Chapter Text
Lucius Malfoy peered at his willowy reflection in the mirror. Even though he and the other Death Eaters had gratefully succeeded in escaping from Azkaban a year ago, life had not been made any easier at all. It did not help that the Dark Lord had lost all faith in him that time he failed at the Department of Mysteries before getting thrown into prison. Not only that, but he had also destroyed one of the Lord's Horcruxes by accident. A myriad of other matters flew through his head as he gazed into those dull gray-blue eyes in the glass. The wrath of the Dark Lord. The Death Eaters. The war. The past. The future. His reputation. His family. Narcissa. Draco. Mistakes. Failures. Pain. Stress. Life. Death. Staying alive.
Lucius gritted his teeth into a small sneer at himself in the glass. He had fucked up again. He had fucked up his attempt to retrieve the prophecy at the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. He had fucked up when they threw him into prison. He had fucked up what little he had ingrained into his reputation as a noble pure-blood Death Eater, he had fucked up his dignity and his entire future thereafter, but worst of all, he had fucked up whatever loyalty he had entrusted his family with. Narcissa and Draco's lives were at stake all because of him. But then he thought, wasn't the purpose of his life just fucking everything up? No matter how much he tried, whatever he did only backfired against him. No matter what he did, nothing ever proved to be good enough.
Lucius lifted a wet, quivering hand to brush the chunks of vomit from his thin peeling lips. He had just spent the past hour throwing up his "dinner" that could have fed three families plus a whole army of house-elves. What a waste. Burgundy eye bags formed below his bottom eyelashes, giving off the impression that he had not slept a wink in weeks. It was a shame that it was partially true. Lucius had not slept well in months due to his intrusive thoughts and this secret... diversion of his. His cheeks were bloodless and swollen from all of the forced puking and the dehydration that came along with it. If they got any worse, he could have easily passed for a blonde-haired Arthur Weasley with his two hundred-kilogram double chin. Lucius shuddered at the thought of becoming as horrendously obese as his archnemesis. He felt biting stomach acid seep up his esophagus again. Cursing under his breath, he clapped a hand over his mouth and forced his knees back down against the marble tiles near the toilet. Stinging stomach acid burned a hole in his throat as he gagged the yellow fluid into the porcelain bowl. Some of the acid must have gone up into his nostrils. They burned like hell, and black dots appeared before his eyes. Lucius draped his thinning light blonde hair over his left shoulder with one hand while he clutched at his battering heart with the other.
"F-Fuck..." he hissed at the burn that developed in his stomach and spread up his esophagus, through his nostrils, and up to his eyes, prying salty tears out of the corners. His heart pounded mercilessly in his ears, sounding as if it were an army drum of a mighty battalion. His heart marched on in an erratic pattern of very rapid beats, followed by one or two slow ones dragged out between each other, and then three or four faster-than-average beats. He tried not to panic as he affirmed in his head and prayed to the gods for his heart to slow down. When his arrhythmia finally settled down, Lucius propped himself up to flush the toilet once more.
He turned around and leaned back against the green-and-silver tiled wall, bringing his knees close to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. Lucius exhaled and stared at the thin strands of blonde scattered all over the bathroom floor. His gaze then turned to the red and purple bite marks on his knuckles, and he buried his head in his arms, wondering what the hell had happened to cause all of this. What had started this all?
What had led to his downfall?
What had happened to cause all of this pain?
When did it all start?
Why did it all start?
Truth be told, Lucius had struggled on and off with bulimia since he was a child. It all began with his parents' demanding expectations of him as well as his own expectations of himself at an age that was far too young for the average child to think about such things. An unquenchable ambition to become the perfect child soon led to depression. Depression led to suicidal thoughts. And suicidal thoughts led to bulimia. It was especially arduous between his first year and sixth year at Hogwarts, as the disorder had only slightly ceased when he met Severus Snape and Narcissa Black, who then became his wife. Both went through many problems of their own, so Lucius did not dare to open up to them. It was them opening up to him all the time, and he who comforted them and gave advice. Severus battled with suicidal depression, a very extreme case in fact, and Narcissa dealt with anxiety and was on the verge of developing an eating disorder just like Lucius had.
And there was absolutely no way he was going to ask his parents for help even if he was bleeding to death from all the purging and cutting. Absolutely. No. Way.
So not long after, Lucius was relieved to not have shared anything with anybody. Even if Severus and Narcissa were his dearest friends, he was a Malfoy after all. Malfoys were not weak. Malfoys did not need help. Malfoys never asked for help.
And so he lived up to that expectation.
And he was a great actor. A great sorcerer too.
No one knew. Absolutely no one knew. No one was even suspicious of him. He utilized every trick and lie in the book, every potion, and every charm, hex, jinx, and curse to make sure his secret never went discovered. In fact, he would have been the best at occlumency if it weren't for Severus Snape.
Veritaserum was another issue. Any food could have Veritaserum or poison, but for the reason that Lucius did not care about staying alive, he solely feared the Veritaserum. That was another reason, besides the power and control he felt over his weight and his life, that he forced himself to throw up after every time he ingested food or drink. He was not exactly sure if it helped him rid himself of the Veritaserum in his system, but he hoped that was the reality.
He thought his eating disorder had been put behind him when he and Narcissa got married, but he was wrong. It started again when their dear Draco was five years old, and it continued until Draco was ten. By the time Draco started attending Hogwarts, Lucius convinced himself that he needed to stop because if he dropped dead one day, his son would have no one to mentor him in this cruel world. So with time, he learned to stop shoving his fingers down his throat and dragging a blade across his skin. He seriously thought things were going to take a turn for the better.
Except they didn't.
He had no way to vent the agony he was constantly feeling. He could not vomit or lacerate his skin to feel any control in his life.
Therefore, he decided to suck it up. He redirected his pain and self-hatred into hatred against everyone in the universe except for some of his fellow Death Eaters and his family. He loathed the muggles, the muggle-borns, and all of the half-bloods except for Severus. Even then, he could not stand most of the pure-bloods, either, like Weasley for instance.
Over the years, his hatred against people grew stronger as he continued to bottle his pain. With an arrogant smirk, a condescending sneer, and a righteous aristocratic walk, he was able to put up with his pure-blood Malfoy demeanor. It felt very tedious at first, but soon, Lucius grew used to it. All the while, he grew more and more disgusted with who he had become, but he had no other choice. He had no say in being born into the Malfoy household, after all.
His facade did make him feel more powerful and worthy, though. By gaining respect through being wealthy and formidable, Lucius felt like he did stand somewhere important in the world, but it did not help him to forget his past, his intrusive thoughts, or the crimes he had committed against his body. Although, before he knew it, he had grown accustomed to being the self-righteous, discriminating jerk he was. It had become part of his personality, but scariest of all, he did feel better about himself.
However, deep down, Lucius had never felt as terrible about himself as he did before he adopted the facade he was supposed to keep up his entire life. He had become an arrogant snob whose worth only depended on the amount of money he had. He had become a racist pig just like his father. But what was he going to do about it? All he ever did was fuck up his life and fall deeper into the black hole he had dug for himself since he was a wee child.
Then when he thought he could not fuck up anymore, he fucked up in the worst way possible.
He fucked up with Lord Voldemort. Lord Voldemort. Lord Voldemort out of all people.
He just could not take it anymore.
So he did it again.
Perfect.
All Lucius wanted at first was to make his parents happy.
Perfect.
All his life, he just wanted to make people happy.
Perfect.
Everything he had done to try to make things right made things worse.
Perfect.
When he stood with his head held high in mock arrogance, cane in hand, and a smirk plastered on his face, was he truly relishing in the power he held above the world or the riches he had?
Perfect.
No. He wanted to die.
Perfect...?