Sins of the Father
When Draco Malfoy escaped the bouts of the Cruciatus Curse, the endless torment that Voldemort had put him through when Snape had returned him to the fortress, there had only been one place for him to go. Snape had told Draco of the Unbreakable Vow that Narcissa Malfoy had made him swear, and Draco had nearly cried.
For the first time, he knew that his mother truly loved him.
So he went to her, crying and shaking, and knocked on her door. But when it opened, and she looked down her nose at him, he saw nothing in her eyes but contempt.
"This is the price of your failure," Narcissa hissed as she pulled her robe tighter about her frame. "Bear it yourself."
He told himself that she winced when the robe brushed her side. He told himself that there was a flicker of pain in her eyes. He told himself that the Dark Lord that hurt her, that she could not help him.
But hadn't he risked everything to try to save her?
Draco Malfoy had never felt such terrible pain as he did when Narcissa Malfoy shut the door in his face.
A hand touched his shoulder as he struggled to hold back the tears, and he turned around to see his father glaring down at him. Immediately, he shrank back into himself, wrapping his arms around his middle.
And Lucius Malfoy froze.
Draco looked so small, standing there, braced for a blow. So weak.
So helpless.
Because of him.
And as he stared at his son – whose chin, Lucius was pleased to note, came up in defiance a moment later – he remembered words that Arthur Weasley had spoken to him years before – before Azkaban, before the Department of Mysteries, before the Order… back when Draco had been in his second year, and that dratted Potter boy had discovered the diary…
It's your son who will pay the most for your crimes, Lucius. And someday, he'll need you to save him from the monster you've become, and you won't know what to do.
Lucius had scoffed, off course, threatened the Weasley family with ruin, insulted Arthur Weasley's allegiances…
But he had remembered. And those words had seldom left his mind for two years.
He buried them, far in the back of his mind, as soon as the Dark Lord contacted him. What else could he do, after all? His son didn't need to be saved from him… he wasn't a monster…
He looked at his son, so young, so afraid – of him – and he knew.
Reaching out, he turned his son and guided him down the hall. Draco, trembling for only a moment, let his father lead the way.
They went out into the courtyard and Lucius, taking his son's arm, Apparated them both back to Malfoy Manor. The house had been emptied by now, and it was safe enough to talk for a while. They'd have to retreat quickly to the manor in France, but this would do for the time being.
His son was still shaking, he realized when he turned to the boy, but desperately trying to hide it. Under his gaze, Draco's back straightened and the boy stared calmly at his father, waiting impassively for the next round of punishment.
Lucius merely opened his arms.
Draco stared. "Wha – what?" he whispered, his voice breaking, and Lucius rolled his eyes.
"Come here, Draco," the Slytherin man ordered, and Draco stared at him, but took a step forward –
Lucius grabbed the boy with both hands and pulled him into a rough embrace. His son stiffened, the trembling renewing, and desperately, Lucius tried to pretend that that didn't hurt.
It took a few moments, but Draco relaxed, and a few minutes later, as his father began to stroke his hair, the young Malfoy began t cry.
"I couldn't do it," he whispered, clinging to his father. "I don't understand – when I caught Potter under that cloak of his, I stomped on his face easily enough – but once Dumbledore was helpless, I couldn't do it!"
"Quiet now, Draco," his father said softly. "It's all right."
"He's going to kill me," Draco continued, his voice rising. "I could tell just by looking at him. The Dark Lord, V – Voldemort is going to kill me! He has one more errand for me, he said, and then I've expended by usefulness–"
At these words, Lucius felt a surge of rage, and he started, tightening his grip on the boy. How dare that creature cast his son aside? His son!
His mind catching up with his heart, Lucius flinched. Oh, dear. He was going to pay for those thoughts, he knew it…..
"And I'm afraid, Father," Draco continued, "I'm afraid, because he might kill you and Mother, too."
Oh, Draco, Lucius thought brokenly, how very Gryffindor of you…
It's your son who will pay the most…
Damn Arthur Weasley.
"Well, then," Lucius drawled, pulling back and smirking at his son. "We'll just have to make certain he doesn't do that, won't we?"
His son stared at him, and inside, Lucius smiled happily. Why, Draco would be able to catch flies in a moment…
"H – how?"
"A trade, of course," Lucius replied, and his smirk widened. "Information for a full pardon – actually, immunity would be best… I wonder how much that would cost?"
As the wind picked up around them, Draco choked slightly, smiling inside…. There his father was, always thinking that money solves all problems…
"We'll need help," he said sullenly, glaring at the rather large willow tree a few meters away. He didn't like it, didn't like it at all, but he knew, of course, who could truly help them….
Not that the bloody infuriating berk would help…
When he turned back to look at his father, the man's stunned silence and sickened face told him that the man had figured it out. "Tell me you don't mean–"
"Harry Bloody Potter," Draco agreed. "It's disgusting, I know. But Scrimgeour's been tripping over himself to try to win Harry over all year."
Lucius grimaced. "I find that course of action – distasteful. Are you certain that it would work?"
"If we could get Potter to agree, yeah," Draco replied, shoving a hand into his hair. "Not that that's going to happen…"
"Leave that to me," Lucius drawled, and his lips curved as his son raised an eyebrow.
"Did I mention that it would have to be out of the kindness of his damnable Gryffindor heart? Potter can throw off the Imperius in a heartbeat."
Lucius grinned.
That evening, when Draco was settled into his bedroom at the French manor, Lucius leaned back in his chair in his study to think, enjoying the quiet of the house.
…Azkaban had been quiet, but not quite like this.
Narcissa was a lost cause. The woman had tried to save their son that summer and been tortured mercilessly just the night before. Whatever had remained of the woman he'd married was gone. Narcissa Malfoy was now an empty shell, one with only the ability to mindlessly serve.
She would fall with the others.
His lips twisted in sardonic humor as he watched the trees blowing in the wind against the night sky. He had turned his own son away so many times, but this time… this one time, he had not been able to.
Narcissa could, and did. The knowledge filled him with cold fury.
This time, it seemed, was the one that truly counted.
It's your son who will pay the most for your crimes, Lucius.
Shut up, Weasley! he thought angrily, and the voice fell silent. Leaning forward, he picked up the eagle feather quill resting in his inkpot, pulled forward a piece of parchment, and began to write.
Listen, Potter, I still hate you, and I would like nothing more than to bleed you dry on the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch at high noon. However, my son did not ask for this lifestyle, nor did he swear these allegiances for any reason other than a misguided need to protect his parents. As such, I am requesting your assistance. I have information – as does Draco – which the Ministry, as well as the Order of the Phoenix, could use. In exchange for that information, I would appreciate immunity for my son as well as myself. In the event that immunity for both of us is not plausible, I request that my son be granted immunity and I be granted a reduced sentence – say, three years – in a prison other than Azkaban, which the Dark Lord – that is to say, Voldemort – currently owns, as I'm certain you know.
I am well aware that you do not have the power to grant immunity, Potter, but what you do have is the Minister of Magic wrapped right around your little finger. I'm quite certain that you could drop a few hints to the man, and if my son and I were to be granted immunity, I could quite easily assure the Minister that Stan Shunpike is no Death Eater. I could even tell the man and the Wizengamot of the Dark – Voldemort's amusement when the announcement came through that the bumbling little fool had been arrested. I've heard that you have a special interest in the conductor's case, Potter. Scrimgeour will listen to you if you speak in the right way. Embrace your Slytherin side.
Furthermore, I am able to apprise you of the exact location of Severus Snape for eight o'clock P.M. on Monday the twenty-first. He will be in a pub in London called The Magic Goat, waiting for me. Incidentally, this bar is owned by the same man who owns The Hog's Head, AberforthDumbledore. You've been wanting to speak with dear Severus, haven't you, Potter? And I'm quite certain that Aberforth could be most useful in your new quest…
If you are agreeable to these arrangements, please reply to this owl at your earliest convenience to set up a meeting, and feel free to bring Granger and Weasley along for back-up. Draco and I will be the only ones present.
Regards,
L. Malfoy
The Slytherin man sat back, looking at his masterpiece with a broad smirk. Blunt enough for Potter to understand, crafty enough to intrigue the boy, and with the perfect rewards promised for the boy's help. According to friends in high places, Potter had asked about Shunpike every time Scrimgeour had tried to maneuver the boy, and it was irking the man quite a bit. Any fool would know that Potter would like a word – and then some – with Snape, and Aberforth Dumbledore would certainly be able to help the boy on his treasure hunt.
You'd better win, Potter, the man thought angrily. Or all your little friends won't just have the Dark Lord to fear…
The letter was sent out ten minutes later, and Lucius walked up to Draco's room, pushing the door open a crack. His son was sleeping fitfully, tossing and turning, murmuring quietly as he shifted. He stood watching as his son stilled and quieted, and let out a breath as the boy fell into a deeper sleep.
And he heard Arthur Weasley's voice one more time, echoing through his mind as shadows fell across his face.
Someday, he'll need you to save him from the monster you've become, and you won't know what to do.
Wrong again, Weasley, Lucius thought with a self-satisfied smile. Wrong again.
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LIZ