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Lucius Malfoy (hd_lucius) wrote in hogwarts_dawn,

Lucius had been biding his time since his conversation with Scorpius. He hadn't gone to that ridiculous party either. Instead, he'd stayed in his rooms with a glass (or three) of wine and several books. He was reading through everything he could find on the end of the war, piecing together what was true, what was false, and what was somewhere in between. He disliked this feeling of...helplessness. He almost thought being back home, even if he was in Azkaban, would be preferable to being so out of control of the situation. Of the people here. It was maddening. He could absolutely understand how his future self had found isolating at the manner and drinking himself stupid to be an attractive option.

Not that Lucius was intending to go down that road. He just needed time to plan out how to move forward from here, how to get back some semblance of control, respect. Lucius Malfoy was not someone to be pitied or mocked. He just...needed to figure out how to climb out of his current position. There might be some opportunity now that they were known to the international community. The Malfoy name might still have some influence somewhere. Not much, but some. He needed to think about that and find out more about the current state of international politics.

Then had come Draco's journal. A few short, terse words, a request to meet. Lucius had put off the necessary conversation with his son long enough. It was time. So he agreed to meet in the library, not quite sure what to expect from Draco and trying to ignore Narcissa's voice in his head to hold his temper and remember that Draco was his son and that he loved him. Narcissa wasn't here, and she'd let the boy and the grandson do whatever they damn well pleased, so he didn't think her advice was worth very much at the moment. Not the least because she wasn't here.

His son was sitting a table when Lucius arrived, near the biography section as requested. Lucius took a minute before announcing himself to study the boy. He looked...determined, serious. There was a stubborn set to his chin that Lucius remembered from Draco's childhood years. Back then it had been a source of amusement, a source of pride. Now, it just made Lucius wish his son was six years old again, a small child who thought his dad was a hero. How had things gone so wrong?

"Draco," he said, taking a seat across from his son. "You seem to have survived last night's festivities."