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

Where are they?

They don’t even ask those in Azkaban those questions because perhaps it terrifies them to know. There’s a safety in anonymity after all. Maybe, their loved ones can say, maybe they got away. Maybe they’re safe somewhere. Maybe they didn’t suffer. Maybe it was quick and they fought back. Maybe they were heroes.

People like the maybes. It gives them hope and Lucius is a gentlemen and it’s bad manners to correct someone, especially if it profits no one.

Where are they?

Gone. If by a knife, or a potion, or a wand. More often than not, it wasn’t really planned at least by no Death Eater; all those black cloaks and masks were the Dark Lord’s fingers, his whims. How did they die? No more noble, or weak then a hundred Muggles in a hundred wars across time. Maybe they were quick. Maybe they were heroes.

No. They died. There’s nothing heroic about it. The circumstances varied, like the killers did. But the only thing that matters- really matters to men like Lucius Malfoy- aren’t the whys and where; the maybes. It’s the fact that he is with his son, after he’s shed the cloak and mask, and he’s safe and sound.

Where are they?

Dead. Should it matter and if it does, why?

Lucius Malfoy
Harry Potter
218

This never happened.

The Dark Lord fell one night in October and the country rejoiced; even the Muggles, without knowing why, breathed a sigh of relief because the game had changed. Only the Wizards knew, and even then only a few knew exactly how, the game had ended. After so many years of uncertainty and disbelief, of not knowing who will disappear and when people were braving the world again. England was free, for the first time, in years and only the defeated had caused to mourn.
Lucius Malfoy is not a zealot. He did not fall to his knees for promise of wealth, title or land; he had all of it. He is not a soldier. If he was challenged, he fought but he would have just as easily fled. He had no need to test his luck. He is the sort of man whose actions are usually muted until it’s too late. He’s as quick with changing facades as he is, with his words.

He is a man who saw his Utopia vanish with his god, and their army. It’s a strange sensation for someone like Lucius, who’s never lost anything of importance, not really, to stand in his home with his family around him and wonder where it all went.

Narcissa waits with Draco in her arms, watching him; wondering if he is just as gone as Bellatrix and will he show her that now, with the Dark Lord gone what she never saw before. Abraxas waits at the door, wondering if he has to power to stop his son and knowing he doesn’t.

He smiles to himself as if he’s amused by their fears but will not seek to comfort them. He’s gone away, with the age that has passed, and- timeless and pure as he is- Lucius stands in awe and wonders what happens next.


Lucius Malfoy
Harry Potter
310

Lucius Malfoy has never cared much for redemption.

He never went looking for it like some but he imagines if you seek it; like most things it becomes harder to find, to make real. He knows very little about matters of the soul; right and wrongs, redemption and damnation and what does it matter to a man like him? Lucius is clever, but not intelligent. If the condition of his soul is called into question, he’s just as likely to ignore as he is to smile and tease you. If he wants something, he gets it by craft or purchase. He has never wanted for anything. He has never needed to.

He has known fear of course, and well. He can tell exactly how it feels to be stripped of everything that belongs to you; from your name to your dignity and sense of purpose. He’s even known strength because he can tell how it feels to have someone entirely at your mercy, and then cast them aside to be as meaningless as they are. He has seen things that would haunt you, and excite you; from flying broomsticks to the monsters even the Muggle children know to fear without being told.

He has killed. But that was long ago.

Now, the only thing that stirs him from his slumber is a squalling child and like they did with Draco before him, he and Narcissa will play Rochambeau to decide who tends to him. He often loses.

He gets up, making his way through his centuries old home to find his new grandson and cradle the child close to his chest. The song he’ll sing will be soft and simple; something given to him when he was that small and when pacified, he’ll tuck Scorpius back into bed and return to his own.

His thoughts are simple and matters of soul decades behind him.


Lucius Malfoy
Harry Potter
314

I’ve been accused of being a Death Eater. They said I tortured, murdered, and all manner of ugly deeds. They said that I had the audacity to don a cloak and mask for the purposes of engaging in Muggle hunts, and terrorizing poor, helpless Mudbloods and Muggle lovers. I admit. I did.

I will never say, however, that it was my choice or for pleasure.

While I emphatically deny all of these accusations were done of my own free will, I know there are those who believe otherwise. Those like Mad Eye Moody and perhaps even our vaulted Albus Dumbledore believe me to just the sort of monster and lunatic as my sister Bellatrix or her cousin Sirius. My views and my actions are my own. While I do not deny my views are somewhat conservative and unpopular with those champions of the underdog and rubbish; I do vehemently deny that my actions would ever trespass that fine line of legality and discretion.

I assure you I’m not so sloppy.


Lucius Malfoy
Harry Potter
170

Silk. Linen.

Like everything else about Lucius Malfoy, clothing and how he wears it is an art form and a testament to his vanity inasmuch as it is to his position in life. He uses his clothing like others use words, or brute force. There as much a warning about the man you’re dealing with as any mask or cloak he would ever wear.

Leather. Velvet.

Everything is cut to fit adoringly to his body, and everything from his flowing hair to the snake styled rings and cufflinks tell a story about him. You can choose to believe it at your own peril. He keeps peacocks, because like his own self, his house is just as much a reflection of who he is. There’s something dainty about him and not at all dangerous.

Cashmere. Gabardine.

I mean why would you fear someone like Lucius Malfoy. Everything is perfect. Tailored. Balanced. He is a man wholly accustomed to a certain protocol, and style and seems unwilling or unable to accept any sort of variance to it. It’s perfect in all its fine lines and cuts.

Organdy. Wool.

How could anything so classic be dangerous?


Lucius Malfoy
Harry Potter
196

He dreams of Esme.

He was a child and she was child when they met. She was his first kiss, natural and playful one night as they were parting and he didn’t realize it had happened until he was half way home and his thin fingers danced to his razor sharp lips.

She was a Muggle.

He was a Malfoy.

They never said goodbye- not really but they were parted wholly and completely one afternoon when they were at the beach and his pale skin was burning and his father found them. There was no great fight. No argument. One day they were vacationing, and then the next morning they were back home and never returned. His father never spoke of it. Lucius took the hint.

Perhaps if there had been something else Lucius Malfoy wouldn’t dream so; perhaps if he had been given a chance to spurn her himself or defend her- if he was given the ultimatum like his sister in law would receive it wouldn’t be like this. He could have stood on his own two feet then: could have loved her and fought for her or thrown her aside. She wouldn’t have been the last.

But instead, it was quiet and shut away unfinished.

And he wonders sometimes- in his dreams- because she never occupies his waking moments if they could have been happy? If they could have been anything at all…

But instead, they remain a fleeting memory, an amusing anecdote he doesn’t speak of.

Instead, it’s just a dream.


Lucius Malfoy
Harry Potter
255

Lucius hasn't checked in to make sure Draco is sleeping since he was a boy but tonight, he does again. He has stood there at the door of the bedroom he shares with his wife, watching his son twist and writhe in his sleep. The tea Lucius made for his son, filled almost to the brim with Scotch, rests cold and half-drank on the nightstand. And his son cries out in his sleep again.

And Lucius cannot feel a thing.

( If ever your will starts crashing down. Whenever your will starts crashing down If ever your will starts crashing down That's when you'll find me Lost til you're found Swim til you drown Know that we all fall down Love till you hate. Jump till you break Know that we all fall down... )



Lucius Malfoy
Harry Potter
744

Random reply from a fancy new comm. I might join as one or two muses. We'll see.

1. If you could bring any of your characters from their story into this one (aka, the real world), which one would it be, and why?

Dream from Neil Gaiman’s the Sandman because he brings such a gravity and majesty his realm. I mean he is the personification of dreams so elegance, beauty and occasional discord or surprise are kind of his thing. He’s also very big on causality and stories having beginnings and endings which don’t really happen in real life but should. The world needs more magic.

2. If you could become any one of your characters for a finite span of time, which character, and for how long would you walk in their shoes?

Lucius Malfoy. He’s by no means the most gentlest but he does live the most and pardon the pun- enchanted life of any of my muses. He’d have a comfortable existence and I mean come on- PEACOCKS.

3. Could any of your characters easily become villains if they aren't already, saved only by writer's fondness? Conversely, are any of your villainous characters just too bad to ever be redeemed?

My answer for both is the same muse: Matthias Heim. He is hands down one my most humane of muses. He was the very picture of a real, grieving grandfather and he let himself get dragged down too far in the name of such pain. He knew at several times during his fall from grace that he was doing terrible things but never stopped himself. I can forgive characters who do evil things because they believe their fighting for the right cause but to know better and still do it is unforgivable.

He loves me. He loves me not.

Lucius Malfoy can speak in flowers, fans and glances.

He likes the art of it, of speaking without speaking. Everything means something else when roses and half-closed fans hide eyes and blushes. It's like composing music, he thinks, or painting. There has to be a moment for everything or it's just noise. With one careful hand, tracing a collar bone or flower petal; he can make a woman blush. He can make her the only one in the room. It's about promises.

Or threats.

With one measured flick of his wrist, or brush of his hair- he can break hearts and worlds. It all depends on the timing, on what is said without saying. And he knows how easily something so precious can break. He's done it a dozen times. They are as many ways to break a man as there are ways to make a woman blush. He knows them all.

He can speak in cloaks, wands and masks.

And because he knows their worth, because he knows how to say so many things without ever using the words: he keeps it close and murky. He is careful because he can do so much with one careful glance- and a flick of his wrist. He lets his promises and threats scatter like flower petals from some schoolgirl's game.

He loves me. He loves me not.


Lucius Malfoy
Harry Potter
302

As I have said before, I spent many a night stolen from Nanny and tutor in that sitting room with it’s portraits of my forefathers. My grandfather died shortly before I was born, and my father I viewed with both fear and awe but these men who bore my name from times long before, while not my equals were tangible in ways that my own parents were not. Abraxas and Sophia were gods, and these portraits were oracles by which I could use to see who I would become. I loved my fathers as wholly as I loved my living relations and there was never a time in my life where I did not carry them with me.

There is one portrait in particular that always had special meaning to me, and it is something of a local legend among the magical elite because of how it is painted.

Simply, it’s the portrait of our founder Eadric Malfoy. He is standing rather majestically in the robes of his time, black ermine and green with gold adorning fingers and crowns. It is in the white marble halls of what would become Gringotts, but at that point was only a lending house where undesirables of the time attempted to barter with Wizards. The man himself bears little resemblance to me or any Malfoy of recent generations save for his blue eyes, and a sort of sly grin that is completely inappropriate for the purpose this portrait.

( It also does not move )

Lucius Malfoy
Harry Potter
824

Lucius Malfoy was not made to hide behind masks; under cloaks and cover of night and he is loathed to submit to the disgrace when his Lord calls him. He doesn’t understand why they should hide too. Not when he is pure and for too long has he been forced to hide. For a man who keeps peacocks on his grounds, the subtly he is forced to endure is nothing less then a sign of his complete loyalty to his Master.

Lord Voldemort understands that about his children too and Lucius respects him for it. Lucius is not some mangy half-blood, nor some ignorant idle pureblood meant for tawdry little tasks. He is not a foot soldier. Lucius is a prince, and he belongs at Voldemort’s side. He is his Master’s weapon but a weapon of precision; not a broadsword or battle-axe meant to scare with brutality and savagery.

But he is also not Voldemort’s alone, although Lucius does not know that. He couldn’t know it either. He’s not that clever. Lucius is a creature of whims, not of loyalty or big thoughts. He was not made to hide behind masks. He was not made to be a zealot. The man is a child. And he loves. Deeply.

That means he has something to lose.

He cannot hide that love nor has he any desire to. He wouldn’t endanger that. For anything.

He just doesn’t know it yet.


Lucius Malfoy
Harry Potter
238

There’s a game Lucius likes, even though if he’s perfectly honest, he dislikes gambling. Casinos and late night sessions of gentlemen friends hold little appeal for a man of Malfoy’s sentiments. He dislikes games where he doesn’t control options and endings. He played Quidditch as a boy but only because he was a Malfoy, and of course he was expected. He can play when he chooses, and he likes to win. If given the choice though, his games are more tenacious.

But there’s a game, he does like: not to play of course but to watch because he likes the art of it. It takes place on a field of red, black and green and the chips in various stacks of height and width clutched and held tightly to people crowding a table like old wives at a butcher shop- baying for the best cut. He likes to watch when someone hits a streak, because the gentleman becomes popular and for a moment he is everyone’s son, lover and hero.

( The crowd loves him and he loves them for it. )


Lucius Malfoy
Harry Potter
403

Step One: Find common ground.

Secretary Maddox was so engrossed in his paperwork that he didn’t notice Lucius until the Malfoy prince slid one hand around Maddox’s waist, and presented an expensive unlit cigar in his other. “Congratulations on your new daughter, Thomas.” Lucius purred, his icy eyes glittering. “Your first, correct?”

“Lucius, you startled me.” The Secretary chirped, taking the cigar in his hand, and almost forgetting to close the folder he was carrying. “And…yes. Sarah is my firstborn. You’ll have one too, I hear…very soon. Decided on a name?”

“Draco.” Lucius returns. There is no hiding the pride that has swept into the young man’s stony features. He looks positively serene. “Due next month. You’ll have to come to dinner one day.”

“I’d like that very much.”

( Cut for length )

Lucius Malfoy is a gentleman.

In the company of men, he is quiet and reserved, prone to find a corner of the room with drink in hand and smile genteelly at those who speak to him. He laughs politely at their jokes, shares in their gossip and although he is loathed to admit it, blushes at their dirty jokes. He dislikes crass behavior.

In the company of ladies, he stands in the middle of the room keeps his voice low and bright. He loves to make them laugh; he loves to see women smile. He is renowned- somewhat infamously- for his affairs and his pet projects of finding beauty in what otherwise would remain hidden.

And occasionally, when he has to; when his Master beckons or he is just simply bored, Lucius Malfoy does very ugly things to very simple people.

But when he does those things Lucius hides behind masks, black leather gauntlets and a thick cloak. He tries to put distance between himself and those deeds. If he was the sort of man that indulged in romantic notions, he would have said it’s because he felt regret over the things he had to do but that would be a lie.

The truth would be Lucius Malfoy was a gentleman who ever now and again indulged in guilty pleasures and got his hands dirty.

Not that you’d ever see it happen.

Lucius Malfoy
Harry Potter
232

I don’t know his name; at least not yet. I don’t imagine I’ll know it until it’s too late, until after he’s come into my life. I won’t know what he looks like until then too. But he has been disturbing my sleep and left me second-guessing myself since I was a new groom. He’s been there, right behind everything, since the moment Draco was born.

( Cut for length )


Lucius Malfoy
Harry Potter
529

OC: Inspired by RP, obviously.

Lucius Malfoy is beautiful. He is a curtain of long blond hair, falling over shoulders and framing beauty. He is diamond sharp angles and eyes bright blue and hollow. Beautiful. Pristine.

Muggles are different. Muggles are hard and ugly. They’re small creatures, ruled by fear, and hate and greed.

Everyone; from his father to his son have called him beautiful. Ethereal almost, because he moves slow and speaks slower. Because he spends his time whispering, whispering into the ear of statesman and lawmaker. Like a songbird, telling you just the right things: the nightmares you should fear, and the dreams you should pursue.

Muggles are selfish creatures, caged in and broken down. They only see their small world and none of the havoc they cause. They don’t see what they do to other men’s children. What they do to other people’s lives. It’s only what they are after. Only what they can gain. They’re dumb like animals, and have to be controlled like them.

He is beautiful and old magic. He knows all those little secrets locked in cellars and attics. He doesn’t care for Muggle pains or Muggle woes. They live their small lives, and he hates them for it. Because they are small and ugly. Because he is neither.

He has never felt like a Muggle. He’s never felt like them.

No, not at all.


Lucius Malfoy
Harry Potter
227

The garden walls are high, and there are dangers under the floorboards. There’s a sitting room full of ghosts that speak when petitioned or bored. There are peacocks in the garden and music in the halls. There is a fountain outside, and old yew hedges that hide iron gates, and gates of ivory and horn.

A god built this home, or so it is said, and each room swallows up sounds, even though you can feel the magic crackling through the place like dreams or memory. You could look for truth there, but very little of what is there is truthful. To visit here is to enter a story, and stories lie, even the honest ones.

Nothing is as it seems.

If you were wise, you’d avoid this place.

But then you’d never know what else is there; in the wine cellar or in that iron box kept in the thirteenth bedroom, would you?

Come in.


Lucius Malfoy (being very playful)
Harry Potter
156

Give me a story I never wrote ( crack!AUs, crossovers, etc. totally a GO! as well as any of my characters you know of), and I'll give you a line from it.

To the folks at the Tammys




It's an honor to be recognized- now go read a real book!