landed on him and she walked over, stopping a few feet in front of him. Once again, he thought he saw a look of hope and longing mixed with sadness sweep across her face before the emotionless look returned. "Feeling better, I assume."
He couldn't answer her at first. He stood gaping at the woman in front of him. Seeing her in the light of day, her beauty literally took his breath away for a moment. His brain was unable to form a coherent thought, other than the words which chose that moment to escape his mouth:
"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life." Then, his eyes widened and he snapped his jaw shut. What if she's married? I am an idiot!
Once more that haunted look swept across her face. But this time it was replaced with a scowl. "Flattery won't get you back into my bed, Lucius."
His mouth fell open again. "Um…say what again now, pardon?" His voice came out in a squeak.
She ignored his statement. "How are you feeling this morning?"
He ignored her question. "Why do you keep calling me 'Lucius'?"
She sighed yet again. "Because that's your name, Lucius." She said his name like it was a cuss word.
He frowned. "No it's not!"
She frowned at him, thinking he sounded like a rather petulant child, standing there insisting his name wasn't his name. She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What is your name then?"
"It's—" he began before pausing, a look of confusion covering his face as he sought for an answer to her question. What is my name? Why can't I remember my own name? Oh gods, it isn't really Lucius, is it?
"Well…it's not Lucius…is it?" He shot her a pleading look.
She pursed her lips into a smirk and nodded.
"Ohh, for the love of…it sounds like a Roman centurion." He glanced at her. "What's my middle name? Maybe I can use that."
Her smirk intensified. "Abraxas."
A horrified look covered his face. "Abra—good Lord, that's worse! Who names a child 'Lucius Abraxas'? Parents who want their kid to be made fun of in school, that's who!" Turning to face her fully, but unable to maintain eye contact due to his reactions cause by her overwhelming beauty, he asked, "And what's your name?"
Concern clouded her eyes and she put a gentle hand on his arm. "You mean…you truly don't know?" Her voice held a note of hurt, and something in him panged at the thought he might have caused the hurt tone in her voice.
He shook his head. "Sorry, I really don't."
She sighed again. "Yes, the healer said that memory loss is quite common with the type of injury you received." She led him to the bed, and the both sat down. "Your name is Lucius Abraxas Malfoy." She almost laughed at the comical look of disgust that crossed his face at hearing his name again, but stopped herself. My name is Narcissa. We are married, and we have a son. His name is Draco."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, freeze, stop, time out!" He gave her a shocked yet intense look. "We—that is, you and I—we're married?"
She nodded.
"To each other?"
She rolled her eyes and nodded again.
"And, we have a kid?"
"Yes," Narcissa replied. "His name is Draco, and he is fourteen."
He gulped. "So, um…how long have we been, you know—married?"
"Seventeen years. We met at Hogwarts when I was a first year and you were a third year."
"Wait—we met where, exactly?"
"Hogwarts," she repeated.
He gave her a skeptical look. "Hog…warts. That doesn't really sound like a place I'd spend much time at."
Narcissa smirked again, yet worry bubbled up inside her. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We both attended for seven years."
His eyes widened. "School of witchcraft and wizardry? Sooooo…you really are a witch?" He snickered.
Narcissa sighed and stood, not bothering to answer his question. "I have a very busy day ahead of me, Lucius. I am taking Draco to Diagon Alley to get his school shopping done early. I—I am sorry that you are so confused, and I promise we can talk about things when I return. But now I must go down to breakfast. Do you feel able to join us, or would you like to eat here in your room?"
His head was spinning, and it took a moment before he could form a reply. "Uh…no, I'll be down in a moment."
She nodded, and with one last strange look she turned and headed out the door. He stared after her for a moment before putting his head in his hands. OK…so evidently my name is Lucius Abraxas Malfoy…I have long hair—really long hair—I'm married to a witch, and we have a son, and I went to a school called Hogwarts and I have an English accent, which means this must be England.
"Ohhh, this must be some bizarre, exceptionally lucid dream. Because it sure can't be happening for real! It's absolutely absurd! Unless…" A horrid thought struck him. "Unless I'm in some kind of lunatic asylum?" He glanced at the open door. Walking over he once more stuck his head out and looked both ways. The hallway wasn't quite as dark now as it had been, but it was still dark. He debated going down to find breakfast, or just closing the door and shoving heavy something in front of it—the dresser, maybe. The loud, lingering growl that emanated from his stomach made the decision for him, and with a sigh he headed out into the hallway.
It took him fifteen minutes to find the dining room. He found the Beautiful Woman—Narcissa, he reminded himself—sitting at one end, with an empty plate and glass at the opposite end across from her. In between on the right hand side of the table sat a boy whose hair matched his own in color but, thankfully, not in length.
The boy noticed him, and stood abruptly. "H-Hello, father. Good morning." He gave a slight bow, and waited until his father had sat before resuming his own seat.
How do I respond? He bowed to me! These people seem very posh… "Er, um, yes, good morning to you as well…uh, Draco?" He gave the boy a weak smile, which the boy returned.
"I am happy you're feeling better, father," the boy continued, shooting furtive glances at the Beautiful Woman (Narcissa! He reminded himself again). "Will we still be able to attend the World Cup next week?"
"Ummmm…." He shot his own glance at the Beautiful Woman (Nar-ciss-a, you idiot!). She gave him a discreet nod, and he looked back at the boy (Draco!). "Well, yes, of course we'll be able to attend. Wouldn't miss it for the world." I don't even know what he's talking about. He flashed what he hoped was a convincing smile.
The boy grinned in return. "Excellent! I can't wait!"
"Draco, if you've finished your breakfast, we need to leave for Diagon Alley so that we can be home when Mrs. Parkinson and Pansy come over for tea this afternoon," Narcissa said, sipping her tea.
"Yes, mother," Draco replied. He wiped his mouth, set the napkin down and stood. "Father, I'll see you when we get home." He gave a little bow again and hurried out of the room.
Narcissa finished her tea and stood as well, walking over to him. "Do you think you'll be alright whilst we're gone, Lucius?" A slight look of concern entered her eyes.
He stood too. "Uhh, yes, I suppose so. I, eh, apologize for being so late to breakfast…I am entirely out of my element here, and this house is much too big. I…I got lost on my way down." He rubbed the back of his neck, giving her a sheepish smile.
Once more, that haunted look of longing mixed with sadness passed across her face. She leaned closer and kissed him on the cheek. "I promise we'll talk when I get home, before the Parkinsons come over. If you need anything, the elves will help you." With that, she turned and exited the room.
He put a hand on his cheek, touching the place where she'd kissed him. That was nice. Then he thought, Why am I so affected by a simple kiss on the cheek? I mean, she said we're married. We even have a kid together! Hmm…I wish I could remember that! A blush spread across his face then, and he cleared his throat. Sitting back down, he contemplated over the brief discussion. Ok, so the kid—Draco, I mean—he said something about the World Cup. That name sounds familiar…what is it again? Something to do with sports. Ah! Soccer! It's soccer. No, wait…they call it something different in England…football! They call it football here.
He shrugged. I've never really been into soccer, but I reckon I can handle watching one game. I mean, what's the worst that could happen? With that, he dug into his breakfast, looking forward to Narcissa's return, hoping she could perhaps help him understand more about this very strange reality he now found himself residing in….
A/N: First off, this is NOT another "Person from our world enters the world of Harry Potter!" I promise. And I promise things will be explained. On that note, however, updates are going to be slow. This is simply an idea that I needed to get out of my and started. My other stories (if anyone reading this even cares…), especially my other "Malfoy" story, takes precedent. I am almost done with the next chapter of that, but as I said, this demanded to be let out of my skull.
Anyway, I hope whoever stumbles across this enjoys it. If you have any questions, let me know.