Weary In Wiltshire [PG-13] (1/3) for hanako_no_yume.
Title: Weary In Wiltshire
Author/Artist: rivertempest
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns the whole of Harry Potter and the all the stuff that goes with it. Sadly, I own nothing, nor do I make anything as I am only a lowly minion.
Warnings: A few slurs here and there, cursing of the pure-blood sort. Somewhat EWE in that Draco isn't married and Hermione only has Rose, no Hugo. (Great name for a writer, terrible name for a child)
Summary: After suffering at the ignominious hands of Fate, Lucius Malfoy realizes that if he doesn’t take it upon himself to change the direction of Draco’s life, future generations might be at risk. Fortunately, he has a very willing partner-in-crime to help him accomplish this monumental feat: Rose Weasley.
Notes: hanako_no_yume, I hope you like this! I could not done this without three beautiful ladies: dusty273 , imbloodyenglish , and ssddgr (who was so sick, but beta'd for me anyway). Thank you all. A few lines were shamelessly borrowed from the movie 'Sleepless In Seattle', but only a couple.
“Turn on the Wizarding Wireless, Draco,” Lucius mumbled as he shifted his body on the oversized bed. “Lovegood’s program is about to start.”
Hooking his arms under his father’s, the younger Malfoy lifted Lucius’ wasted torso, so that he could slip a pillow behind his back. That accomplished, he let his father settle against the plush feather bolster, shaking his head in disbelief.
“I don’t know why you listen to that tripe.” He handed Lucius a bowl of thick, nutrient-ladened bisque, coaxing him to eat. “Mum is probably turning over in her grave knowing you’re part of Luna’s audience.”
Lucius snorted. “Considering how your mother died, I hardly believe she’s doing much turning.” He smirked and added, “More likely indulging in mischief by causing Muggle-borns to sneeze with her ash.”
“Just as well,” Draco mused as he moved to the far table to twist the knobs on the radio. “I’ll never acknowledge the fact that Lovegood is the reason Astoria is set to become the next Madam Malfoy.”
Watching his son do his bidding, Lucius grimaced and murmured to himself, “Not if I can help it.”
~*~
It’d been almost ten years since the end of the war, and things had changed drastically for the Malfoys. Not financially, of course, but the family as a whole had been irrevocably altered.
Narcissa, having deceived the Dark Lord with regards to Harry Potter’s status of being amongst the living, was Crucio’d until she lay unconscious on the battlefield. It was unknown who had hexed her so venomously, but months later after she’d awakened from a coma in St. Mungo’s, Lucius and Draco had gained an inkling of the damage to her nervous system from the continuous use of the curse.
Upon bringing her home, for the staff at the hospital could do no more for her and felt she would improve if surrounded by familiar things, they’d noticed she would pick up items and grip them fiercely, as if trying to ground herself to something steady and solid. This behavior had become increasingly worse when, in a fit of desperation during a particularly violent episode, she’d grabbed their oldest house-elf, Nini, and strangled him to death accidentally.
Afterwards, Narcissa had taken up the Muggle habit of smoking, much to Lucius’ disgust, arguing it kept her hands busy and they shook less if she was holding a cigarette - which happened to be all the time, barring her sleeping hours. At one point, Lucius had told her to choose between smelling like the foulest pit of Hell - and he should know, as he’d spent considerable time in Voldemort’s presence - or spending time with her loving family without the crutch of smoking.
She’d immediately told her husband that he could go kiss a Hippogriff’s bollocks and to go get her another carton of fags, thank you very much.
Since Draco was away at university, and a house-elf couldn’t very well go to a Muggle market, it was up to Lucius to see to her request. He detested venturing into Muggle Salisbury - the closest Muggle city that carried such things in their part of Wiltshire - and had planned on telling his wife, upon returning to the manor, that if she wanted to pollute her body further she would have to find another accomplice, as he was through capitulating to this particular habit.
All his reprimands had died in his throat the moment he’d Apparated back to the receiving parlor to find black, acrid smoke billowing from Narcissa’s wing of the house. House-elves had been scrambling and screaming everywhere, and he’d grabbed one and demanded to know what was going on.
Through its gibbering cries, Lucius had learned that Narcissa had had one last cigarette in her pack, crumpled as it was. Per Lucius’ instructions, the elves had been ordered to prevent her from lighting up until he’d returned, in case she went into one of her fits while he was away. Apparently, in a pique of irritation, and a seizure at the worst possible moment, she’d cast Fiendfyre in a desperate attempt to light the tobacco, and had lost control immediately.
Of course, the blaze had alerted the Ministry - as the Malfoys were always closely watched - which had sent three Aurors to help contain the inferno - Dawlish, Proudfoot, and Ron Weasley, the three available at the time. Upon arrival, Dawlish had emptied the manor of its inhabitants, while Proudfoot and Weasley had tried to gain control over the coiling fiery serpent making its way steadily through the massive house. At one point, Weasley had drawn the flame towards the lake in the back gardens, confident that it would extinguish itself with the cool waters, but one miscalculation in direction and he too was consumed by the hungry fire.
By the time the conflagration had exhausted itself, more than half the mansion had been destroyed, the strong wards on the manse the only thing that kept it from complete destruction. Weasley, Narcissa, and five house-elves had died. Lucius and Proudfoot had suffered severe burns to their torsos and arms that were unable to be healed magically. Dawlish had experienced concentrated smoke inhalation that had permanently scarred his lungs, causing him to be removed from Auror duties.
Lavish funeral services had been held for Ron and Narcissa, Lucius paying for everything more out of a sense of guilt than regret. Before, during, and after the services, Hermione Weasley had said not one word to anyone, not even to her five year old daughter, Rose. At the conclusion, Draco had said he’d observed Hermione grip Rose’s hand tightly and Disapparate, leaving behind many bewildered mourners, friends, and family. Several months later, though she’d protested, Hermione had finally allowed her husband to be honoured by the Malfoy family by them building a Muggle-Wizarding library near their home in Ottery St. Catchpole. It was the last they’d heard from her.
That had been four years ago, and not a day went by that Lucius didn’t miss his wife or Draco his mother. Healers had tried everything they could to help Lucius and Proudfoot with the resulting damage, but had only been able to do so much, and - with the treatments unbearably painful in nature - the older Malfoy had halted their work before they could achieve any measure of success. Eventually, Proudfoot had succumbed to his injuries a year later, but Lucius had stubbornly held onto life through multiple infections that could only be treated with several rounds of high-powered Muggle antibiotics.
He was a shell of his former self, an emaciated shadow that directed his business affairs from the comfort of his four-poster bed with Draco at the helm for the most part. He couldn’t complain though, as the fire had spared his face and Lucius was ever a vain peacock if there was one. He’d also gained an appreciation for Muggle things, like Arthur Weasley always had, much to his eternal hatred. The thought that kept him awake at night was how a mere Muggle medicine was able to fend off the ravages of disease when magic couldn’t.
It was during the past year that Lucius had begun listening to the wireless in his spare time, relaxing with music when his muscles became tense and his flesh refused to budge because of the scar tissue. The soothing sounds would lull him into a stupor that allowed for a release of contracted tendons from the rigors of staying upright and not drowning in pulmonary fluids. He thought his entire ordeal rather repulsive, to be honest, as there was nothing more degrading than to expire because one didn’t have the capacity to cough.
One evening, while listening to Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings on the wireless, Lucius was struck with a curious ache in his chest, which didn’t cease until the music ended. Rubbing his collarbone, he felt his panic level rise, and clutched at the duvet with his free hand, ready to call out to a house-elf, when he realized that the ache was not another symptom of his injured state. Hesitantly, he touched his face and realized he’d been crying as he absorbed the haunting movement.
Merlin’s bones! He couldn’t recall the last time he’d shed any tears, and that included his wife’s funeral, though he loved her dearly. Malfoys just didn’t cry; it was plain and simple. It was unmanly, it exposed too many weaknesses, it blurred the vision and clogged the sinuses - take your pick of unwanted side-effects. Lucius abhorred all of them.
An ethereal voice interrupted his introspection.
“Do you find yourself longing for something unknown?”
Looking around, Lucius concluded the voice was originating from the wireless receiver. In a moment of sheer vulnerability, he whispered to the empty room, “Yes.”
“Does your heart ache for the succor of a friendly voice?” the lilting register asked the audience.
Biting back a whimper, Lucius closed his eyes to will away the tears, but it was no use. “Oh, yes.”
“Then you’ve arrived at the right place, gentle listeners,” the voice assured. “Welcome to Luna’s Love Be Good, your connection to the witch or wizard of your dreams.”
If Lucius had been waiting for something profound to happen within his soul, he was sorely disappointed. Slowly, he opened his eyes and stared at the radio, his lips thinning. “Damnable chit!” he groused, reaching for a pillow to throw at the device. “Leave off the chatter and return to the music!”
“Our first guest is Astoria Greengrass,” Luna announced, ignoring Lucius’ unheard threats. “Please tell us what you’re looking for, Astoria.”
“Pure-blood and rich,” Astoria answered nonchalantly.
There was a significant pause that ended with Luna heaving an irritated sigh. “Is that all?”
“And handsome,” the other girl added.
“What about intelligence?” Luna prompted, giving the witch a chance to prove she wasn’t as vacuous as she appeared.
“Well,” the other woman drawled. “It’s not needed. I can run things if he’s a simpleton.”
“Oh, really?” Luna sounded like she was shuffling papers around. “This here is Stephen Cornfoot - handsome, pure-blood, and rich - but in the Circe Ward at St. Mungos for the magically insane. Will he do?”
Unable to help his curiosity, Lucius had been listening to Lovegood’s program and now waited to hear what the Greengrass girl would say, as her family had not been particularly supportive of either side during the war. His interest in her answer was sidetracked somewhat when Draco entered the room bearing his quarterly reports.
“Here are the -”
“Hush, Draco!” Lucius hissed, waving him to sit. “Not at the moment.”
“I’d prefer someone who wasn’t so limp,” Astoria groused.
“What the bloody hell are you listening to, Father?” Draco sneered as he took a seat near the bed. “Did you tune into the Perverted Pages again?”
Narrowing his eyes, Lucius glared. “That was an accident, boy.”
Draco didn’t even bother to hide his smirk. “Sure. And Professor Snape was a closet Flamenco dancer, as well.”
“How did you know?” Lucius asked with a stunned expression.
This time, Draco’s jaw dropped. “What, seriously?”
“Never mind,” the older Malfoy muttered. “You’re causing me to miss a most amusing conversation.”
“So Cornfoot just wouldn’t do? I understand.” More riffling through pages. “I know! Let’s visit the other end of the spectrum, shall we?”
“Erm…”
“How about Rabastan Lestrange? He’s definitely a pure-blood, quite handsome in a devil-may-care sort of way, still rich - even though he’s incarcerated - and a widower to boot.” One could tell Luna leaned in closer to the mic. “I also hear he makes an exceptional goulash… when they decide to let him near cooking utensils, that is.”
“I don’t think my parents would approve,” Astoria said hesitantly.
“Ah, so you need your parents’ approval before you marry. Is that it?”
“It would be preferable, since they control my inheritance.”
“What program is this?” Draco asked his father quietly. “I recognize old Looney, but who is the other woman?”
“Astoria Greengrass,” Lucius answered in hushed tones. “You may remember her sister, Daphne, as she was in your year at Hogwarts.”
“Astoria, you say?” Draco pursed his lips and tapped his thumb on his chin in contemplation. “If she’s as comely as her sister, maybe I should make an offer in the upcoming season?”
Lucius snorted. “Comely though they may be, Draco, the Greengrass women marry later in life for a reason.” He looked pointedly at his son. “They’re all harridans of the worst sort.”
“I don’t remember Daphne being any such way,” Draco countered. “Maybe you’re a bit blinkered.”
“Such common language, Draco,” Lucius admonished with a tsk. “I do wish you’d stop.”
Disregarding him, Draco continued. “Three of the last marriage contracts you’ve set for me have been terminated, Father. I don’t think I have the luxury of being picky anymore, not if you want me to marry a pure-blood.”
“Maybe I’ve been hasty…”
“Still no?” Luna sighed. “Well, I am quite determined to find you a match,” she told Astoria. “How about…” There was a significantly long pause in conversation as the listener could hear Luna tapping away on what sounded like a keyboard. “I have it! Draco Malfoy!”
“See? Even Lovegood thinks I’d be a great match,” the younger Malfoy chided.
“It says he’s CEO of his father’s company, obscenely and filthy rich, and…” A little titter of laughter escaped Luna’s lips. “Oh, my! Quite the dish!”
“Draco Malfoy?” the other woman whispered. “Why he’s positively dreamy! I’ll take him.”
A loud and thunderous ovation erupted from a non-existent studio audience and floated in the air, along with whoops from male voices and whistles from female ones.
“We have a winner, my patient listeners!” The congratulatory applause ended abruptly as Luna continued. “Let’s hope he doesn’t have the heart of a cucumber fried in snow. We will contact your intended and make introductions…” She trailed off as someone knocked on the studio door and low murmurs of conversation could be heard. “Well, it seems your beau has already provided us with an answer. Apparently he’s eager to start producing little Malfoys.”
“What?” Lucius roared, turning his ire on Draco, who was smiling mischievously.
Draco shrugged his shoulders. “You should really pay more attention to your surroundings, Father. I penned a note of intent several moments ago and sent it off. It’s not my fault you can’t keep track of my whereabouts.”
“That’s all for today, my wonderful wizards and witches,” Luna announced finally, ending her program. “We’ll be back next week and check up on our lovely Miss Greengrass and her chameleon on plaid, Mister Draco Malfoy - hopefully we’ll be hearing those wedding bells or rumours about them. But if not, always remember to put the cap back on the toothpaste, and never refuse homemade brownies.”
“Chameleon on plaid?” Lucius asked with raised eyebrows.
“Basically someone so adaptable as to be completely insincere,” Draco explained tersely.
Lucius studied his son closely. “Are you insincere with your interest towards Miss Greengrass?”
“No, she seems reasonable enough.” The young blond rubbed his temples. “At least there is no pretense that she would ever like me for my personality.”
“Then why would Luna allude to -”
“I don’t know, Father,” Draco bit out. “She’s mental, remember?”
Both Malfoys sat in silence. One pondered the peculiarities of Luna Lovegood - and an upcoming meeting with Astoria. The other silently fumed about being outmaneuvered by his own son, and worried about the welfare of his seemingly distant heart.
~*~
It had been almost a year since that event, and now Miss Astoria Greengrass was set to become the next Lady Malfoy in a month’s time. It was with immense gratitude that Lucius blessed his father’s foresight to decree that any engagement in the Malfoy family be a least a year long, as he really couldn’t stand the harpy, and anything that delayed the nuptials was golden in his book.
Once settled against the cushions Draco had provided, Lucius beckoned his son to sit with him and listen to tonight’s program, hoping that some foolish twist of fate would steer his son away from the beautiful hag in another wing of the house. Of course, Draco might grouse about listening to the tripe, as he’d called it, but he ultimately liked to please his father, so Lucius knew he would stay.
“Welcome once again, gentle listeners, to Love Be Good,” Luna cooed to her audience. “It’s the chilly month of December, and the winter is fully upon us. Happy Christmayulsolkwanzanukkah!”
“What the bloody hell did she just say?”
Snorting with laughter, Draco patted his father’s shoulder. “She just wished everyone a Happy Christmas, Yule, Solstice, Kwanza, and Hanukkah… all together.”
“Barmy chit,” Lucius muttered.
“No doubt.”
“Tonight, we have a surprise guest that just popped around to our studio and begged to be heard.”
“I did not beg, Auntie Luna, I simply asked.”
Tinkling laughter filtered through the mic. “Ah, yes, you did, dearest. Everyone, please welcome Rose Weasley.”
“Rose Weasley?” Draco questioned the wireless as if expecting an answer. “She’s only ten, if that. Why is she on Looney’s show?”
This was an interesting development, and Lucius planned to take advantage of it, as any good Slytherin would. “Perhaps she is there on behalf of someone.”
“That’s a laugh,” Draco sneered. “Who would she -”
“So tell us, Rose, how did you arrive at our studios and does your mum know where you are?” Luna queried in a conspiratorial tone.
“Mum’s out with Aunt Ginny, and she never pays attention when her nose is stuck in a book, so I decided to come here while they shop.”
“Bit late, don’t you think, to be out and about?”
“They’re taking forever getting shagged,” the little girl said grumpily.
Luna must have been drinking something at that moment because the audience heard lots of spluttering. “Getting shagged, you say?”
“Yes,” Rose agreed. “Aunt Ginny said mum needed to get shagged. I don’t know what that means, but I hope that’s what they’re getting while they’re shopping.”
“Erm, I see…” Luna cleared her throat. “So what brings you in, dearest?”
“Mum, of course,” Rose replied. “She needs another husband.”
There was muffled feedback from the mic as it was covered and low murmurs could be heard, but just as quickly, Luna returned and chuckled. “You want to find a husband for your mum on my show?”
“That’s why you run the show, isn’t it?”
“Quite right, milady,” Luna sing-songed. “What kind of husband is your mum looking for?”
“She doesn’t know I’m trying to find one for her,” Rose whispered into the mic. “But Uncle Harry told Uncle George that mum acts like Aunt Flow is never leaving, and if she doesn’t bloody well stop moping, he’s going to tear his hair out. And since Uncle Harry needs to keep what hair he has left so Aunt Ginny can grab it when they moan and shake the bed, I figure I’d better help him find her a husband so he doesn’t have to worry about her moods.”
“You’re a very thoughtful niece, Rose,” Luna praised between titters. “How long do you think it will take to find one she’ll like?”
“Well, most men are brainless, so she may have to try more than once to find a live one.”
“So you think it’ll take several dates to find out if they’re compatible?” Luna asked, the audience obviously aware that she was enchanted with her wee guest.
“On the first date, they’ll just tell each other lies… and that usually gets them interested enough to go for a second date,” Rose explained, having clearly worked out the answers for herself.
“But what about someone like your dad?”
“Mum loved Dad… a lot. She always told me, ‘There’s only one Ron Weasley,’ and I know she’s right because I never knew anyone else with that name. So, I don’t think I can find anyone like Dad.”
“I’ll give the Weaselette her due,” Draco drawled. “She definitely knew her father.”
“Hush, Draco,” Lucius growled. “It’s because of us that she’s fatherless.”
“Don’t tell me you actually care that Weasley perished in the flames,” Draco snapped. “Because you certainly didn’t care that Mother died.”
“Get. Out.” The older Malfoy gritted his teeth, seething. “You know nothing of the situation, or my regard for your mother.”
“Fine,” Draco spat, rising from his chair. “This utter nonsense was a waste of my time anyways.” He left, slamming the door in his wake.
Lucius pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. His son was becoming more and more distant as the days went by, and he hadn’t a clue as to how to reach him in time… before he succumbed to the nag from Hell, whose own heart was more frigid than a crone’s teat. Lying back, he returned his attention to the sprite in the spotlight.
“What do you think dating will be like for your mum?”
“I think when somebody’s been dating for a while, the man might propose to the woman. He’ll say, ‘I’ll take you for a whole life, or at least until we have kids and get a divorce’.”
“Really? You think so?”
“Dating is just practicing for when they might have to walk down the aisle someday and do the holy matchimony thing. Then they promise to go through sickness and illness and diseases together.”
The listeners could tell that Luna was trying with all her might not to burst out laughing. “You don’t say…”
“But I just did, Auntie Luna! Are you not paying attention?”
“Yes, dearest, I am.” Luna apologized. “It’s just you offer such a unique view on courtships, that’s all.”
“Is that good?” the girl asked in a worried tone. “I don’t want my mum to get a vampire husband that’ll suck her dry, or something like that.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Rose,” Luna assured her. “I only have one vampire in my files and I can tell you he wouldn’t be interested in your mum at all, unless she was O negative.” She added, “What about kissing?”
“As long as they don’t do it in front of me, it’s okay,” Rose said with disgust. “Last time I saw Uncle Harry kissing Aunt Ginny it looked like he was trying to steal her chewing gum. It was very gross.”
“Sounds like it,” Luna concurred. “How do you -”
“Rose Elizabeth Weasley!” came a shout over the airwaves.
“Ah, gentle listeners, welcome another surprise guest: Hermione Weasley,” Luna ad-libbed.
“You’re in such trouble, young lady!”
“But Mum…”
“How dare you disappear during one of the busiest shopping days of the year?” Hermione scolded. “You could’ve been kidnapped, or worse. And don’t you even think of telling me it was for research, you incorrigible little -”
“Mum!” Rose tried to stop her tirade.
There was a telling silence where the mic was covered and the buzzing of raised voices could be heard, but no discernable conversation could be understood. Then, moments later, Luna returned to her hostess duties, sounding a bit frazzled.
“So, Hermione…” Luna began. “Rose was telling us about what you would like in a husband, care to elaborate?”
“What I’d like in a…” A girlish squeal sounded from somewhere in the room, but Hermione replied, “I don’t think this is an appropriate discussion.”
“I disagree,” Luna said sympathetically. “It sounds as if you truly loved Ron. People who truly loved once are far more likely to love again.” Minute sniffles could be heard coming from the other mic, but Luna went on. “Do you think there's someone out there you could love as much as your husband?”
“That’s hard to imagine, Luna,” Hermione answered quietly. “Ron was so unique; there’ll never be another like him.”
“Then, what will you do?”
“Well, I'm going to get out of bed every morning... breath in and out all day long. Then, after a while, I won't have to remind myself to get out of bed every morning and breathe in and out. After enough time has passed, I won't have to think about how I had it great and perfect.”
“But it’s been almost five years since Ron died,” Luna said softly. “And you haven’t moved on. Tell me what was so special about your husband?”
At first, Hermione was silent, and one could tell she was trying to gain control of her emotions, finally speaking when she felt she could muster the strength to continue. “How long is your program, Luna? It was a million tiny little things that, when you added them all up, meant we were supposed to be together... and I knew it. I knew it the very first time I touched him. It was like coming home, only to no home I'd ever known. I was just showing him how to perform the Wingardium Leviosa charm, and I knew. It was like deep, elemental magic.”
“Oh, fiddlesticks!” Luna grumbled. “Our time has run out!”
“That’s quite all right,” Hermione assured her friend. “I need to get Rose home and discuss some things.”
“Don’t be too hard on her,” Luna pleaded. “She just wants to see her mum happy again.”
Instead of addressing Luna, Hermione could be heard reprimanding her daughter once more, their voices fading until they were no more. Luna sighed.
“Gentle listeners, my heart aches for one of my dearest friends,” she said sadly. “If any of you wizards listening think you have what it takes to stand next to a war heroine, then by all means send your correspondence to our show, and we’ll see what we can do. Until next time, never cut what can be untied, and measure others by the size of their hearts, not their bank accounts.”
That gut-wrenching feeling spread throughout Lucius once more as he found tears clinging to his lashes. Blasted and damnable Muggle-born! He didn’t want to feel guilt for her situation. He didn’t want to yearn on Draco’s behalf for a love like she’d described with Weasley Junior. If he was a younger man and not disabled, he would issue a correspondence for Mrs. Weasley himself, but he knew deep in his heart that Narcissa had been his one true love.
Suddenly, a calculating idea struck him, and hard. Summoning a quill, ink, and parchment, he began writing a missive, laughing to himself every few sentences and congratulating himself on his supposed ingenuity.
Astoria Greengrass would never become the next Lady Malfoy. He’d bet his life’s fortune on it - or he wasn’t the most manipulative Slytherin bastard that ever lived.
Chapter 2
ferretbush_post is the account the mods use to post the gifts. It has not authored or created any of the gifts.
Author/Artist: rivertempest
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns the whole of Harry Potter and the all the stuff that goes with it. Sadly, I own nothing, nor do I make anything as I am only a lowly minion.
Warnings: A few slurs here and there, cursing of the pure-blood sort. Somewhat EWE in that Draco isn't married and Hermione only has Rose, no Hugo. (Great name for a writer, terrible name for a child)
Summary: After suffering at the ignominious hands of Fate, Lucius Malfoy realizes that if he doesn’t take it upon himself to change the direction of Draco’s life, future generations might be at risk. Fortunately, he has a very willing partner-in-crime to help him accomplish this monumental feat: Rose Weasley.
Notes: hanako_no_yume, I hope you like this! I could not done this without three beautiful ladies: dusty273 , imbloodyenglish , and ssddgr (who was so sick, but beta'd for me anyway). Thank you all. A few lines were shamelessly borrowed from the movie 'Sleepless In Seattle', but only a couple.
“Turn on the Wizarding Wireless, Draco,” Lucius mumbled as he shifted his body on the oversized bed. “Lovegood’s program is about to start.”
Hooking his arms under his father’s, the younger Malfoy lifted Lucius’ wasted torso, so that he could slip a pillow behind his back. That accomplished, he let his father settle against the plush feather bolster, shaking his head in disbelief.
“I don’t know why you listen to that tripe.” He handed Lucius a bowl of thick, nutrient-ladened bisque, coaxing him to eat. “Mum is probably turning over in her grave knowing you’re part of Luna’s audience.”
Lucius snorted. “Considering how your mother died, I hardly believe she’s doing much turning.” He smirked and added, “More likely indulging in mischief by causing Muggle-borns to sneeze with her ash.”
“Just as well,” Draco mused as he moved to the far table to twist the knobs on the radio. “I’ll never acknowledge the fact that Lovegood is the reason Astoria is set to become the next Madam Malfoy.”
Watching his son do his bidding, Lucius grimaced and murmured to himself, “Not if I can help it.”
~*~
It’d been almost ten years since the end of the war, and things had changed drastically for the Malfoys. Not financially, of course, but the family as a whole had been irrevocably altered.
Narcissa, having deceived the Dark Lord with regards to Harry Potter’s status of being amongst the living, was Crucio’d until she lay unconscious on the battlefield. It was unknown who had hexed her so venomously, but months later after she’d awakened from a coma in St. Mungo’s, Lucius and Draco had gained an inkling of the damage to her nervous system from the continuous use of the curse.
Upon bringing her home, for the staff at the hospital could do no more for her and felt she would improve if surrounded by familiar things, they’d noticed she would pick up items and grip them fiercely, as if trying to ground herself to something steady and solid. This behavior had become increasingly worse when, in a fit of desperation during a particularly violent episode, she’d grabbed their oldest house-elf, Nini, and strangled him to death accidentally.
Afterwards, Narcissa had taken up the Muggle habit of smoking, much to Lucius’ disgust, arguing it kept her hands busy and they shook less if she was holding a cigarette - which happened to be all the time, barring her sleeping hours. At one point, Lucius had told her to choose between smelling like the foulest pit of Hell - and he should know, as he’d spent considerable time in Voldemort’s presence - or spending time with her loving family without the crutch of smoking.
She’d immediately told her husband that he could go kiss a Hippogriff’s bollocks and to go get her another carton of fags, thank you very much.
Since Draco was away at university, and a house-elf couldn’t very well go to a Muggle market, it was up to Lucius to see to her request. He detested venturing into Muggle Salisbury - the closest Muggle city that carried such things in their part of Wiltshire - and had planned on telling his wife, upon returning to the manor, that if she wanted to pollute her body further she would have to find another accomplice, as he was through capitulating to this particular habit.
All his reprimands had died in his throat the moment he’d Apparated back to the receiving parlor to find black, acrid smoke billowing from Narcissa’s wing of the house. House-elves had been scrambling and screaming everywhere, and he’d grabbed one and demanded to know what was going on.
Through its gibbering cries, Lucius had learned that Narcissa had had one last cigarette in her pack, crumpled as it was. Per Lucius’ instructions, the elves had been ordered to prevent her from lighting up until he’d returned, in case she went into one of her fits while he was away. Apparently, in a pique of irritation, and a seizure at the worst possible moment, she’d cast Fiendfyre in a desperate attempt to light the tobacco, and had lost control immediately.
Of course, the blaze had alerted the Ministry - as the Malfoys were always closely watched - which had sent three Aurors to help contain the inferno - Dawlish, Proudfoot, and Ron Weasley, the three available at the time. Upon arrival, Dawlish had emptied the manor of its inhabitants, while Proudfoot and Weasley had tried to gain control over the coiling fiery serpent making its way steadily through the massive house. At one point, Weasley had drawn the flame towards the lake in the back gardens, confident that it would extinguish itself with the cool waters, but one miscalculation in direction and he too was consumed by the hungry fire.
By the time the conflagration had exhausted itself, more than half the mansion had been destroyed, the strong wards on the manse the only thing that kept it from complete destruction. Weasley, Narcissa, and five house-elves had died. Lucius and Proudfoot had suffered severe burns to their torsos and arms that were unable to be healed magically. Dawlish had experienced concentrated smoke inhalation that had permanently scarred his lungs, causing him to be removed from Auror duties.
Lavish funeral services had been held for Ron and Narcissa, Lucius paying for everything more out of a sense of guilt than regret. Before, during, and after the services, Hermione Weasley had said not one word to anyone, not even to her five year old daughter, Rose. At the conclusion, Draco had said he’d observed Hermione grip Rose’s hand tightly and Disapparate, leaving behind many bewildered mourners, friends, and family. Several months later, though she’d protested, Hermione had finally allowed her husband to be honoured by the Malfoy family by them building a Muggle-Wizarding library near their home in Ottery St. Catchpole. It was the last they’d heard from her.
That had been four years ago, and not a day went by that Lucius didn’t miss his wife or Draco his mother. Healers had tried everything they could to help Lucius and Proudfoot with the resulting damage, but had only been able to do so much, and - with the treatments unbearably painful in nature - the older Malfoy had halted their work before they could achieve any measure of success. Eventually, Proudfoot had succumbed to his injuries a year later, but Lucius had stubbornly held onto life through multiple infections that could only be treated with several rounds of high-powered Muggle antibiotics.
He was a shell of his former self, an emaciated shadow that directed his business affairs from the comfort of his four-poster bed with Draco at the helm for the most part. He couldn’t complain though, as the fire had spared his face and Lucius was ever a vain peacock if there was one. He’d also gained an appreciation for Muggle things, like Arthur Weasley always had, much to his eternal hatred. The thought that kept him awake at night was how a mere Muggle medicine was able to fend off the ravages of disease when magic couldn’t.
It was during the past year that Lucius had begun listening to the wireless in his spare time, relaxing with music when his muscles became tense and his flesh refused to budge because of the scar tissue. The soothing sounds would lull him into a stupor that allowed for a release of contracted tendons from the rigors of staying upright and not drowning in pulmonary fluids. He thought his entire ordeal rather repulsive, to be honest, as there was nothing more degrading than to expire because one didn’t have the capacity to cough.
One evening, while listening to Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings on the wireless, Lucius was struck with a curious ache in his chest, which didn’t cease until the music ended. Rubbing his collarbone, he felt his panic level rise, and clutched at the duvet with his free hand, ready to call out to a house-elf, when he realized that the ache was not another symptom of his injured state. Hesitantly, he touched his face and realized he’d been crying as he absorbed the haunting movement.
Merlin’s bones! He couldn’t recall the last time he’d shed any tears, and that included his wife’s funeral, though he loved her dearly. Malfoys just didn’t cry; it was plain and simple. It was unmanly, it exposed too many weaknesses, it blurred the vision and clogged the sinuses - take your pick of unwanted side-effects. Lucius abhorred all of them.
An ethereal voice interrupted his introspection.
“Do you find yourself longing for something unknown?”
Looking around, Lucius concluded the voice was originating from the wireless receiver. In a moment of sheer vulnerability, he whispered to the empty room, “Yes.”
“Does your heart ache for the succor of a friendly voice?” the lilting register asked the audience.
Biting back a whimper, Lucius closed his eyes to will away the tears, but it was no use. “Oh, yes.”
“Then you’ve arrived at the right place, gentle listeners,” the voice assured. “Welcome to Luna’s Love Be Good, your connection to the witch or wizard of your dreams.”
If Lucius had been waiting for something profound to happen within his soul, he was sorely disappointed. Slowly, he opened his eyes and stared at the radio, his lips thinning. “Damnable chit!” he groused, reaching for a pillow to throw at the device. “Leave off the chatter and return to the music!”
“Our first guest is Astoria Greengrass,” Luna announced, ignoring Lucius’ unheard threats. “Please tell us what you’re looking for, Astoria.”
“Pure-blood and rich,” Astoria answered nonchalantly.
There was a significant pause that ended with Luna heaving an irritated sigh. “Is that all?”
“And handsome,” the other girl added.
“What about intelligence?” Luna prompted, giving the witch a chance to prove she wasn’t as vacuous as she appeared.
“Well,” the other woman drawled. “It’s not needed. I can run things if he’s a simpleton.”
“Oh, really?” Luna sounded like she was shuffling papers around. “This here is Stephen Cornfoot - handsome, pure-blood, and rich - but in the Circe Ward at St. Mungos for the magically insane. Will he do?”
Unable to help his curiosity, Lucius had been listening to Lovegood’s program and now waited to hear what the Greengrass girl would say, as her family had not been particularly supportive of either side during the war. His interest in her answer was sidetracked somewhat when Draco entered the room bearing his quarterly reports.
“Here are the -”
“Hush, Draco!” Lucius hissed, waving him to sit. “Not at the moment.”
“I’d prefer someone who wasn’t so limp,” Astoria groused.
“What the bloody hell are you listening to, Father?” Draco sneered as he took a seat near the bed. “Did you tune into the Perverted Pages again?”
Narrowing his eyes, Lucius glared. “That was an accident, boy.”
Draco didn’t even bother to hide his smirk. “Sure. And Professor Snape was a closet Flamenco dancer, as well.”
“How did you know?” Lucius asked with a stunned expression.
This time, Draco’s jaw dropped. “What, seriously?”
“Never mind,” the older Malfoy muttered. “You’re causing me to miss a most amusing conversation.”
“So Cornfoot just wouldn’t do? I understand.” More riffling through pages. “I know! Let’s visit the other end of the spectrum, shall we?”
“Erm…”
“How about Rabastan Lestrange? He’s definitely a pure-blood, quite handsome in a devil-may-care sort of way, still rich - even though he’s incarcerated - and a widower to boot.” One could tell Luna leaned in closer to the mic. “I also hear he makes an exceptional goulash… when they decide to let him near cooking utensils, that is.”
“I don’t think my parents would approve,” Astoria said hesitantly.
“Ah, so you need your parents’ approval before you marry. Is that it?”
“It would be preferable, since they control my inheritance.”
“What program is this?” Draco asked his father quietly. “I recognize old Looney, but who is the other woman?”
“Astoria Greengrass,” Lucius answered in hushed tones. “You may remember her sister, Daphne, as she was in your year at Hogwarts.”
“Astoria, you say?” Draco pursed his lips and tapped his thumb on his chin in contemplation. “If she’s as comely as her sister, maybe I should make an offer in the upcoming season?”
Lucius snorted. “Comely though they may be, Draco, the Greengrass women marry later in life for a reason.” He looked pointedly at his son. “They’re all harridans of the worst sort.”
“I don’t remember Daphne being any such way,” Draco countered. “Maybe you’re a bit blinkered.”
“Such common language, Draco,” Lucius admonished with a tsk. “I do wish you’d stop.”
Disregarding him, Draco continued. “Three of the last marriage contracts you’ve set for me have been terminated, Father. I don’t think I have the luxury of being picky anymore, not if you want me to marry a pure-blood.”
“Maybe I’ve been hasty…”
“Still no?” Luna sighed. “Well, I am quite determined to find you a match,” she told Astoria. “How about…” There was a significantly long pause in conversation as the listener could hear Luna tapping away on what sounded like a keyboard. “I have it! Draco Malfoy!”
“See? Even Lovegood thinks I’d be a great match,” the younger Malfoy chided.
“It says he’s CEO of his father’s company, obscenely and filthy rich, and…” A little titter of laughter escaped Luna’s lips. “Oh, my! Quite the dish!”
“Draco Malfoy?” the other woman whispered. “Why he’s positively dreamy! I’ll take him.”
A loud and thunderous ovation erupted from a non-existent studio audience and floated in the air, along with whoops from male voices and whistles from female ones.
“We have a winner, my patient listeners!” The congratulatory applause ended abruptly as Luna continued. “Let’s hope he doesn’t have the heart of a cucumber fried in snow. We will contact your intended and make introductions…” She trailed off as someone knocked on the studio door and low murmurs of conversation could be heard. “Well, it seems your beau has already provided us with an answer. Apparently he’s eager to start producing little Malfoys.”
“What?” Lucius roared, turning his ire on Draco, who was smiling mischievously.
Draco shrugged his shoulders. “You should really pay more attention to your surroundings, Father. I penned a note of intent several moments ago and sent it off. It’s not my fault you can’t keep track of my whereabouts.”
“That’s all for today, my wonderful wizards and witches,” Luna announced finally, ending her program. “We’ll be back next week and check up on our lovely Miss Greengrass and her chameleon on plaid, Mister Draco Malfoy - hopefully we’ll be hearing those wedding bells or rumours about them. But if not, always remember to put the cap back on the toothpaste, and never refuse homemade brownies.”
“Chameleon on plaid?” Lucius asked with raised eyebrows.
“Basically someone so adaptable as to be completely insincere,” Draco explained tersely.
Lucius studied his son closely. “Are you insincere with your interest towards Miss Greengrass?”
“No, she seems reasonable enough.” The young blond rubbed his temples. “At least there is no pretense that she would ever like me for my personality.”
“Then why would Luna allude to -”
“I don’t know, Father,” Draco bit out. “She’s mental, remember?”
Both Malfoys sat in silence. One pondered the peculiarities of Luna Lovegood - and an upcoming meeting with Astoria. The other silently fumed about being outmaneuvered by his own son, and worried about the welfare of his seemingly distant heart.
~*~
It had been almost a year since that event, and now Miss Astoria Greengrass was set to become the next Lady Malfoy in a month’s time. It was with immense gratitude that Lucius blessed his father’s foresight to decree that any engagement in the Malfoy family be a least a year long, as he really couldn’t stand the harpy, and anything that delayed the nuptials was golden in his book.
Once settled against the cushions Draco had provided, Lucius beckoned his son to sit with him and listen to tonight’s program, hoping that some foolish twist of fate would steer his son away from the beautiful hag in another wing of the house. Of course, Draco might grouse about listening to the tripe, as he’d called it, but he ultimately liked to please his father, so Lucius knew he would stay.
“Welcome once again, gentle listeners, to Love Be Good,” Luna cooed to her audience. “It’s the chilly month of December, and the winter is fully upon us. Happy Christmayulsolkwanzanukkah!”
“What the bloody hell did she just say?”
Snorting with laughter, Draco patted his father’s shoulder. “She just wished everyone a Happy Christmas, Yule, Solstice, Kwanza, and Hanukkah… all together.”
“Barmy chit,” Lucius muttered.
“No doubt.”
“Tonight, we have a surprise guest that just popped around to our studio and begged to be heard.”
“I did not beg, Auntie Luna, I simply asked.”
Tinkling laughter filtered through the mic. “Ah, yes, you did, dearest. Everyone, please welcome Rose Weasley.”
“Rose Weasley?” Draco questioned the wireless as if expecting an answer. “She’s only ten, if that. Why is she on Looney’s show?”
This was an interesting development, and Lucius planned to take advantage of it, as any good Slytherin would. “Perhaps she is there on behalf of someone.”
“That’s a laugh,” Draco sneered. “Who would she -”
“So tell us, Rose, how did you arrive at our studios and does your mum know where you are?” Luna queried in a conspiratorial tone.
“Mum’s out with Aunt Ginny, and she never pays attention when her nose is stuck in a book, so I decided to come here while they shop.”
“Bit late, don’t you think, to be out and about?”
“They’re taking forever getting shagged,” the little girl said grumpily.
Luna must have been drinking something at that moment because the audience heard lots of spluttering. “Getting shagged, you say?”
“Yes,” Rose agreed. “Aunt Ginny said mum needed to get shagged. I don’t know what that means, but I hope that’s what they’re getting while they’re shopping.”
“Erm, I see…” Luna cleared her throat. “So what brings you in, dearest?”
“Mum, of course,” Rose replied. “She needs another husband.”
There was muffled feedback from the mic as it was covered and low murmurs could be heard, but just as quickly, Luna returned and chuckled. “You want to find a husband for your mum on my show?”
“That’s why you run the show, isn’t it?”
“Quite right, milady,” Luna sing-songed. “What kind of husband is your mum looking for?”
“She doesn’t know I’m trying to find one for her,” Rose whispered into the mic. “But Uncle Harry told Uncle George that mum acts like Aunt Flow is never leaving, and if she doesn’t bloody well stop moping, he’s going to tear his hair out. And since Uncle Harry needs to keep what hair he has left so Aunt Ginny can grab it when they moan and shake the bed, I figure I’d better help him find her a husband so he doesn’t have to worry about her moods.”
“You’re a very thoughtful niece, Rose,” Luna praised between titters. “How long do you think it will take to find one she’ll like?”
“Well, most men are brainless, so she may have to try more than once to find a live one.”
“So you think it’ll take several dates to find out if they’re compatible?” Luna asked, the audience obviously aware that she was enchanted with her wee guest.
“On the first date, they’ll just tell each other lies… and that usually gets them interested enough to go for a second date,” Rose explained, having clearly worked out the answers for herself.
“But what about someone like your dad?”
“Mum loved Dad… a lot. She always told me, ‘There’s only one Ron Weasley,’ and I know she’s right because I never knew anyone else with that name. So, I don’t think I can find anyone like Dad.”
“I’ll give the Weaselette her due,” Draco drawled. “She definitely knew her father.”
“Hush, Draco,” Lucius growled. “It’s because of us that she’s fatherless.”
“Don’t tell me you actually care that Weasley perished in the flames,” Draco snapped. “Because you certainly didn’t care that Mother died.”
“Get. Out.” The older Malfoy gritted his teeth, seething. “You know nothing of the situation, or my regard for your mother.”
“Fine,” Draco spat, rising from his chair. “This utter nonsense was a waste of my time anyways.” He left, slamming the door in his wake.
Lucius pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. His son was becoming more and more distant as the days went by, and he hadn’t a clue as to how to reach him in time… before he succumbed to the nag from Hell, whose own heart was more frigid than a crone’s teat. Lying back, he returned his attention to the sprite in the spotlight.
“What do you think dating will be like for your mum?”
“I think when somebody’s been dating for a while, the man might propose to the woman. He’ll say, ‘I’ll take you for a whole life, or at least until we have kids and get a divorce’.”
“Really? You think so?”
“Dating is just practicing for when they might have to walk down the aisle someday and do the holy matchimony thing. Then they promise to go through sickness and illness and diseases together.”
The listeners could tell that Luna was trying with all her might not to burst out laughing. “You don’t say…”
“But I just did, Auntie Luna! Are you not paying attention?”
“Yes, dearest, I am.” Luna apologized. “It’s just you offer such a unique view on courtships, that’s all.”
“Is that good?” the girl asked in a worried tone. “I don’t want my mum to get a vampire husband that’ll suck her dry, or something like that.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Rose,” Luna assured her. “I only have one vampire in my files and I can tell you he wouldn’t be interested in your mum at all, unless she was O negative.” She added, “What about kissing?”
“As long as they don’t do it in front of me, it’s okay,” Rose said with disgust. “Last time I saw Uncle Harry kissing Aunt Ginny it looked like he was trying to steal her chewing gum. It was very gross.”
“Sounds like it,” Luna concurred. “How do you -”
“Rose Elizabeth Weasley!” came a shout over the airwaves.
“Ah, gentle listeners, welcome another surprise guest: Hermione Weasley,” Luna ad-libbed.
“You’re in such trouble, young lady!”
“But Mum…”
“How dare you disappear during one of the busiest shopping days of the year?” Hermione scolded. “You could’ve been kidnapped, or worse. And don’t you even think of telling me it was for research, you incorrigible little -”
“Mum!” Rose tried to stop her tirade.
There was a telling silence where the mic was covered and the buzzing of raised voices could be heard, but no discernable conversation could be understood. Then, moments later, Luna returned to her hostess duties, sounding a bit frazzled.
“So, Hermione…” Luna began. “Rose was telling us about what you would like in a husband, care to elaborate?”
“What I’d like in a…” A girlish squeal sounded from somewhere in the room, but Hermione replied, “I don’t think this is an appropriate discussion.”
“I disagree,” Luna said sympathetically. “It sounds as if you truly loved Ron. People who truly loved once are far more likely to love again.” Minute sniffles could be heard coming from the other mic, but Luna went on. “Do you think there's someone out there you could love as much as your husband?”
“That’s hard to imagine, Luna,” Hermione answered quietly. “Ron was so unique; there’ll never be another like him.”
“Then, what will you do?”
“Well, I'm going to get out of bed every morning... breath in and out all day long. Then, after a while, I won't have to remind myself to get out of bed every morning and breathe in and out. After enough time has passed, I won't have to think about how I had it great and perfect.”
“But it’s been almost five years since Ron died,” Luna said softly. “And you haven’t moved on. Tell me what was so special about your husband?”
At first, Hermione was silent, and one could tell she was trying to gain control of her emotions, finally speaking when she felt she could muster the strength to continue. “How long is your program, Luna? It was a million tiny little things that, when you added them all up, meant we were supposed to be together... and I knew it. I knew it the very first time I touched him. It was like coming home, only to no home I'd ever known. I was just showing him how to perform the Wingardium Leviosa charm, and I knew. It was like deep, elemental magic.”
“Oh, fiddlesticks!” Luna grumbled. “Our time has run out!”
“That’s quite all right,” Hermione assured her friend. “I need to get Rose home and discuss some things.”
“Don’t be too hard on her,” Luna pleaded. “She just wants to see her mum happy again.”
Instead of addressing Luna, Hermione could be heard reprimanding her daughter once more, their voices fading until they were no more. Luna sighed.
“Gentle listeners, my heart aches for one of my dearest friends,” she said sadly. “If any of you wizards listening think you have what it takes to stand next to a war heroine, then by all means send your correspondence to our show, and we’ll see what we can do. Until next time, never cut what can be untied, and measure others by the size of their hearts, not their bank accounts.”
That gut-wrenching feeling spread throughout Lucius once more as he found tears clinging to his lashes. Blasted and damnable Muggle-born! He didn’t want to feel guilt for her situation. He didn’t want to yearn on Draco’s behalf for a love like she’d described with Weasley Junior. If he was a younger man and not disabled, he would issue a correspondence for Mrs. Weasley himself, but he knew deep in his heart that Narcissa had been his one true love.
Suddenly, a calculating idea struck him, and hard. Summoning a quill, ink, and parchment, he began writing a missive, laughing to himself every few sentences and congratulating himself on his supposed ingenuity.
Astoria Greengrass would never become the next Lady Malfoy. He’d bet his life’s fortune on it - or he wasn’t the most manipulative Slytherin bastard that ever lived.
Chapter 2
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