MAL FOY.

[godfreygdaily]

GODFREY GAO FOR NUYOU FEB 2017 COVER

[luciusyiinm-blog]

afterprcngs:

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? 

There was an artificial quiet that insulated the two wix from the rest of the pub, heavy with all the shadows of what were and what could have been which passed between their minds in a dark exchange. The feelings of grief were palpable, hanging vaporous in the atmosphere between them, and it called unbidden imaginings to mind, as thoughts of such a disturbing nature often occurred. Lucius was drawn back to that fateful night once more, at Godric’s Hollow. Although he had never been there, he could reconstruct it well enough from photos in the Prophet, could picture himself there as easily as he saw James before him now; stood just a step behind his left shoulder as he watched the horror commence. It all happened instantaneously, and yet it felt in his soul like it had been happening constantly, drawn out across a long and terrible year. However, it hadn’t been so long ago that Lucius had forgotten his own misdeeds and that, had circumstances been slightly different, he and the auror might be having an entirely different, more violent exchange, as they had certainly done so in the past.

Not for the first time, he wondered what part of him had been so fundamentally altered by this moment that he found himself transfigured into a drastically different person than his face would suggest to the world. He had done plenty of terrible things, with his magic and with his own two hands, things that James had every right to condemn him for; but it didn’t change the fact that Harry’s death had been unforgivable to him somehow in a way no curse had ever truly been. And perhaps that was it, perhaps it had always been about who had died. After all, Lucius couldn’t imagine himself feeling this way if Lily had been killed, or even James himself, despite what he felt towards him here and now. The difference, he supposed, was that they had been voluntary participants in the war, knowing full well what consequences might befall them before stepping into battle; Harry had been only a child, hardly capable of talking, let alone understanding his place in a complex world where great and terrible things were possible.

He thought of Tom Riddle, then. Not Voldemort, as he had crafted himself, but as the man he had once idolized, for a time. It had been difficult not to, growing up under Abraxas Malfoy’s thumb- he’d been a friend and admirer of his since their school days and had held his son against a strict standard of Tom’s most distinctive qualities. In fact, in many ways Lucius thought that he took after him more than he did his own father, certainly in terms of his charisma, if nothing else. Before and after he became Voldemort, the man had passed through the halls of Malfoy Manor like a familiar shadow, an absent parent in place of a murdered mother, not really present in a tangible way except for the traits Lucius had been sure to encourage in himself, for the sake of his own survival...  Tom Riddle had represented a power that he’d longed to possess all his life, but now that very same power frightened him greatly. He had lived the consequences of others using their dominance as a means to their twisted ends, and yet the lesson had taken years to set in; that the need for control and obedience was something that could corrupt the very wix who sought it out...

Tom Riddle’s blind desire for it had made him a coward, and enough of one to see a mere child as a threat considerable enough to eliminate. Lucius couldn’t imagine feeling that way about anyone, even when he considered the groups of people he was meant to despise, that he did despise in his own way... But his feelings on that particular subject were still extremely muddled, and it would take time to reason them out again, time he couldn’t afford to spend here in the company of an apparent enemy. One thing was for certain, if the Death Eaters as an institution sought resurrection for such a man, or rather the fragments of something that had once been called a man, he could not count himself among them anymore. It felt strange to renounce them so completely with James standing there, inches from him, even stranger that he felt compelled to tell him as much, but Lucius wisely let the moment pass, knowing he couldn’t possibly explain all that had just gone through his mind in the few moments they had passed in silence.

He found himself still wanting to comfort the other wix somehow, even though he’d already said his piece. It was an instinct of his, he realized, likely born from his mother’s love and nurturing. The temptation to grip James’ arm or shoulder was so strong that he found himself clenching and releasing his fist in an effort to avoid doing so. Still, it felt wrong to leave him here in this heavy silence, when they both knew exactly what kind of horrible things he was feeling. In the end, Lucius tried to think of him as just another wix, just like anyone else he could encounter in his day to day life, tried to extend to him the same kindness that he would the people he considered his friends. “If there’s anything I can ever do for you, I’d like to know,” he spoke, without thinking too hard about it. “I can’t make any promises of course... but please don’t hesitate to contact me... and I’ll provide what help I can.” His hand naturally extended at the end of his sentence, reaching unbidden towards James and freezing a breath away, waiting for him to return the gesture before presuming he would be comfortable with the physical contact. He tried to ignore the idea of what consequences he would incur if someone were to round the corner and see him even offering a handshake to James Potter, of all people. They honestly didn’t bear thinking about. Not right now.

[luciusyiinm-blog]

yxxley:

They let Lucius lapse into silence, so engrossed by the puzzle at hand, but a dozen other thoughts written across his face. It was a habit of his that they were used to after to many years, but one that still always made them wonder. They wished that they could read his thoughts, know what consumed him, worried his features so. They had several guesses, and none of them were the mysterious chest sitting in front of him. It was apparent to anyone with eyes just how much his family meant to him, and at a time like this, when it seemed that the fragile peace was just begging to be shattered, what else could he have been thinking of? It made them wish that there was a way they could calm those worries, give him some assurance that they would all be safe, but there was no guarantee, even with Rodolphus at the point that he was. For a moment, they considered telling Lucius about what they were truly researching lately in the Department of Mysteries, but they couldn’t not yet. For now all they could offer was their familiar support, doing whatever he needed to help keep his family safe.

As Lucius handed them the glass, Yaxley offered him a knowing smile. There was no need for more between them, a long practiced silent understanding that they shared which had only intensified over the years somehow. His words, though, and that charming smirk of his, made the smile grow, unable to resist a compliment given by Lucius. “Ah, of course. The pretty face is just a bonus,” they grinned, following Lucius back to the chest to take a closer look. They were something of an experts on mysteries now, yes, but they weren’t certain this was going to be something they knew more about than Lucius, considering both of their respective fields. Still, they were going to do their best to provide aid.

“Getting along well is certainly a way to put it. It seems that in public all we can manage to do is disagree about each and every things except sex. Not that I mind in the least; her sex is fantastic,” they said, a hint of a smirk on their lips, unable to keep their thoughts from drifting momentarily. They raised their glass as well, and drank deeply, savoring the smoothness of the scotch, mulling over Lucius’ words. Coming from anyone else, they would have seemed a joke. Not one other person had expressed any feelings other than shock or contempt that they had settled on Alecto Carrow of all people for marriage. But they knew Lucius as well as they knew themself, and they knew that he meant each word sincerely. And they found that his approval meant more to them than they could have realized. “I appreciate your support. It seems that most people feel the match isn’t so appropriate. It makes no difference, as I’ve made my choice, and I won’t be swayed, but I do plan to prove those people wrong.”

They knew that if there was anyone they could confess their confusion to, it was Lucius. It wasn’t only that he approved of the engagement and enjoyed Alecto’s company well enough on his own, but much more than that. From the time they had been in school, they had shared an honesty with each other that was unlike what Yaxley shared with anyone else, really. They had shared things with each other, in their most vulnerable moments, that they had shared with few others, and that bond hadn’t changed, no matter how much else hand. And Lucius had Narcissa. He loved Narcissa in a way that seemed so rare in marriages among their society. If anyone could make heads or tails of the puzzling emotions they found themself trying not to confront, it was Lucius. They were well aware that the point of this visit was to investigate the potentially dark object, but they saw no reason to hold back on anything else. 

“But in private… We, ah, we shared an evening earlier this week that was… different. Quite honestly, it was unlike anything I’ve shared with anyone besides, perhaps, you,” they admitted, the hesitation clear in their voice, as it often was when they attempted to speak so honestly, vulnerably. “It was unexpected, to say the least, and I’m certain she was just as surprised as me. Instinct says to deny and repress. But there was an unspoken agreement of honesty while we were alone, something verging on trust… I don’t know why it happened, but I find myself wanting more, although I know that’s not at all what this agreement our families have come to is about. It’s difficult to know what to do, in a situation such as this. I’ve never really been in a situation such as this before.”

They were nearly glad of the distraction, realizing just how ridiculous that all had sounded, as Lucius handed them a pair of gloves. But the gloves presented another problem entirely, one that somehow felt intimately related to the issue of their feelings, given they had considered on more than one occasion during that day and night spent with Alecto, taking their gloves off. Still, they accepted the gloves from Lucius, hesitating for a moment, acutely aware of how loud their own heartbeat was sounding in their ears suddenly. It should have been simple; it was simple to anyone else. Take their gloves off, stash them away, put on the ones offered, as they likely had protection spells that their everyday gloves did not. But the very act of removing their gloves, even for the briefest of moments, was a daunting one. They very rarely went a moment without their gloves since their mother’s harm, yet alone around anyone else. This was Lucius, though, and he knew better than anyone of the pain surrounding why they hid their hands so constantly, even from themself.

Yaxley threw back the rest of the scotch, and put the glass down next to Lucius’, before gently pulling one of their gloves off. It was odd, how much they wished they could keep their eyes from the deeply scarred skin, sensitive to the air being kept away always, and yet they couldn’t look away. They were frozen for a second, staring down at their own hand as if they had never quite seen it. It took a long moment to break themself away, and pull on the red dragonhide glove that Lucius had offered. They managed the other more quickly, very aware of how long the simple action was taking, even if they knew that Lucius would understand that a moment was needed when it came to such a thing for them.

Once the gloves were on, their own tucked into the pocket of their robes, they took a deep breath and tried to brush off all of the feelings that seeing their bare hands, weak and vulnerable, brought up, especially just now. Finally, Yaxley came back to the chest, focusing their attention on it instead of the dozens of thoughts threatening to distract them.

“So, what have you attempted already?”

It was comforting to be met with a stoic silence that complemented his own, to feel Yax’s consciousness like a cool marble slab or pillar that helped hold aloft the crushing weight of thoughts that might otherwise overwhelm him. They shared a unique intimacy in terms of their private musings, each of them somehow understanding the other’s concerns and desires without having to voice them, both keeping one another’s interests at heart alongside their own. Whatever happened now, it was reassuring to know that they would do anything for each other, that their relationship went further than a common goal or a few whispered moments of vulnerability in the dark. It was hard to despair when Lucius knew that Corban wouldn’t betray him of their own volition, and that they were notoriously difficult to control, especially when it came to their own favored curse. It seemed more and more that he could only feel this effortless and encompassing safety around them, and it was something he was so grateful for that it would take him years to properly express in words. That must have been part of the reason that the two wix had developed this talent of having a conversation without making a sound; they could never say all the things they wanted or needed to say to each other and so, upon mutual understanding, they decided that they didn’t need to.

In many ways, his friendship with Yaxley had set an impossible standard for Lucius’ other personal connections. He was finding more and more that the company of just any other pureblood simply wasn’t enough- there had to be some measure of trust, some amount of mutual respect or even admiration for each other before he truly considered someone a friend. There were a handful of people, at most, that he knew he could rely on completely, and the fact that Alecto was among them hardly seemed a coincidence now. They’d always gotten along, even in the days before her engagement to Corban, back when the Carrows were still trying to marry her off to other prominent pureblood houses. Lucius had always admired her open disdain for the traditions that sought to sell or trade her like an object, and had envied her ability to control what other people thought of her. She had crafted herself into a precision weapon more deadly than a wand, and enhanced her power by making people focus on her beauty and open physicality, a truly gifted witch in the sense that she wove intricate enchantments around her targets while they were none the wiser, while they were distracted with her false promises. In a way, it was what Lucius was trying to craft himself into- a wix that could leverage any situation in their own favor. And so he was happy to sing her praises, not just because he knew the advantages of having someone like her on his side, but because he truly valued her friendship and her abilities.

“To hell with them Yax,” he replied with an easy laugh. “Pureblood traditions being what they are, I understand that the arrangement is an important thing to consider, but they’re hardly beneficial to our society if they produce nothing but unhappiness. A sense of duty can only go so far before it corrupts into something darker... And these are modern times, my friend. If we don’t adapt our customs into something more meaningful, more powerful than a mere... transaction between families, then what are we building for the generations still to come?” He paused for a moment, his comments thus far mostly stemming from his own experience on the matter, one which seemed surprisingly unique in their world due to the fact that he had deeply loved Narcissa before arrangements were ever made. But it was clear that there was more on Yaxley’s mind... In the same way he could trust them to know what he was thinking, Lucius knew that he understood them just as well, so much so that he could feel the confession coming before it began, like a feeling of electrical charge in the air that drew his nerves to attention.

Still, Lucius couldn’t help but feel both shocked and flattered at the comparison they made. He appreciated hearing Corban imply that his companionship meant so much; for as much faith as he had in the other wix, there was always the lingering concern that he perhaps cared more for them than they did for him. But now, Yax had suggested that what the two of them had with each other was one of their more valued relationships, something they could and would hold others in comparison to, and Lucius couldn’t help but feel a bit proud at that particular achievement. And it only made him more fully understand what was beginning to develop between Corban and Alecto, although it seemed that they hadn’t considered the most obvious explanation for what was going on between them... It all made a curiously warm sensation spread over Lucius’ entire chest, much like what he felt in those days he had desired Narcissa without knowing if he would ever have her. Still, he couldn’t be blunt, in this situation. Yaxley would hardly accept someone else telling them that they were in love, master of control that they were. No, they wouldn’t embrace the concept of falling into it suddenly and completely, even if the feeling was pleasant- they were very much a wix that needed to make the realization for themself, and then at least when the impact of the fall hit them, they’d be prepared to handle the rush of sensation that would come with it.

He couldn’t help but smile, though. It was hard not to, when he knew what was going on. Lucius relied mostly on his expression to tell Yaxley what he needed to know without pushing them too far, without trying to get them to admit something they weren’t ready to. But in this case, a simple look wasn’t enough. His friend needed reassuring words as well, and he was proud to be able to provide them. “Would it be so bad of you to feel something for her beyond your obligations?” he queried, not truly expecting a verbal answer but more of a quiet consideration of his points. “You and Alecto... challenge each other, don’t you? She isn’t at all what you expected and yet, you still want her. And the two of you have already seen the value of honesty, of building an understanding between you that’s more than just a contract, but a union of equal partners... If you ask me it seems that the you’re already well on your way to proving those people wrong that say you aren’t a fine match. You’ve already begun building the foundations of a successful marriage... My advice would be to let it evolve naturally. If you continue to enjoy her company, try not to think too hard about the arrangement... The time you spend together doesn’t have to have anything to do with that. You can let yourself be happy simply for the sake of being happy, you know. You deserve more than just the idea of what society deems a suitable match for you... You both do.”

Lucius left it at that, letting the moment drift away as if floating atop a gentle stream. He knew Corban would need to consider all he’d just said, and anyway there was work to do, after all. He found the conversation had done more to help him collect his thoughts on the task at hand than should have been possible when the nature of it was inherently distracting, but he’d always been good at processing disparate tasks when his emotions were otherwise occupied, when he could remove what he needed to accomplish from how he felt about it. Turning to the chest again, he withdrew his wand from the inner pocket of his jacket in preparation. It was impossible, however, to ignore the shift in energies that occurred in the atmosphere of the room again at the question of the presented gloves. He knew better than most, better than anyone, most likely, what abhorrent and restless feelings consumed Yax at the consideration of their scarred hands. He knew of the atrocities committed against them by their own mother, commiserated in a way that only someone who suffered similar abuses truly could, and most importantly he understood the need they felt to repress those memories of terror and helplessness. But he also wanted to comfort and reassure Corban in a meaningful way, in a way that no one else could, or perhaps simply a way that other’s wouldn’t dare to.

Saying nothing, Lucius slipped one of his gloved hands over Yaxley’s shoulder and cupped the back of their neck, gripping softly but with enough pressure to be intentional. It was a way he had previously anchored himself, in a time when the concept of touch and especially being touched was still foreign and dangerous, when they held each other intimately and the sensation of Corban’s hands on him had somehow been too much and not enough all at once. It was a fleeting moment, but he left the skin under his hand warm and hopefully buzzing pleasantly with the affection and security he wished to provide them with. He said nothing of it, just as Corban would want, moving on instead to the mysterious object in question.

“I’ve tried all manner of opening and unlocking spells,” he mused, lacing his own fingers together to more completely smooth the gloves over his hands. “I suspect that whatever enchantments are in place, it employs the use of some... force field, or area of effect that prevents other spells from working... So whatever it is, it seems that we’ll have to break it before we can proceed with actually identifying the item and its qualities...” He paused for a moment, musing with his hand folded again against his lips, circling the object as he considered the potential charms or curses that could be on it. “I was going to attempt to move it in some way, unless you know of some reason why I shouldn’t?” His body language shifted as he adopted a more appropriate stance for casting and lifted his wand to a ready position.

[luciusyiinm-blog]

olderstrange:

location: lestrange manor date: october 14th time: evening  availability: OPEN

Pretty much everyone in that room knew the dinner party was a facade - an entertaining charade to discuss what the Sacred families and the remaining Death Eaters were supposed to do after Elphias’ murder, the subsequent revelation and the successful distraction that had been the attack on his family. However, no one was going to say it out loud; especially when the good champagne and firewhiskey were flowing freely and the food was spectacular. If there was one thing Rodolphus knew how to do - among many - was throwing a good celebration. He had acquired that skill from his mother, of course, who was known for being one of the best hostesses among the pureblood matriarchs. 

He knew there was going to be a certain time for selected people to retire and discuss the real issues that brought them all there, but for now, there was nothing wrong with mingling and enjoying the event. He was the owner of the manor after all. “I hope you’re having a lovely time tonight.” He approached the circle of people and turned to the person right next to him. “How are the appetisers? Bellatrix and I acquired a new kitchen house elf recently-” because she killed the last one, he could have said, but of course kept quiet. “and we’re testing its skills. I personally believe it’s even better than the previous one, but you tell me.”

Lucius was certainly someone that could keep up appearances, when he had to, although in this particular case he was struggling somewhat to keep his mind from wandering to the more serious side of the evening. Each new hand presented for him to shake or kiss politely felt like another hand weighing down on him. His preference not to be touched at all was beginning to rear its ugly head, his charming greetings felt just a bit more forced each time, and more than anything he just wanted to get this night over with, to come up with a comprehensive plan to protect his interests, and be done with it. As much as he valued Rodolphus’ friendship and supported his campaign, he was becoming less and less comfortable with the snake and skull brand on his forearm, and the weight that came attached to it. Although a few years ago he was proud to be acknowledged as a Death Eater, it seemed these days he wanted nothing more to do with death.

Still, he prided himself on being a reliable friend, loyal to those that had earned his trust and valued the honesty of his insights behind closed doors. Rodolphus could clearly both rely on him and be relied upon, as demonstrated when he sidled into the insufferably boring conversation Lucius found himself trapped in (over Doge’s apparently sorry financial state in the final weeks) to inquire about the finger food. He felt the urge to heartily embrace him in thanks for the rescue, but managed to restrain himself.

“The food is a fine match to your tastes which are exquisite as always,” he said, the charm still seeming effortless despite how thick he was laying it on. The wix around him and Rodolphus in the circle murmured in agreement, at least, which was something. Lucius only hoped he didn’t have to deal with these pretenses much longer, eager as he was to get to the heart of the matter of why they’d all gathered tonight. He tried to communicate as much to his friend with a pointed look, direct enough to keep his attention but subtle enough to disguise its exact meaning. “I’d say the only thing finer than the food tonight is the pleasure of your company, my friend. How is the host this evening?”

[luciusyiinm-blog]

narcissasm:

The silent weight of his intelligence, an acute hunger for knowledge hidden in beauty and survival disguised as success, was something she could have bathed in forever. It was as comforting as the hand pressed to the small of her back or the warmth of his breath against her cheek. Blue eyes stared longingly, her husband’s mind ticking over things that she could only guess at. “We do,” she uttered in quiet agreement. Narcissa had never been a particularly independent person, never one to enjoy solitude for the sake of being alone, and times such as that evening served to remind her quite how much she loathed the sense of prickling discomfort that came from being forced apart from Lucius. “Something like a remembrall,” she mused airily, a fleeting suggestion that served a purpose of encouraging his plans, magical objects far more his forte than her own, “but rather than reminding, it reassures.”

A smile danced across her lips as he kissed her, distracted from the melancholy that had settled over the room. Narcissa melted into him, softening beneath his palms. For a while, all that they had witnessed, all that they had been through, ceased to exist. It wasn’t until she turned breathless that she pulled away, barely capable of putting more than a few millimetres between them, her lips grazing against his, swallowing his words. “I do know that,” she murmured, nevertheless enamoured with the way it sounded when he said it aloud, just as sweet as any declaration of love and enough to spark a flood of lust through her body – for him and his ability to coax a sense of power from her. “You and me. Our son. That’s all that matters.” They were the pinnacle of the elite, figureheads of pureblood society. It would take more than the whispers of war to knock them from their perch and infinitely more to pull them apart.

Her fingers slid reflexively between his, watching him return to a pensive state that reminded her of Sunday afternoons, her head in his lap and her lashes heavy as she dozed to the sound of him leafing through an ancient book of mysteries. “Keep an eye on Peter Pettigrew.” The request certainly wasn’t born from concern for the wizard in question, but rather for the one behind Doge’s death. If someone new was seeking to cause terror, she wanted to ensure that the Malfoys didn’t end up on their list of targets. “If he is next, I imagine the killer will be close by. Whoever it is, we would be foolish to make an enemy of them.” She had always been particularly good at befriending the deadly and the dangerous.

The sudden wave of panic from Lucius was met with a reassuring nod, pulling him gently from the spot without a sound. Her hand remained in his as she guided him to the nursery, passing through columns of moonlight filtering through the manor windows. There was little that she hated more than the fear that would sweep over his face, even now that the war was long behind them (or, at least, so she had thought before tonight), haunted by ghosts of conflict. The handle was cold as she opened the heavy wooden door, keen to soothe his concerns. “He’s fine,” Narcissa said fondly, her gaze drifting from Lucius to the elegant crib, Draco’s small sleeping form prompting a swell of pride through her chest as it did every time she saw him. She was quite certain that there would never be, nor had their ever been, anything more sacred than their son.

“Darling.” Narcissa moved to turn to Lucius once more but paused, balancing momentarily with a hand on his shoulder to pull her wand free of the lace garter above her knee. With a whisper and a slow flourish, the imperturbable charm shivered into existence, keeping Draco from being disturbed by their conversation. “Lu, I can’t ask you to teach me.” Her knuckles skimmed the soft material of his shirt as she tucked her wand away into the silk-lined safety of his jacket’s inner pocket. “I couldn’t possibly learn how to fight you.” An apology for having to turn down his offer came in the form of a kiss drawn tenderly from his mouth, then one pressed to his jaw, then one to the curve of his neck. “I’d sooner give up magic altogether than risk either of us hurting one another.” She spoke into his skin, arms snaking around him as if unsatisfied with having to be stood together without touching. “No, I’ll ask someone else. We aren’t exactly lacking in friends who know how to stand their ground in a duel. Evan will likely agree to help. Alecto will be useful to learn from too.”

Narcissa agreed, because of course she agreed. Lucius had known she would before even suggesting his plan - because since the first moment they’d seen one another, really, truly, seen each other and knew they wanted to be together, they’d been growing closer and closer to sharing the same mind. Despite the drastically separate lives they’d lived before, the different lens through which they had come to see the world, their perspectives had always been strangely aligned somehow…Now, for instance, she encouraged and guided him through a web of thoughts that often became difficult for him to withdraw himself from. She was the light leading him out of a labyrinthine tunnel, the spark of hope that promised they’d be okay at the end of all this strife. The form of her whole and perfect under his hands reassured him, made him truly believe they could survive what was still to come, and that in turn helped him focus the ever-turning cogs of his mind on a plan. Designs and lists of suitable spells began to chart through his mind, and when he had a basic concept of what he wanted it was easy to put them aside again, to clear his head and look at his wife with renewed faith, and a persistent love that never really left him for a moment. They had been reassured by now, that the other was out of harm’s way for the night, but it was nearly impossible after acknowledging all Narcissa did for him without realizing, or even trying, not to bow his head to press reassurances to her lips once again.

Kissing her was an experience in and of itself, no singular moment or material object exquisite enough to compare. The more time that passed, the more Lucius became convinced that she was no mere witch- her power seemed more far-reaching than any mortal’s grasp. He had felt her reach into him and touch his heart, and now it belonged to her forever. He tried to tell her as much with his lips and his tongue, a language they were both fluent in that could only be understood by each other. His hands too expressed their devotion, touching her firmly enough to be comforting and soft enough to be gentle, roaming from her back up to her shoulders and up again to her neck, to cradle her head as he moved his lips against hers fervently, back down again when he wanted to feel the length of her body against his. He found himself still chasing after her lips when she pulled away to breathe, only to look up into her eyes and be knocked breathless himself by the volumes of unspoken words he saw there.

In that moment there was truly little he would not agree to. At her command, he had cause to tear the wind out of the sky if she saw fit, to unearth mountains and uproot entire forests. And so her request was met with an affirming nod. “I will,” he vowed. Not for any love of Peter Pettigrew, certainly, but because he knew the value of her insight. He sealed his promise with another set of kisses, one to her lips and one to her smooth brow, the pair of them slow and chaste compared to earlier. He foolishly hoped that it could all be as easy as this- loving his family with all he had, and perhaps keeping an eye on the right people. It was at least a start, even if it wasn’t much more than that... but it was hard not to let doubt cloud his thoughts, especially as the worry began to creep back in.

But again, Narcissa was there to soothe them, to take his hand and lead him where he needed to go. Drifting in and out of the moonlight, she was an angel, so much so that Lucius couldn’t take his eyes off of her, struck as he was by her otherworldly beauty. He marveled at the way she drifted soundlessly across the floor, the way her delicate touch was enough to move the heavy, solid, black door... the way she carried a holy light into the room with her and beamed with love and pride at their son’s bedside. She looked upon Draco as if he was the entire world, and suddenly it felt as if they were gods in the vault of heaven watching over their creation, tending to the growth of tender green shoots and encouraging the flow of fertile streams. As Lucius approached, his grip on his wife’s hand lingered, hesitant to let go, choosing instead to pull her closer alongside him, their sides fitted perfectly to one another as they looked over their son. Draco was sleeping soundly, which Lucius was grateful for, but he couldn’t stop himself from leaning over the crib and reaching out to stroke his chubby cheek with a careful finger. It was so reassuring to touch him, to feel that he was truly there, and that this wasn’t all some dream or illusion. Some days, especially in this house, his waking life didn’t feel quite real when compared to the horrors of dreams.

At her gentle rejection of his offer, Lucius found he couldn’t bring himself to be upset, not when her intentions were so good and touched a pure place in his heart that had seemed corrupted for a long while. His expression did furrow into something conflicted, a natural enough state for him that she would know it came from a place of concern more than anything. Still it took him a moment to formulate his thoughts, and in the suspension of time between them his fingers skimmed over her thigh at the line of delicate lace she’d retrieved her wand from, and they caught her soft hand after she tucked it away again in his pocket. The space was so warm between them now, the love and attraction thick in the air like steam. He couldn’t help but kiss her knuckles and her palm and her wrist, couldn’t help but stare deeply into her eyes with adoration until they coiled around each other instead. Their arms fit into precise places, interlocking, their bodies flush together and yet still aching for each other.

“You know the last thing I’d want to do is hurt you, Cissa. But I-” He paused, another stitch appearing in his brow as he decided how to best formulate his concerns. “I can’t help but imagine something going wrong... And I have to know I’ve done everything I can to protect you, to empower you to protect yourself. Please, reconsider... and I’ll find a way to make it work, if you decide to learn from me.” He paused again, reaching up to brush his fingers delicately through her hair, half intending to tangle himself there so as never to be parted from her again. “In the meantime, Evan and Alecto certainly know enough to keep you occupied... Even Yax might teach you a thing or two, if you’re up to it... Although if they ever turn against us, I don’t think we stand a chance...” The last comment was paired with a good-natured laugh, because the very idea of such a thing was impossible to comprehend. But at the same time, Lucius had to acknowledge the severe reality of his statement- even if they advanced upon him with wand drawn, he truly wouldn’t think Corban capable of harming him until the very moment the killing curse struck. And even if he did realize their true intentions in the final seconds before the betrayal, he wasn’t sure he would be able to bring himself to stop them. His family was fortunate, then, that Yax seemed to love them as dearly as they would a family of their own.

Still stroking her hair in the peaceful room, silent apart from Draco’s soft and steady breathing from the crib, Lucius wanted nothing more than to forget the war outside. His hands soothed over her back and neck, and he wanted to disappear with Narcissa into their room, and emerge only when the dust had finally settled. He cursed his poor fortune that it should not be so, that such a thing was impossible, but comforted himself with the knowledge that it was something they could do for a little while, at least. They could surrender the real world to live in one of pleasant fantasy where their love was all that existed. Now seemed the right time for that, now that their safety and wellness had been confirmed.

“It’s been a long night darling, come to bed with me?” he requested, and with his eyes he tried to imply or perhaps reflect whatever she wanted. His desire for her hardly faltered as it was; he was glad to leave the decision to her whether they should rest, or lose themselves in each other for a while. Regardless, he knew he’d still be awake for hours, if only to watch the love of his life slumbering serenely in his arms.

[luciusyiinm-blog]

Did you survive Avada Kedavra? 'Cause you're drop dead gorgeous.

“Why thank you, you’re quite the charming one, aren’t you? I always appreciate someone who can recognize true beauty when they see it…

But that being said- I would not have survived Avada Kedavra… No one can. I believe that’s rather the point…isn’t it?

Thankfully, I’ve had the good fortune of not having that spell directed at me, and I’d like to keep it that way if you don’t mind…”

[luciusyiinm-blog]

afterprcngs:

Yaxley had headed out first, to avoid the general suspicion of the two of them leaving together, and because they had somewhere they needed to be, which left James alone at a table at the back of the White Wyvern, doing his best to keep a low profile, hood of his cloak up, dingy glass in hand. If the place had been a little darker, a little more unsavory, like their usual meet-ups, he could have just slipped his invisibility cloak on in a dark corner and made his way to somewhere less conspicuous before apparating home, but as it was, he didn’t have the option, the place just too well-lit for no one to notice a man in the corner disappearing mysteriously into thin air.

So he waited the requisite amount of time, ten, fifteen minutes after Yaxley had gotten up and headed out, and then made his way towards the door, past as many unoccupied tables as he could manage, doing his best to keep his hood up to shield his face from anyone he absolutely needed to walk past. He made it to the bar, depositing his greasy glass of unpleasant cheap alcohol on the water-stained wood–

And was stopped by an unsettlingly familiar voice, a striking figure approaching him, and the sudden skipping of his own heartbeat in his chest. 

Shit.

     ‘Er,’ he said, dumbly. 

It could not have been a good sign that Lucius Malfoy had recognized him, here of all places. His mind began racing through excuses for his presence here, his secrecy, I don’t want my friends knowing I’m an alcoholic; I’m here on Auror business, investigating a lead in the Doge case; I heard Snape might be here, wanted to rough him up a bit… Each would have been a fine excuse, on its own, but Lucius hadn’t asked, hadn’t even said his name, and wasn’t that more curious than anything else?

     ‘Sure,’ he answered, only a little hesitant, waiting to see where this would go.

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.

[luciusyiinm-blog]

winetovinegar:

11:18am, october 9th, outside of borgin and burkes ( @luciusyiinm​ )

The news of Doge’s family had somehow put him even more on edge that the news about Doge himself, which was wild, because it wasn’t like he had any family or close friends to worry about getting killed because of his betrayals. All hope of focusing enough to even attempt to seem like a good job candidate was pretty much lost as soon as he had heard the news, and he’d spent the past few days wallowing in what he felt was definitely his impending doom, despite Thorfinn and Alecto’s assurances that nothing had changed for him. That wallowing included getting up, taking a few shots for the road, and then immediately heading to any of a number of bars. The paranoia certainly wasn’t enough to outweigh his lack of care for his own personal safety, though, which meant that on this fine, strangely sunny day, he headed down through Diagon Alley, into Knockturn Alley and towards the White Wyvern, hoping that Fenrir might be working and willing to give him a free drink.

He had been heading that way, using the unnecessary excuse of it’s lunchtime it’s alright to have a drink in his head, keeping his head down, trying not to look anyone in the eye. That, of course, only succeeded in causing him to nearly run into a mass of cobalt blue coming out of the Borgin and Burkes storefront. That mass of blue happened to be none other than Lucius Malfoy. And he happened to be a potential job opportunity. Lucius didn’t seem to particularly like him, just as most of the other Death Eaters, but he also didn’t seem to as actively want to kill him as much as his dear tower of a best friend. Peter was thoroughly unprepared to try to impress someone like Malfoy on a day such as today, but he also had lost all semblance of shame, which meant he was willing to try anyway.

“Shit, sorry about that; I wasn’t paying attention. Nice suit, though, really brings out the subtle hints of blue in your eyes,” he said, a little awkwardly, taking a step back, and really taking the image in. In a nervous habit, Peter felt behind one ear for a cigarette, nothing, then the other ear, also nothing, before practically giving himself a pat down, all to realize he’d left his pack back in his apartment, probably on the damn kitchen table. He cursed under his breathe before remembering he was trying to get on Lucius’ good side.

“So, uh…how’s the kid?”

Fuck.

Lucius had a something of a standing appointment with Gaspard Burke, one of the named proprietors of Borgin & Burke’s, in part because he dealt so regularly with dark artefacts that his expertise could be relied upon for the appraisal of new purchases, and partially because the man himself was his great uncle, on his mother’s side. He’d also started bringing in any items of particular value or significance that he didn’t want lying around Malfoy Manor anymore, which had increased in number since he’d begun organizing the estate’s massive collection. It was a pleasant enough engagement most of the time, when Gaspard was in the right frame of mind... however, those days were few and far-between now. A combination of drink and dark magic had addled his mind over many years, and even on his best days the old man was subject to paranoid ravings and lapses of thought so profound that he could drift off in the middle of a sentence. Today had been one such day, when it was hard even to hold a conversation for all the madman saw or remembered in the dusty shadows around the shop.

How’s your dear mother? Haven’t seen her or her sister in ages...

Gaspard had inquired about his nieces no less than five times that particular day, although they had been officially missing for the past sixteen years. Lucius hadn’t known how to respond, at first, caught between maintaining the polite conversation expected of him, and being honest to the poor man. After about the third time of explaining that they were both dead, however, it had seemed a bit cruel. Instead, he placated his relative’s fevered mind with false reassurances of their health and happiness. By the time he was on his way out, his own head was clouded with all manner of confusing thoughts and emotions, torn between his present concerns and the cruelty that had stolen his mother, and then his aunt from him so many years ago. He hardly saw anyone in front of him in the street, let alone the unimpressive smear of a person he had the misfortune to collide with. But then again, Lucius was just as much to blame, if not more so, as he had a tendency to occupy himself so deeply in his thoughts that he had to be jarred out of them.

He turned to apologize, only to find when he refocused his attention that he was looking down at none other than Peter Pettigrew, the occupant of a number of his darkest imaginings in recent weeks, and quite possibly the last person Lucius wanted to see right now. He was shocked into a silence that the wix immediately filled with an awkwardly phrased compliment that only further confused him. His eyebrow quirked up of its own accord at the comment about the blue in his eyes, and he struggled for a moment between being baffled at the concept itself (as he clearly had brown eyes, and dark ones at that), and being impressed at the perception, memory for detail, or hint of the seer’s gift that Peter might have possessed that allowed him to see the truth in the statement anyway (as strange as it had been); his father had had blue eyes- cruel ones, and hardly something Lucius wanted associated with his own person, but still- the oddly correct nature of the comment had managed to hold his attention. Of course, in his next breath the younger wix made impressively short work of demolishing the good opinion of him before it was even fully formed.

Lucius had to swallow down a mixture of fear and anger that welled up in his throat at the very idea that Peter should ask him such a question. He was sure his expression looked very sour, for a moment, but he did manage to school himself back into a polite facade of more or less pleasant features, as he would be expected to present himself in any other facet of pureblood society.

“My son’s name is Draco, and he’s fine, thank you,” he replied simply and a bit coldly. He just barely managed to bite back a rude comment, if only because they were deeply entrenched in Death Eater territory at the moment, and he couldn’t be overheard expressing any disapproval over the murder of a half-blood child, even if it had rattled him... He struggled for something else to say, but it seemed despite his usual penchant for self-control that all of his elite pretenses had left him. He shook his head mildly, trying to bring himself back to a clear state of mind that at the moment felt miles away. “Is there something I can assist you with, Pettigrew?” he asked finally, not because he was particularly keen on helping, but because the wix seemed to be lingering in the conversation for one reason or another.

[luciusyiinm-blog]

likearosier:

It’s the most popular art show in Wizarding London to date…

At least, that’s what the papers said. But Evan can’t seem to find it in her to agree as she stands at Lucius’ side, casting a glance around the gallery, she finds her expectations have fallen a bit flat. His words are met with a gentle scoff, her own silent agreement. “Provocative of thought – hardly. Provocative of nausea – most likely.” Between the brightness of the color palettes used and the garish looking patterns etched into canvas – not to mention the artist himself, whose image just winked at her – the paintings would sooner make Evan dizzy before evoking any sort of emotion. She can’t help the amusement the curls at her smile as she watches Lucius squint and squint at the pamphlet they were given. “I thought those things were supposed to help you?” There’s hardly a hint of malice as she teases, a finger flicking at the corner of his glasses. 

“That’s because Draco is a little artisté, I’m making sure of it.” It was no surprise that whenever Draco was in Evan’s presence, a drawing instrument of some kind was placed into his hands. But the snideness of Lucius’ comment makes her laugh all the same, even more so when the near-grimace makes a home in his features. “I know a spell that’ll make your face stay that way…” The chiding words translate to: fix your face. If the remainder of their evening was going to be spent with the pair staring disdainfully at paintings and offering slick muttered comments, Evan would easily say it’s an evening well spent. There was once a time when she worried that she wouldn’t like Lucius, no matter how much she desperately wanted to for Narcissa’s sake. But as a historian and enthusiast of art, they’d found a way to genuinely bond. 

“I’m a firm believer in taste being cultivated,” she admits, “So it must be their surroundings that have made them so uncouth. It’s a shame, really.” But such words hold hardly any sympathy. Not when that left all the class and good taste for them to grab up, a fact they wore proudly as they saw to the perfect yet subtle complimentary outfit choices. The deep plum shade of her dress picked up in the tones of his jacket, of his glasses. “We should ask them–” She replies, and something devious comes to her expression as she waves down a woman she believes looks important enough to answer her question – she’s wearing a boxy skirt-suit and a nametag. “Excuse me – I was wondering where the rest of the paintings were. This isn’t all there is, right?” 

Lucius had missed moments like these, during the war. Not that there had never been occasion to attend an art show in between deadly missions, it had just rung a bit hollow in those days- sipping Quintin Black from a champagne coupe and making fine conversation in the early evening, bludgeoning muggles with torturous curses in the early hours of the morning… He’d gotten through it mostly by seeing a certain elegance in it, in the idea of what an elegant wix with refined tastes such as himself might be capable of in the dark, his identity hidden and buried beneath a reflective mask. Killing had been an art to him then, when anger was still his first and deepest emotion. But much had changed, and him most of all, in just a handful of years- blood and shadow didn’t hold the same appeal to him anymore, beyond how he could use them as tools for his own benefit… He was jarred, suddenly, from reminiscing by the playful flick of his glasses, but recovered elegantly as he was quite used to being restored to the real world from the realm of his mind in such a manner. The corner of his mouth turned up in an amused smile, giving in a bit to Evan’s teasing, as their exchanges often progressed.

“It’s not that I can’t see, it’s that I don’t want to,” he clarified, folding his arms so as to finally distract himself from the mess of design flaws that comprised the artist’s flyer. He schooled his features into something less obvious, the perfect facade of an overly serious and interpretive art critic, complete with a contemplative hand on his chin. “You know Cissa and I are truly appreciative of your efforts. You can expect an excellent deal on a one of a kind masterpiece when Draco’s a bit older.” It felt odd yet comforting to be able to think on those terms at last- the thought that his son could have an easy, uncomplicated life as an artist, surrounded and supported by those that loved him, with no worries of the world at large and what might be waiting for him in the shadows on every corner; a life free of darkness and the painful realities of Voldemort’s ideal world.

“Not everyone is fortunate enough to have our unique blend of proper upbringing and natural graces, I suppose…” As they made their way through the gallery space, moving on to further atrocious executions of boring and predictable art theory, Lucius couldn’t help but glance again at the terrible brochure, which was designed of course to change based on the piece being observed at the time. The wix’s expression changed awkwardly, clipping over what should have been a smooth transition from one image to the next. This time, they made a grand gesture of putting their pointer finger to their temple, and then embellishing towards the painting in question, this one resembling a green lamb on a field of solid, garish yellow, for no apparent reason in terms of symbolism or evocative feeling. Frankly, Lucius was disgusted, but for the sake of sleek, dignified pureblood appearances, he swallowed it down well.

He was relieved to see a devious glint suddenly overtake the usual expression in Evan’s eyes, a subtle curve of his lip enough to communicate his willingness to be complicit in whatever scheme she could come up with. With something interesting going on, his usual elegant demeanor soon overtook him again, and he adopted a haughty look as he awaited the curator’s answer. She took one look at Lucius and Evan’s effortlessly yet masterfully coordinated outfits and knew immediately that she was out of her depth. He could at least appreciate that she knew her place in the world, even if she did wear some hideously out of fashion clothes...

“Ah well... this is it for the main room of course... Just the one gallery room and all,” she replied, her mousiness a clear disadvantage to the mysterious air she was clearly meant to embody. But her contradiction was enough to catch Lucius’ attention, and offered an ideal opportunity on which to strike with decisiveness and precision.

“Don’t you know who we are?” he purred, with an air of impatience and self-importance. It was clear by the expression on the poor girl’s face that she realized she should know, but was at a complete loss. He rolled his eyes, mostly in good nature for the effect of their little performance. “Do me a favor and stop wasting our time. We’d like to see the real show, and I’m sure the artist would be put out to learn that you turned away two of the finest artistic eyes in the nation...” He trailed off, clearly implying ruination for her and her humble occupation that by the state of her wardrobe only paid a handful of bronze knuts a turn...

“B-But there’s meant to be a p-password!” she blurted, and then gasped and covered her mouth, eyes darting frantically around the room in fear of who else may have overheard.

“A password...” Lucius parroted, and shot an intrigued glance in Evan’s direction. “Fascinating... perhaps this show won’t be a complete bore after all...”

[luciusyiinm-blog]

( tag dump. )

[luciusyiinm-blog]

yxxley:

As soon as they entered the room, they could tell just how intent Lucius was on the strange object that had appeared in his study with apparently no rhyme or reason, which was very fair. It was concerning, indeed, especially considering the way things had been going recently. There was too much potential for danger, and they wanted to protect Lucius’ family as much as he did. When he finally turned back from the object though, just after the pitiful elf disappeared, a smile of their own slide across their face, something more genuine than most were ever granted. They had always liked the way Lucius said their name, something hidden to all others in the inflection. He used it more freely than Rodolphus, and in a much more affectionate way, even when teasing. It only served to remind them just how fond they were of their close friend.

“I suppose you’re correct. And I do appreciate that even senseless animals know when they should be intimidated,” they said, tone lighter, as close to joking as they really got. Yaxley gripped his arm in return for a brief moment, an acknowledgement of that also unspoken bond they shared. Physical affection that wasn’t purely sexual wasn’t something that they had ever been particularly good at, thanks to their parents. And Lucius was much of the same, for slightly different reasons. Being able to share simple touches without thought was important to the two of them, something that had started in school and still meant a lot to this day.

“Ah, no trouble. He needs his beauty sleep, you can gift it to him in the morning and tell him that Uncle Yaxley sends their love. I’ve been so terribly busy lately. I’m afraid I’ve been more scarce than I’ve meant to be, and I have a strong feeling it won’t be changing in the near future,” they sighed, putting the little hippogriff down on the desk, and finally coming over to examine the chest with Lucius. It looked utterly ordinary, but there was something sinister about it, nonetheless. Even more so if it wasn’t revealing anything to Lucius thus far. “Of course not. We wouldn’t want to put little Draco in any danger. But you’re in luck, my friend. It seems that what you have on your hands is a mystery, and I happen to be an expert in mysteries,” they said, raising an eyebrow.

In all honesty, one of the reasons they had been so keen on helping Lucius with the strange chest, besides the fact that they would always gladly spend their idle time with Lucius, was because of their search. At this point, despite gaining access to more potentially pertinent objects through Emma Vanity’s father, they hadn’t found anything that seemed to be related to the stone, and nothing that seemed to contain a part of the Dark Lord, either. It was frustrating, but they had known when they started the search that no part of it was going to be easy. They were lucky to have one of the Hallows already, and they were well aware that the stone was going to be much more difficult to trace than the wand. All the while, on the lookout for any potential horcruxes, although they doubted that the Dark Lord would have stored a piece of his soul in something mundane. Still, Malfoy Manor was full of Dark objects, and any chance to take an intimate look at them was welcome, even if only to better understand what they weren’t looking for.

Lucius lost himself again in silence, in pondering the mysterious object before him, and also a thousand other things. First and foremost on his mind, as always, was his wife and son. They meant everything to him, and the more time passed, the more certain he became that he’d do anything at all to protect them, pay any cost, sacrifice whatever he must. And it went beyond the problem of the strange artefact in his study and its unknown origins, it flowed across a chart of his entire body, his entire being, his very existence; every moment he had lived or ever would live, and all the events that had lead him to this very moment, interwoven like blood vessels through time and space and dimensions, reckoning with forces beyond their comprehension. He would find them in any world, in any time, in any iteration of the same patterns repeated over again, and he would treasure them always.

He supposed that this was what people meant when they spoke of fate and destiny, this all-consuming feeling of rightness, which was such a foreign feeling to him even after so many years of it. It was as if he was still waiting for something to go wrong, for it all to be taken away, either by someone else’s cruelty, or his own foolishness… And that more than anything is what he considered as he stared at the chest. Amidst a torrential downpour of other thoughts and concerns about Doge’s murder, Pettigrew’s betrayal, allegiances and traitors and spies, Narcissa and Draco were constantly present; both the eye of the storm and the fragile lives torn asunder by it. Each and every thought ended with I must protect them, from whatever new threat he was considering in that moment.

It was the loud crack of his house elf Apparating into the study once more that brought him out of it, and even then he took some time returning to the present moment, blinking once or twice and finally moving his hand from where it had been curled contemplatively against his mouth in order to reach for the glasses. Thankfully, he didn’t have to worry about the momentary lapse in conversation- Yax was surely used to it by now after the many years they had known each other. Especially when absorbed with a particular project or conundrum, Lucius had often defaulted to silent contemplation, and it was not something he’d grown out of as an adult. On the contrary, as the war had intensified, and as his own feelings had begun to change… as he began to soften because of the love and joy in his life, he had also grown more and more introspective, sometimes so absorbed in thought that he stared blankly at the pages of a book and couldn’t read a single word. He took the glasses from Dobby and then pressed one into their gloved hand with a knowing smile, one that was simultaneously amused and apologetic for his long awkwardness. Still, he was happy to know they would understand, and maybe even sympathize with the idea that there was a lot to think about.

“Now leave us, and make sure we aren’t disturbed,” Lucius instructed, not even bothering to lift his gaze to the servant or even wave a dismissive hand. Mercifully, Dobby only made a small comment of acknowledgement before obeying, and leaving them again in silence. The other aspect of his nature, of course, was that Lucius was damnably charming, and excellent at making conversation. As such, it was easy for him to resume where they had left off, as if they hadn’t both succumbed to a moment of overthinking in the ominous atmosphere of the room.

“All dramatic embellishment aside, your expertise in mysteries is precisely why I called for your help in this, Yax, not just to look at your pretty face,” he offered with a smirk that may have been seen as flirting in another context, if the two of them weren’t becoming almost singularly obsessed with the women in their lives. It was true that he and Corban had their history, but Lucius had been surprised to discover that watching them find someone else, especially someone who might mean something more to them, brought him just as much joy as being with them had. He had always wanted every happiness for them, and that it might be with someone he respected as much as Alecto only intensified the feeling, so much that a feeling such as jealously would never have room to slither in.

“You and Alecto seem to be… getting along…”  There was no point, after all, in trying to pretend that hadn’t been what he was thinking about, they’d known him too long for that. And anyway, he was just as curious about the gossip as he was intimately invested in their engagement. He lifted his glass in a casual toast, touching it to Corban’s briefly. “Here’s to the two of you then. I know Rodolphus isn’t wild about her but I happen to think Alecto’s an excellent match for you… The two of you could intimidate and seduce your way through the bloody royal palace if you wanted to, you know… The very definition of a power couple.”

Turning back to consider the tea chest, Lucius felt more grounded than he had before, more confident in his approach. Thinking through all of his emotions and concerns had truly helped him put things in perspective- he couldn’t get so caught up in his worry and anxiety that he became incapable of acting when he needed to. He couldn’t let apprehension cause him to make a mistake, just as he couldn’t afford any other kinds of mistakes. He had to be at his best now- his most intellectual and critical, his most decisive and confident. He had to be sure he was seeing things clearly and from all perspectives, it was the only way to truly know he was doing everything he could to protect the people he loved.

He killed the rest of his scotch in one swallow as he crossed to his desk and set the glass aside. In the center drawer, he recovered a pair of red dragonhide gloves that had been imbued with various enchantments and protective spells; some of his own design that made this sort of work infinitely safer and easier. He paused for a moment as he considered Yaxley’s gloves, before concluding that his own mix of charms was likely more intricate and specific to the situation than any his friend might have on their own. He removed a duplicate pair of gloves before shutting the drawer and crossing back over to Corban.

“Alright, we best get to work, I’m not sure how long this will take…” He wordlessly offered the enchanted gloves to them as he focused on the chest and internally organized a list of approaches to try on it.

[kittym]

Painter/Muse AU (and you get to decide who is who!)

Generations upon generations of Blacks have been artists. It is developed in them from such a young age that it is no longer a passion but a calling. They’re homeschooled so as to hone their skills, surrounded by paint palettes and easels rather than crayons and building blocks. They earn the importance of form, study the changes in light, and sketch the same bowl of plastic fruit again and again and again until they’re drawing it in their sleep. The House of Black lives and breathes art. They are art.

Sirius is disowned the moment he expresses an interest in graphic design. “I’ve been thinking about switching mediums, maybe studying some of the stuff that came out of Bauhaus,” he says offhandedly at the dinner table one evening, stunning everyone into silence. An amber smear can be seen through the frosted glass of the door window the following morning as Narcissa’s uncle sets alight to every canvas that Sirius has ever touched. The paintings burn throughout the day and long into the night, crackling and popping until all that is left are the twisted remains of ash black hessian.

Andromeda lingers for a little longer just as the smell of smoke does, but ultimately she too is erased from art history overnight as soon as she starts working activism into her artwork. 

And then, at some point, Bellatrix strikes a deal with a new art gallery in London, Vol de Mort, whose name is as macabre as it sounds. A chill runs the length of Narcissa’s spine as the Blacks sit in the curator’s office, the serpentine skeleton of a snake pinned and poised upon Mr Riddle’s desk. “Your family have helped shaped the art world,” he says, as if that isn’t blindingly obvious (try to find a national gallery that didn’t have one of their family’s pieces hanging in it). “But at this rate, you will fall behind to competition. There are many talented new artists out there looking to replace gold gilded frames with sleek television screens.” He leans forward and Narcissa hears her sister’s breath catch. Watches Regulus’ eyes widen. “Let me help you eradicate them.”An hour later and the contract is signed. All House of Black art will belong to Vol de Mort’s newest exhibition. Narcissa summons a smile for her family’s sake and tries to push down the sense of uneasiness that’s sat, dull and heavy, in the centre of her chest.

Everything seems fine at first, but then the deadlines start coming in and the pressure starts building and the warm breath at the back of her neck, looking over whatever it is she’s working on, gets angrier and more demanding. Her colours are too muted, her subjects are too pretty, her brushstrokes are too delicate. Bellatrix, on the other hand, thrives under this new regime – she laps up the criticism and proudly presents piece after piece, canvases that drip with shadow and depict gruesome scenes of death and decay. When Narcissa finally finishes her first painting, red acrylic bleeding into ivory white paint, she barely recognises it as her own.

She does all that she can to make herself invisible at the exhibition opening night. It’s easier to just stand in the corner, another pretty thing to look at but not touch, and let the praise for her family’s talent wash over her. She can barely even look at her contribution, yet it haunts her from the periphery of her vision like a lost apparition that has nowhere else to go. And when world-renowned art critic Lucius Malfoy steps up to examine it, a hand on his chin and a long, drawn out hmmm humming up from his throat, Narcissa is a heartbeat away from turning on her heel and spending the remainder of the evening by the person handing out free champagne.“It’s–” he begins, gaze casting over her with a flicker of an emotion that she can’t quite figure out. “Not your best.”“Oh,” she says, unsurprised, daring to sound borderline bored to hide that fact that she’s entirely ashamed.Lucius continues to stare at her as if he’s waiting for something. She stares back, blinks, and then stares back some more. “Is that it?” he asks, after what could be a handful of seconds or a number of minutes. She’s not sure which. “No explanation. No defence. You’re just going to accept my comment without disputing it?”“Yes,” Narcissa replies. “That’s it.” That’s all I have left to give.He seems disappointed in that and for a moment she feels a pang of guilt ricochet through her ribs. There’s something else there too, but she doesn’t register what it is exactly until later.

The sharp knock on the door a couple of days later startles everyone in the house. Bellatrix’s head snaps up from studying a book that Tom has given to her and she strides to the front door in an impossibly few number of steps. Narcissa listens half-heartedly, the majority of her attention fixed on the blank canvas that’s leering at her from the easel. She tries to focus on something inspiring, concentrates on her near-extinct passion for art and begs it to flicker back to life.“It’s for you.” She frowns and her sister returns to her seat with an audibly dissatisfied huff. Stepping out into the hallway, Narcissa sees Lucius leaning in the doorway and presents him with a small frown. “Did Bella leave you standing there?” she asks, the lack of decorum her first concern.“She did.” He gives a lazy shrug, one that ripples across his shoulders as he straightens up to his full height. “I’m used to it.” Are you? Narcissa doesn’t ask, not wanting to pry unnecessarily. Bellatrix and Lucius had attended art school around the same time, but she hadn’t been aware of the two of them keeping each other’s company since.Lucius seems to sense that her thoughts have snagged on his own words. “We need to talk,” he says, and it’s a surprisingly hushed sentence, one that prompts her line of sight to linger upon his lips for a fraction too long – he smirks, slow and knowing, which Narcissa arches an eyebrow at before gesturing for him to follow her outside.

The gardens had been her main source of inspiration once. Glistening gems of dew clinging to the gossamer threads of spider webs. Overcast grey creating a perfectly neutral backdrop to the lush green foliage. But pretty landscapes and dreamy views don’t belong in the Vol de Mort. Lucius confirms as much beneath the leafy canopy of an old oak tree, his critical eye casting over the twisting branches with a noncommittal sound of acceptance. His obviously difficult to please tastes make her wonder what he thinks when he looks at her.“You aren’t going to last long if you don’t learn what it is that Riddle wants in the gallery.”“I am perfectly aware of that,” Narcissa sniffs. “I’m working on it.”“Are you?” he sounds sceptical. “Because it looks to me like you could do with some help.”She meets his gaze. “Is this you offering?”“Yes,” Lucius says, noting the hint of disbelief in her tone. “Who better to help you than an art critic? I know what it is that Tom Riddle looks for. He’s actually very predictable.”It’s an undeniably golden proposition. She wonders how it is that he intends to help, whether he’s going to be sat beside her offering helpful insights whilst she mixes her colours. Whether he’ll hum in approval when she tells him her latest idea. Whether she’ll manage to make him smile. And at that, Narcissa realises that she can’t say no – not because it would be foolish to (it would), but because this is the first time in a long time that she has thought about painting without being crushed by a suffocating amount of dread.“I would like your help,” she confirms, fingertips gracing over the top of his hand in a show of gratitude. “But I have one request.”“Anything.”“Let me paint you.”

[prettystuff]

[plvsmid]

Visit Original Link

Moonlight Serenade playing from another room

Glenn Miller

[luciusyiinm-blog]

narcissasm:

There was a distinct power in Lucius’ words, a belief that the world was theirs and that absolutely nothing – not a war, not violent fiends – would ever stand in the way of them getting what they wanted. It was a selfish thing, a greedy thing, and was it more romantic to Narcissa than any number of roses. She welcomed his touch, lashes closing for a moment of peaceful pretence in the darkness. This was a pivotal point, she knew. An acceptance that the past few months had been little more than a brief interlude. The fight wasn’t over, regardless of how desperately she had wished it to be.

Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt, wide-eyed with understanding as she listened. She knew that, logically, she should have been terrified by the fact that they were having to talk like this again, to strategise and plot their survival, and it did scare her, but not half as much as Lucius’ strength reassured her. “I’ll do anything,” she whispered, aware that she had all but danced her way through the previous war without paying any attention to what was happening (it had been easier to not know, easier to pretend that she wouldn’t be affected by the bloodshed and chaos). “Anything you ask of me to ensure that we win this.” Because that was all it came down to, the Malfoys would be victorious, regardless of who they stood beside.

His mouth was hot, the kiss arching her spine, lazy and feline-like, as she pressed into him. It was difficult to tell who was supporting who, but perhaps that was the point. “Just promise that you’ll tell me what’s happening.” Being on the outside had always felt comfortable before, her only concern being whether Lucius would come home from whatever it was the Death Eaters were doing that evening, but now a lack of involvement in the deadly inner circle felt a lot like being excluded. And Narcissa had never been particularly fond of getting left out. Absent-mindedly, she stroked delicate shapes at the nape of his neck, the action paused as she felt the near-visible rush of rage shiver through Lucius’ body. “Darling.” A hand slid beneath his jaw, raising his chin to meet her gaze once more. “You’re tired. Save your anger for those who truly deserve it.” 

A faint frown lingered at the mention of Pettigrew. What he had done was disgusting, true, but it had at least rid them of the Dark Lord’s cold grip. Without his actions, she very much doubted that a murder at a peace party would be the worst of their troubles. “Do you think that he will be next?” The query was one of curiosity rather than concern. “If this mystery killer is targetting traitors, surely Peter would be number one on their list?” Narcissa said nothing more on the matter, but her thoughts continued to twirl through her mind. Because, surely, if Peter was not killed, that would mean that the murderer was a Death Eater? Unless, of course, they knew that sparing him would be a giveaway and decided to kill him anyway. It was all decidedly impossible to guess and she supposed the cloak and dagger madness of it all was something she would have to get used to.

“I know.” She stretched to press a delicate kiss to his forehead, aware that Lucius meant what he said. She trusted him completely but, equally, Narcissa knew herself too well; his promises wouldn’t stop her from worrying. A notable number of people had come and gone in her life, so much so that she refused to simply sit and watch it happen ever again. “I’ve made a decision.” She let the words settle, studying the crisp line of his collar, uncertain if her husband’s expression would be quite so agreeable following her next sentence. “I’m going to learn how to fight, Lu. At this point, it seems foolish not to.” A small smile graced her features, albeit somewhat forced. “I want to be prepared for the worst.”

Lucius didn’t want to keep thinking like this- strategically planning on how best to save their lives when the time came, as if an attack against them was inevitable. He didn’t want to believe that someone could look at his lovely wife and child and want to harm them, or take them from him, but at the same time he had to recognize it as a consequence of his own foolish actions. He couldn’t help but feel that it was him that had brought all this worry and fear down upon them, that somehow if he had made different choices, wiser ones, that they wouldn’t be in this situation at all. The inner turmoil battled in his heart and his head, scarcely showing on his face save for a furrowed brow and a down-turned mouth. There too was an indelible sense of profound sorrow that hung around him like tendrils of fog vapor, clouding his expression and his eyes so that the torrent of feelings could not be seen. And if he felt the pull of those emotions in one direction or another, well, he’d never been a man that made his decisions lightly or impulsively… He was just now beginning to realize that all his meticulous thought didn’t prevent him from making serious mistakes.

“We need to find a way to stay in closer communication…” he concluded, after a long silence of sorting through all he felt in this moment, trying to find a solution that would be truly helpful rather than just comforting. He wasn’t quite sure yet, but he thought he might have come up with something that could achieve both. “Owls can be intercepted or delayed… But if we had something to tell each other we were alright, then we could be reassured in times of potential danger. I think it would help us keep a clear head, in case we need to make important decisions independently…” Lucius once again lost himself to thought, already scheming after such a device- he was sure there was a spell of some kind that could help, if he could just remember his history lessons.

He remained adrift in his own thoughts, a jumble of fears and schemes of revenge for cruel words, until Cissa’s touch once more sapped out of him all his confusion and rage, and replaced them again with love. It was impossible not to slip his lips over hers again with renewed desire, because she had reminded him that she and Draco represented all that was good in him. He had been so angry when he’d met her, and for years had held that fury as a weapon and a shield against others, punishing all those who opposed him for crimes committed on his person by others, or perhaps just one particular other… Save your anger for those who truly deserve it. It was such sound advice, so to the point of what he had been thinking about in that very moment, that he realized all over again how Narcissa really was his perfect match, and he recognized how truly fortunate he was that she loved him even half as much as he loved her. That she loved him just as completely seemed like an impossible dream, and yet here he was living it somehow, despite all his faults and wrongdoings.

“You know I would do anything for you, don’t you Cissa?” Lucius almost whispered, and he couldn’t help but contemplate all that she could ask for- if she wanted to flee, to take their child and disappear, if she wanted him to burn the bloody manor to the ground and set the peacocks loose in the streets of London, he’d do it. He’d find a way to make them untouchable, to keep their family strong and safe and together. He felt he had sworn as much the day he’d knelt in the January snow to ask for her hand, and he would swear so again if she asked for his allegiance. He took her hand from where it was against his cheek and kissed the palm softly, savoring the feeling of it on his skin in a way he relished the touch of little else.

Back on the subject of Pettigrew, he returned to a more contemplative state once more, his hand falling to his side now but bringing hers with it, intertwining their fingers to keep him grounded. His other hand absently brushed her hair back behind her ear as he studied and admired her beauty in their proximity. His answer was again well thought out, but felt too heavy for this moment that was between them now. “I think it depends entirely on who is disposing of their traitors…” he reasoned. “I don’t think we can be sure until it happens… But I’m certain he entirely deserves what fate is coming to him…” He thinks again, unwillingly, of Peter’s night of betrayal, of the Lord he had followed so devotedly marching into the Potter’s house and murdering their child, and it made him shudder again, his eyes just a bit scared as he gripped his wife’s hand for comfort.

“Have you checked on Draco?” he asked, and then shaking his head slightly, refocused his question. “I mean… is he okay? Would it be alright for me to see him?” Surely, he was fine, and he knew that deep down. But he couldn’t help the way his heart had started pounding just a little faster at the idea that everything could change so drastically in the span of a single moment. He wanted to be reassured that no harm had befallen his son, wanted to see him in his crib and maybe touch his still tiny hand. He just couldn’t stop thinking about how Harry would be roughly the same age, if he were still alive.

At his wife’s decision, Lucius couldn’t say he was terribly surprised. It was more so that he desperately wanted for there to be no reason for her concern. He wished there could be some way that Narcissa would never need such knowledge, and yet he knew it only made sense for her to learn how to defend herself. Each day seemed to bring more uncertainty, and new unknown threats, and as much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn’t be by her side at every moment to ensure her safety. His expression was tense, torn between his love for her and all the worry that loomed in suspense over the entire manor like an axe about to drop. “I’ll teach you whatever I can, my love… I only hope you never have occasion to use it…”

[luciusyiinm-blog]

The White Wyvern, 8:07 PM @afterprcngs

Generally, Lucius wasn’t one to be terribly enthusiastic about pubs. He tended to dislike both the atmosphere and the distinct lack of privacy, and couldn’t quite comprehend why one would rather be seen there than drink in the comfort and luxury of their own home. However, things had been tense lately to say the least, and Malfoy Manor hadn’t been much of a comfort to him all day. This had been yet another morning he had woken up with a start, roused by some frightening dream he couldn’t half remember the content of, just the feeling of being paralyzed and unable to breathe. The house seemed so full of ghosts today, Lucius selfishly wanted to spend as much time away as he possibly could. Reassured of Narcissa and Draco’s safety, he supposed a pub wasn’t the worst place he could go to find himself, especially when for once, he just wanted to stop thinking about all of this. Of course, such things were never so easy.

First came his drink order. On any other day, he would have requested a glass of his own family’s Superior Red and reveled in his status and position a bit, but such a gesture felt hollow when he felt so disconnected from the Malfoy name that he couldn’t even step foot in his own house. And everything from Campbell’s Finest Old Whisky to Swott Malt Whisky made him think of Corban, generally a pleasure, but not when he was feeling like this; so uncertain of everything including his loyalties. The scotch although it would bring overly fond memories would leave a bad taste in his mouth. White Rat Whisky did something similar, only his thoughts went to Peter Pettigrew, not for the first time that day... It seemed the betrayal hadn’t been far from his mind recently. “Knotgrass Mead,” he ordered decisively after several moments of studying the list, feigning a confidence he didn’t feel.

Secluded in as private a booth as he could manage in the dingy pub, Lucius found the habit of people-watching to be a particularly soothing distraction. It hardly mattered that he occupied his mind with labeling people as loyalists and traitors, as troublesome a concept as it was to imagine being surrounded by crowds of them both; it eased him to think they could be so easily identified, that he could see through them, into them, to their deepest desires and intentions. He drank deeply and let the buzz of alcohol overtake him, let it bring a warmness to his chest that he couldn’t quite produce, himself.

The very last person Lucius expected to appear in the dim glow of bar lights was certainly James Potter, and yet as he looked up from gulping down another strong drink of his mead, that’s exactly who he spotted, trying and utterly failing to keep a low profile. (The mop of unkempt hair alone was enough to identify him.) Lingering momentarily on his previous trail of thoughts, Lucius found himself asking the same question of James as he had of everyone else he’d seen- loyalist or traitor? And while his upbringing and even his previous opinions on the matter all suggested one answer, he found himself thinking that it would depend entirely on who James would consider himself loyal to... And for the first time since all of this madness had begun, the Malfoy heir realized that the two of them may not be as different as previously imagined...

Lucius was on his feet before truly thinking about it, uncharacteristic for him, but he found once he was standing that he was just as conspicuous as Potter, if not more so, in his fine three-piece eggplant purple suit with black velvet damask details. As such, he wasted no time second-thinking his approach, although he tried to convey a certain amicability that had been distinctly absent in most of their previous interactions. “Evening...” he said by way of greeting, just stopping himself from identifying the man as Potter, which would surely be frowned upon considering where they were. He didn’t bother to ask what James was doing there, although he was dreadfully curious, instead he got to the heart of the matter as quickly as he could, hoping to disappear into the shadows once more before anyone saw the two of them together. “Might I... speak to you privately, for a moment?”

[luciusyiinm-blog]

MOB/CRIME AU BUT LUCIUS/YAX

Tom Riddle or the Lord of Death, as many call him, rules the underground for a fearsome decade before he’s finally brought down in a shootout by the rookie son of a cop he’d somehow never been able to buy, so young that the jagged scar he earns for his trouble looks entirely wrong when paired with the baby fat that still softens the rest of his face. In the years following, the remaining powerful families engage in a bloody struggle for control, new leaders constantly emerging and being overthrown in a matter of months, more and more falling prey to traps set by Commissioner Moody and his band of righteous do-gooders he calls The Order. But more than that, it’s a time of rapidly shifting loyalties- soldiers jumping ship from one group to the next as the made men they pledge their loyalty to are systematically cut down. It’s beginning to look like the few alliances that do exist will never survive with the way their organizations are being picked apart from the inside.

Following the death of Abel Yaxley, everyone expects his heir Corban to maintain his alliances, particularly with the Lestranges, who they’ve been intimately acquainted with for generations. They surprise everyone when they declare war instead, not just against Rodolphus, but on anyone that would oppose them. As expected, the underworld collectively scrambles to change their allegiances, many defecting from the Lestrange Family, or what’s left of the Blacks after years of turmoil and betrayal. Yaxley, as they insist on being called, doesn’t tolerate the slightest hint of disloyalty, cutting down those suspected of foul play as if every man that steps before them is expendable; and it isn’t long before everyone starts to speak another, discarded name of theirs when they aren’t listening, one they used when they were still a young mafioso proving their worth as the right hand of the eldest Lestrange brother. Unspeakable, they whisper in the shadows, and if they notice it, they do nothing to dispel the fearsome atmosphere that surrounds it, although anyone using that name to their face would likely find themselves spilling their entrails out onto the cement floor.

Yaxley receives their new followers from an elegant leather armchair, like a modern emperor that few are granted the privilege of seeing in person, even fewer up close. Those that are allowed admittance to their private room in the belly of the darkest and most secretive club in London must be announced, a formality that cuts down on the number of unwanted and unexpected guests. But despite the precautions, there is someone that manages to make it past their many defenses. The din of the darkened room falls into near silence as those toasting their drinks to their new leader’s health notice him walking through. It’s a testament to his skills that he’s even made it inside without being touched, and so there’s not a soul brave enough to stop him now as he makes his way to Yax’s throne.

No one has heard from the Malfoy family in years, not since the attack that seemingly wiped them from the picture entirely. And yet, here is their former leader, Lucius, still walking with the aid of a sinister looking cane ornamented with a silver snake’s head and inlaid with precious emeralds. Most in the room recognize him as another former consigliere of Rodolphus’, the complimentary left hand to Yax’s right, and so it surprises some but not many when he stops and kneels on his good leg at their feet. What does shock all those present is when he reaches out and takes one of their gloved hands in his own, and softly kisses their knuckles in fealty. No one has dared to touch them so intimately before, especially in the presence of so many, and so the capos can’t help but crane their necks from their safe perches along the bar, hoping to catch a glimpse of the bloodshed that seems inevitably to follow…

(What they don’t know is the full story behind the demise of the Malfoys. How Lucius had put his trust blindly into his friend Rodolphus, and how that fatal mistake had led to everything being taken from him in a single night. They don’t know that it was Yaxley that picked him up from off the floor where he lay bleeding to death next to his wife and son, that they discreetly removed him from that place of horror to a safe house, that they secretly made themself responsible for his recovery. No one here could possibly recognize that Lucius’ display of loyalty is one of a debt he feels the need to repay, and a promise of vengeance upon those who had wronged him. But Yaxley understands what he has lost, and accepts him into their inner circle with a smile and an easy intimacy that astounds the rest of their organization with its boldness.)

Malfoy comes to be known as The Peacock, an assassin of particular worth, capable of blending into the high-society crowds that must be infiltrated to bring down the Lestranges from within. He makes the work look so effortless that it’s almost magical, slicing throats open in secluded corners of crowded parties without getting so much as a drop on his impeccably tailored three-piece suits or expensive Richelieu. And he becomes even more notorious for the marks he deals with in private, the ones that need to make some kind of statement, especially when he begins to come back to the club to see Yaxley just after. These are the times that his clothes are soaked blue with the blood of his elite targets, and he leaves a crime scene that looks like a painted masterpiece on every wall, or a disconcerting performance piece.

Lucius bides his time, serving Yaxley’s whims with a dedication and a strange sort of softness that is often gossiped about among the armies they command. As it turns out, they aren’t entirely unfounded, but no one truly comprehends the level to which the two of them need and rely on each other. It’s more than just loyalty, it’s love. As much love as a pair of broken people can give each other, in the looming shadow of all the goodness that has been taken from them. But as much as Corban means to him, there comes a time when it’s no longer enough, when he’s done waiting for the moment they deem fit to deal with Rodolphus. Their disagreement is marked by a very public argument, spilling over from the private office the two of them usually keep to, into the club where their soldiers wait to be commanded; and it ends with Lucius storming out without his cane. Yax turns it over contemplatively from the seat at their desk, doing nothing more than lifting a gloved hand to stop their men from following.

At Lestrange Manor, he dispatches hall after hall of well paid security guards and revels in the way he makes all of Rodolphus’ careful precautions look like a child stacking rows of toy soldiers behind a wall of building blocks. It isn’t quite as easy, of course, Lucius doesn’t make it through without getting a little… ruffled, but he can’t be bothered to care when the shade of his own red blood compliments the subtle purple hues in his jacket so well. And more than that, he’s only a room away from his revenge. Even if he let himself feel it, he couldn’t let the pain stop him now.

“Why did you do it, Rodolphus?” he asks, even though they both know perfectly well why he’s standing there dripping blood on the pristine ballroom floor; after all he’s been through, he shouldn’t have to voice the question aloud- the very fact that he’s standing in front of his former ally alive should be enough to demand answers. Rodolphus turns and smirks like he’s been expecting his old friend, like there’s nothing odd or shocking at all about the manner in which he’s come to call after all these years. “Your loyalties had… shifted,” he finally answers. “I simply clarified your priorities for you.” His voice was cold, just as it had always been, as if he was talking about a game of chess rather than the lives of the people Lucius loved most. “And look where you are now… You’ve got all the attention you could ever want.” He smiled. “No need to thank me, Lucius.”

It turns out Rodolphus’ weapon of choice is, of all things, a bloody garrote wire. It’s a fact that Lucius becomes closely familiar with during the struggle that ensues. For all their formal pretenses, they aren’t elegant and refined gentlemen anymore; they grapple for dominance like cavemen, each blow of fists as punishing as a bludgeon, each hold they get on one another suffocating. Lucius has a grip on the wire, but for all his efforts he can still feel it slicing open his flesh. The rush of death seems inescapable, blackness swimming up around the edges of his vision… And then not for the first time he sees a fiery figure emerging out of the dark brandishing a familiar black staff embellished with a serpent’s head. They pull the concealed blade from its sheath, and that’s what tells him for sure that it’s Yaxley, more so than the blur of features that resemble a face. Before he blacks out completely, Lucius sees a single quick, fluid movement; but more importantly, he hears a rush of cutting wind, and a sickening thump that signifies a target being struck. The pressure instantly releases, and Lucius gasps for air much in the same way that Rodolphus does as they both hit the floor. He can still hear the sounds of his old friend dying behind him, even over his fit of coughing, and despite his own weakness he turns just in time to refocus his sight on the image of his enemy taking a final breath.

Yax helpfully removes the wire from around his neck, uncharacteristically gentle, and sits for a moment with Lucius’ head in their lap. They’re quiet for a while, listening to him choke around blood and a hole in his windpipe, but they stay with him; applying pressure to the wound although it will do no good, stroking his hair to calm him so he doesn’t fight against the pain. This isn’t like last time. This time, Lucius knows he’s going to die. But he can’t help but fight it off, trying to commit this final moment to some eternal memory that he will be reborn with- Corban looking down at him, pale skin streaked over with blood, expression calm but telling all the same… telling him they love him one more time in the same way the two of them had always said it, without words. He retrieves the staff end of Lucius’ weapon, the blade portion still being deeply embedded into Rodolphus’ skull, and slides it into his hand. “You forgot this… thought you might need it,” they say, instead of any of the thousand other things they could say. And Lucius wants to laugh but the instinct makes him cough up more blood instead, and Yax has to hold him steady because it’s clear now that these are the final seconds of his life. They can see it because they’ve always been in control of these things- the true Lord of Death, terrible and handsome in the way that they burn, the brightest light in the enclosing darkness. 

Lucius uses the last of his strength to lift his hand and lay it over Corban’s, which stills them for a moment. And then, realizing the question he’s trying to ask but can’t articulate with his lungs full of blood, they pull their hand back and peel the glove off of their scarred skin with their teeth, returning it to Lucius’ weakening grip, bare. He smiles. “Thank you,” he gets out, and then he’s choking until the moment the light finally fades out from his eyes.

@yxxley, @olderstrange