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Mr. Fox's Garden
June 2010
 
 
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Thu, Jun. 10th, 2010 04:11 am

Lucius was the only son of Abraxas and Sophia Malfoy; he was the scion of his generation and at his birth, one of the last standing pureblood families in England and by far the richest. He wasn’t named for any star, or relative- Abraxas was known to have that sort of stubborn streak in him that defied anything resembling tradition and Sophia, being foreign by birth, cared little for English naming practices so when their son was born healthy and hale on a June morning- they named him as they saw fit and cared little for the opinions of any who might object.

And in his own way, Lucius apologized for their arrogance by being the perfect son. He was polite and mannered, quiet and pure in every way a son should be. When the wars came, and Voldemort, he became something else, something dangerous and refined in its cruelty. He was the perfect soldier for a General and the perfect monster for a Dark Lord.

But before that, for a few years at Hogwarts, he was something else and he had a real name. It belonged to a long-haired boy, with a sweet voice most likely found reclining on a sofa, and charming smiles from girls’ lips. It suited his nature perfectly and he was careful to tuck it away in the hearts of those closest to him. The boy was shy, although no one could tell, and thoughtful and everyone knew that. He could and would charm a room to prove it possible. He was beautiful and his name, although made in tease, made sense.

But now it is a little ill-fitting because of the war, Malfoy heir, or the Death Eater and because those who know him now, know that man best of all- what would the purpose of telling you that name be?


Lucius Malfoy
Harry Potter
307

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Wed, Jun. 2nd, 2010 02:54 am

It’s more than brick and iron, more than portrait and antique. There are dozens of different styles, different personal touches from generations past that remain carved into the bedrooms, or the libraries that had once been a Malfoy’s personal room or their private solace. His grandmother’s sitting room was decorated in all white and blue bone china- Muggle made- because she fancied herself a philanthropist. His great-grandfather’s room had a violin still half-strung and poised in its sacrosanct position, with the composition he was working on when he died still laid out on the music stand. Lucius will swear to anyone who asks that his father’s study still smells of his tobacco. They are fixed in time like stars, as if the dead could return and if they did- they would find their home just as they left it.

In another place, it would make the home distant, and cold like a museum. To another person, perhaps the mansion would seem cold and filled with ghosts. But to Lucius, it makes the house real, living; like his legacy.

His name has never been just his name. It’s his god, and devil and his world. Lucius was Malfoy before he was ever human. The house is likewise. Others may call Hogwarts a breathing entity, something that will last long after wars and purity has fallen to dust. Malfoy will afford them their conceits if they grant him this one. This place is more than a mansion, it’s been a home and solace for generations of his kin and one day, when he is gone- he prays his grandchildren’s grandchildren will race through the halls.

He doesn’t want them to be quiet. This home and name have been quiet and reserved for too long and Lucius has never had the desire in him to break that but it is his prayer that one day, when these wall echo for his ghosts, it’ll find a home changed- loud and wondrous.

And by every definition alive.

Lucius Malfoy
Harry Potter
332

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Sun, Apr. 18th, 2010 01:04 am

You didn’t know him then; before the Horcrux and that terrible night in the cemetery, before thirteen years in Azkaban and the insanity of his comrades. Before Draco, before Narcissa and being Lucius Malfoy meant what it means now. Before it all.

Tom Riddle was beautiful. Magnetic. He had a calm voice, he was gentle and humble. He would catch your eyes, keep them for a few seconds, and then look away like a flirting suitor and in so many ways he was. Riddle could speak Quidditch in one breath, and Potions in the next and when he laughed it was warm.

Lucius could always command a room, just by being there. He had his own brand of charm; like a songbird but he was never a general, never a lord of fates and armies as others would have wished him to be. Not till Riddle took the child and made him into something else.

That was Tom’s charm. The fear that followed his rule came later, after the blood and even then, those who followed him wanted to believe it was only protect them from the others who stood against them.

It was different then, and the blinders were on and for a moment Lucius believed in him.


Lucius Malfoy
Harry Potter
209

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Fri, Feb. 19th, 2010 02:19 am

This is Lucius Malfoy, now.

He keeps quiet; like a child afraid to wake parent on midnight trips to the kitchen. He rarely meets the eyes; miles away from that laughing, dangerous fox of children’s tales he once prided himself on being. He is ashen skin and drawn; alabaster turned yellow like fake ivory. He jumps from loud noises and scurries like a mouse afraid of the farmer’s wife.

The Dark Lord has imprisoned a man in his wine cellar. And Bella- poor mad Bella- is shrill and panicked. Everything in Malfoy Manor is overwrought- as if the whole house as one entity is holding it’s breath. The Death Eaters will ask- their voices dark and leering-

Why so scared, Luci? Why so frightened? Aren’t you glad we’re here? Aren’t you proud of being his alone?

And Lucius knows better than to buck against them. He’ll keep control over his pride; his certainty, himself. He’ll lower himself to Peter’s level or worst. More importantly he’ll let them do the same. What does it matter?

His family is in danger; against that his pride has no place.

Lucius Malfoy
Harry Potter
186

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Fri, Jan. 15th, 2010 04:56 am

He knew his son was aware of the Mark. For Draco’s entire life Lucius had carried it, even if it had faded by time and was well hid behind shirt sleeves and coats. Lucius never showed his forearms, not even in the privacy of his own home, but the presence had always been there. Lucius Malfoy, for his part, had never seemed ashamed of it. He had fought in the war, but he wasn’t an Auror. He carried himself with the grace of a defeated general, or if his manners in public were any indication, a patient one.

Most of England seemed to be aware of an uneasy peace. They ignored the unsettling mood when they could, and Lucius seemed to sense that distrust and fear, he preyed on it. So many times had Draco caught strangers’ quick glances at Lucius with fear in their eyes, unsure if he had completely forsaken mask and cloak and unwilling to risk crossing him if he hadn’t.

The Mark was a sign of honor; something to show what he was willing to do to achieve his ends.

Draco brought attention to it once and only once. He was seven and sitting on the floor watching his father tap some tuneless lullaby out of the piano keys. Lucius was trying to write a song even though he never called it that; he usually said it was wasting hours and that time was reserved only for Draco as if he didn’t trust anyone else to get that close to him in those moments.

Draco had caught the sight of the snake peering from Lucius’ cuff, and because he was young or curious and his father had never denied him anything; he rose and took Lucius’ arm into his hands. It only lasted a few seconds all told, Lucius smiled at his son’s attention without realizing the cause and when he did; he yanked his arm back as if he had been burned.

Draco watched in silence, unsure how he had offended his father, as Lucius seemed to regard the Mark and then on straightening his cuff, his father rose from the piano and disappeared into his study.

It was a Mark of honor, Draco knew, but never before had he understood the duplicity of such things and whatever questions buzzed in the younger Malfoy’s brains- he seemed to know- instinctively- that Lucius wouldn’t answer. Or couldn’t.

Lucius Malfoy
Harry Potter
401

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Tue, Dec. 15th, 2009 03:19 am

There are a dozen portraits in Lucius’ parlor; and each one has a dozen stories Lucius knows. As a child, their lives were his bedtime stories and he memorized each tale as if they were fantasy- like Merlin himself. He can tell you it all, point to a picture and he’ll tell you who they were and why.

The Malfoy family has been a constant force in England for centuries- a descendant of the Founders themselves. They’ve built up the country, have suffered in want and flourished in wealth like England himself.

They can tell the stories themselves if they want: all except Eadric and his silent picture; those who were Headmasters, and womanizers, those who ran Gringotts, and those who gambled their fortune to almost ruin. There were champions of progress adoring the walls, great-grandfathers and uncles who charted treaties, fathers and sons who waged wars. Each one of them have the same excuse for whatever they did- be it great or terrible.

They were Malfoy.

There are times when Lucius can walk into this room and wear that pride like a bird’s plumage; where he is every bit their son, and their heir, the good and the bad. There are times when he wonders what his son, his great grandchildren will say when they view his portrait and what little additions will adorn the walls then. He thinks- only fleetingly, however- about the brand on his arm- and wonders what history will say.

And usually, the private joke that plays in his head is enough to calm his fears, or humor his mood; they will say he is Malfoy.

What else?

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Sat, Dec. 5th, 2009 02:44 am

The usual way; when he was a boy and intrigued because he made her nervous. Lucius has only been charmed by one woman, and that came later. He married her. But Drosera was engaging, older than him but not by much and there was a flicker of girlhood there. He knew he made her uncomfortable from their first encounter, but did not know why until later when he realized she blushed under his study. She liked when he complimented her perfume, or her eyes. He liked how happy he could make her.

It was easy for him to find reasons to visit her; she was his mother’s friend, and he was a doting son. She was a new bride and her husband travelled often. In retrospect, Lucius knows full well she might have been enamored by any man with a kind word. But he was sixteen and the whole affair thrilled him. He wasn’t sure if it was her attentions, or the scandal of it all; the secrecy. He really didn’t think it mattered.

It continued for a few months, a weekend trip to Hogsmeade for her and that is when she seemed to understand the situation for what it was. There were no goodbyes; neither party really needed it, and in any case they would have been awkward and uncomfortable, especially since his mother had her over often when whatever charity or arts boards needed finances or names. After the trip to his school Lucius remained as kind as ever, even if she seemed to hate it afterwards.

But then, that only made it more interesting.

Lucius Malfoy
Harry Potter
267

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Sun, Nov. 29th, 2009 12:42 am

The Ministry had fallen, and with Albus Dumbledore dead it had been as easy as the Dark Lord always promised. It happened one night simply, and tidily, like a school boy picking up toys after recess. Lucius would have admired the skill if he hadn’t been trapped in Azkaban.

He would have cheered the death had he not been waiting for news of his son and when he was released…

His last thoughts were of the war.

Lucius stared at the pattern of his drawing room carpet without moving. He didn’t so much as flinch when Voldemort circled, or put one scaly hand against the back of his neck. He was only vaguely listening to the Dark Lord as he spoke, paying only lip service as the man spoke. By now, it was natural for Lucius. By now, he didn’t realize he was lying.

“Aren’t you grateful, dear Lucius? I have given you life and liberty and yet you seem less than thrilled to see me. I ask myself why that is…have you forsaken me?”

“My Lord, my life and freedom is yours as it always is.…I live only as you see fit." Lucius braved a glance upward, towards the shut doors. A few feet never seemed so far away. “Had you wished me dead, you would have made it so.”

“Do you want to die?”

Lucius looked up, but could not bring himself to meet those red eyes. He doubted it was for the same reason Voldemort thought. No matter. Let the Dark Lord think what he would, Lucius attention returned to the door.

“Do you deserve to die?” Voldemort’s words were soft and curious; testing loyalty. Lucius knew a cue when he was offered one, and he sang right on the mark.

“For what I have done, yes.” Lucius whispered. “But I will die when my Lord deems it so. Not a moment before.”

He forced himself to catch those red eyes; knowing the Dark Lord could see right past every defense. He didn’t know how, but the man before him always did. Voldemort smiled a thin, ugly grin before moving past him. If he was satisfied for a moment, that was enough.

The doors opened as Voldemort left; admitting Narcissa and Draco moments later. The seconds it took for wife and child to find his arms were worst then any Dementor, any Auror’s curse. Lucius touched Draco’s face and hair without thinking, unsure if he trusted the moment.

His hands found his son’s left forearm, running over the smooth skin, before Lucius finally began to breathe again.

Severus was watching from a corner as usual and for a split second their eyes met over Draco’s head; before the Potions Master bowed his head once towards Lucius and disappeared after the Dark Lord.




Lucius Malfoy
Harry Potter
465

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Thu, Nov. 19th, 2009 12:42 am

Bellatrix’s eyes were on fire as she watched Lucius pace. There was a fever there he’d never noticed before; a sort of madness crystallized in the blue that burned. Her voice was shrilled and fevered and when she reached out; she dug her nails into Lucius’ raw forearm. Lucius hissed in pain and snatched his arm away as if he had been stung.

“Our Master needs us!” Bella trilled. “We have to find him.”

Lucius cast a wary eye towards the door; he was expecting his father and wife home. He was expecting his son home from their daily afternoon walk and he wasn’t about to have his son upset by anyone even Bella. “Mind your tone.”

“He needs us!”

“If he required us, he would have called by now- don’t you agree?” And then his voice fell to a whisper. “There’s no proof he’s even alive!

“Don’t say that! The Dark Lord would not be bested by anyone! Least of all, the Potters! He has prevailed!”

“Whispers say otherwise!” Lucius rounded on her, meeting the steel of Bella’s eyes. He could only keep the gaze for a few seconds before tearing away, and finding a corner of the rug to study.

There was a heated pause between them, followed by Bellatrix’s snort. She might have growled; he couldn’t care- he was trying to desperately to keep the fear out of his voice and the red from his cheeks. His chest was tightening.

“You’re afraid…you coward…after all the Dark Lord has given you, you’re afraid!! Of Crouch’s Aurors? Of Dumbledore? You pathetic weak man, you don’t deserve the Mark you wear- the Dark Lord…”

“Don’t you dare question my devotion to our Master- there is nothing I place above…”

“DADDY! POP! POP! POP!” Draco’s voice sliced through the tension in the air like a knife; breaking Lucius’ train of thought and drawing his attention to the overexcited toddler in his wife’s arms. Narcissa was standing in the doorway, watching her sister and husband with an expression of fear that lasted only for a moment before being replaced with a smooth mask.

“There were fireworks in the Park.” She told him, easing Draco into his father’s arms. “Everyone is excited…”

“Pop! Pop! Daddy! Pop!” Draco screamed, curling his small fingers into Lucius’ hair. If he was aware of anything outside of his newest discovery, he gave no sign of it. For his part, Lucius had forgotten the moment’s tensions and conversation the moment Draco’s giggles filled his ears. He was already walking to the young boy’s playroom by the time Narcissa had taken up his place beside Bella and he was only vaguely aware of his wife’s voice behind him.

“Bella, how good to see you. I was so afraid…”

Lucius Malfoy
Harry Potter
459

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Sun, Oct. 18th, 2009 01:11 am

The part that stings the most; even if he’ll never admit it, even not to his wife and most certainly not to his son or grandson, is how grateful he is that Scorpius is still alive. Every day, Lucius can raise and expect to be greeted by his grandson’s shining face, those sharp blue eyes (his eyes…), and that sharper mind. Every day, he can see his grandson when so many others aren’t that lucky. He can recount all the tragedies by heart having been responsible for most; Matthias Heim lost a daughter…and yet more families, long and noble, were extinguished. The Carrow were gone, the Rosier, the Oonda jailed…and the others were fleeing their homeland.

Those who were rich and entitled, who wanted nothing, had suddenly been reduced to refugees in their home; wandering rubbish- cast about by the wind.

The Malfoy alone seem to remain; as one of the last great Houses but even they are diminished. A light had gone out in the home; the occupants would never admit it, not to themselves in that quiet of the night where only your conscience bears witness, and certainly not to each other.

They were tainted.

It wouldn’t hurt any less if the boy had died and in truth, every insult his former comrades fling at him are true; he’d rather had that abomination in his home then in a grave, with his forbearers. Maybe if Scorpius had died- it would be easier. But the truth is, Lucius is an old man, and the night he heard his grandson had been attacked- he went to his knees and never got back up.

Things became simpler when his heart was torn from his chest. He was a drowning man without his family, and in truth, he would have taken anything; even that mongrel into his home if it meant he could have them back. He’d rather a facsimile of his grandson then nothing but a portrait on the wall.

He lost his family that day. The one he’d been taught to be proud of; the one that had produced him, his son, and his father and back and back into centuries of purity. He lost them that night, and he’ll never get it back. Scorpius death wouldn’t wipe that smear his name; the firstborn of one, of one…it would just prove it. The wounds would never heal, not from that injury; not from this war.

Lucius Malfoy lived to see the end of his House.

That it continues, only makes it worst.

Lucius Malfoy
Harry Potter
432


OOC: Inspired heavily by RP, and locked fro

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