Post by jazzyjess on Apr 11, 2010 20:20:27 GMT -8
Title: In Our Past
Rating: M
Warnings: Character death, some language.
Pairings: MW/LM
Summary: In which Molly dreams of Lucius, and Lucius doesn't redeem himself.
Note: I was looking through the hard drive on my old desktop computer for icons, when I stumbled across this fic in a folder from 2005! Don't judge me
------
“Arthur? Arthur! Where are you?”
“Molly! You shouldn’t be here.” Molly found herself caught up in a tight embrace, and she buried her face in her husband’s shoulder as he ushered her towards the castle. “Hogwarts grounds have never been bloodier, there’s never been so much death around us—down!” She gasped as she felt herself being pushed to the ground, gasped as she saw a fleeting glimpse of billowing black robes before a shock of red hair filled her vision.
“Avada Kedavra.” She knew that voice… Green light exploded around her, and she screamed—
And sat upright in the bed, clutching sheets around her. “Oh Merlin, oh no. Not again.” The dream had come every night, never relenting. Every night, she remembered. Every night, she relived the horror of February seventh. It never ceased. Every night, she heard the voice that seemed to echo around them, the voice uttering one of the Unforgivables…
“Mum! Mum!” She blinked. That was Ron’s voice coming down the hallway, and then her doorway was filled with four people. The concerned faces of Ron, Ginny, Harry, and Hermione peered worriedly at her through the dark.
“Mum, you screamed,” Ginny said timidly. “We thought… well… we weren’t sure what had happened.”
“Just a bad dream, love.” Molly cursed inwardly. She could hear how shaky her voice sounded. “Just a bad dream.”
“Was it…” Ron paused, and swallowed, then continued, “about dad?” He came closer and sat on the edge of her bed, and up close, Molly saw how gaunt his face was, how sunken his eyes. Ginny was close behind, and her mother also took in the haunted look in her optics, the unsmiling face gazing at her trustfully.
There was no point in lying to them. “Yes. It was about dad.”
It wasn’t as if Arthur had wanted to die, she told herself later as those in the Burrow ventured back into their bedrooms. It wasn’t as if he jumped around, waving a flag that said, ‘hello! Here I am! Come and kill me!’ He had passed on in a valiant effort, she supposed, trying to protect her. He’d succeeded, yes, but gave himself up in return. She bit at her lip to stop the moisture from welling in her eyes and slipping one bead at a time down her cheek. Tears were useless. They wouldn’t bring Arthur back, no matter how much she wished it. No matter how much she cried. He wouldn’t come back. She had loved him. God knows, she loved him. And he had loved her back, as he’d shown when he died in her place.
Her family seemed… lifeless, now that Arthur was gone. Bill and Charlie had moved back, though neither said much, nor told corny jokes at the dinner table anymore. Percy buried himself back into his work, trying to pretend that everything was normal again. Fred and George took out their frustration by hitting Bludgers at each other in the farmers field next door. Ron drifted about the house like a ghost, pale and unseeing. And Ginny… she refused to leave Harry’s side, helping him to recuperate from his crushing fight with Voldemort. He had come out victorious, but not without great repercussions on his being. He’d spent four and a half months in St Mungo’s, just getting over the effects of the attack. Ginny hadn’t left him once, even to eat. That was devotion, Molly supposed. Just like she and Arthur, way back in school. She felt the traitorous prickling of tears threatening to come, but ignored them. Thinking about Arthur was better than the alternative, then pretending he hadn’t ever existed.
Not as if she could, of course.
Everything she had in life had come because of him. Because of his love. Their love. Merlin, she missed him.
--
He paced the floor, wearing a groove in the thick plush carpet. “Draco, I said NOW!” he roared, causing the house elf huddling in the corner to flinch. Still, there were no sounds of footsteps in the hall. He snarled silently. That foolish boy, daring to disobey –
“Father?” Lucius’ gaze snapped upwards and around, landing on the silver-haired boy in the doorway. That boy who looked so much like Narcissa… “Yes, Father?” Draco asked again, a bare hint of irritation behind his words. “You… called for me?” He had. But then, just staring at the boy, Lucius completely forgot what he had been going to say. Draco shifted impatiently, and the elder Malfoy lifted his hand in dismissal.
“Never mind.” And with a nod, Draco was gone. Probably off to see that Mudblood girlfriend of his. Lucius sneered. How Draco could bear any feeling whatsoever for that disgusting, low-lifed – oh, wait. That’s right. That was what he had wanted to speak to his son about. He opened his mouth to call Draco back, and heard the loud crack that signified Draco’s apparation. He sighed, defeated. Too late, now.
Instead, Lucius turned to the writing desk, still ignoring the house elf who waited timidly in the corner. Lifting a picture frame, he examined the faces in the photograph. There he stood, unsmiling and serious, barely touching his wife or son. Narcissa tilted a seven-year-old Draco’s face towards the camera and pointed; Draco himself let his lips curl into the breath-taking, appealing smirk, that reason he was famous amongst the female body of Hogwarts School. Already, his son had taken on the appearance of his father. Lucius smiled slightly, watching the family. That was what it used to be like. Not any more. Not any more.
She was dead. There was no going back now. She had been hit by his own spell. Of course, he hadn’t known it was Narcissa in the way of the Avada Kedavra curse. If he had, she would probably still be here that very moment, standing next to him, ever the dutiful wife. A pained expression flitted across his face. She had been the perfect woman for him when he was still in school. The perfect one to carry on the Malfoy bloodline. Pureblooded and pedigreed, that’s what she had been. The more he thought about it, the easier it was to handle the fact that he had killed her. His wife.
But he hadn’t really loved her, not really.
Lucius froze, the heavy picture falling to the desk with a thunk. Immediately, he tried to push the image out of his mind. No. He could NOT think about that. It was wrong. Terribly wrong. Instead, his eyes fell onto his left arm, where the Dark Mark lay on the underside of his fore. He did not let his optics touch the image, however, just stared through to where it would be on the other side. The reason.
He had been in love, really in love, in his seventh year at Hogwarts. He hadn’t realized it until then, but was pretty sure it happened sometime around the sixth year. He had been in Slytherin, of course, and she – she had been in Gryffindor. That alone was enough to make him hate the idea. And she wasn’t the object of only his affections, either.
Molly Prewett was pleasing to both the eyes and the spirit. Her good natured comments and warm, caring smile was enough to make any man fall head-over-heels at her feet. At least, that’s the way it seemed to Lucius. That was definitely how it happened with that infuriating weasel. Arthur Weasley was from a pure-blooded family as well, though one on the opposite end of the scale from Lucius Malfoy’s. While the Malfoy fortune was passed on one generation to the next, the Weasleys could barely scrape by as it was. There was a … feud, a blood feud, commiserating between the two families. Weasley was in Gryffindor, and Malfoy in Slytherin – it was only fitting. Their bickering was constant, insults shooting every which way whenever the two were in the same room. Rarely was someone at hand to be a peacemaker, but whenever someone was, it was Molly.
Always, she stepped between them right when the insults and comments turned to hexing each other, causing both to lower their wands. Lucius knew that Arthur withdrew for fear of hurting her. His feelings were obvious. Everyone knew – except her. She just didn’t see it. Lucius couldn’t understand why not, not with that Weasel panting after her the way he did. She just didn’t seem to notice. And whenever she looked his way, it was with fury and utmost loathing. They were in separate houses – they weren’t supposed to get along. And Molly refused to let her best friend hold her back from his stupid argument. Lucius could see it in her face; could see the utter hate she expressed every time he mocked Arthur. And it only made him want her more.
It was in the seventh year, when he had gone into the hallways after hours for just a nighttime walk, that he encountered her, desperately trying to free her leg from the trick stair. It was strange, that a girl with the intellect and memory of Molly Prewett, would forget that stair. She hadn’t seen him come up beside her, and he was surprised for a moment before he realized that the hood of his invisibility cloak still covered her head. A lighted lamp suddenly became visible at the end of the hallway, and the scratchy voice of a younger, less terrifying Argus Filch drew nearer. “There’s a student up late,” he was saying gleefully, talking to a feline at his feet. “We saw the library door open , didn’t we, love? The library door, and the restricted section! Oh, Dumbledore will have to let us punish him this time, yes he will. Torture, I hope, oh, I remember hearing them screaming in the dungeons as they hung upside down by a rope and were lowered into a pit with a—” Lucius stopped listening. The restricted section? Sure enough, on a second glance to Molly, she held a book protectively to her chest, struggling as hard as she could to free her leg from the trap step. By the look on her face, it hurt, and she heard every word Filch was saying. And he kept coming closer.
Now Lucius, being the chivalrous fellow he was, grasped her beneath the arms and used all of his Slytherin seeker strength to haul her out of the stair. As soon as she was free, he clapped a hand over her mouth and hauled her up the stairs, hastily pushing back a tapestry and shoving the two of them behind it into the entrance of a secret passage. He couldn’t remember when he found out it was there, but it had gotten him out of tight spots before. He could feel the girl shaking in his arms, and removed his hand from her mouth. She was smart enough not to scream, but she turned around, eyes searching fearfully in the darkness. “Who’s there?” she whispered, and Lucius flinched. Her voice seemed to echo, even in the repressing space.
Hesitantly, Malfoy pushed back the hood of his cloak, watching her take in the icy blue eyes and shock of blonde hair, then watching her register the shock of having him rescue her. “You- you- ” she spluttered, and Lucius cut her off.
“That’s right,” he answered agreeably. “Me, me. And if you don’t shut up, you’re going to get us both detention.” The indignation that crossed her face then was priceless, but her mouth clicked shut as they both heard Filch shuffle past the hanging.
“We’ll find them, my pet,” he crooned to the cat, padding along at his feet.
Lucius arched an eyebrow, looking down at her. “The restricted section? Why were you in the restricted section? Looking for a book that’ll help you make a non-love potion, to get rid of that Weasel who follows you around like a pet?”
Molly’s eyes flashed. “You have no right,” she hissed. “He is not a weasel, and he doesn’t follow me around like a dog. And no, that’s was not what I was looking for.”
“Then what was it?”
“I…” She trailed off, and refused to look at him. Instead, he took the moment to stare at her. She was no longer wearing her uniform, but was clothed in a pair of slightly loose muggle jeans, and a form fitting sweater. Her shock of red hair was pulled smoothly back into a horsetail at the high of her head, and cascaded over her shoulders. She was more than pretty at that moment. And those sparks that he had felt when he touched her… it was something new to him, something excited. He was compelled to touch her again, and again, and again. The urge grew to great, and as she was still turned away from him, he felt nothing short of confident with what he wanted to do. Just to touch her, turn her towards him. See her smile the same smile she gave Weasley every day. For once, he wanted it to be directed at him. Craved it.
So his hand came out; his fingers closed gently around her elbow and drew her around to face him. She was nearly a head and a half shorter than him – shorter than Weasley, he thought with a sneer – but she seemed taller, right then. Her pretty green eyes were wide with surprise; her head tilted up to look at him; her lips partly open as she stared at him. He met her eyes squarely, and lowered his head, slowly so as not to scare her, slowly, and settled his mouth over top of hers. She reacted differently than he had thought. He had expected almost… a skill, a deftness. He had wanted her to show him something new, but instead, she reacted almost as though she’d never been kissed before. Shy, hesitant at first, but slowly opening up to him. Her lips parted more as he pulled her head closer to him, and when he slipped his tongue sensually into her mouth, she gave a small jerk, but did not pull away. Their tongues brushed each other, and he used his to explore her mouth, then drew hers into his, encouraging her to do the same.
Molly pulled back abruptly, breathing heavily and staring up at him. “No. No. I-I can’t… Malfoy…”
“Say my name,” he whispered intensely, his icy eyes boring into her eyes. “Say it. Molly. Please. Lucius. I want to hear you say it.”
“No. I can’t… we can’t. Arthur… he wouldn’t understand… Malfoy…” With that one last word, she wrenched herself away from him, pushed back the tapestry, and ran. He made to follow her, but nearly tripped, his foot catching on something hard. Frowning, he pulled out his wand with a muttered, “Lumos,” and peered down to examine the object. It was Molly’s book. There was no title on the cover, but the volume looked thick, and it was important to her. He lifted it, and stared at the leather binding for a moment before tucking it under his arm and using “Nox” to extinguish his wand. Making his way back to the dungeon dormitory, he promised himself that he’d give her book back. She was bound to go back later in the day to retrieve it, and he would be there. He would wait. For her, he would wait.
--
The small kitchen of the Burrow was crowded with people, with Bill and Charlie, Fred and George, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione and Harry. By the time Molly came in, she assumed that the family would be angry and impatient with her for sleeping in. They would be hungry – she knew that much after years of raising them.
Which definitely made the sight that greeted her a shock.
Her family was all seated around the table, passing platters of food along as they piled their plates high. “What’s this?” she asked, surprised.
“We thought we’d give you a break,” Hermione answered for the rest, looking up with a bright smile. “You’re always working so hard, we’ve decided to do something for you.”
“Yeah, mum, pull up a chair!” Ginny enthused, and she and Ron moved apart to clear a space for their mother. With a faint smile, Molly took the invitation, and though she allowed her children to stack her breakfast, she barely ate anything. That voice kept echoing through her head. The voice which had uttered the spell that killed her husband. The voice of Lucius Malfoy.
The day after they had kissed for the first time, Molly spent the morning looking frantically around the common room for her missing book. Realizing it wasn’t there, she let herself slump in defeat, before jerking upright again. Of course! It would be behind the tapestry, where… oh damn, where she had done that with Malfoy. She had to get it back. The fruits of her labour.. if he read it.. if he saw what it was..
Molly couldn’t even remember which book it had been, or why it was so important to her. But it had been worth her life at that time, at least in her eyes, and she had left it in an unforgiving place.
It was simply ludicrous that it would still be there, simply ludicrous… Yet Molly let her feet take her back to that spot, and with a deep breath, she pulled back the tapestry. And came face to face with Lucius Malfoy.
“Molly.” His eyes seemed brighten as she entered his sight, and he took an eager step towards her, just as she took one back. Icy blue clouded over, and he looked at her, confused. “I… I…” What had she come for again? She felt as though she was being pulled into his orbs.
“I want to marry you.” There. It was out. This girl that he had loved from afar… he knew what her answer would be.
“I… I came for… for…” He proposed to her. They kissed in a closet, and he proposed to her. The man she hated.
“For what?” he prodded, taking another step towards her. This time she stood her ground.
“For… for my…” God, he was right in front of her, staring down at her, intense as ever. Merlin, what was she going to do? All she could focus on was his mouth, his mouth, nearing her so steadily… And she forgot everything as she kissed him back, arms snaking around his neck, straining to feel him, to touch him. Everything.
“Molly?” It was Athur’s voice, so tentative and questioning, that snapped her back to reality. She shoved Lucius away from her, eyes huge once again, face shocked. “Molly.”
“Arthur?” She moved toward him, slow at first, but then breaking into a run and barreling into his arms. “Oh, Arthur.” She felt his arms wrap protectively around her, felt his lips against her hair, felt his love radiating from every angle. Yes, she knew he loved her. She knew she loved him back. But Lucius…
Malfoy must have moved to follow her, because she felt Arthur remove one arm from around her and draw his wand, leveling it at Lucius. “One more step,” he said softly, “And I’ll hex you into the next century. Come on, Molly. Let’s go. Leave this sleaze ball.” She let him guide her away, and tossed one glance back at Malfoy. He stared at her, hands at his sides, face impassive, watching them go. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“I love you.” The words from Arthur’s mouth were so unexpected, so sudden, that she nearly stopped in her tracks. He turned his head to look at her intently. “I love you, Molly Prewett. And I want you to marry me. The school year is almost out, and I want you to—”
“Oh, Arthur, of course I’ll marry you.”
“I can’t… afford… a big ring, but I will give you the best wedding ever.”
“Just having you is all I want.” She laughed as he lifted her and spun her around.
From Lucius’ spot, he watched it all, his calm façade belying the torrent of mixed emotions just beneath the surface. She denied him. Picked the Weasel above him. And so the Weasel… would just have to go.
--
“I am going to Diagon Alley,” Lucius announced, nearly four months later. “There are things I need to pick up, and things I need to… rid myself of… personally.”
“Knockturn Alley as well, Master Lucius?”
“Yes.”
“Will you need Kinny to accompany you, Master Lucius?” the elf squeaked, looking desperately around for something else to do.
“No. I can do this on my own.” He lifted a hand dismissively, and the elf vanished. Taking once last glance around the room, Lucius himself apparated from the manor.
--
Molly Weasley sat at a table in the Twin Kegs, a coffee shop with a reciprocating name. A mug of coffee sat in front of her, but she did not drink it, merely held it and stared unseeing out the window. She didn’t notice when one Lucius Malfoy entered, or spotted her sitting with her back to him. She didn’t notice when he stood next to her, contemplating. Only when he slid into the seat across from her did she blink and look up.
“Lucius.” She had steeled herself to be immune to him, to his charm. She had deliberately readied herself to see him. He had killed her husband. Fuck that, he had killed his wife. That had to say something about him.
“Molly,” he answered, not taking his eyes from her face. It was unnerving.
“Why are you here?” The question came out abruptly, and he barely had time to open his mouth before she went on. “Why’d you do it? Did you hate me so much that you had to, to, kill the person I loved most in the world? What did you think when you pointed your wand at him and killed him? What did you think when you, when you, when you stared your wife in the face and killed her?”
Malfoy’s face had darkened with her every word. “I never loved Narcissa,” he said hotly. “I made myself marry her to keep our bloodline going. I never loved her. But I didn’t hate her so much that I had to kill her.” He stopped, his face pained. “I thought she was… someone else. Only after I spoke the spell, and she turned to catch it did I see her face. She was wearing an Order marker! I didn’t know it was her!”
“But you didn’t do anything about it,” came the accusing answer.
“I’d already spoken the spell,” he retorted. “You can’t do anything after the fact. It is not reversible!”
“And Arthur? Arthur!”
“I never loved Narcissa, Molly. I loved you. In the seventh year, when you chose him over me… that filthy, dirtpoor-”
“Don’t call him that,” Molly hissed fiercely. “Don’t you dare call him that!”
“When you chose Weasley over me, I thought it would rip my insides to pieces! You hurt me, damnit! And I thought I could get it all back if he was just, just gone! Out of the way!”
Molly shoved her chair back from the table. “You can take your excuses,” she hissed, “and shove them up your—” She never got to finish that sentence, as he was around the table and next to her that instant. Her arms were in his grip, and her eyes were staring up into his face, and suddenly, wonderfully, he was kissing her thoroughly, leaving nothing to the imagination. Right there, in the middle of the café, he kissed her, tongue probing her mouth and hands crushing her to his chest. Something exploded inside of her, and she gave herself over to him as he drowned her inside of him. Then suddenly, he was pulling away from her, eyes up and staring over her shoulder, watching someone – or someones – approaching from behind.
“Lucius Malfoy,” one of those people said, motioning towards him.
“I’m sorry,” Lucius whispered, and let go of her. “For Arthur. For this. For what could have been.” Turning, he made his way towards the Ministry officials. “I’m ready,” he said clearly, not looking back at her.
After she had turned him away, Lucius had been filled with something. A need for something to take her place. He married Narcissa, just as his family expected him to, and his wife gave birth to a son. But he turned from the Light, and instead looked to the dark, for power, for whatever he could to fill the emptiness. Voldemort. The man took him in, welcomed him into his circle of followers. Gave him the Dark Mark. Lucius became the most trusted ,the most important of all those who follow the Dark Lord. Under Voldemort’s command, he killed people that didn’t deserve to die, and thought nothing of it. Many people, even his own wife and son, thought him crazed and power-hungry, but it was all a cover. A cover for something he didn’t want, someone he didn’t want to be. And now, it was over.
“You are being arrested on account of the murder of seventy nine witches and wizards on 7 February of this year, and the murder of unnamed others before this. There will be no need for trial. The law firmly states—”
“I know what the law firmly states,” interrupted Lucius. “Life sentence in Azkaban prison.” A ghost of a smile flitted across his face. “I’m ready to welcome that.” He allowed them to bind him, to magic him from the café and into the street, where they would bring him straight to the prison. Just as they were about to leave, he turned his head, icy blue eyes locking once again with the green chasms of Molly Weasley’s. It was over.
And they both knew it.
Rating: M
Warnings: Character death, some language.
Pairings: MW/LM
Summary: In which Molly dreams of Lucius, and Lucius doesn't redeem himself.
Note: I was looking through the hard drive on my old desktop computer for icons, when I stumbled across this fic in a folder from 2005! Don't judge me
------
“Arthur? Arthur! Where are you?”
“Molly! You shouldn’t be here.” Molly found herself caught up in a tight embrace, and she buried her face in her husband’s shoulder as he ushered her towards the castle. “Hogwarts grounds have never been bloodier, there’s never been so much death around us—down!” She gasped as she felt herself being pushed to the ground, gasped as she saw a fleeting glimpse of billowing black robes before a shock of red hair filled her vision.
“Avada Kedavra.” She knew that voice… Green light exploded around her, and she screamed—
And sat upright in the bed, clutching sheets around her. “Oh Merlin, oh no. Not again.” The dream had come every night, never relenting. Every night, she remembered. Every night, she relived the horror of February seventh. It never ceased. Every night, she heard the voice that seemed to echo around them, the voice uttering one of the Unforgivables…
“Mum! Mum!” She blinked. That was Ron’s voice coming down the hallway, and then her doorway was filled with four people. The concerned faces of Ron, Ginny, Harry, and Hermione peered worriedly at her through the dark.
“Mum, you screamed,” Ginny said timidly. “We thought… well… we weren’t sure what had happened.”
“Just a bad dream, love.” Molly cursed inwardly. She could hear how shaky her voice sounded. “Just a bad dream.”
“Was it…” Ron paused, and swallowed, then continued, “about dad?” He came closer and sat on the edge of her bed, and up close, Molly saw how gaunt his face was, how sunken his eyes. Ginny was close behind, and her mother also took in the haunted look in her optics, the unsmiling face gazing at her trustfully.
There was no point in lying to them. “Yes. It was about dad.”
It wasn’t as if Arthur had wanted to die, she told herself later as those in the Burrow ventured back into their bedrooms. It wasn’t as if he jumped around, waving a flag that said, ‘hello! Here I am! Come and kill me!’ He had passed on in a valiant effort, she supposed, trying to protect her. He’d succeeded, yes, but gave himself up in return. She bit at her lip to stop the moisture from welling in her eyes and slipping one bead at a time down her cheek. Tears were useless. They wouldn’t bring Arthur back, no matter how much she wished it. No matter how much she cried. He wouldn’t come back. She had loved him. God knows, she loved him. And he had loved her back, as he’d shown when he died in her place.
Her family seemed… lifeless, now that Arthur was gone. Bill and Charlie had moved back, though neither said much, nor told corny jokes at the dinner table anymore. Percy buried himself back into his work, trying to pretend that everything was normal again. Fred and George took out their frustration by hitting Bludgers at each other in the farmers field next door. Ron drifted about the house like a ghost, pale and unseeing. And Ginny… she refused to leave Harry’s side, helping him to recuperate from his crushing fight with Voldemort. He had come out victorious, but not without great repercussions on his being. He’d spent four and a half months in St Mungo’s, just getting over the effects of the attack. Ginny hadn’t left him once, even to eat. That was devotion, Molly supposed. Just like she and Arthur, way back in school. She felt the traitorous prickling of tears threatening to come, but ignored them. Thinking about Arthur was better than the alternative, then pretending he hadn’t ever existed.
Not as if she could, of course.
Everything she had in life had come because of him. Because of his love. Their love. Merlin, she missed him.
--
He paced the floor, wearing a groove in the thick plush carpet. “Draco, I said NOW!” he roared, causing the house elf huddling in the corner to flinch. Still, there were no sounds of footsteps in the hall. He snarled silently. That foolish boy, daring to disobey –
“Father?” Lucius’ gaze snapped upwards and around, landing on the silver-haired boy in the doorway. That boy who looked so much like Narcissa… “Yes, Father?” Draco asked again, a bare hint of irritation behind his words. “You… called for me?” He had. But then, just staring at the boy, Lucius completely forgot what he had been going to say. Draco shifted impatiently, and the elder Malfoy lifted his hand in dismissal.
“Never mind.” And with a nod, Draco was gone. Probably off to see that Mudblood girlfriend of his. Lucius sneered. How Draco could bear any feeling whatsoever for that disgusting, low-lifed – oh, wait. That’s right. That was what he had wanted to speak to his son about. He opened his mouth to call Draco back, and heard the loud crack that signified Draco’s apparation. He sighed, defeated. Too late, now.
Instead, Lucius turned to the writing desk, still ignoring the house elf who waited timidly in the corner. Lifting a picture frame, he examined the faces in the photograph. There he stood, unsmiling and serious, barely touching his wife or son. Narcissa tilted a seven-year-old Draco’s face towards the camera and pointed; Draco himself let his lips curl into the breath-taking, appealing smirk, that reason he was famous amongst the female body of Hogwarts School. Already, his son had taken on the appearance of his father. Lucius smiled slightly, watching the family. That was what it used to be like. Not any more. Not any more.
She was dead. There was no going back now. She had been hit by his own spell. Of course, he hadn’t known it was Narcissa in the way of the Avada Kedavra curse. If he had, she would probably still be here that very moment, standing next to him, ever the dutiful wife. A pained expression flitted across his face. She had been the perfect woman for him when he was still in school. The perfect one to carry on the Malfoy bloodline. Pureblooded and pedigreed, that’s what she had been. The more he thought about it, the easier it was to handle the fact that he had killed her. His wife.
But he hadn’t really loved her, not really.
Lucius froze, the heavy picture falling to the desk with a thunk. Immediately, he tried to push the image out of his mind. No. He could NOT think about that. It was wrong. Terribly wrong. Instead, his eyes fell onto his left arm, where the Dark Mark lay on the underside of his fore. He did not let his optics touch the image, however, just stared through to where it would be on the other side. The reason.
He had been in love, really in love, in his seventh year at Hogwarts. He hadn’t realized it until then, but was pretty sure it happened sometime around the sixth year. He had been in Slytherin, of course, and she – she had been in Gryffindor. That alone was enough to make him hate the idea. And she wasn’t the object of only his affections, either.
Molly Prewett was pleasing to both the eyes and the spirit. Her good natured comments and warm, caring smile was enough to make any man fall head-over-heels at her feet. At least, that’s the way it seemed to Lucius. That was definitely how it happened with that infuriating weasel. Arthur Weasley was from a pure-blooded family as well, though one on the opposite end of the scale from Lucius Malfoy’s. While the Malfoy fortune was passed on one generation to the next, the Weasleys could barely scrape by as it was. There was a … feud, a blood feud, commiserating between the two families. Weasley was in Gryffindor, and Malfoy in Slytherin – it was only fitting. Their bickering was constant, insults shooting every which way whenever the two were in the same room. Rarely was someone at hand to be a peacemaker, but whenever someone was, it was Molly.
Always, she stepped between them right when the insults and comments turned to hexing each other, causing both to lower their wands. Lucius knew that Arthur withdrew for fear of hurting her. His feelings were obvious. Everyone knew – except her. She just didn’t see it. Lucius couldn’t understand why not, not with that Weasel panting after her the way he did. She just didn’t seem to notice. And whenever she looked his way, it was with fury and utmost loathing. They were in separate houses – they weren’t supposed to get along. And Molly refused to let her best friend hold her back from his stupid argument. Lucius could see it in her face; could see the utter hate she expressed every time he mocked Arthur. And it only made him want her more.
It was in the seventh year, when he had gone into the hallways after hours for just a nighttime walk, that he encountered her, desperately trying to free her leg from the trick stair. It was strange, that a girl with the intellect and memory of Molly Prewett, would forget that stair. She hadn’t seen him come up beside her, and he was surprised for a moment before he realized that the hood of his invisibility cloak still covered her head. A lighted lamp suddenly became visible at the end of the hallway, and the scratchy voice of a younger, less terrifying Argus Filch drew nearer. “There’s a student up late,” he was saying gleefully, talking to a feline at his feet. “We saw the library door open , didn’t we, love? The library door, and the restricted section! Oh, Dumbledore will have to let us punish him this time, yes he will. Torture, I hope, oh, I remember hearing them screaming in the dungeons as they hung upside down by a rope and were lowered into a pit with a—” Lucius stopped listening. The restricted section? Sure enough, on a second glance to Molly, she held a book protectively to her chest, struggling as hard as she could to free her leg from the trap step. By the look on her face, it hurt, and she heard every word Filch was saying. And he kept coming closer.
Now Lucius, being the chivalrous fellow he was, grasped her beneath the arms and used all of his Slytherin seeker strength to haul her out of the stair. As soon as she was free, he clapped a hand over her mouth and hauled her up the stairs, hastily pushing back a tapestry and shoving the two of them behind it into the entrance of a secret passage. He couldn’t remember when he found out it was there, but it had gotten him out of tight spots before. He could feel the girl shaking in his arms, and removed his hand from her mouth. She was smart enough not to scream, but she turned around, eyes searching fearfully in the darkness. “Who’s there?” she whispered, and Lucius flinched. Her voice seemed to echo, even in the repressing space.
Hesitantly, Malfoy pushed back the hood of his cloak, watching her take in the icy blue eyes and shock of blonde hair, then watching her register the shock of having him rescue her. “You- you- ” she spluttered, and Lucius cut her off.
“That’s right,” he answered agreeably. “Me, me. And if you don’t shut up, you’re going to get us both detention.” The indignation that crossed her face then was priceless, but her mouth clicked shut as they both heard Filch shuffle past the hanging.
“We’ll find them, my pet,” he crooned to the cat, padding along at his feet.
Lucius arched an eyebrow, looking down at her. “The restricted section? Why were you in the restricted section? Looking for a book that’ll help you make a non-love potion, to get rid of that Weasel who follows you around like a pet?”
Molly’s eyes flashed. “You have no right,” she hissed. “He is not a weasel, and he doesn’t follow me around like a dog. And no, that’s was not what I was looking for.”
“Then what was it?”
“I…” She trailed off, and refused to look at him. Instead, he took the moment to stare at her. She was no longer wearing her uniform, but was clothed in a pair of slightly loose muggle jeans, and a form fitting sweater. Her shock of red hair was pulled smoothly back into a horsetail at the high of her head, and cascaded over her shoulders. She was more than pretty at that moment. And those sparks that he had felt when he touched her… it was something new to him, something excited. He was compelled to touch her again, and again, and again. The urge grew to great, and as she was still turned away from him, he felt nothing short of confident with what he wanted to do. Just to touch her, turn her towards him. See her smile the same smile she gave Weasley every day. For once, he wanted it to be directed at him. Craved it.
So his hand came out; his fingers closed gently around her elbow and drew her around to face him. She was nearly a head and a half shorter than him – shorter than Weasley, he thought with a sneer – but she seemed taller, right then. Her pretty green eyes were wide with surprise; her head tilted up to look at him; her lips partly open as she stared at him. He met her eyes squarely, and lowered his head, slowly so as not to scare her, slowly, and settled his mouth over top of hers. She reacted differently than he had thought. He had expected almost… a skill, a deftness. He had wanted her to show him something new, but instead, she reacted almost as though she’d never been kissed before. Shy, hesitant at first, but slowly opening up to him. Her lips parted more as he pulled her head closer to him, and when he slipped his tongue sensually into her mouth, she gave a small jerk, but did not pull away. Their tongues brushed each other, and he used his to explore her mouth, then drew hers into his, encouraging her to do the same.
Molly pulled back abruptly, breathing heavily and staring up at him. “No. No. I-I can’t… Malfoy…”
“Say my name,” he whispered intensely, his icy eyes boring into her eyes. “Say it. Molly. Please. Lucius. I want to hear you say it.”
“No. I can’t… we can’t. Arthur… he wouldn’t understand… Malfoy…” With that one last word, she wrenched herself away from him, pushed back the tapestry, and ran. He made to follow her, but nearly tripped, his foot catching on something hard. Frowning, he pulled out his wand with a muttered, “Lumos,” and peered down to examine the object. It was Molly’s book. There was no title on the cover, but the volume looked thick, and it was important to her. He lifted it, and stared at the leather binding for a moment before tucking it under his arm and using “Nox” to extinguish his wand. Making his way back to the dungeon dormitory, he promised himself that he’d give her book back. She was bound to go back later in the day to retrieve it, and he would be there. He would wait. For her, he would wait.
--
The small kitchen of the Burrow was crowded with people, with Bill and Charlie, Fred and George, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione and Harry. By the time Molly came in, she assumed that the family would be angry and impatient with her for sleeping in. They would be hungry – she knew that much after years of raising them.
Which definitely made the sight that greeted her a shock.
Her family was all seated around the table, passing platters of food along as they piled their plates high. “What’s this?” she asked, surprised.
“We thought we’d give you a break,” Hermione answered for the rest, looking up with a bright smile. “You’re always working so hard, we’ve decided to do something for you.”
“Yeah, mum, pull up a chair!” Ginny enthused, and she and Ron moved apart to clear a space for their mother. With a faint smile, Molly took the invitation, and though she allowed her children to stack her breakfast, she barely ate anything. That voice kept echoing through her head. The voice which had uttered the spell that killed her husband. The voice of Lucius Malfoy.
The day after they had kissed for the first time, Molly spent the morning looking frantically around the common room for her missing book. Realizing it wasn’t there, she let herself slump in defeat, before jerking upright again. Of course! It would be behind the tapestry, where… oh damn, where she had done that with Malfoy. She had to get it back. The fruits of her labour.. if he read it.. if he saw what it was..
Molly couldn’t even remember which book it had been, or why it was so important to her. But it had been worth her life at that time, at least in her eyes, and she had left it in an unforgiving place.
It was simply ludicrous that it would still be there, simply ludicrous… Yet Molly let her feet take her back to that spot, and with a deep breath, she pulled back the tapestry. And came face to face with Lucius Malfoy.
“Molly.” His eyes seemed brighten as she entered his sight, and he took an eager step towards her, just as she took one back. Icy blue clouded over, and he looked at her, confused. “I… I…” What had she come for again? She felt as though she was being pulled into his orbs.
“I want to marry you.” There. It was out. This girl that he had loved from afar… he knew what her answer would be.
“I… I came for… for…” He proposed to her. They kissed in a closet, and he proposed to her. The man she hated.
“For what?” he prodded, taking another step towards her. This time she stood her ground.
“For… for my…” God, he was right in front of her, staring down at her, intense as ever. Merlin, what was she going to do? All she could focus on was his mouth, his mouth, nearing her so steadily… And she forgot everything as she kissed him back, arms snaking around his neck, straining to feel him, to touch him. Everything.
“Molly?” It was Athur’s voice, so tentative and questioning, that snapped her back to reality. She shoved Lucius away from her, eyes huge once again, face shocked. “Molly.”
“Arthur?” She moved toward him, slow at first, but then breaking into a run and barreling into his arms. “Oh, Arthur.” She felt his arms wrap protectively around her, felt his lips against her hair, felt his love radiating from every angle. Yes, she knew he loved her. She knew she loved him back. But Lucius…
Malfoy must have moved to follow her, because she felt Arthur remove one arm from around her and draw his wand, leveling it at Lucius. “One more step,” he said softly, “And I’ll hex you into the next century. Come on, Molly. Let’s go. Leave this sleaze ball.” She let him guide her away, and tossed one glance back at Malfoy. He stared at her, hands at his sides, face impassive, watching them go. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“I love you.” The words from Arthur’s mouth were so unexpected, so sudden, that she nearly stopped in her tracks. He turned his head to look at her intently. “I love you, Molly Prewett. And I want you to marry me. The school year is almost out, and I want you to—”
“Oh, Arthur, of course I’ll marry you.”
“I can’t… afford… a big ring, but I will give you the best wedding ever.”
“Just having you is all I want.” She laughed as he lifted her and spun her around.
From Lucius’ spot, he watched it all, his calm façade belying the torrent of mixed emotions just beneath the surface. She denied him. Picked the Weasel above him. And so the Weasel… would just have to go.
--
“I am going to Diagon Alley,” Lucius announced, nearly four months later. “There are things I need to pick up, and things I need to… rid myself of… personally.”
“Knockturn Alley as well, Master Lucius?”
“Yes.”
“Will you need Kinny to accompany you, Master Lucius?” the elf squeaked, looking desperately around for something else to do.
“No. I can do this on my own.” He lifted a hand dismissively, and the elf vanished. Taking once last glance around the room, Lucius himself apparated from the manor.
--
Molly Weasley sat at a table in the Twin Kegs, a coffee shop with a reciprocating name. A mug of coffee sat in front of her, but she did not drink it, merely held it and stared unseeing out the window. She didn’t notice when one Lucius Malfoy entered, or spotted her sitting with her back to him. She didn’t notice when he stood next to her, contemplating. Only when he slid into the seat across from her did she blink and look up.
“Lucius.” She had steeled herself to be immune to him, to his charm. She had deliberately readied herself to see him. He had killed her husband. Fuck that, he had killed his wife. That had to say something about him.
“Molly,” he answered, not taking his eyes from her face. It was unnerving.
“Why are you here?” The question came out abruptly, and he barely had time to open his mouth before she went on. “Why’d you do it? Did you hate me so much that you had to, to, kill the person I loved most in the world? What did you think when you pointed your wand at him and killed him? What did you think when you, when you, when you stared your wife in the face and killed her?”
Malfoy’s face had darkened with her every word. “I never loved Narcissa,” he said hotly. “I made myself marry her to keep our bloodline going. I never loved her. But I didn’t hate her so much that I had to kill her.” He stopped, his face pained. “I thought she was… someone else. Only after I spoke the spell, and she turned to catch it did I see her face. She was wearing an Order marker! I didn’t know it was her!”
“But you didn’t do anything about it,” came the accusing answer.
“I’d already spoken the spell,” he retorted. “You can’t do anything after the fact. It is not reversible!”
“And Arthur? Arthur!”
“I never loved Narcissa, Molly. I loved you. In the seventh year, when you chose him over me… that filthy, dirtpoor-”
“Don’t call him that,” Molly hissed fiercely. “Don’t you dare call him that!”
“When you chose Weasley over me, I thought it would rip my insides to pieces! You hurt me, damnit! And I thought I could get it all back if he was just, just gone! Out of the way!”
Molly shoved her chair back from the table. “You can take your excuses,” she hissed, “and shove them up your—” She never got to finish that sentence, as he was around the table and next to her that instant. Her arms were in his grip, and her eyes were staring up into his face, and suddenly, wonderfully, he was kissing her thoroughly, leaving nothing to the imagination. Right there, in the middle of the café, he kissed her, tongue probing her mouth and hands crushing her to his chest. Something exploded inside of her, and she gave herself over to him as he drowned her inside of him. Then suddenly, he was pulling away from her, eyes up and staring over her shoulder, watching someone – or someones – approaching from behind.
“Lucius Malfoy,” one of those people said, motioning towards him.
“I’m sorry,” Lucius whispered, and let go of her. “For Arthur. For this. For what could have been.” Turning, he made his way towards the Ministry officials. “I’m ready,” he said clearly, not looking back at her.
After she had turned him away, Lucius had been filled with something. A need for something to take her place. He married Narcissa, just as his family expected him to, and his wife gave birth to a son. But he turned from the Light, and instead looked to the dark, for power, for whatever he could to fill the emptiness. Voldemort. The man took him in, welcomed him into his circle of followers. Gave him the Dark Mark. Lucius became the most trusted ,the most important of all those who follow the Dark Lord. Under Voldemort’s command, he killed people that didn’t deserve to die, and thought nothing of it. Many people, even his own wife and son, thought him crazed and power-hungry, but it was all a cover. A cover for something he didn’t want, someone he didn’t want to be. And now, it was over.
“You are being arrested on account of the murder of seventy nine witches and wizards on 7 February of this year, and the murder of unnamed others before this. There will be no need for trial. The law firmly states—”
“I know what the law firmly states,” interrupted Lucius. “Life sentence in Azkaban prison.” A ghost of a smile flitted across his face. “I’m ready to welcome that.” He allowed them to bind him, to magic him from the café and into the street, where they would bring him straight to the prison. Just as they were about to leave, he turned his head, icy blue eyes locking once again with the green chasms of Molly Weasley’s. It was over.
And they both knew it.