As he waited for an answer, Lucius felt the distinct sensation of apprehension beginning to prickle across his skin. What was he thinking? James Potter was quite possibly the most dangerous person he could be seen talking to right now, and yet he had approached with little thought to who might be perfectly poised to observe them from the shadows. He felt the tiny hairs at the base of his neck stand on end as if they were being watched already, although he dare not cast even a cursory glance around to check… Instead, the moment the other acquiesced, Lucius slipped past him towards a particularly dark and private corridor of the tavern, leveling at him a pointed look that indicated he should follow.
Turning into an appropriately secluded enclave, he held up a hand to prevent James from saying anything else just now, slipping a hand into the inner pocket of his jacket for his wand and privatizing the space around them with an unspoken charm. He replaced it where it had been, as a show of good faith in the very least, although truth be told he wasn’t terribly concerned with being attacked by a single auror in the middle of Death Eater territory.
Here of course, was where the silence hung awkwardly between them for a moment… It could hardly be helped, as the circumstances of the world at large were strange enough without considering the one they were in right now- separate sides of the war standing within arm’s length, and yet making no move against each other. Lucius found it especially strange how easy it was to make eye contact with him, someone he should have had nothing but contempt for, how naturally the feelings of sympathetic loss came to him without needing to consider what they meant. For whatever reason, it was easy to see James now as a fellow pureblood that had simply chosen the one he loved over his obligations to a society he hadn’t felt any connection to… perhaps it was because he was beginning to feel the same way, after so many years of obligation that had done nothing but chip away at his humanity, and secure a wealth and legacy that were already his anyway.
“I wanted… to give you my condolences,” he said carefully, and there was an obvious tone of shame to his voice, not because he felt responsible for Harry’s death, but because he knew the dark legion he had followed so closely in those days had made this world what it was now, a world that threw children at the feet of a madman’s cause. It certainly hadn’t been anything Lucius wanted- as it turned out, he had never really been as cruel as he thought he was.
“My Draco, he’s only a few months older than Harry would be…” He wasn’t sure why he continued talking, the sentiment was likely enough without elaboration. “As a father, I can’t imagine the nightmare you’ve been through this past year… and for that… I’m sorry…”
Again, it felt odd to truly mean what he was saying to James now, but Lucius didn’t regret it in the slightest. In fact, he wanted to offer more, some support that would mean something beyond a few sentimental words. But they certainly weren’t close enough for physical affection, and he couldn’t think of a single thing he could provide without seeming disingenuous. He swallowed around a lump of something nervous and stupidly soft that was suddenly stuck in his throat, and waited for James to respond, half expecting righteous fury rather than any sort of acceptance of his sympathies.
It was the last thing he expected to hear coming out of Lucius Malfoy’s mouth. The kind of pureblood snake he knew would have celebrated Harry’s death had it not meant the death of their own dark bloody lord, had everything gone according to Voldemort’s plan.
But... that was right, wasn’t it. He didn’t keep up with Sirius’ family tree -- made a point not to think about anybody connected to the Black clan aside from Andromeda, or what they were doing, but he did know that Narcissa and Lucius had a son, a little more than two years old now. Draco, that was right, a stupidly Black-esque name, too, the kind of name he would have used to make fun of Sirius at the expense of his family, what, was the kid born with scales or something, they’re just literally asking for the poor thing to be bloody evil, aren’t they? Have the Blacks ever met a human person?
Only a few months older than Harry would be. He’d read enough of Lily’s parenting books to know exactly what that meant, what to expect from a child that age. Two and a half or so, which meant he would be talking now, in complete sentences, throwing tantrums now that he’d learned the meaning of the word no, really beginning to understand his place in the world as a volitional being. He would be running, probably, if families like the Malfoys let their children run around, ever. He would be asking his mother to pick him up all the time, even though he was starting to get too heavy for it.
His chest ached, all of a sudden, a wave of suffocating grief seizing him around the throat at the thought of Harry doing all of that. Of Harry, smiling through a full mouth of baby teeth, running up to hug him, saying words he hadn’t even begun to know a year ago -- he’d only just started saying mama and doggie, hadn’t quite made it all the way to papa yet.
There had been... a crystalline image of Harry, in his mind, at the age he was just before he was taken from them. Just starting to get steady on his feet walking. The thought of Draco, and of what Harry would have been if he’d made it to that age, or anywhere beyond, had suddenly shattered it.
‘I...’ he started, but the words caught in his throat. What words? What did you say to something like that, coming from someone like Lucius Malfoy, and sounding so unexpectedly genuine?
