(no subject)
Title: Beautiful
Rating: G
Fandom:Harry Potter
Movie/Quote: Vertigo
"If I let you change me, will that do it? If I do what you tell me, will you love me?"
- "Yes. Yes."
"All right. All right then, I'll do it. I don't care anymore about me."
Summary: He was a blank slate. He could be a perfect soldier, a perfect monster, or a perfect prince. He just needed the right inspiration .
Disclaimer: “We do not claim the portrait presented here to be a true one. Only that it comes close.” (Don’t sue, JK Rowlings)
Author's Note:Cross-posted to his IJ journal. Apologies.
Lord Voldemort makes it his business to know those would-be servants, to break them down and study what’s inside. Voldemort is not a fool, not given to idleness and despite what some would say; he chooses those who would be his with great care. He cannot afford to do otherwise. He seeks to make a kingdom, to do so, he needs kings. It is a simple enough equation.
And most that he would want to bow find him; those who smell the blood he can offer come creeping out of the woodwork like insects, or tumble towards him like yellowed newspapers carried on the wind. The others, those who pick up more so on the ideology, who fancy themselves defenders of blood and life are wooed by the words he speaks when he turns away from them oh so thoughtfully and studies the way flames dance in the hearths. He’ll have need for both kinds too, for in his Kingdom there are many tasks and indeed, most come easily enough because the rich are like the poor in the ways that matter and they all want something Voldemort alone can give them.
But there are others. Those he wants. No. He has more then some tawdry desire for them. He needs them, to prove who he is, what he is; they are the ones he has to work for.
Those are the ones he woos. He doesn’t mind, either. Not at all. It’s a beautiful thing, watching someone bow and it is even better if they don’t realize they’ve done it.
Lucius Malfoy is alone. He was sitting on edge of the crowded room, looking distant and humming. Voldemort had noticed early on that Lucius cared more for the company of Alecto and Bellatrix then the Lestrange brothers or Avery. There was something almost shy about the younger man that could have been sincere if not for the way Lucius seemed to be able to become proud on cue. Voldemort couldn’t decide if Lucius was a consummate actor or a looking glass. He also doubted that if he were to pose the question to Lucius himself, the boy would be able to answer.
He was a blank slate. He could be a perfect soldier, a perfect monster, or a perfect prince. He just needed the right inspiration .
He reminded Voldemort of himself, long ago, as a boy of his age.
He made his way towards Lucius quietly, nodding every so often at the passerby and guest until he got close enough to hear the very end of Lucius’ song.
It cut an enchanting image if nothing else, and that alone would have amused Voldemort even if the boy hadn’t been a Malfoy. Precious few boys Lucius’ age indulged in something as frivolous as song, and even fewer did so with the amount of skill he possessed. He seemed to belong to a time long removed from his world of tradition and legacy. The boy had an arrogant languid posture (and indeed he was posing, like a prize animal- plumage dancing) that was perfect when graced with his angular chin, smoky eyes, and gloomy expression.
The Malfoy prince would occasionally glance towards the clusters of men and something danced behind his eyes before retreating in to himself again. There was something elegant about the boy. He would have been beautiful, Voldemort thought idly, if not for the severity of his simple brown suit and shaved head.
“What were you singing?”
Those gray eyes darted upwards at the sound of his voice, and Lucius straightened himself. It was unclear if he looked embarrassed or annoyed to have been interrupted. “I wasn’t singing.”
“Pity. You were doing it very well.”
“Gentlemen do not sing.”
“No. I don’t imagine they do. Do you not sing often?”
“Every chance I get.” Lucius returned easily. He looked nervous, or coy. He was smiling. That pride settled in Voldemort's mind that this one would be his. Taking a seat beside Lucius, he noticed the younger man flinched just barely. Again, something danced behind those clear eyes. “But never professionally?”
“Don’t be obscene.”
“Pity.” Voldemort returned, his dark eyes looking away. He could see the boy’s gaze catching him. “For someone so accustomed to the spotlight to be forced out of it for tradition’s sake.”
Lucius’ delicate fingers were picking at the pattern of his tweed suit. “I don’t mind.” He meant it too. He could parrot almost as well as he sang. “I am a Malfoy.”
“Yes, you are. Abraxas’ son…pity.”
“My father is a great man.” There it was cracking the perfect tenor with emotion, bathing it in blind loyalty.
Voldemort made no attempt to hide the smile that graced his features. This boy was exactly what he wanted. “Yes. I’m sure he is. He must be very proud of his son.” Smoky eyes returned to the pattern on his sleeve. Voldemort reached over, smoothing Lucius’ cuff in one gentle movement. The boy was tense under his touch. “I would be. One who would surrender so much for his name is a great asset, and indeed you have given it up, Mr. Malfoy.” A coy smile as he waved one finger towards Lucius’ mouth. “Your talents, your skill…what else one can only guess.” Lucius' eyes were darkening, unsure if he was being complimented or offended. But he said nothing, his manners would allow nothing else. “Let us hope one day, you will offer as much for your own name.” And then one with one fluid movement, Voldemort rose and began to walk. “And you have much more to offer then songs, Lucius…you can be so much more.”
He had no need to turn back. He could already picture the image; the boy’s vulpine features jarred and troubled. The words would have unsettled him (and of course Lucius was listening- he was a gentleman, he could do no less), merging with that raw emotion that must have made his eyes clear, and of course, that trademark greed that was so honored in their House. The boy would have been beautiful even then.
He just needed the right inspiration.
Rating: G
Fandom:Harry Potter
Movie/Quote: Vertigo
"If I let you change me, will that do it? If I do what you tell me, will you love me?"
- "Yes. Yes."
"All right. All right then, I'll do it. I don't care anymore about me."
Summary: He was a blank slate. He could be a perfect soldier, a perfect monster, or a perfect prince. He just needed the right inspiration .
Disclaimer: “We do not claim the portrait presented here to be a true one. Only that it comes close.” (Don’t sue, JK Rowlings)
Author's Note:Cross-posted to his IJ journal. Apologies.
Lord Voldemort makes it his business to know those would-be servants, to break them down and study what’s inside. Voldemort is not a fool, not given to idleness and despite what some would say; he chooses those who would be his with great care. He cannot afford to do otherwise. He seeks to make a kingdom, to do so, he needs kings. It is a simple enough equation.
And most that he would want to bow find him; those who smell the blood he can offer come creeping out of the woodwork like insects, or tumble towards him like yellowed newspapers carried on the wind. The others, those who pick up more so on the ideology, who fancy themselves defenders of blood and life are wooed by the words he speaks when he turns away from them oh so thoughtfully and studies the way flames dance in the hearths. He’ll have need for both kinds too, for in his Kingdom there are many tasks and indeed, most come easily enough because the rich are like the poor in the ways that matter and they all want something Voldemort alone can give them.
But there are others. Those he wants. No. He has more then some tawdry desire for them. He needs them, to prove who he is, what he is; they are the ones he has to work for.
Those are the ones he woos. He doesn’t mind, either. Not at all. It’s a beautiful thing, watching someone bow and it is even better if they don’t realize they’ve done it.
Lucius Malfoy is alone. He was sitting on edge of the crowded room, looking distant and humming. Voldemort had noticed early on that Lucius cared more for the company of Alecto and Bellatrix then the Lestrange brothers or Avery. There was something almost shy about the younger man that could have been sincere if not for the way Lucius seemed to be able to become proud on cue. Voldemort couldn’t decide if Lucius was a consummate actor or a looking glass. He also doubted that if he were to pose the question to Lucius himself, the boy would be able to answer.
He was a blank slate. He could be a perfect soldier, a perfect monster, or a perfect prince. He just needed the right inspiration .
He reminded Voldemort of himself, long ago, as a boy of his age.
He made his way towards Lucius quietly, nodding every so often at the passerby and guest until he got close enough to hear the very end of Lucius’ song.
It cut an enchanting image if nothing else, and that alone would have amused Voldemort even if the boy hadn’t been a Malfoy. Precious few boys Lucius’ age indulged in something as frivolous as song, and even fewer did so with the amount of skill he possessed. He seemed to belong to a time long removed from his world of tradition and legacy. The boy had an arrogant languid posture (and indeed he was posing, like a prize animal- plumage dancing) that was perfect when graced with his angular chin, smoky eyes, and gloomy expression.
The Malfoy prince would occasionally glance towards the clusters of men and something danced behind his eyes before retreating in to himself again. There was something elegant about the boy. He would have been beautiful, Voldemort thought idly, if not for the severity of his simple brown suit and shaved head.
“What were you singing?”
Those gray eyes darted upwards at the sound of his voice, and Lucius straightened himself. It was unclear if he looked embarrassed or annoyed to have been interrupted. “I wasn’t singing.”
“Pity. You were doing it very well.”
“Gentlemen do not sing.”
“No. I don’t imagine they do. Do you not sing often?”
“Every chance I get.” Lucius returned easily. He looked nervous, or coy. He was smiling. That pride settled in Voldemort's mind that this one would be his. Taking a seat beside Lucius, he noticed the younger man flinched just barely. Again, something danced behind those clear eyes. “But never professionally?”
“Don’t be obscene.”
“Pity.” Voldemort returned, his dark eyes looking away. He could see the boy’s gaze catching him. “For someone so accustomed to the spotlight to be forced out of it for tradition’s sake.”
Lucius’ delicate fingers were picking at the pattern of his tweed suit. “I don’t mind.” He meant it too. He could parrot almost as well as he sang. “I am a Malfoy.”
“Yes, you are. Abraxas’ son…pity.”
“My father is a great man.” There it was cracking the perfect tenor with emotion, bathing it in blind loyalty.
Voldemort made no attempt to hide the smile that graced his features. This boy was exactly what he wanted. “Yes. I’m sure he is. He must be very proud of his son.” Smoky eyes returned to the pattern on his sleeve. Voldemort reached over, smoothing Lucius’ cuff in one gentle movement. The boy was tense under his touch. “I would be. One who would surrender so much for his name is a great asset, and indeed you have given it up, Mr. Malfoy.” A coy smile as he waved one finger towards Lucius’ mouth. “Your talents, your skill…what else one can only guess.” Lucius' eyes were darkening, unsure if he was being complimented or offended. But he said nothing, his manners would allow nothing else. “Let us hope one day, you will offer as much for your own name.” And then one with one fluid movement, Voldemort rose and began to walk. “And you have much more to offer then songs, Lucius…you can be so much more.”
He had no need to turn back. He could already picture the image; the boy’s vulpine features jarred and troubled. The words would have unsettled him (and of course Lucius was listening- he was a gentleman, he could do no less), merging with that raw emotion that must have made his eyes clear, and of course, that trademark greed that was so honored in their House. The boy would have been beautiful even then.
He just needed the right inspiration.