Family Rules (4/5)
Warning: This story contains graphic descriptions of physical, mental and sexual child abuse. There is nothing pretty about it; and if you have the slightest doubts whether you want to read it or not, please stay away! There are also graphic descriptions of dying and wanking.
4. How to Protect Your Family
They had tried during the four years since their wedding, and finally their little boy was born. “The heir” was how Abraxas referred to the baby. He only saw the child’s function. Admittedly, there was function, but something else as well. So much more, to be precise.
Narcissa was aglow with happiness as she held the baby. He was so tiny, and yet, so perfect. Draco. He would become Draco Procter Malfoy to the world and he would make his family proud. But to them, he would always be “Draco”.
Lucius looked at mother and baby and sighed. He felt the strong urge to protect them from harm. His little family. Lucius gritted his teeth. His happy little family. And he was well on his way to succeed as a businessman and a Death Eater, already high in the ranks of the Dark Lord.
A loud clunk on the parquet floor made him wheel swiftly. Abraxas stood in the doorway. “Don’t cuddle him too much. He’s a scrawny little bugger, but he’ll have to live up to the Malfoy name. So far, he’s the only heir.”
“I know that.” Lucius knew better than to flinch at his father’s words, but the churning in his stomach was more than enough to warn him of their effect.
“He might be able to overcome your shortcomings, if you teach him right. Let him taste all he needs to awaken his desire to kill. Maybe then he won’t fail the family as you did.” A contemptuous sneer accompanied Abraxas’ words. “You may have fathered this one, but you are not a father, able to kill at will. Yet that is what you should be. You might hunt and kill with your Death Eater friends, but you are not able to protect your family.”
“I am protecting my family!” Lucius felt his temper rise. Here he stood, forced to discuss the fate of his one-month-old first-born with his father. Standing his ground in an open disagreement with Abraxas felt strangely unfamiliar.
“Wrong as always! Will you ever learn that this is not about protecting that boring witch or her screaming offspring? This is not about them. It is about our family, the Malfoys! It is about the blood-lines that have to be nourished and protected. Would you be able to kill your wife and then take a new one, should she bear more weak heirs for you? Would you be able to kill that sneaking friend of yours, should he ever betray you? I dare say you wouldn’t.” Abraxas fixed Lucius with a stare. “You’ve always been weak. The house of Black has an old and noble tradition. Maybe that scrawny brat’s not the fault of the bitch. After all, she might conceive well when bestowed with a more qualified seed.”
Lucius paled. His mouth was too dry to answer. Abraxas only snorted his contempt and once again turned his back on his son.
***
Draco was a delicate yet lively baby. He was awake for many hours of the day and showed interest in everything they held above his little cradle. He would chuckle happily and move his small limbs with excitement. Narcissa was overwhelmed with joy and in spite of how little sleep she got with Draco being nursed every three hours, the dark shadows under her eyes disappeared. She looked radiant, as on the day she had moved into the manor.
Apart from the occasional grunts of discontent, Abraxas kept out of their way, which was more than Lucius had expected. Yet, every night, Lucius lay awake and listened for a sound to disturb the silence, ready to protect Draco’s sleep. When Abraxas decided to join a friend’s hunting feast, Lucius was relieved. The old man loved to hunt and would probably stay away for weeks. So Lucius was more than a little disappointed when Abraxas returned only a few days after he had left, with a seeping wound on his left thigh.
“That bloody Squilch! Serves him right that I finished him off in the end.”
Lucius frowned. Squilches were rare these days, a species that would seem reptilian to anyone but a wizard. They had evolved directly from dragons and, when they felt cornered, still spat fire. Their small size had enabled them to adapt much better to the reduction of the great woods of old.
Abraxas limped up the stairs, yelling for an elf to fix him a bath and another to bring his favourite smoke. He would be as good as new in no time, Lucius thought and wished that the encounter between his father and the Squilch could have been put off for a few more days.
However, Abraxas didn’t recover. His wound healed very slowly and developed what he called “an unpleasant itch”. When Lucius got a look at it a week later, a nasty red ring had formed around the thigh, indicating infection. Abraxas turned down his son’s tentative suggestion to see a Healer.
“Charlatans, that’s what they are! All of them!” the old man snarled.
“Of course,” Lucius mumbled, well under his breath, and left the room. He chose to simply ignore the teacup that sailed past him and crashed at the doorframe.
The leg grew worse over the next days and Abraxas’ curses grew accordingly. Soon it was no longer safe to visit the old man’s chambers, as he was prone to mix simple swearing with magic curses. After a hex had only missed him by inches, Lucius insisted that Narcissa give up her polite visits. Instead, Narcissa went to the manor’s huge library. This was where Lucius found her the following morning. From the look on her face, she had not slept at all.
“I left the books only to nurse Draco,” she whispered. The baby lay bundled up in a makeshift bed on one of the tables. “Look at what I found.”
The old tome she showed Lucius clearly explained everything about Squilches. Lucius scanned the page, down to the part Narcissa indicated him to read.
The Squilch, descending from the old dragon races, is the only other species also prone to dragon diseases. A modern saurian wouldn’t catch so much as a Dragon Cold, whereas the Squilch can be the carrier of not only Dragon Cold, but Dragon Fever and, of course, Dragon Pox as well. Being a carrier, the Squilch will not die from the disease, but is still able to spread the relevant germs. Especially in the case of the Pox, an encounter with a Squilch can be fatal to the unwary wizard.
“It’s Dragon Pox, Lucius.” Narcissa’s finger seemed glued to the line.
The words were blurring in front of Lucius’ eyes. “Dragon Pox. It’s deadly. We have to do something.”
“Draco!” Narcissa’s voice had never been sharp, but now it cut the air like a sword. “We have the disease under our roof and Draco is in danger. This stubborn old man refused to call on a Healer and now he’ll kill our little boy.” She hugged the sleeping baby to her chest, her eyes aflame. “Lucius, please, do something. Make it go away.”
An image shot through his mind, of a snake in the desert that was hissing and warningly rattling her tail. Narcissa - a loving mother defending her son, like the pure-blood Slytherin witch she was. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll take care of it.” He hugged them both briefly and left the room. He had to see Abraxas’ condition for himself.
When no one answered his knocking, he entered his father’s chambers. Abraxas lay in the huge four-poster bed, its green and silver hangings drawn back at the sides.
Lucius slowly stepped near. He could hear the old man’s laboured breathing. The body on the bed was a frightening sight. The last twenty-four hours had worked on his decay.
Abraxas’ eyes gleamed unnaturally, burning with the fever that was eating away at his body. Pustules covered his skin, some of them had already opened and oozed puss. Lucius could see smears of red and white slime on the elegant bed sheet. The stench in the room was almost unbearable.
“Dobby!” A loud crack announced the house-elf’s immediate arrival and Dobby cowered in front of Lucius.
“Yes, young Master?”
“Bring him fresh sheets,” ordered Lucius. “Fresh sheets and water. And renew the olibanum in the braziers. The air needs to be purified.”
“Yes, young Master, as you wish, young Master.” The elf bowed and vanished.
As he wished. His deepest wish was directed at something else - the safety of his family. The safety of Narcissa and Draco. Lucius settled himself in one of his father’s antique chairs and stared at the figure on the bed. Discontent gleamed in the old eyes. Those chairs were too good to sit on, Lucius knew. The only part of them he had ever touched before was the base of the legs. Lucius felt the smooth wood and the cracked leather underneath him. The chair wasn’t even comfortable. But sitting on it felt oddly satisfying.
Two elves came and changed the sheets. Using a Levitation charm, they moved Abraxas from one side of the bed to the other. Lucius noticed how careful they were not to touch the man’s body. They brought fresh water and placed it on the bedside table. Funny, how those creatures would work their ways around an order. He had only told them to bring the water, not to help the old man drink it. On second thought, he would not want to have them contaminate the whole house. When one elf started to pull open the heavy draperies on the windows to let fresh air into the room, Lucius held up his hand. “Enough. It’s too chilly outside. Leave now, creatures.” The elves bowed, their noses almost touching the ground, and Disapparated.
The strong scent of olibanum filled the room. Lucius didn’t bother with the windows. He continued to sit and watch. The old man’s chest moved steadily up and down. But every now and then, a harsh gurgling sound caused the whole body to cramp up, followed by an agonised wheeze.
“A Malfoy never shows his emotions, whether they are happy or painful or sad,” Lucius told the space in front of his father’s face.
His father stared back at him, betraying none of his thoughts, then clawed at the bedside table to reach for the water. Lucius watched his struggle. His father’s hand finally touched the glass, only to knock it over. Water spilled onto the bedside table and darkened the thick carpet in front of the bed. A croak came from Abraxas; yet, it reminded Lucius more of a mewling kitten than of the hiss of a snake.
Lucius searched his heart and found no hatred. He searched deeper and didn’t even find fear. He refused to search for sympathy. Every feeling he had ever had for the man in the bed had melted down to the single determination not to back away. He would stay here, and he would watch.
Lucius called for the house-elf again. “Dobby, make certain that no one comes through that door. Look after your mistress and the baby. Check on them every hour. Inform me immediately, should anything happen. Seal the manor. No visitors allowed. Tell them, tell them … tell them nothing! Just send them away. And tell me at once should anyone ask for me. Or for him.”
The elf was bowing so fast that Lucius could barely make out its individual movements. “Yes, young Master. Of course, young Master. As you wish, young Master.”
By the evening of the following day Abraxas looked like a living mummy, a mummy sweating blood and puss and other bodily fluids. The bed sheets stuck to his trembling limbs. Lucius wondered how his body could still produce fluids when he never drank water. Tinky brought a jug of water every morning and every evening, handing it to Lucius who put it on the bedside table. That much he would do. But he couldn’t have an elf touching Abraxas and then running around the house, contaminating everything with Dragon Pox. This was an illness too infectious to be treated in a casual manner. He could stay in the same room, but he wouldn’t touch the dying man. No blood, no bodily fluids, no contamination. As soon as Abraxas’ body was dry, Lucius’ family would be safe. Abraxas’ hands had always been dry during the beatings. It was only a matter of time until his whole body would have dried.
They would be safe.
Lucius didn’t think about his wife or his son. Draco was too young to notice his absence. Narcissa would understand. He was sure. She would understand that he was taking care of his family.
Abraxas’ breath rattled through the second night. On the morning of the third day Lucius approached the bed once more, carrying the jug. The old man’s skin looked less sweaty. Most of the pustules had emptied themselves, and his body was covered with crusts of brown and yellow. They cracked open when he moved, but thankfully, he did not move much any longer. He had abandoned his attempts to reach for the water on the bedside table. Maybe he had understood that he was only prolonging … the inevitable.
A strange idea occurred to Lucius. It was connected to lectures received long ago, lectures deeply imprinted in his mind. Maybe his father wanted him to act? He had always talked about the need for young males to take over, to mark the familiar ground as their own. Had he only adressed the issue of horses and hunting then? Maybe Abraxas had wanted Lucius to challenge him all along?
Lucius stared at his dying father on the bed, wishing for an answer. But, like it had always been between them, Abraxas ignored his pleas. And Lucius’ conscious mind slipped once more away into the night of his memories.
When he was very young, Lucius had found a dried-up mouse in the wall of one of the huts near the stables, where the stable-hands lived. The mouse, the hand had explained, had been trapped and died. The heat of the oven had prevented the body from rotting and preserved the mouse. Lucius still remembered his fascination and how the dried fur had felt under his touch. Abraxas would be just like this dried up mouse in the end. A light body, harmless and easy to carry away.
A body whose breathing became less elaborate with every passing hour. A body whose last fluids dried on his skin and in his flesh. A body whose every wheezing breath sounded like a door swinging on rusty hinges ... until it finally remained ajar. Lucius checked the clock on the mantelpiece and turned back to the bed. Nothing. He watched his father and his father did … nothing. He did nothing and continued doing nothing. When Lucius finally checked the clock again, three hours had passed in a heartbeat. The old snake was dead and had left behind nothing but dry skin and bones. Lucius stood up with cracking knees and opened the door. Dobby stood in front of him, waiting for instructions.
“Put on gloves and burn everything. The sheets, the duvet, the mattress, the carpets, the curtains. Everything, you hear me?”
Dobby’s eyes were wide open. He craned his neck to look past Lucius’ legs and get a glimpse of the room. “Dobby burns everything, yes, Master. The bed, too?”
Lucius chuckled bitterly. He felt as if he were losing his grip. “The bed, yes, burn the bed. And the chairs, the chairs, burn the chairs as well.”
“Old Master’s chairs?”
Lucius snatched the elf’s dirty pillowcase and shook him hard. “There is no old Master any longer. Burn the chairs! Ever question my orders again and I will make you jump into the nearest fireplace and dance!”
Not waiting for the submissive reply and the gasps of pain when Dobby started to bang his head against the floorboards, Lucius fled the room and the dead body in the bed and headed for the bathroom. They were safe. And his stomach churned like a pit of angry snakes.
He stood in the shower and felt the water running blissfully hot over his naked skin. Soaping himself up for the third time, he gave his cock a tentative tug. The organ answered with a half-interested hardening. Lucius tugged again. Abraxas in his bed, dying. Old hands, clawing at the bed sheets. The dark eyes, sunken deep into their sockets. Lucius worked his length, methodically striking up and down. The soapy foam bit into the small fissures of the skin. He closed his eyes, but the image of his father burned on. Abraxas could never touch them, never harm them again. Lucius was fisting his cock at full speed now. Abraxas’ hands would never again hold a cane. They’d escaped his reach. Narcissa would be safe. Draco would be safe.
“You bastard.” Lucius realised that he had started muttering under his breath. He couldn’t care less. “You fucking old bastard. I wanted- I wanted to kill you.” The water was beating down on his shoulders as fiercely as he was tugging at the cock in his hand. “Why- after all- all those years? You deserved to- should have- and I-!” He came hard and the spunk sputtered from his cock in thick white streaks. Suddenly, he sobbed in earnest. “I couldn’t do it.” The realisation hit him in the stomach and he crouched down in the shower, on his knees, dry heaving and screaming and sobbing again, unintelligible words, hugging himself with hands long gone numb, and later, when he was done crying, he whispered, “-I wanted to kill you” again, hoarsely, and his voice sounded lost amidst the scalding hot water that was still raining down on him.
He was in his finest, most immaculate robes when he met his wife in her private rooms.
“You were with him,” Narcissa stated. Her nostrils fluttered, catching the sharp sweetness on his breath.
Lucius nodded. “I had to shower first, then I came to see you two. The elves are busy taking care of the room, but I will have to call the undertaker soon. How are you?”
“Draco is doing fine; he’s asleep in his cradle.”
Lucius threw a glance at the sleeping baby. “And you, darling?”
“I’m … relieved.” She did not need to say any more.
He gingerly brushed her temple and played with a strand of her silvery-blonde hair. “I’m relieved as well, darling. I’m relieved as well.”
Narcissa wished for the funeral to be a small family event. However, business partners and relatives would openly disapprove and misunderstand the family’s desire for a private ceremony. Abraxas had been a public figure, so his funeral was to be a public affair. Several people had already expressed their disappointment that his death had been a private one.
Severus was with them, a trusted friend of the family. He took care of Narcissa and little Draco, protected them from public attention. It was Severus who side-along Apparated Narcissa and the baby home to the manor. It was Severus who came back to stand beside Lucius during the endless hours of reminiscing and talking about Abraxas. And it was Severus who finally steered Lucius into the study and poured them both a drink.
***
Less than a year later, in the autumn of 1981, the Dark Lord was vanquished when he tried to kill the Potters’ son. After that, everything was in peril. Their allies had been scattered and most of them tried to deny all association with their former Master. Lucius still prided himself on how he had managed to talk himself out of all accusations. Less fortunate Death Eaters had been forced into hiding. All of them had been cautious not to show their true colours - aside from the small group around Narcissa’s sister, who went to Azkaban with their heads held high.
***
Lucius sighed. He had never thought that he’d see the Dark Lord rising again. And yet he had managed to return. But the times when Death Eaters could roam free were gone. Harry Potter was growing into a more dangerous enemy with every year. A boy with more luck than any one person should have. These were dangerous times and soon the skills of the loyal would be put to the test. The Dark Lord had risen, but if the rumours were true, he could be vanquished once more - and forever this time.
This time, nobody would be able to go into hiding or deny their involvement. This time, everything was at stake. The Death Eaters had to be prepared. The Malfoys had to be prepared. Lucius himself and Narcissa as well knew what to expect. But Draco - he was still naive. Skirting the edge, yes, and Lucius had tried to keep him informed to open his mind, but still, Draco didn’t realise the full impact of the situation at hand. He needed to see, in order to understand. He needed to adjust. Survival was all about adjustment. Only fools fought blindly.
The moon was high in the sky when Lucius finally finished his drink and went to bed.
Chapter 5 - How to Provide for the Future
4. How to Protect Your Family
They had tried during the four years since their wedding, and finally their little boy was born. “The heir” was how Abraxas referred to the baby. He only saw the child’s function. Admittedly, there was function, but something else as well. So much more, to be precise.
Narcissa was aglow with happiness as she held the baby. He was so tiny, and yet, so perfect. Draco. He would become Draco Procter Malfoy to the world and he would make his family proud. But to them, he would always be “Draco”.
Lucius looked at mother and baby and sighed. He felt the strong urge to protect them from harm. His little family. Lucius gritted his teeth. His happy little family. And he was well on his way to succeed as a businessman and a Death Eater, already high in the ranks of the Dark Lord.
A loud clunk on the parquet floor made him wheel swiftly. Abraxas stood in the doorway. “Don’t cuddle him too much. He’s a scrawny little bugger, but he’ll have to live up to the Malfoy name. So far, he’s the only heir.”
“I know that.” Lucius knew better than to flinch at his father’s words, but the churning in his stomach was more than enough to warn him of their effect.
“He might be able to overcome your shortcomings, if you teach him right. Let him taste all he needs to awaken his desire to kill. Maybe then he won’t fail the family as you did.” A contemptuous sneer accompanied Abraxas’ words. “You may have fathered this one, but you are not a father, able to kill at will. Yet that is what you should be. You might hunt and kill with your Death Eater friends, but you are not able to protect your family.”
“I am protecting my family!” Lucius felt his temper rise. Here he stood, forced to discuss the fate of his one-month-old first-born with his father. Standing his ground in an open disagreement with Abraxas felt strangely unfamiliar.
“Wrong as always! Will you ever learn that this is not about protecting that boring witch or her screaming offspring? This is not about them. It is about our family, the Malfoys! It is about the blood-lines that have to be nourished and protected. Would you be able to kill your wife and then take a new one, should she bear more weak heirs for you? Would you be able to kill that sneaking friend of yours, should he ever betray you? I dare say you wouldn’t.” Abraxas fixed Lucius with a stare. “You’ve always been weak. The house of Black has an old and noble tradition. Maybe that scrawny brat’s not the fault of the bitch. After all, she might conceive well when bestowed with a more qualified seed.”
Lucius paled. His mouth was too dry to answer. Abraxas only snorted his contempt and once again turned his back on his son.
***
Draco was a delicate yet lively baby. He was awake for many hours of the day and showed interest in everything they held above his little cradle. He would chuckle happily and move his small limbs with excitement. Narcissa was overwhelmed with joy and in spite of how little sleep she got with Draco being nursed every three hours, the dark shadows under her eyes disappeared. She looked radiant, as on the day she had moved into the manor.
Apart from the occasional grunts of discontent, Abraxas kept out of their way, which was more than Lucius had expected. Yet, every night, Lucius lay awake and listened for a sound to disturb the silence, ready to protect Draco’s sleep. When Abraxas decided to join a friend’s hunting feast, Lucius was relieved. The old man loved to hunt and would probably stay away for weeks. So Lucius was more than a little disappointed when Abraxas returned only a few days after he had left, with a seeping wound on his left thigh.
“That bloody Squilch! Serves him right that I finished him off in the end.”
Lucius frowned. Squilches were rare these days, a species that would seem reptilian to anyone but a wizard. They had evolved directly from dragons and, when they felt cornered, still spat fire. Their small size had enabled them to adapt much better to the reduction of the great woods of old.
Abraxas limped up the stairs, yelling for an elf to fix him a bath and another to bring his favourite smoke. He would be as good as new in no time, Lucius thought and wished that the encounter between his father and the Squilch could have been put off for a few more days.
However, Abraxas didn’t recover. His wound healed very slowly and developed what he called “an unpleasant itch”. When Lucius got a look at it a week later, a nasty red ring had formed around the thigh, indicating infection. Abraxas turned down his son’s tentative suggestion to see a Healer.
“Charlatans, that’s what they are! All of them!” the old man snarled.
“Of course,” Lucius mumbled, well under his breath, and left the room. He chose to simply ignore the teacup that sailed past him and crashed at the doorframe.
The leg grew worse over the next days and Abraxas’ curses grew accordingly. Soon it was no longer safe to visit the old man’s chambers, as he was prone to mix simple swearing with magic curses. After a hex had only missed him by inches, Lucius insisted that Narcissa give up her polite visits. Instead, Narcissa went to the manor’s huge library. This was where Lucius found her the following morning. From the look on her face, she had not slept at all.
“I left the books only to nurse Draco,” she whispered. The baby lay bundled up in a makeshift bed on one of the tables. “Look at what I found.”
The old tome she showed Lucius clearly explained everything about Squilches. Lucius scanned the page, down to the part Narcissa indicated him to read.
The Squilch, descending from the old dragon races, is the only other species also prone to dragon diseases. A modern saurian wouldn’t catch so much as a Dragon Cold, whereas the Squilch can be the carrier of not only Dragon Cold, but Dragon Fever and, of course, Dragon Pox as well. Being a carrier, the Squilch will not die from the disease, but is still able to spread the relevant germs. Especially in the case of the Pox, an encounter with a Squilch can be fatal to the unwary wizard.
“It’s Dragon Pox, Lucius.” Narcissa’s finger seemed glued to the line.
The words were blurring in front of Lucius’ eyes. “Dragon Pox. It’s deadly. We have to do something.”
“Draco!” Narcissa’s voice had never been sharp, but now it cut the air like a sword. “We have the disease under our roof and Draco is in danger. This stubborn old man refused to call on a Healer and now he’ll kill our little boy.” She hugged the sleeping baby to her chest, her eyes aflame. “Lucius, please, do something. Make it go away.”
An image shot through his mind, of a snake in the desert that was hissing and warningly rattling her tail. Narcissa - a loving mother defending her son, like the pure-blood Slytherin witch she was. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll take care of it.” He hugged them both briefly and left the room. He had to see Abraxas’ condition for himself.
When no one answered his knocking, he entered his father’s chambers. Abraxas lay in the huge four-poster bed, its green and silver hangings drawn back at the sides.
Lucius slowly stepped near. He could hear the old man’s laboured breathing. The body on the bed was a frightening sight. The last twenty-four hours had worked on his decay.
Abraxas’ eyes gleamed unnaturally, burning with the fever that was eating away at his body. Pustules covered his skin, some of them had already opened and oozed puss. Lucius could see smears of red and white slime on the elegant bed sheet. The stench in the room was almost unbearable.
“Dobby!” A loud crack announced the house-elf’s immediate arrival and Dobby cowered in front of Lucius.
“Yes, young Master?”
“Bring him fresh sheets,” ordered Lucius. “Fresh sheets and water. And renew the olibanum in the braziers. The air needs to be purified.”
“Yes, young Master, as you wish, young Master.” The elf bowed and vanished.
As he wished. His deepest wish was directed at something else - the safety of his family. The safety of Narcissa and Draco. Lucius settled himself in one of his father’s antique chairs and stared at the figure on the bed. Discontent gleamed in the old eyes. Those chairs were too good to sit on, Lucius knew. The only part of them he had ever touched before was the base of the legs. Lucius felt the smooth wood and the cracked leather underneath him. The chair wasn’t even comfortable. But sitting on it felt oddly satisfying.
Two elves came and changed the sheets. Using a Levitation charm, they moved Abraxas from one side of the bed to the other. Lucius noticed how careful they were not to touch the man’s body. They brought fresh water and placed it on the bedside table. Funny, how those creatures would work their ways around an order. He had only told them to bring the water, not to help the old man drink it. On second thought, he would not want to have them contaminate the whole house. When one elf started to pull open the heavy draperies on the windows to let fresh air into the room, Lucius held up his hand. “Enough. It’s too chilly outside. Leave now, creatures.” The elves bowed, their noses almost touching the ground, and Disapparated.
The strong scent of olibanum filled the room. Lucius didn’t bother with the windows. He continued to sit and watch. The old man’s chest moved steadily up and down. But every now and then, a harsh gurgling sound caused the whole body to cramp up, followed by an agonised wheeze.
“A Malfoy never shows his emotions, whether they are happy or painful or sad,” Lucius told the space in front of his father’s face.
His father stared back at him, betraying none of his thoughts, then clawed at the bedside table to reach for the water. Lucius watched his struggle. His father’s hand finally touched the glass, only to knock it over. Water spilled onto the bedside table and darkened the thick carpet in front of the bed. A croak came from Abraxas; yet, it reminded Lucius more of a mewling kitten than of the hiss of a snake.
Lucius searched his heart and found no hatred. He searched deeper and didn’t even find fear. He refused to search for sympathy. Every feeling he had ever had for the man in the bed had melted down to the single determination not to back away. He would stay here, and he would watch.
Lucius called for the house-elf again. “Dobby, make certain that no one comes through that door. Look after your mistress and the baby. Check on them every hour. Inform me immediately, should anything happen. Seal the manor. No visitors allowed. Tell them, tell them … tell them nothing! Just send them away. And tell me at once should anyone ask for me. Or for him.”
The elf was bowing so fast that Lucius could barely make out its individual movements. “Yes, young Master. Of course, young Master. As you wish, young Master.”
By the evening of the following day Abraxas looked like a living mummy, a mummy sweating blood and puss and other bodily fluids. The bed sheets stuck to his trembling limbs. Lucius wondered how his body could still produce fluids when he never drank water. Tinky brought a jug of water every morning and every evening, handing it to Lucius who put it on the bedside table. That much he would do. But he couldn’t have an elf touching Abraxas and then running around the house, contaminating everything with Dragon Pox. This was an illness too infectious to be treated in a casual manner. He could stay in the same room, but he wouldn’t touch the dying man. No blood, no bodily fluids, no contamination. As soon as Abraxas’ body was dry, Lucius’ family would be safe. Abraxas’ hands had always been dry during the beatings. It was only a matter of time until his whole body would have dried.
They would be safe.
Lucius didn’t think about his wife or his son. Draco was too young to notice his absence. Narcissa would understand. He was sure. She would understand that he was taking care of his family.
Abraxas’ breath rattled through the second night. On the morning of the third day Lucius approached the bed once more, carrying the jug. The old man’s skin looked less sweaty. Most of the pustules had emptied themselves, and his body was covered with crusts of brown and yellow. They cracked open when he moved, but thankfully, he did not move much any longer. He had abandoned his attempts to reach for the water on the bedside table. Maybe he had understood that he was only prolonging … the inevitable.
A strange idea occurred to Lucius. It was connected to lectures received long ago, lectures deeply imprinted in his mind. Maybe his father wanted him to act? He had always talked about the need for young males to take over, to mark the familiar ground as their own. Had he only adressed the issue of horses and hunting then? Maybe Abraxas had wanted Lucius to challenge him all along?
Lucius stared at his dying father on the bed, wishing for an answer. But, like it had always been between them, Abraxas ignored his pleas. And Lucius’ conscious mind slipped once more away into the night of his memories.
When he was very young, Lucius had found a dried-up mouse in the wall of one of the huts near the stables, where the stable-hands lived. The mouse, the hand had explained, had been trapped and died. The heat of the oven had prevented the body from rotting and preserved the mouse. Lucius still remembered his fascination and how the dried fur had felt under his touch. Abraxas would be just like this dried up mouse in the end. A light body, harmless and easy to carry away.
A body whose breathing became less elaborate with every passing hour. A body whose last fluids dried on his skin and in his flesh. A body whose every wheezing breath sounded like a door swinging on rusty hinges ... until it finally remained ajar. Lucius checked the clock on the mantelpiece and turned back to the bed. Nothing. He watched his father and his father did … nothing. He did nothing and continued doing nothing. When Lucius finally checked the clock again, three hours had passed in a heartbeat. The old snake was dead and had left behind nothing but dry skin and bones. Lucius stood up with cracking knees and opened the door. Dobby stood in front of him, waiting for instructions.
“Put on gloves and burn everything. The sheets, the duvet, the mattress, the carpets, the curtains. Everything, you hear me?”
Dobby’s eyes were wide open. He craned his neck to look past Lucius’ legs and get a glimpse of the room. “Dobby burns everything, yes, Master. The bed, too?”
Lucius chuckled bitterly. He felt as if he were losing his grip. “The bed, yes, burn the bed. And the chairs, the chairs, burn the chairs as well.”
“Old Master’s chairs?”
Lucius snatched the elf’s dirty pillowcase and shook him hard. “There is no old Master any longer. Burn the chairs! Ever question my orders again and I will make you jump into the nearest fireplace and dance!”
Not waiting for the submissive reply and the gasps of pain when Dobby started to bang his head against the floorboards, Lucius fled the room and the dead body in the bed and headed for the bathroom. They were safe. And his stomach churned like a pit of angry snakes.
He stood in the shower and felt the water running blissfully hot over his naked skin. Soaping himself up for the third time, he gave his cock a tentative tug. The organ answered with a half-interested hardening. Lucius tugged again. Abraxas in his bed, dying. Old hands, clawing at the bed sheets. The dark eyes, sunken deep into their sockets. Lucius worked his length, methodically striking up and down. The soapy foam bit into the small fissures of the skin. He closed his eyes, but the image of his father burned on. Abraxas could never touch them, never harm them again. Lucius was fisting his cock at full speed now. Abraxas’ hands would never again hold a cane. They’d escaped his reach. Narcissa would be safe. Draco would be safe.
“You bastard.” Lucius realised that he had started muttering under his breath. He couldn’t care less. “You fucking old bastard. I wanted- I wanted to kill you.” The water was beating down on his shoulders as fiercely as he was tugging at the cock in his hand. “Why- after all- all those years? You deserved to- should have- and I-!” He came hard and the spunk sputtered from his cock in thick white streaks. Suddenly, he sobbed in earnest. “I couldn’t do it.” The realisation hit him in the stomach and he crouched down in the shower, on his knees, dry heaving and screaming and sobbing again, unintelligible words, hugging himself with hands long gone numb, and later, when he was done crying, he whispered, “-I wanted to kill you” again, hoarsely, and his voice sounded lost amidst the scalding hot water that was still raining down on him.
He was in his finest, most immaculate robes when he met his wife in her private rooms.
“You were with him,” Narcissa stated. Her nostrils fluttered, catching the sharp sweetness on his breath.
Lucius nodded. “I had to shower first, then I came to see you two. The elves are busy taking care of the room, but I will have to call the undertaker soon. How are you?”
“Draco is doing fine; he’s asleep in his cradle.”
Lucius threw a glance at the sleeping baby. “And you, darling?”
“I’m … relieved.” She did not need to say any more.
He gingerly brushed her temple and played with a strand of her silvery-blonde hair. “I’m relieved as well, darling. I’m relieved as well.”
Narcissa wished for the funeral to be a small family event. However, business partners and relatives would openly disapprove and misunderstand the family’s desire for a private ceremony. Abraxas had been a public figure, so his funeral was to be a public affair. Several people had already expressed their disappointment that his death had been a private one.
Severus was with them, a trusted friend of the family. He took care of Narcissa and little Draco, protected them from public attention. It was Severus who side-along Apparated Narcissa and the baby home to the manor. It was Severus who came back to stand beside Lucius during the endless hours of reminiscing and talking about Abraxas. And it was Severus who finally steered Lucius into the study and poured them both a drink.
***
Less than a year later, in the autumn of 1981, the Dark Lord was vanquished when he tried to kill the Potters’ son. After that, everything was in peril. Their allies had been scattered and most of them tried to deny all association with their former Master. Lucius still prided himself on how he had managed to talk himself out of all accusations. Less fortunate Death Eaters had been forced into hiding. All of them had been cautious not to show their true colours - aside from the small group around Narcissa’s sister, who went to Azkaban with their heads held high.
***
Lucius sighed. He had never thought that he’d see the Dark Lord rising again. And yet he had managed to return. But the times when Death Eaters could roam free were gone. Harry Potter was growing into a more dangerous enemy with every year. A boy with more luck than any one person should have. These were dangerous times and soon the skills of the loyal would be put to the test. The Dark Lord had risen, but if the rumours were true, he could be vanquished once more - and forever this time.
This time, nobody would be able to go into hiding or deny their involvement. This time, everything was at stake. The Death Eaters had to be prepared. The Malfoys had to be prepared. Lucius himself and Narcissa as well knew what to expect. But Draco - he was still naive. Skirting the edge, yes, and Lucius had tried to keep him informed to open his mind, but still, Draco didn’t realise the full impact of the situation at hand. He needed to see, in order to understand. He needed to adjust. Survival was all about adjustment. Only fools fought blindly.
The moon was high in the sky when Lucius finally finished his drink and went to bed.
Chapter 5 - How to Provide for the Future