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Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater, had been one since he was a youth of seventeen. During his years as a Death Eater he had enjoyed the thrill of killing people, of seeing red. Torn between faimly, h...
Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater, had been one since he was a youth of seventeen. During his years as a Death Eater he had enjoyed the thrill of killing people, of seeing red. One might say he had become addicted. The aftershock, the months, the years after the War had been tiring. Lucius had no choice in being an upstanding citizen. It was that or Death.
He had no one to confide in. Narcissa, while loving in her own way and as his perfect pureblood wife, could not understand why he still longed for the dark days, as she was oft to call them. They had been a dirty time, and Narcissa despised dirt, blood was very dirty.
She had not enjoyed birthing Draco. But then, Lucius had considered, it had not been a pretty birth. Narcissa had suffered, so, to the point where it would have been very dangerous to persist in child bearing. Lucius had been patient with her. He had Draco, his heir and blood and he had her, his lovely wife. There could haven been other children. But there probably have not been Narcissa.
In his position, Lucius often had to attend balls and meetings. Most of the time, nothing important occurred, but you could never be to sure. Lucius loathed going. The witches and wizards there, pureblood some may be, were disgusting creatures.
Many time times he had stared in the face of some wizard, feeling nothing but disgust for the squirming, slobbering creature. It was a trial not to grimace and spit at their feet. To draw his wand and cast the killing curse. Or would he be crueler, as befitted their position? Perhaps even Crucio was too kind. Briefly he remembered the blood traitors Longbottoms. They were still alive, and Lucius could not have stood that, he wanted to see their blood run, run red.
His dreams, his fantasies were impossible at the moment. If he had succumbed to the desire, the need, to kill, Lucius was sure he would not sunlight for many years if ever.
But today he did. He had to simply smile and nod to these oily powerful men, who nodded and waddled away. Wishing for their blood to run freely on the marble floors, to trail down their open, upturned mouth. To force them to swallow their own excesses.
A firm, light touch on his elbow was all he needed. To remember, and forget. Narcissa, smiling dutifully but with a harder underlying edge to her sickly sweet smile. A smart woman, who hid under a simpering facade.
Narcissa had been a Black when she had first met Lord Voldemort. Acted out a shy girl in front of the lust filled eyes of the lines of Death Eaters as she was presented, like of the courts of old.
The Dark Lord had taken her to his chambers and had spoken to her for some hours. At least, Narcissa had told him more than half a decade afterwards, still new into their marriage, had told him. Lucius, much younger than he felt now, had been briefly angered. Narcissa had been a virgin when she had wed him, true, but there were other ways of pleasing a man.
Then, Draco had proven what words could not. While they both lied easily to one another, some things can not be left unsaid. Lucius had been satisfied that to Narcissa's knowledge nothing had occurred. Draco had changed their marriage.
It had eased the craving for a time. For several years, all the dreams had faded to dim shadows and Narcissa had shined as she returned to health. They had both loved Draco. The Malfoy household had never been happier.
One day Lucius received an owl from an old school friend. Someone of similar status and style, but exiled to the Continent. It appeared that the damned Boy-Who-Lived had not been entirely successful.
During a meeting with the Dark Lord, Lucius had learnt many things, the Malfoy nature in him had observed what had not been told and read between the lines, a mere weeks later in a deep, dank forest someplace in Eastern Europe.
When he had returned home, he had thrown a House Elf to the wall, it's skull had near broken under the force. To this day, it smiled with an addled mind. Narcissa had thought to kill it, but it still performed it's chores.
Later that night, Lucius was found clutching at the sheets. His chest scraped by his own torn and bloody nails. When he first opened his eyes, to the worried, wearied gaze of Narcissa, his eyes had been red.
It had been regretful, the rift between them. But once stirred, Lucius could not be sated by mere coupling of the flesh no matter that he marked the pale skin of Narcissa, her eyes solemn as he struck at her. She had been willing, but she had not enjoyed what he had done to her. Lucius hadn't either, guilt stirring with his loins.
Animals, big or small, only gave him a small measure of pleasure as he killed them. It was quickly shaken from his body as he returned back to the Manor, to Narcissa and Draco.
The child's eyes were the most frightening, it seemed to Lucius. Draco had stepped away from him, as Lucius reached out with one hand soaked with blood and entrails.
At that moment, Narcissa had refused him entry into their home. Both were furious and magic, nearly unleased tingled the air between. They both didn't notice Draco leave, the boy must have slipped away while they exchanged bitter words.
He wasn't found for three days. For those three days, Lucius had run around like a chicken with his head cut off. He doubted later on that he had made little sense to any one but... Lucius had felt no small ounce of guilt at the thought of Draco being missing.
Eventually he was found. But not before Narcissa had lashed out again at Lucius, destroying any hope of trust between them for some months, years. It had been partly his fault he had considered.
Draco was so young. Lucius wasn't sure he remembered being that young. Once he had found some old pictures of him, but they were surreal, disjointed. This wasn't him, this wasn't the powerful, infamous Lucius Malfoy. This was a child.
A child shouldn't feel joy at death. At that young age, with his mother recently buried, Lucius certainly hadn't. Coming to Voldemort and all that followed had been his choice. But he had been barely of age when he had decided to become a Death Eater.
It had been his choice, yet sometimes Lucius felt that in this matter, the Malfoys were too great, too pureblood to be left alone. Voldemort would have sought him out. In this case it was better to come first, to kneel and kiss the hem of his cloak. It was best.
Soon he was performing all sorts of tasks, he had been eager at first. Like a puppy dog. Back then, he had first wanted to kill those filthy Mudbloods, the dirty despicable Muggles. In some ways, Lucius has not changed.
The first time he had killed he had thrown up on the shoes of his mentor. He had been kicked in the gut for that. The Muggles he remembered, had died screaming. But lying there, watching the clear sky, Lucius had felt only for himself. He had cared little for other people then. Not even himself. But if he cared for anyone, it would have to have been himself.
On the next kill, it had been quiet and he had done his duty, no more, no less. It had rained early in the evening, and mud stains had littered the end of his cloak.
Watching people die had first been seen with horror, then fascination and then... Lucius started to like killing people. Seeing their eyes bulge and their mouth gasp for breath one last time... Was thrilling.
Soon afterwards Lucius had entered then Inner Circle, and had felt the true mastery of death as he faced his fellow Death Eaters. these were people who could keep a man alive for days.
Lucius when he wanted to, could be a very able student. The blood had flown freely in those years, while now it was a mere trickle, waning as years went by.
Narcissa had married him during the height of the War. She had been a pretty creature, Voldemort and her parents had chosen her for him. They had wanted sons from him. More of his blood.
Voldemort had laughed, bitterly and cruelly, when Draco had been born. Lucius had been pleased. Strong and tall, when he had delivered the news. Narcissa had not yet been told she could no longer have children. Wane and pale, she had stroked Draco's forehead, and kissed him softly, gently.
Later that night, Lucius had killed a score of Muggles. One of them, a young girl, has scratched his face. He had returned home that night, the red marks a reminder to Narcissa, of his bloody desires and wants. That night she had run away from him, crying. Lucius had felt anger, like he had never felt before. Narcissa had not run far before he had found her. That night she couldn't stop weeping, Draco had screamed as he had kissed Narcissa, not waiting for her to kiss him back, he had ripped off her robes.
The next day, a mediwitch had come. Lucius had excepted the news with a smile, chillingly. He had been the one who had told Narcissa. She had been cradling Draco, and had smiled down at her baby.
For the next three days, Lucius went of a killing spree. The Dark Lord had been surprised, but pleased. A Christening in blood, he had called it. Through no one had understood, later Voldemort had laughed as he reported another killing, then went on another.
After the third night, Lucius had collapsed. For seven days, he had slept. It was dawn on the eighth day when he opened his eyes. Narcissa was sitting next to him, bruises still littering her pale neck. Her breasts full with milk, nipples dark against the lace of her near sheer nightgown. Her lovely eyes were watching the sun.
She was taunting him. Lucius knew that he deserved this, so he had kept his eyes open. Filling himself with her angry presence. Narcissa seemed calm, but she had a skill with acting. He knew that she was furious.
In took three months of punishment before she even looked at him. Draco had been with them, a baby. Theirs, hers, his. Little fat hands clapping together as Mummy made faces and Daddy stood in the background. Lucius had not spoken to Narcissa in three months. At nights he spoke to Draco, his son, before he slept.
It was Draco that had made her speak to him, Lucius had been eternally grateful. Lucius stroked Draco's baby soft forehead, the little wisps of hair. As Narcissa said his name.
He had left at once. His arm had burned. Lucius had another mission. Another killing. He was being torn, between his home and death.
Death was an alluring mistress to Lucius. Narcissa hated death and loved Draco more for it. Lucius loved Draco, his blood.
Most nights he had to leave, Draco and Narcissa. Giving each a kiss on the forehead, Narcissa's eyes troubled while baby Draco gurgled with delight. Narcissa was terrified that he would die. Lucius has been surprised at first, that she felt about him still.
There was Draco she had murmured to him, one night when they were laying in black silk, sweaty and filled. Lucius still breathing harshly, had nodded and kissed her. Earlier that evening he killed a dozen young Muggles, their blood had spread quickly.
Those days... Were now gone.
Now there were no more nights of blood, but meetings with Fudge. The man's funny clothes ever reeking of sweat and greed. It made Lucius shudder.
Sometimes when Lucius was desperate, he would pick a random Muggle and simply kill them with his bare hands. It was different from using a wand, more personal. Lucius wasn't sure he liked being personal with those backward slugs, but it was interesting, addicting to the a person die as you choked them slowly.
It had not been what he had expected. Lucius hadn't know what he had expected, all those years ago. He has been angry and young, and the Dark Lord had willingly accepted him. For he was pureblood and that was enough. the fact that he killed well, and with great joy had only improved the sweetness that Lucius had offered.
Now he had Narcissa and Draco. They had not been expected. Lucius wasn't sure what would win out. His love for them, or his desire for blood.
Tonight Lucius was donning clothes he had not worn since that fateful Halloween. Narcissa was screaming at his back, a low keening filled with grief. She kept on muttering a name, Draco. She had hit him, her face screwed up when he had placed the mask on.
She was then thrown into the mirror. Wiping away the blood, she hissed at him. Filled with anger, pain forgotten.
Lucius had left that night. He had not returned to Malfoy Manor, as he had done in the past.
They told him, in Azkaban, that his wife had smiled when she was told. Then laughed and offered tea. Lucius was not surprised. He had nodded his thanks to the guards.
Luicus wrote her a letter. Narcissa would have to be strong, be there for Draco where he could not. Lucius only hoped that Draco.... Would not place his feet into his bloody footsteps.
That night Lucius planned to get out. To return to Draco and Narcissa. He would use all that what was available to him. Even if he had to still consort with Fudge, or kiss the hem of Voldemort's cloak, he would get out of here.
In his cell, Lucius smiled. The self same smile Narcissa had worn when Aurors had told of her husband's incarceration. Lucius's eyes flickered red.