Special delivery for leni_jess Title: The Fall and Rise of the House of Malfoy Author: snapelike Recipient's IJ/LJ name: leni_jess Rating: Mild R Pairing: Lucius/Narcissa Word Count: 4,250 Warnings: None Authors notes: Thanks to betas X and Y. You know who you are. Much praise will be bestowed on you, later. Summary: When the world comes to an end and friend is no longer friend, the Malfoys know how to ride out the storm: loyalty only to themselves.
January: The Game Begins
Outside, the peacocks scream. They sit, white and clean, on top of a hedge; blurred silhouettes against the pale morning light. There is a light sprinkle of frost on the lawn. Branches are crusted with ice, decorating the trees with a soft shimmer of silver. The sun slowly rises, lounging January-low on the horizon. The birds sit heavily, like little snow drifts, covering the evergreen hedges. The air is almost glittering with sun and cold; one of the first days of winter they have had. He does not know who has let the birds out; they are not supposed to be outside this early. But it has been some time since he was last master in his own house.
He watches the peafowl until he is shaking from cold, naked as he is. He is in no hurry to get dressed or to get out of the bedroom, the only place he can still call his own, although the manor is his by name. He looks out the window at the meadows, green still. The morning is blue and beautiful and clear. He can see the sun play with the faraway henge; light chasing dark shadows away from the stones. He wonder if he will be able to go there soon, but the Dark Lord distrusts them all. Their lord will probably suspect him of performing magic against his person, despite being wandless.
Lucius realises Lord Voldemort would not be wrong. If he could, he would. He is tired of being a prisoner in his own house. He is tired of seeing his son used like a slave, and most of all he is deadly afraid their Dark Lord will kill Draco. He takes one last glance over the lands which have been his and his family's for centuries. The Malfoys were never the most fertile: often there has been only one son to carry on the family line. One costly gem to let the Malfoy name shine. One son...
And the Dark Lord is threatening him.
Lucius sighs deeply and turns away from the large windows. She is still asleep in their bed, his wife, her hair mussed and one arm is thrown over her face. No matter how worried he is, her untidy way of arranging herself in her sleep makes him smile. She has always been like that; hogging the duvet, pushing a leg over his, snoring or drooling at his shoulder. Somehow, it should not be charming, but it is. He loves her for it. She is so different when they are alone; so different from the expensively clad paper doll people think her to be.
She stirs, makes a purring sound and stretches, her one breast naked and uncovered. She opens one eye and looks at him, her blue eye tired and exhausted.
'Come back to bed,' she says, pulling the duvet aside for him.
Her thoughts echo his, just like they have always done. 'I don't want to go downstairs yet,' he says. The Dark Lord is residing, and the house is not a pleasant place. Their bedroom is the only place they have to themselves. 'I'll summon the House-elf,' Lucius says, and does so.
The critter serves them fruit and croissants and strong, hot coffee. Lucius finally feels warm. He does not feel safe. Every time he takes a step outside their small bedroom, he risks the life of their son, or his own. Although his life does not matter, not as long as Draco is alive and well.
'Maybe it would be easier if you were dead,' Narcissa says coldly and takes a sip of her coffee.
Lucius knows she is right. The Dark Lord seems to find pleasure in twisting the invisible knife in Lucius' heart. He is not nearly as sadistic when Lucius is not present.Wandless and emasculated is not enough for Lord Voldemort. No, Lucius must suffer for his mistake, and with him his wife and son. The situation is unbearable.
'Maybe it would be easier if He Who Must Not Be Named were dead,' says Lucius, and expresses for the first time what he had thought for several years. 'He is never going to stop torturing us.'
'Maybe I would like that option much better,' Narcissa says and kisses him.
It makes him feel better, too. He is not well. The Dark Lord sees to that with little curses and hexes and an occasional Cruciatus. Without his wand, Lucius is an easy target, and not even Severus has been able to stop the constant taunting of the formerly so formidable Lucius Malfoy. 'We need to plan now,' she says. She gathers her loose hair in one hand, pulling it over her shoulder. She splits it in three parts and braids it as he watches her. She ties a white silk ribbon around the heavy braid. There is a stray lock that falls over her left eye. He pushes it away and looks into her eyes. She is brilliant.
'What do you suggest,' he asks, and pulls his knees up. He wraps his arms around them and tilts his head to look at her with the need to find a solution painted on his face.
'He is not going to stop abusing you until you have made up for the lost Prophecy,' she states. She taps her lip with a nicely manicured finger. Strange how she is still able to manage things like that, nail varnish. 'We have to act now.'
'Yes.' He watches her; he can still be amazed she is so strong. He is happy he wooed her and not her sister. He surely would have been dead now. 'We have two options.'
Her eyes shine. He thinks she has waited for this; for him to take back was is rightfully his. To be the man she married. 'I like it when you are clever,' she says. 'Tell me.'
'Two possibilities. We have to act now, before Draco returns. Severus is protecting him, and our Lord's attention is not directed at Hogwarts. We can try to get back in his good grace, or we can do the opposite.' Lucius needs this. It is what he lives for: plans, plotting, taking power. Being wandless and powerless is not to his liking. It is time to fight back. 'We have to be certain he is going to lose before we work against him,' Lucius says. It is too dangerous to do it too soon, he knows that. 'For now, we will look for even the tiniest possibility that will restore our standing. Then we will decide.' Lucius is determined. 'If he threatens Draco again, we will have to take drastic measures.'
'Your wand,' she begins. 'what-'
'I don't need one. Brute magical force... that is for those below us,' Lucius says and smiles his arrogant smile for the first time in months. Of course a wand would be helpful, but power is not something that comes with the ability to wield a wand. 'I need no wand as long as you are with me.' He knows he is trying to sound brave. He is not interested in being brave. He is interested in gaining the power and status he has lost, and with that the safety of his family.
'I am,' she whispers, her breath feels damp against his cheek. She smells vaguely of coffee and peaches. 'I always am.'
He doesn't say anything, but suddenly she is under him, and their bed is wet from the coffee they have spilled. It doesn't matter. Her thighs are warm and he is hard, and her warmth receives him oh so familiarly, and so longed for. He has been weak, he knows that, but it ends now. It ends now, and he is going to be her equal, as she is his. He takes her hard and fast, as if all the anger he has held inside gets a physical outlet. He holds her wrists tightly, pinning her to the bed. He sinks into her and her pliancy inflames him even more.
He thrusts hard, undulating against her until she closes her eyes. Her cheeks are rosy and her lips so inviting. He kisses her, just as hard as he takes her, and her moans are like airy sweets on his tongue. She wraps her legs around him, and clenches around him with arms, legs, cunt. He thrusts again and again until her face is flushed and she bites her lip and comes. 'Merlin,' she whispers and lets out a deep sigh.
He pounds into her a few times and lets go. His cry sounds like those of the white peacocks outside the window.
March I: Impasse
Winter passes by and leaves an expression of grey days and tense hours. The Dark Lord seem to regard Malfoy Manor as his property. Every morning they hope that today will be the day they are presented with a possibility to rise to former glory. Every night is disappointment it did not happen. The only comfort is the solace they find in each others' arms. Their bedroom becomes an oasis of warmth and peace; the only place they are free.
The beginning of March feels like prison: grey and cold and lonely. They only find relief and release in the dark hours where they are not expected to be at Lord Voldemort's beck and call. They are actors on a stage set by other people and by circumstances they cannot control.
Draco is safely hidden away at Hogwarts. Lucius holds long, whispering conversations with the headmaster; the vow Severus swore is not forgotten, even if the promise is fulfilled. But not even Severus dares to give Lucius a wand, although he has spares. His position, too, is not secure. Their lord is becoming restless and disappears, where to they do not know.
They have so little time and no way out. As March progresses together with Lord Voldemort's plans, they become increasingly desperate. Their plans are a dead end.
Draco returns and so does spring. The peacocks are doing their duty, parading on the green lawn between artistically cut yew hedges and sprinkling fountains, holding loud competitions over whose fanned tail is the most beautiful. The days are peaceful, most of the Death Eaters are away, doing dark deeds on the even darker lord's orders, and for a few days Lucius is master of his manor. A few days of peace and quiet, before the storm breaks loose. Before they fail again.
March II: Chess
His hair fans out on the white pillow, white hair against pale cotton. It looks like a peacock's tail, fanned out to show its strength. Only Lucius has no strength left. Severus has carried him here, without using magic; the Dark Lord is presiding and the inner circle holding its breath. Using magic to aid one who has fallen so deep in the Dark Lord's esteem is not advisable. The beating and the curses Lucius has been subjected to are particularly nasty this time, and nobody wants to be next in line to receive Lord Voldemort's anger.
There are few things to be grateful for, Lucius thinks. One of them is the fact that Severus has just brought Draco back with him to Hogwarts, keeping him safe and out of harm's way. Another is the anger that bubbles inside him; it rises, grows every time their master finds it fit to renew the threats and the curses and the pain he subjects Lucius to. Sometimes he doesn't even care to do it himself, but orders Dolohov or someone else inferior and envious enough to want Lucius to hurt for his former superior arrogance.
Every hex, every hurtful curse and unpleasant, undignified beating pushes Lucius further away from the relative loyalty he once had for Lord Voldemort. Every step he takes on shaking legs to come down to take his meals with the other Death Eaters makes him even angrier: a slow, simmering fire; embers waiting for that breath of fresh air that will set everything afire; a blazing furnace of revenge and payback. It will happen. They just need the chance.
It is Narcissa who speaks the words, finally. 'If he wins, we will never be free.'
She is lying behind him, naked, trying to make him feel warm after a hex that has made him shiver from cold for days. His body is sore, his face bears the marks of Dolohov's fist.
'No,' he says. There isn't much more to say than that. It wasn't his fault that Harry Potter escaped, but nothing will change that Lucius Malfoy is now the Dark Lord's whipping boy. 'He will only be satisfied when he has killed Draco; when he sees our despair.'
Her hands wander down his body, stroking over bruises and unblemished skin. 'It is against everything we want,' she whispers. 'He knows it is too late for me to bear any more children.'
Lucius turns; the pristine sheets rustle softly. He can see her face in the dark. Her eyes are sad. 'He will only be satisfied when the Malfoy line has died out. How can wiping out old families fit in a world where being of pure blood still counts for something?'
'How will his world be a place for our son to grow up?' she asks. 'How can we ever feel safe?'
Her hand draws patterns on his back, and he knows when and how they will be safe. 'We are changing sides,' he says, not even trying to deliver his decision in a nice package. There is no easy way. 'What do I care about Muggle-borns taking over the wizarding world if my son is dead?' The anger is pushing and pulling things inside him, and his fingertips become translucent with a clear light of unused, contained magic. Little blue lightnings crackle over her skin as he touches her.
'God, yes!' she moans, and he uses some time to let all the surplus magic out until her skin is tingling and sparkling with little stars. For a little, he forgets about his battered body. She, too, forgets and lets him do what he likes with her. She comes with his magic-tinged fingers inside her, lost in his magic and his powerful, subdued anger.
May: The Triumph of the White Queen and Her King
The peahens are showing off last year's offspring beneath their bedroom window. Lucius has decided not to let their wings be clipped. He has developed a strange need for freedom. Even more strangely, it seems to include other beings as well. He sits in the window niche, a cup of coffee in one hand, watching the pea-chicks testing their flying abilities. The window is open and the scent of early-blooming flowers is filling the air. Spring denotes change, and Lucius is determined.
Severus has been feeding him little titbits of information, and he probably knows more than their lord wants him to. Oh, he is aware of his plans, he knows how the search for Potter is going. He takes a sip of the hot coffee, staring at the vivid mark on his left arm as he swallows. He is so tired of keeping himself in check. How many times has only Narcissa's cooling hand on his been the only barrier between Lucius' rage and Lord Voldemort's fatal revenge? He puts the cup down on the window sill. He rubs his arm and pulls the dark grey robe sleeve over it. He prefers not to look at it any more. There was a time it was a sign of his status and his allegiances. Now it is just the mark of a lost case. Of his shame.
Lucius smiles; a small smile as not to make his face hurt more than it already does. He holds out a hand, and she comes to him, her arms surround him and her kiss on his cheek is a soft warm butterfly.
'You will protect him with your life if I fail?' he asks, already knowing the answer.
She nods. 'You will not fail, Lucius. That is not how you are.'
'True,' he agrees. But he still knows that the only thing he can offer his son is to stand between him and the Dark Lord's anger. Lily Potter is not the only one who holds love enough for her family to face danger, even if death is the result. Without the wand he is helpless in the battle that will come. He knows it; the Dark Lord knows it. He is sending Lucius to his death by demanding his participation. There are Aurors and Order members enough who would like to send the killing curse at him.
'I love you,' she says. Her fine fingers are braided over his taut stomach, creating a pattern of flesh and precious jewellery. 'I will stand between you and him, if I can.'
'Don't,' he says. 'You gave Draco your wand.' The worry he suddenly feels is clear and ice-sharp. 'Our son needs you. There will be a world after this, when the war is over, Narcissa.' He looks at her, all the feelings he has for her, all they have done together from the day he took her as his wife, shows in the gaze he sends her. He loves her too. She is his strength and his weakness, so like him it sometimes feels a bit disturbing. 'Promise me you will live through this.'
'I promise,' she vows. 'If you do.'
They are left no time to prepare. That evening they are pulled out of their home; Lucius' mark is flaring and burning worse than ever. It seems their time of destiny has arrived sooner than they thought. There is no time... so little time. War - the kind of war that leaves dozens deaths on both sides - has finally come.
One kiss, one look that says more than all the words in the world. 'Live,' he whispers to her, willing her to be standing when this is over. He cannot bear to lose her too, together with everything else he has lost. When all comes to all, nothing but his wife and son matter.
He is not even allowed to be with her. She is commanded to go with her insane sister. His chance of protecting her is taken away as the Dark Lord demands his attendance. 'I need a faithful servant with me. You are faithful, are you not?' the Dark Lord asks, and Lucius nods. He cannot speak. All the anger inside him will come out, he is certain, if he tries. He is longing for Narcissa's calming hand on his. He will have to stay unfazed, unangered. Their chance will come. It will come. He puts on the mask he has worn for months: the battered, subdued, frightened man; the emasculated coward. 'I have never given you reason to believe otherwise, my Lord,' he manages and follows his master to the house where the Dark Lord will wait for others to have fought his war.
All he prays for now is that Bellatrix cares enough about her sister to watch out for her in the battle that will come.
He steps out in the small clearing together with his master, and the only thing he sees is her. Thank Merlin, she is still alive. Lucius looks at the assembly. Not everybody has been lucky or able enough to come out of the first attack with their lives. The Dark Lord's attention is directed elsewhere; he has given the Potter brat an ultimatum. An hour. Give up and surrender, the Dark Lord has said. It is not going to work; Lucius knows that already. All that Gryffindor bravado will keep the Order's and Potter's allies fighting until there is no witch or wizard standing. They might be brave, but clever? Never.
Slowly, he moves around the fire, avoiding to drag attention to himself. He needs Narcissa's advice now. He needs to know whether they are going to turn or not. Lucius does not think he can not turn; his anger is unbearable already. He needs to know if she has found a way out for them.
As it is, she has not.
'We must trust Severus to protect him,' she says. 'He loves Draco too.'
'Severus is not at Hogwarts any longer,' Lucius says. He wonders what Lord Voldemort wanted with the headmaster. It is strange that Severus is not here; he is after all their master's most trusted man.
'And where is he now?' Narcissa's voice is shaking, even if she speaks so low he can barely hear her. Her hand feels like a dead bird in his; cold and soft and unmoving.
Lucius' head snaps up. He is suddenly afraid, suspicious. 'I don't know.' A freezing knot of fear manifests inside him. Severus is not here, neither does he seem to be at Hogwarts. Lucius can do nothing but shake his head trying to deny silently what he fears the most.
'We are alone now,' Narcissa says, and her voice is steel-hard. 'Draco is what matters.'
'The tiniest chance,' he whispers, his face turned away, hiding the simmering hatred inside him from their fellow Death Eaters, 'and we will take it. If we cannot count on Severus' help...'
'We count on no one.' Narcissa's face is as cold and hard as his. 'We are Malfoys. We do not have to.'
They wait. The clearing is silent; Lord Voldemort's presence works like a numbing charm. Werewolves and wizards alike stand in the shadows of the surrounding trees, waiting, waiting...
'He is not going to come,' the Dark Lord says. The time slowly passes and the hour Potter has been given is coming to an end. 'I thought he would. Maybe I've been... mistaken.'
Then the world and time freezes. A boy steps out in the clearing. 'You weren't,' the boy says, and Lucius knows with a deep certainty that their hour has come too.
Things move so fast and so slow at the same time. 'Calm,' Narcissa whispers in his ear. 'Potter is not stupid, nor is he a sacrificial lamb, not willingly. He knows something.'
His fingers close hard around hers. They can do nothing but watch what seems to be an immensely useless act of bravery and stupidity. 'Nothing is what it seems,' he says.
'No,' she agrees and holds her breath as Potter falls.
'You,' the Dark Lord demands, his voice cutting through the jeering and shouting of the Death Eaters. 'See if he is dead.' He sends a hex at Narcissa, and Lucius swears he will spit on Tom Riddle's grave for that. He lets go of her, and his eyes follow her as she kneels in front of the boy. She hesitates, he can see it, and with the knowledge of her, of her body and of every little move she makes, he knows... Merlin, he knows! He can sense the lie in her reply, even if the Dark Lord cannot.
The cheering and celebration of Potter's death continues. Their Lord looks so pleased, so satisfied with the victory he thinks is his.
Across the clearing cold grey eyes meet triumphant blue ones, and they both know they have won.
July: Clearing the Board
Outside, the peacocks scream. They walk around with fanned tails, the pristine white feathers shimmer like silver in the summer sun. Somewhere in faraway trees last year's chicks are brawling over a peahen: far too early; they mature at the age of three. But it seems like flying does them good.
Lucius is sitting in the window niche in the small bedroom he still considers his refuge. They have not moved back to the opulent master bedroom that Lord Voldemort took for his own. There is no need to, Lucius likes this one better. Narcissa is out, pampering their son, just as she has always done. The only difference is that Lucius has stopped grumbling over it. He hopes she will come back before dinner. The bed looks entirely too made and clean for it to be pleasant, and his fingers ache to touch her, to have her in the bed they have shared during the fall and the rise of their House.
Most of the windows in the house are open, letting in the warm, fresh summer breeze. Airing out the house... Lucius likes to make the House-elves do it; it will take some time before the bitter smell of oppression and defeat has been removed from his family's home, entirely. But it will. Some day he will wake up and find his world back to normal. Some day he will be ruling the wizarding world from behind the minister, just as he has always done, except from during the unfortunate events during Tom Riddle's regrettable return.
Lucius takes a sip of his coffee and breathes in the scent of summer and of clean air.
Somehow, he finds it does not really matter, the power and the status. Freedom. Waiting for his wife and son to come home - those are the only things worth something in this new world of his.