Archive of Our Own ^beta

Through Lucius’ Eyes

Lucius felt a very familiar burning sensation on his left forearm, a sensation he has learned to loathe in the past months but  knew he had to, nevertheless, obey. He took one look at the jet black tattoo and informed his wife, Narcissa about the signalled meeting.

"It's time," he said simply. 

His wife's arm rested on his shoulder and with a sudden jolt, they both Disapparated out of the Mansion.

I know that you are preparing to fight. Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood.”

Lucius shuddered inwardly when the Dark Lord’s cool, resounding voice, magically amplified, echoed across the Forbidden Forest, where they had gathered. It ripped into his ears, and each word felt like the edge of a blade dragged along his spine, before it travelled further up and out, so that everyone at Hogwarts and the neighbouring area was within its reach. Lucius took a look around. The other Death Eaters stood in silence as the commanding voice rang; no one dared make a sound, though he noticed that the look on some faces betrayed a reaction similar to his. The exception was his sister-in-law, Bellatrix, her eyes were fixed on her Master, her expression full of worshipful fascination.

“Give me Harry Potter,” said Voldemort’s voice, “and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded. You have until midnight.”

Lucius exchanged glances with Narcissa. She was visibly distraught, the parental concern etched on her beautiful face. They had discussed the possible ways of getting Draco out of the castle into safety, before the onslaught began. He knew his fellow kind too well to doubt that, once they forced their way into the school, they would eliminate everything and everyone that stood in their way, including his son, Draco. Together with Narcissa, they had begged him to pull out of school before the end of the second semester, but he wouldn't listen. Ever since the events on the Astronomy Tower last year, the Malfoys had not only fallen out of grace with their Dark Master but their relationship with their son had also suffered. Draco had distanced himself from his parents, he wouldn't even look at Lucius, and only Narcissa managed to maintain a trace of what had once been a close relationship. It seemed that Draco had lost faith in his parents and the cause that he had been systematically embroiled in over the last couple of years, almost without a choice - simply as a by-product of being their son, having been raised the way he was.

It hurt Lucius greatly that whenever he peered into Draco's eyes these days, he was met with the same cold disappointed look instead of the warm mixture of respect, trust and admiration that he was once accustomed to.

Now, Draco's safety was at the forefront of his and Narcissa's thoughts. They had already lost much of what mattered most to them as a result of their willing involvement with Voldemort. In particular, Lucius' high status and reputation in the Wizarding world was on the verge of collapse, and, at this time, even among Death Eaters he no longer held his high-ranking position. However, both Lucius and his wife were determined to fight for their son.

Narcissa prodded Lucius to raise that topic with the Dark Lord, to openly beg him to let them fetch their son from the battlefield, but given the Dark Lord’s uncontrolled spells of rage of recent, he had decided against it. When he’d to speak to his Master about Draco he would have to be prudent about it.

Such an opportunity arose sooner than Lucius and Narcissa would have hoped for. After announcing his demands to his opponents, Voldemort left his own faithful ranks without another word. No matter how much Bellatrix boasted of the camaraderie she enjoyed with her Master, Lucius knew that he confided in none, neither sought anyone's advice. 

Soon, Lucius himself was summoned to his Master's side, on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, in the hideout of the Shrieking Shack.

"Lucius," the voice hissed, his sibilant sigh lingering in the air, "I wished to talk to you."

Lucius was sitting in a dark corner of a desolate room, with peeling paper on the dusty walls and all the windows boarded, except for one. The sounds of the assault on the castle were muffled and distant. The single unblocked window revealed distant bursts of light where the castle stood, but inside the room it was dark except for a solitary oil lamp.

Lucius was ragged, still bearing the marks of the punishment he had received after the Golden Trio’s escape from his Manor in Wiltshire. One of his eyes remained closed and puffy and his unshaved face wore several small bruises and cuts that were slowly healing.

Before him stood the Dark Lord, twirling the Elder Wand between his white, long-fingers, examining it.

Lucius took one look at the wand and sighed deeply. He missed his own desperately; the elm wood with dragon heartstring core, 18 inches. The wand itself was an heirloom of the Malfoy family, he had inherited it from his ancestors but had also undoubtedly become its rightful master as soon as it came into his possession. He remembered the warm feel of the wand in his palm, its quiet vibrating energy.

Turning his mind back to his son, he broke the silence, speaking hesitantly at first. 

"My Lord,” his voice sounded cracked. The awful white face with red slits and flattened, serpentine face turned to look at him. 

“Please...my son..." he pleaded.

"If your son is dead, Lucius, it is not my fault. He did not come and join me, like the rest of the Slytherins. Perhaps he had decided to befriend Harry Potter?” was the ruthless reply.

“No — never,” whispered Malfoy.

“You must hope not.” Voldemort taunted.

"Aren't - aren't you afraid, my Lord that Potter might die at another hand but yours?” asked Malfoy, his voice shaking. “Wouldn't it be... forgive me... more prudent to call off this battle, enter the castle, and seek him y-yourself?"

"Do not pretend, Lucius. You wish the battle to cease so that you can discover what has happened to your son. And I do not need to seek Potter. Before the night is out, Potter will come to find me.” Voldemort’s tone was musing, calm but Lucius picked up a darker hint.

Voldemort dropped his gaze once more to the wand in his parchment-like hands, pondering something.

After a while he spoke again, “Go and fetch Severus.” 

“Severus, m-my Lord?”

“Severus,” he hissed darkly.  “Now. I need him. There is a — service —- I require from him. Go.” he ordered shortly and the glint of red flickered in his narrow eyes.

Frightened, Lucius strode through the darkness and left the room.

After minutes of searching he found Snape, standing in the forest clearing, with several fellow Death Eaters gathered around him, apparently consulting about the strategy they would next take on the castle.

"Our Master has made himself clear: Capture Potter. Kill his friends —the more, the better— but do not lay your hand on the boy. He belongs to the Dark Lord alone.” 

Lucius approached Snape and conveyed his message, "Severus, the Master desires to speak to you privately. He is waiting for you in the Shack."

The look on his old friend's face was indecipherable and Snape quickly excused himself and disappeared between the trees in a black billow of smoke.

Meanwhile Lucius saw most of his fellow Death Eaters leave hurriedly to make their advancements on Hogwarts. Only a few of Voldemort's less prominent followers stayed behind in the woods, awaiting further instructions.  As for Lucius himself and his wife, they were ordained to guard the base in the Forbidden Forest and watch Hagrid, who had been taken captive and trussed to a tree nearby, right after the initial attack was launched. Lucius felt humiliated, having been deemed so unserviceable in the raging battle, nonetheless he was aware that his lack of wand would have made him an easy target and his potential presence in the battlefield wouldn’t particularly contribute to any substantial breach in the enemy line. 

Deep down, he was contended with this turn of events, he had always preferred to resort to manipulation, bribery and the prestige of the family name, rather than open combat, to achieve his goals, though he didn't like to think of himself as a coward. Most of all, he was thankful to stay close to his wife; he saw the silent plea in her eyes and they both needed each other’s comfort in the face of what was to come.

Before time, Voldemort has returned to the spot in the middle of the forest, alone. 

He summoned all his followers back to their hideaway, in the bowels of the woods, and commanded the main forces to retreat. The Dark Lord opened his mouth, and again, his voice fell powerfully upon their ears. Lucius felt the hair on the back of his neck raise at the high, sonorant sound.

“You have fought valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste. Lord Voldemort is merciful.”  Lucius thought that the cold, cruel look on his face was enough in itself to contradict that last statement. 

“I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat the injured.”

Lucius turned away with lost interest, as Voldemort spoke again, this time addressing Harry Potter directly.

Only one thought was running through his head, to find his son. He suspected Draco must have still been among other Hogwarts students, hiding or fighting, he did not know. Lucius did not let the other grim possibility overtake him with fear. Narcissa leaned her head against his broad chest and he felt her delicate hand slide into his.

“Draco is alive. He must be.” she spoke forcefully, as if trying to convince herself as much as her husband. He surveyed her face, her sunken eyes, full of apprehension, but he could not find the words to console her. He understood that the chances of Draco surviving - and their finding him - were growing slimmer by the second.

Yaxley and Dolohov were sent to station in the area of the forest closer to the school grounds, to watch for approaching Harry, while other Death Eaters reappeared in their midst.

Presently, the Dark Lord stood before the fire; the pallor of his face lit up by two alert eyes, which gleamed in a crimson hue. He was encircled by his Death Eaters, the leaping flames casting long shadows of their dark, hooded silhouettes on the surrounding ground. A heavy fog had settled over the forest, shrouded by silence, leaving small water droplets on the remnants of the vast spider web of Acromantula, which they had driven out before claiming the spot for themselves. Two giants sat on the outskirts of the group, slumped against massive oaks,  their faces cruel, rough-hewn like rock, the ground trembling whenever they shifted in their position.

Every eye was fixed on Voldemort, his fingers closed over the wand, his head bowed, as if sending upward silent prayers. Above his head, suspended in mid-air, a great, thick snake twisting, swirling and coiling in the glittering orb of a cage. Lucius trembled at the sight of Nagini, her green scaly skin, diamond patterned monstrously long tail, and white fangs glistening threateningly in the faint glimmer of the fire. He suspected his fellow Death Eaters were as on edge as he was, whenever they found themselves in the vicinity of the snake, yet he knew that, for some reason, Voldemort assigned special value to the beast, having granted her the utmost protection.

He felt Narcissa’s gentle tug on his sleeve; he looked ahead and saw two unmasked figures reappear between the trees. It was Dolohov and Yaxley, who shortly rejoined the circle around the fire, looking a little uneasy as they informed their Master about the absence of Potter.

“I thought he would come,” said Voldemort in his high, cool voice. “I expected him to come.”

Nobody spoke.

I was, it seems…mistaken,” said Voldemort.

“You weren’t.” a clear voice filled the eerie silence.

The giants roared and the Death Eaters rose, jeering and laughing.

Voldemort had frozen where he stood, and stared as Harry Potter moved toward him, nothing else but the fire between them. Lucius, cast another look at the dark-haired boy, his face marked by sweat, blood and dirt, telling of the atrocities of the battlefield, and he thought of his own son.

Then, a pain-induced bellow of Hagrid could be heard, but he was immediately silenced by Rowle.

Lucius watched as Voldemort tilted his head a little, like a curious child, welcoming the sight of the slowly approaching boy with a tiny curl of the thin mouth.

“Harry Potter,” he said very softly. “The Boy Who Lived.”

Nobody moved. Lucius noticed a hungry, impatient expression on the face of his Master and caught the wide-eyed, panting Bellatrix with a sideway glance. He knew it would be over soon. Indeed, Voldemort raised his wand and mouthed inaudibly. Then, a flash of green light and Harry’s body slumped down at once, facedown, motionless. Unbelievably, Voldemort simultaneously collapsed on the ground, as if pushed down by some invisible force.

Then a series of tramping footsteps, whispers, solicitous murmurs as others hurried to their Master. Lucius and Narcissa did not move.

“My Lord… my Lord …” Bellatrix rushed to his side, her voice full of tender affection.

“That will do,” Voldemort said and he slowly got to his feet. 

“The boy… is he dead?” he asked.

Complete silence.

Voldemort’s cold eyes searched the crowd. “You,” he said to Narcissa and Lucius let out a small shriek. “Examine him. Tell me whether he is dead.”

Lucius observed, his eyes planted on his wife, as she softly walked up to Harry, kneeled down next to him, and laid her hands on his face to examine him. Her other hand crept onto his chest, feeling for heart. Her shoulder heaved slightly and she bent low, pulling her face close to the boy’s.

After a moment of tense waiting, Narcissa Malfoy stood up and called to the onlookers, “He is dead!”

At once, the forest reeled with a triumphant roar of the giants and celebratory cries of his fellow wizards, accompanied by a sight of red and silver sparks shot into the air. 

Narcissa returned to his side, a strange look on her pale face but she remained silent. Everyone, including Voldemort seemed to be too taken in in the gleeful celebration to notice the quizzical look on Narcissa’s face, however Lucius Malfoy knew his wife well enough to deduce that there was something significant behind her expression.

“You see?” hollered Voldemort over the din. ”Harry Potter is dead by my hand, and no man alive can threaten me now! Watch! Crucio! ” And pointed his wand at the body while the crowd erupted in laughter and scorn.

Lucius used their preoccupation with the barbarous spectacle and turned to his wife questioningly. She brought her mouth closer to his face and whispered distinctly into his ear, “He’s alive. The boy has survived.”

Lucius’ initial shock gave way to hope as he considered her words.

“Are you absolutely sure?” 

“I could feel his heart. I asked him if Draco was still alive and he nodded in reply.”

“He mustn't find out.” said Lucius, speaking of Voldemort, wincing at the implications.

“No.” agreed Narcissa and she squeezed his hand with renewed energy.

They both reached an unspoken consensus, they would compliantly go along with Voldemort’s plan, and then, as soon as they found Draco, they would withdraw from his ranks. They had ceased to care for the Dark Lord’s success quite some time ago, and now they understood that Harry’s resurrection tipped the scale remarkably in the Order’s, and the rest of Voldemort’s challengers’ favour.

In the meantime, Voldemort ordered Hagrid to carry the boy’s seemingly lifeless body back to the castle. “He will be nice and visible in your arms.” Lucius heard the Dark Lord say.

The giant man lifted Harry off of the ground and cradled him in his arms, heaving with sobs, his great tears trickling down the bushy mass of his beard.

The sight was so pitiful that Lucius felt almost sorry for the man, softened in his perceptions, especially when, in his imagination, he traded the black hair of Harry’s for the white-blond of Draco’s. 

Hagrid stumbled forward, with Death Eaters flocked around. Voldemort delicately removed Nagini from her enchanted cage and wrapped her around his neck and shoulder like a heavy, glistening emerald necklace. And thus, the victorious procession marched on toward the open ground, and finally reached the edge of the forest. 

“Harry Potter is dead.” Voldemort’s voice swelled once again,  magically magnified.

“There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist me, every man, woman or child, will be slaughtered. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together.”

Narcissa quivered at these words. Lucius held his breath in a quiet anticipation of what would unfold. They were waiting for the favourable moment to plunge into the castle and look for their son.

The Death Eaters spread out in a line in the expansive yard, facing the entrance to the school. The open doorway filled with people, Hogwarts students, teachers, the Order members, and plenty of other wizards and witches intent on fighting Voldemort’s regime.

Lucius’ eyes searched among the crowd for the face he wanted to see the most. Scanning the forefront of the crowd, he detected a familiar figure of Hermione Granger standing hand in hand with that red-headed boy. He brushed over her horror-stricken face as she slowly deciphered the scene, and he heard her cry out, “No! No! HARRY!” joined in by hysterical screams of others.

“SILENCE!” cried Voldemort and, with a powerful bang and bright light, he extinguished their voices.

Then, to everyone’s astonishment,  a light-haired, well-built young man charged at Voldemort. Lucius recognised Neville Longbottom in the figure, from their earlier encounter in the Department of Mysteries.

Bellatrix gave an exhilarated laugh.

Voldemort proceeded to engage the boy in conversation, presenting him with what he must have regarded as an irrecusable offer of joining the Death Eater ranks.

When he was met with a confident refusal, Voldemort’s red eyes sent off menacing sparks.

With the wave of his translucent hand, he wordlessly Accio-ed an ancient, ragged hat, which swooshed through the castle’s shattered window right into his palm. 

He forced the Sorting Hat onto Neville’s head before the watching crowd, and, with a flick of his wand, he caused the hat to burst into flames.

And then many things happened at the same moment.

Lucius witnessed as Neville shook off the Body-Bind Curse, pulled a sword from the depths of the flaming hat, and sliced off the head of the detested serpent, in one swift, fluid motion. 

Then, the man looked up and saw great winged creatures soaring under the starry sky, plummeting down, aiming at the giants with their heavy beaks. With a deafening uproar, the giants battered at each other, clashing with a smash and making the earth quake, and the people scattered to escape their stamping, lumbering steps. 

Lucius ran along Narcissa, his chest rising and falling rapidly, heart pounding with effort, fear and excitement. Together they darted past the charging centaurs and into the Hall, followed by swarming masses of fighting wizards, elves and other beasts. Around them, the battle raged on. Lucius steered clear from Voldemort, who occupied the central stage, striking and smiting everything in his vicinity, while screaming instructions to his followers.

Harry had vanished, but neither Lucius, nor Narcissa took notice of that fact in the chaos that ensued. Lucius observed Fenrir Greyback being brought down with a great thump by Ron and Neville while Arthur Weasley successfully took on Thicknesse. He saw Dolohov topple backward with a scream, at Flitwick’s hands. Bellatrix was duelling three witches; in the one with red, flaming hair, Lucius recognized Ginny Weasley, and in the other, much older,  Arthur’s wife, Molly. Then, for the last time he heard Bellatrix cackle with mocking laughter, before she fell down at Molly’s feet, with madness eternally etched on her face. Lucius stopped but for a moment to consider the life and death of his sister-in-law.

Soon, Lucius and Narcissa continued to tear through the crowd, screaming for Draco, not making any attempt to either attack, or defend themselves from jinxes and hexes that whizzed and flew in all directions. Then, Narcissa stumbled over rubble of a knocked-down pillar, and Lucius helped her back to her feet. They had finally found him, crouched over Goyle’s girthy body, spread-eagled on the Yorkstone floor amidst the debris, smeared in grime and dust. Draco’s jaded face wore caked crimson stains and his school robes were torn and frayed and smelled of smoke.

“Draco!” Narcissa was right at his side. Lucius felt immense relief as he watched the two embrace, Narcissa openly crying and their blond boy sniffling at her neck. Lucius gently placed his hand on his son’s shoulder and Draco looked up. Lucius met his gaze and Draco nodded at him, closing his own hand over his dad’s.

Out of the blue, a fresh eruption of noise interrupted this homely picture, as yells of shock, cheers and screams reached Lucius’ ears.

 “Harry! HE’S ALIVE!”.

But before anyone spoke another word, sounds of fighting around them grew suddenly muted and all noise stifled. The crowd assembled at all sides of the Great Hall, the Malfoys among them, like the audience around the main stage, preparing to watch the final act of the performance. Every set of eyes was fastened upon Harry and Voldemort as they circled each other for a long time, conversing, the red irises glued on the green. Only Narcissa diverted her sight every now and then from the two wizards, her eyes still feasting on her son. 

Watching the duel slowly unfold before him, Lucius began to ponder what the future would bring for him and his family if Harry had indeed managed to vanquish the Dark Lord once and for all. Would he find his place in the reality of the post-war world? What would become of Draco, whom he had exposed to public disapproval at best, or else outright ostracism, by their association with the Dark Lord. On the other hand, if Voldemort had gained the upper hand, that painted an equally bleak picture for the Malfoys, albeit for different reasons. 

Lucius no longer cared half as much for the cause of purifying the Wizarding community from Muggleborns and blood traitors, a cause once so noble and worth pursuit in his eyes, a cause which had pulled him to Voldemort’s magnetic orbit in his youth. The wizard took stock of his situation. What he once valued most, his reputation, was inexorably tarnished, among members of both sides of the conflict. His life-long choices have heaped plenty of ache upon his own household. And whatever idea he had toyed with in his younger days of establishing Pure-Blood supremacy firmly in the Wizarding world, it now seemed far-fetched and removed from reality, even if Voldermort did win after all.

Lucius finally understood that the politics, which caused several of high-born, influential wizards and witches flock to Voldemort’s side, was only a veneer, behind which a broader agenda was hidden - of forever setting himself above all, Wizards and Witches, Muggleborns and Muggles alike, and finally, over death. With this conclusion still ringing in his thoughts, Lucius brought his mind back to the present.

“You won’t be killing anyone else that night,” Lucius heard Harry say.

“Is that so?” sounded Voldemort’s mirthless reply. His red slits caught the sight of Narcissa Malfoy, standing in some distance, in the same line as the green-eyed boy and suddenly, almost casually, Voldemort sent a Killing Curse her way with one word on his thin lipless mouth, “ Traitor ” before switching his attention back to Potter.

And just like that, Narcissa Malfoy’s life was snuffed out of her, and her limp body flopped to the ground with a gentle thud. Draco let out a horrified scream. A cannonball of emotions hit Lucius squarely in his chest. Deep sorrow, despair, numbness, guilt, regret and profound sense of loss washed over him wave after wave. He beheld the body of his wife, staring with wide-opened eyes. He did not care anymore if Harry Potter had finished off Voldemort, or if the Dark Lord had finally defeated the boy. He was transfixed in time as the whole world crumbled apart around him. 

Lucius Malfoy sat on the solitary bench in the Great Hall, bereaved and crestfallen, amidst the general air of celebration. Draco was sitting a few inches away, staring into the distance. Thankfully, nobody was paying them much attention.

Narcissa’s body had been put together with that of Fred, Tonks, Lupin, Colin Ceevey and fifty others who had died fighting Voldemort. In his mind’s eye, Lucius saw his deceased wife’s body gracefully laid into a tomb. All anxiety, strain and horror of the past few months were erased from her pale face and have given place to calm and contended peace. The trials and tribulations of earthly life were now behind her and it was Lucius, who would have to learn to live again, without his spouse.

Peering out through the tall, panelled window, he gazed into the fierce dazzle of the new sun that had risen above the Hogwart battlefield to herald a new era, which had arrived along with Voldemort’s final defeat.

Lucius shifted his gaze back inside, and contemplated the cheerful commotion in the room. The people, creatures and beasts were all jumbled together: teachers and pupils, ghosts and parents, centaurs and house-elves. Yet, somehow, Lucius has never felt so utterly isolated from other beings, including his son.

Taking a glance upward, he saw Harry pass him and Draco with a soft nod of understanding  before rejoining his friends. 

A few moments later, Hermione Granger rose steadily from her table of rejoicing (and mourning) friends and walked across the Great Hall to where they were sitting.

“Mr Malfoy,” she spoke softly, “Draco”.

Draco kept his eyes down, unbothered, while Lucius barely looked up at the sound of her voice, his face forming an impenetrable mask. He studied the girl’s countenance for a moment and thought he saw a flicker of pity in her hazel eyes. 

“You are both welcome to join the feast, if you want to.” she said simply. And with these words she left.