Percy's face was not the first one to hover over a toilet, not even this one specifically. Not that he minded. Growing up at the Weasleys well prepared one for not being able to claim seniority.
And to expect that somehow your face will "accidentally" wind up reaching the water.
But Tom was no Weasley, even if he did look a bit murderous ever since their most recent visit to the library was a sunk cost. Looking closer, Percy corrected himself. Tom looked incredibly frustrated and a touch desperate, his gaze intensely fixated on every inch of the room he turned towards. Had Percy truly gotten violent vibes from him, Percy was sure he'd feel more alarmed than just sympathetic. The correction was neither here nor anywhere for anyone but his mind, but it felt good to be exact, anyway.
Resting back on his knees Percy shook his head. "No sign of Myrtle."
"There has to be something." Tom began to fiddle with the faucets, walls, floor, fixtures, any and everything showing, trying to trip up some sort of reaction. While nothing came of it, Percy had to admit he wouldn't have thought to try some of the trigger methods and patterns Tom did, though he was able to reason out the logic behind them. As Tom worked his mind continued trying to reason things out aloud. "Clippings, references, files… people don't just vanish when they die and end up haunting a toilet."
"Well, yes, that would fall under the haunting aspect," Percy pointed out.
Tom shot him a brief dry look. "As long as you're amusing yourself."
Slowly Percy straightened up, cracking his back. "I'm on my knees looking into waste bowls frequented by girls for you, I get total mobility of mockery."
"What else would you be doing?" Tom only turned to him when Percy failed to reply, giving him an expectant look.
"I'm not entirely sure," Percy admitted. Moving to wash his hands, after a long pause he offered, "check on Penny, I suppose."
Tom nodded slowly. "And if none of this had happened?"
Percy blinked, surprised at the question. In truth he didn't think he could imagine a situation where none of this had happened. Oh, he'd pictured himself getting to Ginny in time. He pictured Harry and Ron saving her. Or Ginny's murderer breaking its neck tripping over a Quidditch broom left lying about. Various images with varying degrees of him helping alter the events constantly barraged him. But for none of it to have happened… it wasn't possible. It was too great, too inclusive an event. Small things could change. But not when so many added up they couldn't all be undone. He didn't even know how far back to go for when it all started.
"Percy?"
Tom's questioning voice brought him back. Shaking his head slowly, Percy tried a small smile. "I think I broke my mind. You should warn people before you bring up the subject of time."
A smile to mirror his carved up Tom's lips. "Dangerous, is it?"
"Easy enough to find yourself caught up trying to untangle," Percy nodded.
Tom leaned against the sink next to him, gamely playing. "Always the concepts understood in linear terms you have to watch out for."
"It works right one way, then double-backing not as much." His voice lighter than it'd been in a good while, Percy closed the faucet tight and, finding no towels, dried his hands on his sleeves grudgingly.
"Damn inconsistent measure of reality," Tom added just as lightly, watching him. "I'd say I'd take care of it for you but alas, still wandless."
Percy raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You would?"
Tom's smile merely widened charmingly. "Well, it'd mean I'd have a wand."
Smiling and shaking his head Percy turned and began heading out. "I doubt you'd need one."
Giving the room a last careful look Tom replied, "I suppose that's a compliment."
"Of course it is. But I am thankfully more than capable of fighting my own battles." Percy impatiently held the door waiting for him to exit as well.
After he was satisfied Tom complied. "It wasn't a serious example, you know."
"Even in those cases." Percy let the heavy door close, making certain no one was about before realizing Tom was giving him the same scrutiny he had the bathroom tiles.
Before Percy could say anything Tom gave a nod and moved on. "So noted. Percy Weasley needs none in battles real or jest."
Percy rolled his eyes slightly, more from embarrassment at being called out than anything. "You make it sound so melodramatic."
"Did I? Apologies. I was merely making sure I had what you said linear." Tom's voice was calm, precise, and excellently timed as he retorted the slightly quirky reply. It reminded Percy vaguely of Headmaster Dumbledore in that moment and he let himself have a private smile over it. Aimlessly they wandered until Percy's subconscious caught up with him. He was headed in the direction of the classroom he and Penny often met at. She wasn't there, of course.
He knew her schedule by heart now. At first, before they'd gotten together, he'd nonchalantly taking note of when they'd crossed paths in the corridors to see if it was habit or coincidence. Then, after the first and second and handfuls of other times she'd smiled back even when he'd spoken, and after she let him take her to Hogsmeade, and after she'd laughed with awkward embarrassment each time he expressed amazement she seemed interested in his company… after all that, he still couldn't believe she conspired with him to steal moments they could share in private. They'd poured over their schedules of classes and studies and prefect duties, arranging quiet dates together. Nothing too intimate yet, physically, at least. Even though most of them had happened in the castle during this year of fear and tension, their spots had been a haven. Certainly the Ravenclaw in her – and fair amount of Ravenclaw in him – had gotten pleasure out of snogging behind classroom doors. A few get-togethers in the Astronomy tower had been less than desirable, they'd decided. Classically romantic spots she'd felt were stale, and he found them merely heavy with expectation. He knew Bill and Charlie had stories from up there, and their rugged faces in his mind when – no. Needless to say, failed experiment. The Quidditch lockers had been a personal favorite of his for a quick kiss or two. However, since he couldn't quite explain the satisfaction his less than athletic Weasley self found in it without fearing he'd sound crazy he'd never suggested it again. The Prefects bathroom was a place they'd both eyed but as of yet hadn't suggested, and even now the possibilities made him flush slightly and force his mind off such matters.
Looking at Tom, he found the boy quiet and his face unreadable, like always. It could be a bad sign since Percy wasn't certain how long his mind had turned to Penny. Guilt over their earlier tiff flooded his chest, though it was fear that constricted it the most. He didn't want to let anything else slip from him. For some reason the image of his mother popped into his head. She was red-faced as he, his father, and his siblings all had probably several fights and conversations going on all at once. Clearly overwhelmed though her voice betrayed nothing but a commanding presence she'd ordered them all to shut their traps and sit down quietly, to not move, not speak, not do anything but just be still for a moment. Percy longed for that now. He wanted a moment to be still and rest, not alone but not having anything moving. He wasn't very good at commanding such things. Somehow, unlike with his mother, he sounded purely annoyed and exasperated without any fondness peeking through.
It wasn't something he could ask for, certainly not with Tom. He had seen longing in Tom's eyes, but never for rest or respite. Always the blue burned with either an attacking, scavenging, wary, or assured hunger, or else they were blankly closed off to any reading. Percy had little desire to be the first to let down his guard to someone whose attitude he not only understood but aspired to on more than one occasion.
"… geese grew fangs?"
That, that line cut through his thoughts. Shaking his head slightly, Percy refocused on Tom, who was still peering into the classroom. "What?"
Tom looked at him for a moment, then stoically said, "I was just sharing the meaning of life. You missed it."
Percy gave a small smile. "Damn."
"You'll never keep a mentor that way," Tom said easily, and while Percy knew he was jesting, nonetheless the words gripped him. He wasn't certain why; probably because his mind had been so focused on losing things.
Forcing himself to maintain a light humor, Percy added, "or a guru."
"Or a sage."
"Teacher."
"Advisor."
"Advice columnist." A female voice offered the last one, causing both Percy and Tom to turn silently at the speaker. They found Penny standing behind them a few paces, one hand on the wall. She was clearly a bit discomfited but gamely gave a slight smile. "No others? I win, then."
Tom recovered first and stepped towards her, smoothing over the incident earlier. "We didn't really meet before."
Penny's eyes fell for a moment, then came up to rest more on Percy than Tom. Her voice was soft though, perhaps tired but devoid of anger. "No. We didn't." Looking directly at Tom she offered, "I'm sure I'd like to. But maybe later, if you don't mind."
It was wrong. It was shallow, and petty, and undoubtedly superficial, but it made Percy smile, so he'd take Penny gently blowing Tom aside for him. Decidedly not an expert in the field, Percy was still well aware that even worn out and in casual clothing Tom was attractive. His clinical mind could observe the boy's features and how others responded to them. At the very least Tom was handsomer than Percy. But then, Percy thought a bit ruefully, that wasn't hard to manage, especially of late.
Tom's expression didn't waver, merely giving them a nod. "Later would be wonderful. I should really be off, anyway." Without a backwards glance at them he headed off. Both Percy and Penny watched his retreating form until distance and the night's shadows blurred him out. Left with little else, they turned to face each other again. Instinctively, Percy pulled her into the classroom, closing them inside.
"Are you – how are you?" The question didn't exactly role out of Percy's mouth but he managed it. It was a safe inquiry, or at least he hoped it would be.
Penny gave a small shrug. "I know how I'd like to be. That's easier to know right now. I don't know why." She sounded faintly annoyed, and one of the things Percy loved about her was just that. Penny didn't like sweeping melodrama with him. She was analytical and honest, leaving dazzle for the academic or professional spheres. She wouldn't say she didn't know how she was to tease or for effect. She genuinely would wish to understand everything about herself.
Percy pulled her into a hug. She fit well against him. Her head reached his chest, her arms easily able to slide up around his neck. He longed to be in her position for a moment, to slightly tilt his head and be able to easily lean against her chest and listen to her heart beat against his ear. But at least she was quiet, and a silent moment stretched out undisturbed.
Surprisingly, he broke it. "I'm sorry I wasn't around earlier," he whispered.
She didn't even tense against him. "It's all right. I shouldn't have yelled. It's not like I needed a white knight or anything. I can barely look at Nearly Headless Nick when he shows his neck, so I think horse riders are not for me, anyway."
Part of him was far less calm about her words. Granted, she'd seen sides of him nobody else had… she'd seen the care behind his nagging, the desire to help intermingled with his ambition. But he'd always tried very carefully to be anything and everything she could possibly need. It wasn't just that she had seemed to care about him in return. He liked that specific image of himself as strong and handy. It was wonderful to seem useful and impenetrable in general, but to seem so to those whose opinions he desperately respected was about as good as anything could get. He shouldn't have said anything, he should have just let the moment be. Now he felt a bit more revealed, a bit more vulnerable, and while he trusted Penny over anyone else, he didn't trust anyone entirely. Backpedaling was in order. "Knight clichés aside, I still wanted to." She pulled back to study him, but even though he knew she preferred to leisurely think things through before responding he couldn't help but keep speaking quickly. "You deserve it."
"Percy." She was back enough to look him in the eyes. "It's really not a big issue. I saw my friends, I hung out with my familiar…" her gaze fell into uncertainty. "I know I have my moments of anxiety."
Percy shook his head no. No more than me, he thought at least. Of course, he tried not to let that part of him show as much, even if he did at times fail miserably. It was odd. Hearing others' troubles at times filled him with frustration, but with Penny it wasn't as often. Perhaps the good times with her outweighed the bad or she was less inclined to make her troubles seem worse than he could ever possibly have had to deal with. He knew was hypocritical to wish to appear infallible and also be annoyed when others assumed everything was impossibly easy for him. Maybe what he wished was for someone to acknowledge it for him.
Looking at her he admitted, "I've gotten O's in anxiety lately." He couldn't leave it without trying to cover up lightly. "You know, must make the mark in everything."
Penny was quiet for a moment. He couldn't tell if she was distracted, or if that was again his anxiety rearing up. Then she nodded. "I won't lecture, I'm sure you've heard it. And I'm sure you'll manage."
It was, perhaps, the worst thing he'd heard in his life. Not because of the words themselves, but because he hadn't been prepared for them. A part of him was incredibly disappointed she had so clearly either misread him or glossed over his pain; another part of him was chiding himself to being so open for it. He shouldn't expect people to read his intentions, and he certainly shouldn't feel betrayed when he was let down. Being there for someone else didn't mean he was clear enough with his own needs.
Or he just wasn't worth it to them. To her.
His head ached. He'd lost a sister; Penny had nearly lost her life. He'd had days to worry over her, days she couldn't recall because she'd been trapped in a frozen horror. He hadn't been there enough for her. Or she just didn't need him so much anymore. He was being dramatic and pathetic, and he loathed it. And yet he felt anger at the thought that she might loathe it, too, when he couldn't help but be hurt by it. And not just her, but his family, his friends… the ones he had… ones he hadn't pushed away by some act of his or another. Or worse, that they'd just moved on. Even Oliver had to find non-Quidditch related activities more enjoyable than Percy's company would be of late.
Breathing was difficult, feigning nonchalance even more so. "Yeah. Well." He shrugged.
She half-shrugged, half-nodded back. A helpless, or meaningless, noncommittal gesture. It infuriated him, and perhaps he was now infuriating her. He had to leave. Losing his ability to reach her at this moment was more than he could take. Certainly more than he wished to show her.
"I should go. I hope you have a good night." Stiff, formal, but polite, even though he didn't want for a response. The sad part was, some aspect of him meant it. Oh, it was partly petty, to contradictorily seem like the bigger person wishing her well. But he also genuinely wanted her to see him as that good. Which was a hair's breath within actually being the good, wasn't it?
He didn't know, and leaving was better. Percy let his steps carry him away. He forced himself not to look back at her in case she wasn't watching him. His self-pity couldn't take any further hits.
He didn't wish to help another, not at this point. He wished to take control in a far less pleasant manner. Usually such cases ended in him reprimanding fellow students over petty school code rules, or catching the twins in a particularly moronic prank. But right now, he wanted air more. With the classroom haven tainted, all of Hogwarts felt suffocating. Not bothering to fetch a cloak Percy stepped outside, breaking in the cool air, wishing it was snowing. The sharp freezing of winter helped numb from the outside in. However, at least it wasn't so cold that he'd look odd standing outside. Indeed, he saw several students in the distance enjoying the evening by milling about or playing. He tried to focus on them, ending up nearly missing Ron and his friends hurrying by him.
Percy sidestepped quickly. He had little fear of Harry being unable to swerve around him, star seeker that he was. Ron and Hermione, however, and even himself, he wouldn't put past a few hits. He needn't have feared they'd notice anything off about him. They seemed in quite a hurry, as they often did when he saw them together. He barely managed a nod at them before they were gone, then he lifted his eyes in the direction they'd come, forehead wrinkling slightly. Probably Hagrid's, Percy decided. Just as he reached his conclusion a hand snapped in front of his face, a surprising small shower of literal sparks accompanying it, causing him to jerk back strongly.
Tom lowered his hand casually, watching him. "Big thoughts?" Percy hadn't even heard him approach.
Shaking his head quickly, Percy changed the topic. "Where did you go off to?"
Tom inclined his head in the direction of where Ron, Harry, and Hermione had come. When he didn't speak Percy waved a hand to encourage, slightly irritably adding, "And?"
Tom gave him a beatific smile. Seeing it was slightly disconcerting considering the surprising magic shower he'd just witnessed. Well, shower was an overstatement. It had only been a few sparks, nothing magic children hadn't done for years on end when emotional or surprised. Yet… had Tom been either? Well, he was older, and considerably talented given the attention Dumbledore had shown him. It was reasonable some magic would make itself evident by his hand, and it wouldn't be like Tom to show he was surprised by it even if he had been.
"Not here," was Tom's reply. Calming down a bit, Percy was grateful Tom seemed fine with leaving Percy off topic at the moment. Inclining his head to follow, Tom began to walk away, and after a moment Percy let himself follow.
\\\\\\\
Clearly something had rattled Percy. I could see it plainly in his face, the guardedness that begged to be overlooked. I let him keep his private hell at the moment, not looking back even when hearing him follow. I led him around the side of the castle, staying close to its walls. We also faced neither forest nor Quidditch pitch nor lake, nothing in sight that would be tempting to moony-eyed lovers, pretentious dreamers, or tiresome pranksters. In short, we were unlikely to be interrupted.
I thought back on what I'd just witnessed at the giant's hut. It hadn't been difficult at all to follow the young Gryffindors when I'd seen them leave the castle. They seemed devoid of inborn paranoia, or perhaps were simply too brashly egotistical, to suspect, and I had little else to go on. At first I'd just been biding my time until I could think of how to form questions I wanted to ask, and then their destination made me realize silent observance was a better instinct to follow. From our brief meeting several days ago it was clear the giant – Hagrid, that was it – knew something of me.
It took a few moments for my hearing to adjust to the muffling of the door. I leaned close, careful not to lean against it lest it squeak. I swallowed my impatience and tried to focus. After a few moments the voices did sound louder, or perhaps my focus merely did help make them sound clearer.
Predictably enough, Hagrid's voice was the loudest, overlapping over the others. A quick surreptitious glance in the nearby window showed him situated at a large table beside a slobbering monstrosity I could then also swear I heard panting. Pulling back I heard in his guttural speech ask the three students what more they wanted from him.
"… could start with anything," Percy's brother had said clearly enough, though I missed how he'd begun.
I heard a mild slap causing Ron to yelp, then Hermione saying, "Honestly. Anyway, Hagrid, we know about Aragog. You know what Harry saw in the diary, and he and Ron spoke with Aragog later."
Harry's voice felt unmistakable to me as it followed. "Do you think Riddle knew? That it wasn't Aragog?"
A snort escaped from Hagrid, followed by other nonsensical sounds my mind glossed over before hearing, "Even if he didn't, it was a right sorry thing to do to a friend."
"You were friends?" Hermione's voice again, hesitantly skeptical.
"Well, maybe not rightly friends, but he'd tutored me and I thought… well, I assumed he'd know I wasn't capable of doing something like that. Harboring something that was hurting anyone." He paused, but whether he received affirmation for his statement from them I had no way of telling. He pressed on. "I at least thought he'd hear me out, considering what was at stake." And then, stupidly, the man focused on Aragog again. "It just wasn't right, blaming him, nearly killing him like that."
"And nearly costing you your life," Harry butted in. I wished to tell the boy that even the obvious was clearly lost on Hagrid. It was perhaps inconsiderate of me to think so, but I couldn't abide simplicity. Least of all from someone who was speaking against me.
Although, I suppose it was better than someone intelligent doing so. Although, wasn't that what the three Gryffindors were now attempting? Or were they, like me, simply unable to let the past rest, lying fat upon its unshared secrets that somehow connected us all?
Hagrid's voice was dark, indirectly responding to Harry. "Whatever it is, it was dark magic that brought him back, you can be assured of that. Anything that comes from Lucius Malfoy you know is best not tangled with."
I drew in my breath along with Harry, Hermione and Ron. "You're sure that… I mean, how do you know the diary came from Malfoy?"
"He was causing a right fit trying to get it back; part of what kept Dumbledore from getting to spring me sooner from Azkaban. Believe him? Acting all concerned for the students when he was the one planting the seed all along in that little girl's…" Hagrid's voice trailed off, then expressed sorrow. "I'm sorry, Ron. I didn't meant to… you know…"
"It's all right, Hagrid," I heard Ron say tightly, and then with more conviction, "It is. Really."
It shouldn't be. But far be it for me to tell someone what to do. At least not when I really didn't care. I heard movement and hurriedly backed away, pressing myself into the woods. To my annoyance they didn't come out until several long minutes had passed, but it was too risky to try and get close again. Impatiently I waited for them to leave, then surreptitiously followed, seeing them nearly crash into Percy and head into the safety of the stone school.
I was brimming with energy, my mind alight with finally something to go on. I felt my insides nearly crackling with anticipation, the vibrations expelling themselves in a short burst of faint red specks when I snapped my fingers to alert Percy to my presence. The sudden magic did startle me, but after what I'd heard I was already steamrolling on a promising path. Drawing Percy round the corner, all I shared was a simple, "loos no more required."
Percy's expression turned confused, vaguely annoyed rather than curious. "Can't you just make sense? I get enough surreptitious talk from Dumbledore."
The cranky reply nagged at me more than it should, though why I wasn't certain. I watched Percy carefully, keeping my tone neutral. "What happened?"
Percy slide down against the wall, then moved forward scant inches so he wasn't actually touching the wall. "Nothing."
I sat beside him, more than fine using the wall to lean my back straight up against. "Clearly."
"What do you care?" Perhaps it was because he wasn't certain I would care. Or that after everything, caring what I thought wasn't as important. Percy looked for a moment like he'd sob, but tears couldn't even form as the words tonelessly fell out. "I'm sick of marks not being good enough. Of not having my good news or things I've worked hard for ever panning out as good as they should. I now dread whenever things seem to be going good. It's always followed by something bad which comes too fast to have let me catch my breath. Single little moments don't add up. Not when each time one comes you've already fallen so much farther down it's impossible to get as much happiness out of them as the last time without exhausting yourself. I'm sick of not being the favorite with anyone, even myself. And I can't even tell anyone because this sounds stupid and selfish and pathetic… and just stupid. But it hurts. Not just because of everything that's happened and not just because I know it won't get any better. But because a part of me always says that it can and it will, that things work out or I can make them work out, or I should, and yet I don't and it doesn't. I'm terrified because it does hurt, but I can't even cry about it anymore. It's like something inside me's broken or disintegrated. I can't feel that much anymore, and that's not what I wanted. I didn't want to stop feeling. I just want a reason not to have to feel it."
Nothing. Percy wouldn't even be able to hear me breathing beside him. When I felt him lift his head to look at me I remained sitting still, my gaze cast down in front rather than on him. Defensiveness seemed to ripple out of him, causing his voice to clip crisply. "You can go ahead, laugh and mock or sneer or whatnot. If you want to." Not meaning it he still forced himself to say, "I really don't care."
I merely shook my head. "I was just thinking. I suppose," I said slowly, "that in the end, it doesn't much matter who it is that betrays you."
Percy looked like he wished to refute what I'd said, but seemed defeated in finding a way to do so. "I'll make it right. I just… can't right now. Won't. Can't." The words didn't seem clearly interchangeable to him regardless of what he said.
I rose, giving him a nod that he should follow suit. "Then lets see to your sister's murderer, shall we?"
Percy still had the good sense to look guarded. "The basilisk is dead, Tom. Forget?"
"Ha. I mean the one who helped Ginny open the Chamber. Lucius Malfoy."
"Malfoy?" I saw his face change, subtle but telling. Puzzlement, wanting to believe, skepticism, rationalizing all following each other in a collapsing row. "We did see him in the bookshop. But Malfoy? It doesn't seem… I don't know, Tom. We're missing things."
I knew that. But I was tired of waiting. "Then let's go and find out. We'll learn more there than here with Dumbledore over our shoulders and ghostly girls whinging."
"Getting there won't be easy. Dumbledore alone…" Percy saw the resolution on my face and quieted for a moment. "You've already thought about all that."
"Yes." It wouldn't be easy. But I didn't care. I instinctively knew that I'd gone through many unpleasant things in my life. And I also knew on some level that I could go through anything; regardless of pain I could resolutely stand face to face against whatever was slung at me and I'd never back down. Oh, I might duck or twist around it rather than head on attack, but I would never lose ground and not regain it and then some.
I would go without him. But Percy would hardly be dead weight. He might be a much needed buffer. From his look, I thought I saw that he might be thinking the same of me. I reached down a hand to pull him up with me.
\\\\\\
He sat unmoving with his eyes closed and his, long, spider-like fingers steepled in front of him. It was a pose so classically villainous that Lucius would raise an eyebrow in mocking, had it not been him.
Inside his house.
Inside his study inside his personal fortress-like mansion. And not via a projecting mirror, not through magic and tricks.
Lord Voldemort was situated inside Lucius' personal space. And Lucius Malfoy not only had no idea how the man had managed it, but did know there was not a damn thing he could do about it.
Voldemort's skin looked stretched and slightly translucent; in person it was clear he was still far from being wholly well. Yet he was back, there was no disputing it. Some ancient magic tinged the air, more so than Lucius recalled when being in the dark lord's presence. Riddle's reappearance had restored what had never been lost, merely hibernating. Waiting. Seething.
In his imported, expensive chair.
Voldemort's eyes opened, the red immediately focused on Lucius' eyes. Whereas Lucius had found potential in Riddle's gaze Voldemort showed power realized and then some.
And then Voldemort smiled, a visual representation of his cold, high laugh. "Boo."
Lucius almost started, then realized it was what Voldemort would be looking for. Pulling himself upright after a deep bow, he tried to look unperturbed by either his master's skill or whimsy. "My lord."
It was clear Voldemort was studying him, but Lucius noted the lord did not lean back in the seat. In fact, he couldn't recall seeing Voldemort recline in any seat, or slump for longer than moments. Always his back was stiff, his posture perfected. It felt like an odd through point to carry his old memories of Voldemort forward to mingle with the present encounter.
"You've done well," Voldemort commented. It was so much more than an obvious statement. Lucius couldn't help but glance about him at his refined dwellings and gave a small swallow, withholding replying until he had to.
As usual, it was difficult to gauge exactly what the dark lord was thinking. His eyes were fathomless, and the pleasantness in his voice barely registered with Lucius anymore. After hearing, and even himself using, such tones when casting Unforgiveables, one learned to look at nothing more than whatever bottom line was being drawn, not how it was done up. Still, it was how the game was done. Himself adopting a humbled, repenting manner, Lucius said, "I've managed to reside in a fortunate position. One favorable to both my family and my causes."
Voldemort rose with a slowness that showed either calculated grace or a hint of weakness. Lucius couldn't tell which it was. Doubtless his own paranoia made him question the seemingly casual elegance for possibly an area to exploit. Of course, the man in front of him had been more than active in helping him form such paranoid barriers those long years ago. One would have to be a fool to underestimate Lord Voldemort.
Or, hopefully, a Gryffindor.
The ebony cases on the walls held numerous treasures of the Malfoy family. Voldemort perused them as let Lucius wait for him to speak. He did so in a manner that was not as if he owned them, but as if they, along with their owner, were showcasing themselves for his pleasure.
Everything was judged by Voldemort using some criteria he never shared, and Lucius doubted anything ever measured up against it.
The pale fingers deftly probed a putty-like bubble that yawned open with ivory teeth when properly stroked. A pungent scent escaped when it blossomed, jelly-like bits oozing down its sides as it shuddered under Voldemort's ministrations. The purple blobs liquidated when hitting the wood, staining it, causing the wood to literally weep. Lucius saw the dark lord's eyes look intrigued, and realized two things.
One, Voldemort not knowing exactly what the thing was and still handling it spoke of great ego – a given - and a curiosity that could get the better of him – a long-suspected quirk.
Also, Voldemort not knowing exactly what the thing was meant he was not yet entirely caught up on the last twelve years.
As if reading Lucius' thoughts, or simply annoyed with his slight shifts, Voldemort turned and gazed at him in cool appraisement. He made no move to take out his wand; did he have his wand? Lucius didn't even know, but he sincerely hoped the man - being - hadn't.
And then in a quick flash one hand of inhuman fingers laid flat against his neck, then each digit excruciatingly slowly curling into the fabric of Lucius' high collar. A slow, torturous moment passed where Lucius was literally frozen waiting for whatever endless things his master could do. The fingers were like ice; even through the velvet collar they were like frozen picks poking directly against his veins. The fingers then moved slowly in a rhythmic pattern. Mechanically massaging the juncture between where his shoulder met his neck Lucius felt himself tense contradictorily, sickly waiting for the fingers to turn vice-like and snap him open.
Voldemort's voice was soft, his gaze devoid of pleasure even at Lucius' expression. "Keeping a book in an attic is very different from housing me, you'll find. I suggest you take great care to make your household appropriately welcoming to your guests, Lucius. I do hope your manners haven't waned. Or perhaps my memories have an inaccurate sheen to them." Lucius wasn't even aware he wasn't breathing as he gave a quick shake of his head. "Of course not, my lord. I mean, you are right, as always. I'm honored by your presence."
The fingers released him, one digit at a time again, both their eyes watching. Lucius suddenly realized that perhaps Lord Voldemort hadn't touched many things in years. His senses were not those of a half-life anymore. He seemed a bit awed by it, though not as much as Lucius was amazed. Oh, he wasn't surprised that Voldemort could survive, but he couldn't help wonder what it must be like to rise again. Or perhaps it wasn't for the second time. Voldemort had, after all, cast off Tom Riddle at one point. And now, that former self had managed to bring out yet another incarnation of him. It was an irony that Lucius was certain Voldemort would not like to have spoken.
Lucius met the red again, only then recalling that Voldemort had said guests. But by the look Lucius knew better than to question and merely waited for what instructions his immortal leader would command.
/lj-cut