Lucius rarely drank to excess; he’d gotten that out of his system when he was young and foolish in the first heady celebrations of victories forged for his new master, he and the other newest Death Eaters flush with the glory of their allegiance and their actions. He was too conscious, these days, of what a loose tongue could do; he had become too practiced at loosening the tongues of others over his years of service to the Dark Lord to view his own lightly.
But the Dark Lord was dead and enough time had passed since his defeat that Lucius knew he was safe; the Ministry had come sniffing around of course because while Lucius’s allegiance had never been public there had certainly been more than enough whispers and he had, after all, never made a secret of his opinions – so there had been Aurors with questions, and something that would have been considered a trial if he hadn’t been such “good friends” with all the people asking questions and if so many of them hadn’t already been on his personal payroll. And then he had been free to go, and no one had asked any questions since – not in any official capacity anyway – and besides, they all had more important things to deal with at the Ministry these days; the “trial” had been for show, a gesture meant to show the public that the government of course hadn’t forgotten about the threat the Death Eaters had posed just because everyone was paying attention to the Muggles now! It had taken a grand total of twenty minutes, most of that spent in small talk and chitchat, and had ended with an invitation to supper.
So now Lucius could safely let his guard down. The Order seemed to have evaporated, or at least found other interests just like the Ministry had; all official channels were busy with the fallout from the dissolution of the Statute of Secrecy and the Dark Lord was dead or at least gone. Some people saw the Muggles as a threat, but to Lucius they were more of an opportunity. Once everyone on both sides got the initial panic out of their systems, he was sure an accord of mutual befit would be reached, and he would be poised to reap the rewards of a whole new field of influence lying open before him. As far as Lucius was concerned, most of the danger had gone out of the world when the Dark Lord died and took the Statute of Secrecy with him.
And anyway it wasn’t like he was drunk.
“Nononono,” he told Regulus, “no you’re not listening. You’ve got to listen, Regs, that’s always been your prol…your problem. Don’t listen. Listen too much, but not to what people say. Just what they…what they don’t want you to hear. Eavesdropper, that’s what you are. Too quiet. People don’t like people who are too quiet. Gotta – gotta participate. Take me, for example. I’m a people person, loads of friends you know. It’s ‘cause I talk. Listen too, then talk back. Talk to people not at them, s’what you gotta do. Make friends. That’s it.”
He paused, swirling the amber-red liquid around in its glass. “What was I saying?” Lucius’s smooth face crinkled in a distressed frown, then cleared with all the suddenness of a cloudy gray day. “Oh right! Your problem, Regs, is that you spend too much time in your own head. Miserable place, your head. Gotta get out of there, smell the world. No, see the world, s’what I meant. What’ve you even been doing, since it all went tits-up with the Dark Lord? Have you even been out into the Muggle or did you spend the whole time holed-up at home? You gotta go see the world, Regs,” he said with earnest sincerity, leaning heavily on the shorter man’s shoulder. “Gotta see the world.”
Another pause, an absent sip of his drink. The smooth, rich liquid burned a little on the way down in an pleasant, inspiring sort of way. Another thought clicked into place and he looked down at the uncomfortable wizard he had propped himself up on. “Trousers are bloody weird, aren’t they?” he asked.
