Chapter Text
The fire turned green precisely as the clock in his study struck the first chime at eleven. Lucius Malfoy was waiting. He stood alone in his study, one hand resting upon the silver head of his cane, watching ordinary flames transform. Green fire climbed the grate. A face appeared within it. Pale. Serpentine.
"Lucius."
"My Lord."
Lucius bowed.
"I trust preparations are proceeding."
"They are."
"The Ministry?"
"Three additional members have agreed to cooperate. Two others are sympathetic but unwilling to commit themselves openly."
"Cowards."
"Politicians."
Voldemort's mouth twitched in a vile smile.
"Is there a difference?"
"Occasionally."
Lucius allowed himself the faintest smile in return. Voldemort did not return it.
"The funds we discussed?"
"Transferred through Gringotts."
"And our friends in America?"
"I have spoken with them."
"They will support us?"
"They will support me."
Voldemort's eyes narrowed.
Lucius continued before the distinction could become an issue.
"And I have reminded them that supporting me means supporting you."
The green flames shifted.
Lucius waited. He had been doing a great deal of that lately.
Waiting. Watching. Thinking. All extremely dangerous habits.
When this had begun, years ago, the arrangement had seemed almost elegant. Voldemort possessed power. Lucius possessed money, influence, connections and a name that opened doors which even the threat of violence could not.
Their interests aligned. The old families had been losing influence for generations. The Ministry increasingly concerned itself with regulating ancient institutions it barely understood. Customs that had survived centuries were suddenly treated as embarrassing relics. Overseas wizards, and Muggle influence seeped farther into their world every year. Voldemort promised restoration. Order. Power returned to those Lucius believed had earned the right to wield it.
Lucius had never imagined himself a fanatic. Fanatics were tiresome. He had imagined himself a patron.
Money here.
An introduction there.
A Ministry official persuaded.
A newspaper influenced.
An inconvenient investigation made to disappear.
Politics.
Then Voldemort had begun asking for other things.
Names.
Information.
Places.
People.
Lucius had provided them. Then came threats. Then disappearances. Then bodies. By then, Lucius's hands were dirty enough that objecting to the mud seemed rather pointless.
And besides? He still agreed with much of it.
Dracena couldn't sleep. This was becoming an irritating feature of this Christmas vacation.
She had gone to bed at ten. She had read until ten thirty. She had put out the lamp, turned it back on, read another chapter, turned it out again, rearranged her pillows, decided the room was too warm, decided five minutes later that it was too cold, and spent an unreasonable amount of time staring at the ceiling while thinking about Potter.
Mostly Potter.
Hermione, too.
Her father.
Quite a lot of her father, actually. That conversation still bothered her. You will never hit me again. She'd said it. To Lucius Malfoy. More astonishingly, he had listened. Well. He had stood there looking like someone had force-fed him a lemon and then sent her to her room, which wasn't quite the same thing as listening.
But he hadn't shouted. Hadn't threatened her. Definitely hadn't struck her again. He'd said goodnight. Dracena still didn't know what any of that meant.
At ten till eleven, she finally surrendered. If she couldn't sleep, she could at least be unable to sleep while eating something. She pulled on a dressing gown and slippers and slipped into the corridor.
Malfoy Manor was strange at night. The house was never truly dark. Tiny enchanted lamps glowed near the floor, just bright enough to keep someone from breaking their neck on the stairs. Moonlight came through the enormous windows. Portraits snored softly.
Dracena descended toward the kitchen. She was halfway down the main staircase when she noticed the light beneath her father's study door.
She stopped. Father was awake. That wasn't particularly interesting. Father was frequently awake at ridiculous hours doing whatever it was important men did at ridiculous hours.
Dracena continued downstairs until she heard a voice. Was it her father's?
Father might have had visitors. Father always had visitors. Politicians. Ministry officials. Businessmen. Foreign wizards with expensive robes and unpleasant handshakes. People who seemed to exist primarily to drink Father's brandy and discuss things they didn't want children hearing.
Dracena was sixteen. Naturally, she considered "things adults didn't want children hearing" to be one of the most interesting categories of information in existence.
She glanced toward the kitchen. Then toward the study.
Snack.
Study.
Snack.
Study.
Dracena sighed. The snack could wait. She padded toward the door, noticing the flickering glow of the study's fireplace spilling through the narrow gap beneath it. She suddenly realized the fireplace glow was green, not orange. A Floo connection?
The atmosphere changed. Dracena couldn't have explained it afterward. Every instinct she possessed suddenly told her that she should go upstairs. Now.
She didn't. Of course she didn't. She leaned closer. Her father's voice reached her. He was talking to someone. Someone whose voice was unnaturally high and cold, with a soft, snake-like hiss that made the little hairs on her arms stand on end.
"Lucius."
He returned his attention to the fire.
"My apologies, my Lord"
"You seem distracted."
"My daughter returned home for Christmas."
Something changed in Voldemort's expression. Lucius noticed.
"Ah. Dracena."
"Yes."
"I have heard interesting things about your daughter."
Lucius's grip tightened around the cane.
My Lord. Dracena froze. There were not many people Lucius Malfoy called my Lord.
She brought her head down to stare through the crack. She saw HIS FACE.
Oh. Voldemort. Her father was talking to Voldemort.
Dracena's first reaction was not exactly surprise. She had always assumed Father knew Voldemort. Why wouldn't he? Father knew everyone. He knew Ministers and former Ministers and people who wanted to become Ministers. He knew people at Gringotts, people in France, people in America, people whose names appeared in the Prophet and people whose names absolutely did not.
Everybody knew the stories about the Malfoys during the war. Father didn't talk about them. Mother didn't talk about them. Whenever Dracena had asked questions as a child, the answers had consisted mostly of variations on those were complicated times. So she'd filled in the blanks herself.
There were uglier stories, of course. Everybody had heard them. Disappearances. Torture. Murder. Dracena had never been certain how much of that to believe. People said horrible things about important families. People particularly enjoyed saying horrible things about the Malfoys.
Some of them were even true.
But...
"My Lord."
Not Lord Voldemort.
Not even Voldemort.
"My Lord."
Dracena suddenly became considerably more interested.
"Teenagers are inexhaustible sources of gossip." Lucius continued.
"This is more than gossip." Voldemort smiled a reptilian smile. "She has become close to Harry Potter."
There it was. Lucius said nothing.
"Very close, according to what I've been told."
"Yes."
The admission tasted unpleasant.
"You approve?"
"No."
Voldemort smiled again.
"But you permit it."
"Dracena is sixteen."
"And?"
"Meaning she is at an age when forbidding something is an excellent way of ensuring she does it more enthusiastically."
Voldemort laughed. "Practical as always."
"I try, my Lord."
"Perhaps her adolescent infatuation can be made useful." Voldemort said, coldly.
Lucius became very still. "How?"
Voldemort's expression changed. Lucius knew that expression. He'd seen it before someone disappeared
Dracena nearly opened the door purely to inform her father that her "adolescent infatuation" bloody well was not something to be used. Fortunately, some surviving instinct for self-preservation prevented this.
Something tightened in Dracena's stomach as she listened to her father and Voldemort discuss her.
"Potter trusts her."
Lucius said nothing.
"He allows her close to him. Closer than any of us could get."
Lucius knew where this was going. Some desperate part of him hoped he was wrong.
"Give her something." Voldemort said.
Lucius stared into the flames, his jaw moving slowly.
"Something?"
"A potion. A cursed object. Whatever method you think she could conceal."
Lucius's hand tightened around the cane.
"And?"
Voldemort looked almost amused.
"Surely I needn't explain everything to you." Voldemort was going to, anyway. "She gets close to Potter. She waits until they're alone."
Lucius remembered his daughter in his study earlier that night. He's more than that, she said. Lucius had known. He hated knowing.
Voldemort continued. "Then she kills him."
For several seconds Dracena genuinely didn't understand.
Then she did.
Her stomach turned. Voldemort was talking about killing Harry. And he wanted... HER. To do it.
Dracena put a hand over her mouth.
"No." The word escaped before Lucius had decided to say it.
The green flames hissed. Voldemort's expression didn't change.
"What did you say?"
Lucius felt his heartbeat in his throat. He could soften it.
It would be impractical. he could say.
She's unreliable.
There are better methods.
Politics. Always politics. His jaw tightened.
"I said no."
Voldemort's eyes narrowed. Lucius drew himself upright. "I will not ask my daughter to murder Harry Potter."
"Because she's fond of him?"
"Because she is MY daughter."
Voldemort stared at him. Lucius stared back.
"How sentimental."
"Perhaps."
"You disappoint me."
"I have survived greater tragedies. I will survive this one."
That was dangerous. Lucius knew it the moment he said it. The green flames seemed to grow colder. Voldemort's voice became soft.
"Careful, Lucius."
Every instinct told him to yield. Lucius did not. Voldemort watched him for several seconds through the fire.
"Very well." Voldemort said.
Lucius almost relaxed. Almost.
"She needn't kill him. Have her bring Potter to me."
"No." This time there was no hesitation.
Voldemort's face twisted.
"Lucius."
"I said No, my Lord."
"She need only to arrange..."
"I understood you."
"Then perhaps you misunderstand your position."
Lucius felt something inside him settle. Strangely, that made this easier.
"No, my Lord." He idly adjusted his cufflinks. "I think perhaps you misunderstand mine."
"Explain." Voldemort said, coldly
Lucius walked toward the fireplace. "Dracena is not a Death Eater."
"Not yet she isn't."
Lucius ignored that.
"I will do what you ask of me." Lucius continued. "The people who have pledged themselves to our cause will do what is required of them."
"Our cause."
"Yes. But my daughter is not one of them."
"Your daughter is a resource uniquely positioned to..."
"She is not a resource." The words came harder than Lucius intended.
Dracena knew her father's anger. She heard it clearly. She knew the quiet, poisonous voice that had terrified servants, Ministry officials, shopkeepers and, occasionally, Dracena herself.
Dracena listened as her father pushed back against The Dark Lord.
She thought back to Voldemort's statement calling her a resource. Was he pleading? It almost sounded like he was.
She remembered what she told her father earlier that night: I belong to me. He had listened. The stubborn, arrogant, impossible ass had actually listened. Dracena closed her eyes. She loved him. Merlin help her, she loved that man.
Voldemort went silent.
Lucius heard Dracena's voice in his memory. I belong to me. He had been furious when she'd said it. He had considered it adolescent insolence. Now another man was discussing his daughter as though she were a useful piece on a chessboard. Lucius discovered that he despised it.
"Dracena has made no oath to you." he said.
"Her father has."
"Yes, he has"
"You would deny me victory because your daughter has developed a schoolgirl fascination with Potter?"
"No." Lucius surprised himself with the answer. "I would deny you my daughter, until she decides to ally herself with you of her own right."
Voldemort's face hardened. "You forget yourself."
Lucius almost laughed. Perhaps he did.
"No. I remember myself perfectly." He walked closer to the flames. "My name is Lucius Malfoy."
Voldemort's lip curled. "I know your name."
"Then remember what comes with it." Lucius felt the old instincts returning. He remembered how his father always talked about negotiation. This was the language he understood best.
"You need me."
Voldemort's eyes flashed. "Do I?"
"Yes." Lucius said it calmly. "Very badly, in fact."
"Be careful."
"Oh, now wait." Lucius raised one hand.
Voldemort looked stunned by the audacity.
Lucius continued. "You need my money. You need my connections inside the Ministry. You need my contacts abroad. You need the families who joined you because I told them you were worth supporting."
"Do you imagine yourself indispensable?"
"No." That answer seemed to surprise Voldemort. "I imagine myself extremely inconvenient to lose." Lucius allowed that to sit between them. "Kill me if you like."
Voldemort's eyes narrowed.
"Threaten my wife. My Family. Burn my house down. You are certainly capable of all of this." Lucius's voice remained conversational. "But then tomorrow morning several very wealthy people are going to ask why Lucius Malfoy disappeared immediately after speaking with you."
Voldemort said nothing.
"And if instead I simply withdraw my support?" Lucius shrugged. "I make several Floo calls." His heart was hammering now. He refused to let it show. "I tell people I've reconsidered."
"You wouldn't."
"Wouldn't I?"
"You would sacrifice everything you've worked for?"
Lucius considered that.
"No. But I would sacrifice you."
The green flames surged. Voldemort's face contorted with rage.
Lucius gripped his cane. For one insane second he wondered whether one could cast a Killing Curse through a Floo connection. He sincerely hoped not.
"You dare threaten me?"
"I am not threatening you."
Lucius heard Dracena again. It's a boundary. Merlin. He almost laughed. His daughter was going to be the death of him.
"I am explaining the arrangement."
"Arrangement?"
"Yes."
Lucius's voice hardened.
"I support you." He ticked the points off on one hand calmly. "I help fund you. I persuade others to fund you. I give you access to people and institutions you could otherwise reach only through violence."
Voldemort's face flared.
"I will continue doing those things." Lucius leaned slightly closer. "But Dracena is not part of the arrangement." He took a breath, and stared directly at the Dark Lord. "She does not carry messages for you." Lucius's voice became colder. "She does not spy for you. She does not lure Potter anywhere. And she does not kill for you. At least, not until she decides to join you on her own."
Voldemort stared at him. Lucius returned the stare.
"If you want Harry Potter dead, kill him yourself."
"Lucius..."
"Or get someone else. Leave my daughter out of it."
Dracena's heart hammered in her chest. She suddenly realized she should not be standing here.
She backed away slowly, then ran. She hurried toward the kitchen. The snack suddenly seemed extremely important.
For several seconds neither man spoke. Then Voldemort smiled. It was not pleasant.
"Interesting."
Lucius waited.
"You've grown a spine."
"I've always had one."
"You've simply preferred not to use it." Lucius couldn't argue with that.
Voldemort's eyes seemed to look through him.
"Does she know?"
"Know what?"
"What her father has done for me."
Lucius felt cold. "She knows enough."
"Does she know everything?"
"No."
"Perhaps she should."
There was the threat. Lucius's voice dropped. "Do not."
Voldemort smiled wider.
"Ah."
Lucius hated himself for reacting.
"You fear losing her."
Lucius said nothing.
"You fear she'll discover what her father really is." Voldemort laughed softly. "How touching."
Lucius stared into the flames. He thought of Dracena standing in this room from earlier. Terrified. Defiant. I love you. she said. She had said it after telling him he was wrong. Those two things could apparently coexist. Lucius still wasn't entirely sure how.
"Perhaps." he said.
Voldemort's smile disappeared.
"But if you intend to use that fear to control me, I suggest you think very carefully."
"Is that another threat?"
"No."
Lucius smiled faintly.
"Consider it financial advice, instead." Lucius faked a grin.
Voldemort stared at him. And then, he laughed. There was no warmth in it.
"Very well, Lucius."
Lucius did not relax.
"Dracena remains uninvolved."
"Yes."
"I will find another way to Potter."
"I assumed you would."
"But understand something."
Voldemort leaned toward the flames.
"This indulgence will not be forgotten."
Lucius looked directly into his eyes.
"I didn't expect it to be."
Voldemort's face disappeared. The fire returned to a bright, warm orange. Lucius still felt cold.
Dracena had found bread, cheese, some leftover Christmas ham, and a slice of cake that she was certain Mother had specifically told everyone not to touch because she was saving it. Dracena ate it anyway.
She stood alone in the kitchen in her dressing gown, eating stolen cake and grinning like an idiot.
Father had listened.
When Voldemort himself had told Lucius Malfoy to use his daughter? Father had said no.
Dracena returned upstairs feeling better than she had in days. Perhaps things were going to be all right.
She slept peacefully.
Lucius Malfoy's knees felt surprisingly unreliable.
He walked to the drinks cabinet and poured himself considerably more brandy than good judgment recommended. His hands were shaking. He stared at them.
"Bloody girl." he muttered. He drank. On the table beside him lay several rectangular plastic cases Dracena had left there several nights earlier.
She had called it a "DVD." Lucius picked it up. Two Muggle films. One about an Empire striking back. The other about some Jedi returning from wherever Jedi apparently went.
Lucius poured another drink.
He would never tell Dracena he'd acquired a Muggle television and watched them after she'd gone to bed. He certainly would never tell her he'd enjoyed them. He would take that fact to his grave before admitting that he'd understood the man in the black mask. A servant of enormous power. A loyal lieutenant. A man who had done monstrous things because he'd convinced himself there was no longer any meaningful difference between one compromise and the next. Until his master demanded one thing too many.
His son.
Lucius stared into the fire.
"Overwrought Muggle rubbish." He tried to convince himself. It wasn't working.
He took another drink. Then he looked toward the door. Somewhere upstairs, Dracena was probably writing to Potter.
Lucius grimaced.
He still disliked the boy. Intensely.
He disliked Granger.
He disliked airplanes.
He disliked the Moon, largely because he had recently learned Muggles had apparently been walking about on it without anyone in the Ministry bothering to mention this extraordinary breach of good sense.
He disliked nearly everything that had happened since his daughter had met Harry Potter.
But she was laughing again. He'd heard it yesterday. Really laughing. Lucius hadn't realized until then how long it had been.
He stared into his brandy. Perhaps Potter would break her heart. Perhaps she would eventually discover that the enormous gulf between their worlds could not be crossed merely because two teenagers desperately wished it could.
Perhaps Lucius would eventually have to pick up the pieces. If so, he would.
But they would be her pieces to break.
Her mistake to make.
Her life.
Lucius closed his eyes.
"I belong to me." He could still hear her saying it. At the time, he'd thought it the most infuriating thing his daughter had ever said. Now Lucius understood something he had absolutely no intention of telling her.
She had been right.
He finished the brandy. He glanced at the Muggle film again.
"Still should have thrown the Emperor down the bloody hole sooner." Lucius muttered.
He extinguished the fire.