I wanted to show the softer side of Lucius; keep in mind I took liberties with the growing of the hydrangea at the end. I make no money from this I only like to play in the Potterverse every once in a while.
I'm a hard man.
Always have been; as the only male heir of the House of Malfoy I was everything and also nothing. My sister at least had value in her virginity. Lucretia didn't have to prove anything to anyone unlike her I couldn't just be. I needed to prove I was worthy of the Malfoy name.
That's all I ever was a name an object another thing for one of the pureblood princesses to possess. The muggles have it all wrong it is us men that are the objects stepping ladders the young ladies of our society use to elevate themselves and their families. We are the ones that get obtained not the other way around. Either way it's a filthy practice degrading to both sexes. In my younger days, I had no desire to claim or be claimed rather I craved knowledge. That was the goal of my existence but then she came along. The first of two flowers that sprouted in my path.
The first was fair, dutiful and intelligent. She gave me everything including the best twenty eight years a man could ever hope for and I love her more than the air I breathed.
Narcissa, my Narcissus loved hydrangeas. I always found it odd, fascinating given the origin of her name. But I didn't find out her obsession with blue hydrangeas until our first date where I arrived with two dozen long stemmed roses; I know I too can be cliche, but I would have been anything for her. She took them her smile bright as she held them at arms length. I'm allergic was her only audible response and I quickly vanished the offending items away. But keeping with family traditions of upholding an asinine belief I let the darkness drain that flower wilting it; choking it at the root and three years after the war she died.
What the ministry didn't take Narcissa's death did. Shortly, thereafter my ancestral home became my prison and I had destined it to become my tomb. I had an endgame and set about the dugeons pulling my old cauldron and forgotten items from my chest. I knew the recipe by heart only thing I had to wait for it to brew a process that took six days. For five of them I drank none stop.
Apparently, wizards are not exempt from alcohol poisoning. I laid on the floor of my study laughing thinking how firewhiskey would do what the potion downstairs wouldn't have a chance to. That's how my boy found me, passed out slipping from this world into the next waiting for his mother.
At my lowest I was blessed to have a second flower sprout in my garden.
Later that evening, I woke to dark brown eyes they were filled with compassion and an intelligence I thought I would never see again on this side of the veil. My son stood off to the side his hands clasped to his chest.
"Granger is a skilled healer father. She'll help." He nodded as if his words were any more comforting than the young woman above me. Her words were soft as lavender bubble bath against my skin and I found myself wanting to live a little longer just to be another minute in her presence. I had only ever felt that with Narcissa.
My recovery had been short needing only a few days to find myself back on my feet but Hermione stayed. I wanted her to stay.
I courted her with the same ferocity I had with my Narisscus. Her favorite flower was the Daffodil; Hermione had whispered this revelation and we both remained quiet. I looked in the direction of the crypt that housed one flower. It was confirmation it was okay to move on. I asked for her hand in marriage that same night. I had a second chance and I would not swander it; not like I had before. But bliss for me has a short shelf life and after two years and the birth of our little girl the darkness took her as well.
My past still haunts me; there are those that cannot they won't accept our changing world and they won't let me leave the old one behind. Deranged rouges, former Death Eaters, my old brothers in arms that evaded capture came to remind me of who I once was and although the Dark Lord is dead he and I cannot seem to part ways.
Now I must lay another flower in the Malfoy crypt.
Potter must be a one hell of a legimencist as he followed my line of sight to the cliff's edge. I wanted to go over. I wanted the pain to end. Firmly he grabbed my wrist his green eyes locked onto my own and he led me away.
But alas I am not without hope. I follow Helen further into the garden; my heart races as I know where she is headed. My footsteps slow as we near the crypt. I can barely breath. She raises her chubby little hand to point at two flowers growing together. It's odd because I don't remember planting them there nor having the house elves do anything besides their usual tasks.
"Hermione, Narcissa," I whisper their names.
"Mommy," Helen points toward the a yellow trumpet surrounded by five petals, "Draco's mommy," she's pointing to the blue mophead of the other plant.
Growing together in the slither of light is a hydrangea and a daffodil.
