(no subject)
Characters Involved: Lucius Malfoy and Draco Malfoy
Date: 6th February 2001
Time: Early in the morning
Rating: G-PG I should think.
Lucius pushed his journal away. He hoped that at least a few would notice his comments, that their intent would be absorbed even if the words were not. People had become lazy; the well-meaning glow immediately following the war was fading, and people were beginning to forget the risks of an unquestioning mind.
Candles lit his study, for it was not yet light. The length of his sleep seemed to be becoming shorter and shorter, and he felt that soon he would not be able to sleep at all. Lucius considered asking Severus for some sort of potion, though he disliked potion-induced sleep.
He stood and stretched, glancing out into the grey-ish darkness behind his window. Lucius left his study, walking along the hallway and down the stairs. He could recall his mother attributing the ease with which children sleep to a clear conscience, which he considered went a long way to explaining why he'd become a light sleeper after the First War. Lucius was capable of seperating his actions and his feeling regarding them during daylight, but beneath that which he could force... He had done what he'd had to in the time of his service to Voldemort, but that didn't mean he'd taken pleasure in all of it. Certainly, he was capable of murder, certainly he was capable of justifying it fully in his mind. But there was not the enjoyment of death, or pain held within him as the likes of Bellatrix.
Lucius had never enjoyed the experimentation Voldemort had made his responsibility. He hated muggles and mudbloods as surely as his name was Malfoy, but he took no true satisfaction in their suffering. It was unnecessary, brutal, it was madness to even think that it had been a good idea. They were not equal to purebloods, but they were human. They had families.
He found himself at the door of Draco's bedroom, and shook his head to clear it of lingering images. Draco seemed to sleep peacefully enough, and for that Lucius was thankful. He pushed open the door carefully, in case the wretched thing decided to creak. The room was dark, though he could make out the outline of Draco in the bed, and hear soft slow breathing. He crossed the room and sat in the chair at Draco's desk.
Faint, dirty light was beginning to leak through the edges of the curtains, stealing the glints of colour from Draco's hair. Slowly, and seemingly colour by colour, Lucius could make out Draco's face as he slept. He did look peaceful.
Lucius stood, thinking to go out into the gardens and listen to the peacocks complaining about the risen sun.