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Guess who got Lucius/Gilderoy for fanfic100. Guess who also has too much time on her hands while at the college.
Title: Rekindle All The Dreams It Took You A Lifetime To Destroy
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Lucius/Gilderoy
Prompt: 001. Beginnings
Word Count: 924
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: First chapter of what looks to be a long Lucius/Gilderoy fic, with some elements of LYWB, but mostly on its own. Hopefully I'll be able to finish this time. Looks to be pretty dark in here after a while...not intentionally, that's just the way this thing wants to go. For now, I'll try to chill it with the dark. The beginning is heavy, though. I'll shut up now before my notes get longer than the fic.
Title from Nick Cave.
They had found him wandering around Azkaban; his cellmate and guards were dead, and there was a bloody mess on his left arm. He had apparently tried to stop the blood flow by tearing a strip off his robes and forming a makeshift bandage.
The Wizengamot declared that the bandage implied some form of sanity, but his downright odd behavior at the trial said otherwise.
And so it was that Lucius Malfoy was sent to the locked ward of St. Mungo’s on the fourteenth day of February - Valentine’s Day.
He was 44 years old.
Gilderoy was cheerful, even though the mornings on the locked ward were often cold enough for him to see his breath. This was one of those mornings, but just the same he was out of bed early, showering quickly and blissfully ignoring the feeling of the cold air against his bare skin as he dressed.
His robes were fuschia today; a rather lovely color if he’d ever seen one. They didn’t quite live up to the lilac robes he had recently requested and acquired, but Valentine’s called for bright, lively colors, not pastel.
Gilderoy opened the door with the small window embedded in it and made his way out of his room, raking his fingers through his hair and styling it as best he could without use of a mirror. The cold bit as firmly as though it had teeth, but he smiled at the Healers anyhow.
“Out of bed early this morning, Gilderoy?” said one of them, a pale, thin woman with thick black hair.
“Indeed!” said Gilderoy, grinning at her.
“Do you know what day it is?” said another, a short redhead.
Gilderoy’s answer was cut off by the sound of the doors leading out of the ward opening. He turned around to see a pale man with long and slightly lank blond hair, bound by the wrists, being led into the ward.
“Oh, are we having a new arrival today?” said Gilderoy, watching the man walk past him. The man shot him a look; it wasn’t the sort of odd, mad look that usually occupied the faces of the new patients - rather, it was a cold, calculating sort of look, and Gilderoy had the strange feeling that this man could see into the back of his mind just by focusing those cold, grey eyes on him. It was an unsettling feeling, and Gilderoy stepped back to lean against the counter.
“That isn’t…?” said the redheaded Healer. The other nodded.
“Has he gone mad?” pressed the redhead, and the black-haired woman gestured toward Gilderoy with a sort of impatience.
Gilderoy looked at both of them in a blank sort of way. “Do I know that man?” he said.
“No,” said the black-haired woman. “At least, I should hope not. Trouble comes with that sort.”
“What sort is that?” said Gilderoy.
“You know I can’t discuss that, Gilderoy. Now go to your room and wait.”
Gilderoy did as he was told, wandering back into his bedroom and sitting on the bed, scrawling his name across pictures piled on the nightstand. It was a large, childish scribble, but it was getting better, he thought. It was a definite improvement over last weeks’, anyhow.
He had just finished a high loop coming off of the “y” in his first name when he was interrupted by the sound of someone approaching the room.
“This bed isn’t taken?”
The voice was soft but powerful, and Gilderoy raised his head, looking in the direction of the man leaning against the doorframe. It was the man from earlier, pale and blond, with cold grey eyes that were thankfully not fixed on him in the sort of glare he had received earlier.
“No,” said Gilderoy cheerfully, gesturing in the direction of the bed across the room. “Not taken.”
“Good,” said the man, crossing to the bed and seating himself on the edge of the mattress. He looked around the room with an expression that appeared to be distaste, and Gilderoy frowned slightly. It was reasonably well-decorated, considering the circumstances.
“Do you want to do autographs?” said Gilderoy after a moment, perfectly blithe again and gesturing at the stack of pictures. “You can have one if you want. You can have several!”
“No,” said the man.
“It’s not putting me out any!” said Gilderoy. “And it’s not like I learned joined-up writing for nothing, you know.”
“I’m sure,” said the man dryly.
“What’s your name?” said Gilderoy.
“Why do you ask?” said the man.
“Because it’s rude for you to not tell me!” said Gilderoy, laughing. “It’s a basic thing that I need to know if I’m to get on with you at all.”
“Hopefully I won’t be here long enough for you to get on with me.”
“Well, then, what’s the harm in giving me your name? If you’re just going to leave and I probably won’t see you again, ever…”
“Lucius Malfoy, then,” said the man, rolling his eyes.
“L-U…can you spell it?” said Gilderoy, pulling a picture from the stack and preparing his quill.
“I’ve already told you, I don’t want one.”
Gilderoy sighed, large and exaggerated.
“Now look who’s being rude,” said Lucius, lying down on the bed.
“It’s not my fault if you don’t want one!”
“I’ll thank you to not push one on me.”
“Later, then?” said Gilderoy.
“Perhaps.”
“Good!” said Gilderoy. “I’ll get it ready for you. How do you spell your name?”
“I’ll tell you when the time comes,” said Lucius, turning onto his side and facing the wall.
Title: Rekindle All The Dreams It Took You A Lifetime To Destroy
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Lucius/Gilderoy
Prompt: 001. Beginnings
Word Count: 924
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: First chapter of what looks to be a long Lucius/Gilderoy fic, with some elements of LYWB, but mostly on its own. Hopefully I'll be able to finish this time. Looks to be pretty dark in here after a while...not intentionally, that's just the way this thing wants to go. For now, I'll try to chill it with the dark. The beginning is heavy, though. I'll shut up now before my notes get longer than the fic.
Title from Nick Cave.
They had found him wandering around Azkaban; his cellmate and guards were dead, and there was a bloody mess on his left arm. He had apparently tried to stop the blood flow by tearing a strip off his robes and forming a makeshift bandage.
The Wizengamot declared that the bandage implied some form of sanity, but his downright odd behavior at the trial said otherwise.
And so it was that Lucius Malfoy was sent to the locked ward of St. Mungo’s on the fourteenth day of February - Valentine’s Day.
He was 44 years old.
Gilderoy was cheerful, even though the mornings on the locked ward were often cold enough for him to see his breath. This was one of those mornings, but just the same he was out of bed early, showering quickly and blissfully ignoring the feeling of the cold air against his bare skin as he dressed.
His robes were fuschia today; a rather lovely color if he’d ever seen one. They didn’t quite live up to the lilac robes he had recently requested and acquired, but Valentine’s called for bright, lively colors, not pastel.
Gilderoy opened the door with the small window embedded in it and made his way out of his room, raking his fingers through his hair and styling it as best he could without use of a mirror. The cold bit as firmly as though it had teeth, but he smiled at the Healers anyhow.
“Out of bed early this morning, Gilderoy?” said one of them, a pale, thin woman with thick black hair.
“Indeed!” said Gilderoy, grinning at her.
“Do you know what day it is?” said another, a short redhead.
Gilderoy’s answer was cut off by the sound of the doors leading out of the ward opening. He turned around to see a pale man with long and slightly lank blond hair, bound by the wrists, being led into the ward.
“Oh, are we having a new arrival today?” said Gilderoy, watching the man walk past him. The man shot him a look; it wasn’t the sort of odd, mad look that usually occupied the faces of the new patients - rather, it was a cold, calculating sort of look, and Gilderoy had the strange feeling that this man could see into the back of his mind just by focusing those cold, grey eyes on him. It was an unsettling feeling, and Gilderoy stepped back to lean against the counter.
“That isn’t…?” said the redheaded Healer. The other nodded.
“Has he gone mad?” pressed the redhead, and the black-haired woman gestured toward Gilderoy with a sort of impatience.
Gilderoy looked at both of them in a blank sort of way. “Do I know that man?” he said.
“No,” said the black-haired woman. “At least, I should hope not. Trouble comes with that sort.”
“What sort is that?” said Gilderoy.
“You know I can’t discuss that, Gilderoy. Now go to your room and wait.”
Gilderoy did as he was told, wandering back into his bedroom and sitting on the bed, scrawling his name across pictures piled on the nightstand. It was a large, childish scribble, but it was getting better, he thought. It was a definite improvement over last weeks’, anyhow.
He had just finished a high loop coming off of the “y” in his first name when he was interrupted by the sound of someone approaching the room.
“This bed isn’t taken?”
The voice was soft but powerful, and Gilderoy raised his head, looking in the direction of the man leaning against the doorframe. It was the man from earlier, pale and blond, with cold grey eyes that were thankfully not fixed on him in the sort of glare he had received earlier.
“No,” said Gilderoy cheerfully, gesturing in the direction of the bed across the room. “Not taken.”
“Good,” said the man, crossing to the bed and seating himself on the edge of the mattress. He looked around the room with an expression that appeared to be distaste, and Gilderoy frowned slightly. It was reasonably well-decorated, considering the circumstances.
“Do you want to do autographs?” said Gilderoy after a moment, perfectly blithe again and gesturing at the stack of pictures. “You can have one if you want. You can have several!”
“No,” said the man.
“It’s not putting me out any!” said Gilderoy. “And it’s not like I learned joined-up writing for nothing, you know.”
“I’m sure,” said the man dryly.
“What’s your name?” said Gilderoy.
“Why do you ask?” said the man.
“Because it’s rude for you to not tell me!” said Gilderoy, laughing. “It’s a basic thing that I need to know if I’m to get on with you at all.”
“Hopefully I won’t be here long enough for you to get on with me.”
“Well, then, what’s the harm in giving me your name? If you’re just going to leave and I probably won’t see you again, ever…”
“Lucius Malfoy, then,” said the man, rolling his eyes.
“L-U…can you spell it?” said Gilderoy, pulling a picture from the stack and preparing his quill.
“I’ve already told you, I don’t want one.”
Gilderoy sighed, large and exaggerated.
“Now look who’s being rude,” said Lucius, lying down on the bed.
“It’s not my fault if you don’t want one!”
“I’ll thank you to not push one on me.”
“Later, then?” said Gilderoy.
“Perhaps.”
“Good!” said Gilderoy. “I’ll get it ready for you. How do you spell your name?”
“I’ll tell you when the time comes,” said Lucius, turning onto his side and facing the wall.