Author: What-Ansketil-Did-Next PM
AM.TR.LV.LM.DM? When Draco finds his grandfather's memoirs he unlocks a past he never knew beginning in the winter of 1941 and the passion between Abraxas Malfoy & another boy. As Draco reads, his family unravels. Old fic. Discontinued.Rated: Fiction M - English - Romance/Angst - Lucius M. & Voldemort - Chapters: 5 - Words: 19,231 - Reviews: 16 - Favs: 12 - Follows: 19 - Updated: 05-09-07 - Published: 02-18-07 - id: 3400648
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Disclaimer: Usual fare: I do not own Harry Potter, neither am I making any money from this story.
Summary: ABRAXAS MALFOY/DARK LORD/LUCIUS and maybe DRACO. When Draco finds his grandfather's memoirs he unlocks a past he never knew beginning in the winter of 1942 and the passion between Abraxas Malfoy & a boy called Tom Riddle. As Draco reads, will it begin to change his own choices?
Author's Notes: O…K… I have not abandoned you, my faithful! This was a hard chapter and I have been VERY busy failing assignments! Re-reading what I have already written, I realize that Lucius is both 42 and 46. I shall be mean and state FOR THE RECORD that he is 46 and hopefully it won't happen again. Thanks to MandaPandaAR for reminding me of my obligations. Um… yeah, I had I wee glance at your bio… um… yeah, seems I've included the one thing you hate most… um… yeah. Sorry.
In which Draco skips a few pages & Pansy makes an entrance; Lucius buys lunch & receives a letter; Severus takes 10 points from Gryffindor, picks up our tale & act accordingly; Our Villain gets changed and behaves badly & Our Hero has altercations and faints repeatedly.
Draco took deep breaths. The book lay on the seat beside him, closed. What does this mean for father? He hadn't really thought about it that way before. His grandfather had been Voldemort's… lover. Surely that was one of the reasons for Lucius' high position within the circle. An eye on Vincent and Greg, who were safely eating pasties, he flipped ahead – something he'd never been tempted to do before.
…His letters were always full of elaborate endearments, as if to make up for their plain grayish paper. But, of course, this letter was different. His slanted, rather rushed handwriting had given way to a blackened mess – blots of ink all over the place. Sitting at my desk in the warm evening, I sighed as smudges came away on my white gloves. What a mess. There were many words blotted out and misspelled (a rarity for him) and its words were harshly ground into the thin paper.
As you know, we receive the Daily Prophet at Hogwarts. My friend, Evelyn Nott, enjoys reading the gossip pieces out to everyone. You are marred married. Were you planning on MENIONING this to ME? Or am I just your protégé – irrelevant to your dynasty? THE TRUTH!! Please… I will make her wish for death, this appropriate woman of yours! I will twist my nails into her eyes and long section blotted out …her screames will make even you flinch - YOU! Her lips I will burn away… and you can make love to her ASHES!!!! How DARE you!!!! How DARE you – Harkiss was right about you. You care for NOTHING and NO ONE but YOURSELF!!! And somehow I will find the strength to kill you.
How does one reply to such a missive? I sent him something temperate and neat, which explained that Phyllis and I had been engaged since we were three and that he should not elevate my intercourse with her to such levels. Making love? Our coitus was for nature's consequence and instigated by our parents' orders, not for pleasure – though she might have found some, I did not. Her round breasts and fishy smell disgusted me. She had no wit, and her conversation was soporaphic. I struck her across the face once… just to see if she would cease talking. She did not, merely began complaining about something else. I was afraid that Lucius might inherit her faults, for he was very like when he was younger; but I am pleased that he grows less like her with each passing day. Her death was good for him…
Once again, Draco flipped forward, looking for something he couldn't even name.
…Of course, I was nervous of his return. Lucius had grown up a bit since he left… I wasn't quite sure how to manage them both. Tom would require my constant energy and attention, which might leave the little savage free to plot some mischief, and Merlin knows I have not nearly as much strength as I would like. Something must be done. I would interview possible governesses tomorrow, house-elves being too easy to manipulate for a clever child.
Pages turned under increasingly sweaty fingers.
… Our experiments were coming to fruition, although Tom had been in constant pain for weeks, his voice hoarse with screaming. He cautioned me not to un-ward the door until the next new moon, no matter what he might say to convince me. The process outlined in the journal had seemed so much simpler than this – although Tom's modifications must, of course, be correct. One more day and then we would see the results of our efforts. My sleep was scant that night and my hair clung to my sweaty neck, uncomfortable and hot. How would he look? He might even be dead – impossible, I knew, for him to die now – but the thought preyed on me all the same.
Finally, holding my wand tightly, I un-warded the door. It opened easily, enough to make me draw back. But there was silence from the room beyond. I took a few tentative steps forward. "Tom?" I called, gazing at the smashed furniture, the gashes in the wall-paper and bloody stains on the carpet, "Tom? I have brought you your wand. It is over."
"Abraxasss…?" The voice was barely audible, raw and new… quite unlike Tom's pleasant tenor. "Did it work…? Am I…? There are no mirrorsss…" He was lying under the bed, I realized. I leaned under. Gently, I pulled him out; his body shaking uncontrollably. "Abraxasss… I cannot… it is… I am in so much pain…"
I could do nothing but stare. His skin was the colour of blank paper, leeched. He was so emaciated… like an inferius… and his nose had… disappeared, transformed into reptilian slits. His eyes, I was used to seeing red, but now they were no longer human, the pupils elongated and feral. Together we had turned him into a monster. He lay in my arms as I had so often lain in his and I was suddenly attacked by a vicious sense of guilt. Could I have been wrong? But Tom had hated himself… his sickening lack of self-confidence could appear at the most awful of moments. What we had begun had to have been worth it – would be worth it – if I did my part as well as he.
"I am here, Tom, I am here," I stroked his face. "It had worked perfectly, I assure you." I could not tell him how revolted I was, as I pulled him up onto the remains of the bed. "It is over now. You will never have to endure such pain again. Nothing can hurt you now, nothing…" I gently pushed the wand into his left hand.
"Kissss me…" he murmured, his lips like old parchment. I forced down a shudder, but did nothing. "Kisss me!" he demanded again, more insistently. My mind had frozen. He sprung up, uncurling to a full seven feet. "You dare draw back!" he hissed. "After all this, you dare! When you convinced me to subject myself to this processs, you did not have such thoughts!" He grabbed me roughly by the hair and dragged me to my room. I cried out, and felt the tears running down my face. What had I done? "Yess!" he almost screeched, in that high, unnatural voice… "So many mirrors in your roomsss Abraxass… always…" For a moment he forgot me to stare into a mirror, leaning close and touching his long fingers to the glass. "Your opinion, my love?"
"You are terrifying, Tom. Absolutely terrifying..."
He laughed but did not turn to look at me. It seemed impossible that but a minute ago he was shivering under a bed. "Now I am truly Lord Voldemort…" he said wondrously. But my own strength had given out and the room faded away from me, Tom with it.
I awoke feeling weak, my eyelids almost too heavy to move. "Abraxas?" the voice was close, intimate. "You fainted…" There was a wet sensation and I realized his tongue was in my ear.
The train shuddered and Draco was jerked out of his reverie. Pansy stood in the doorway. She had cut and coloured her hair over the summer so that now it was in a sleek honey-blond bob, slightly scary with her dark eyes. Her snub nose was in the air while her long eyelashes were lowered suggestively under raised brows. She wore a clingy, deep-pink robe, clearly waiting until the last moment to change into her uniform. "Hey, Draco," she said and sat beside him. "What's that book you're reading?"
"Er – 'The First & Second Dark Lords of the 20th Century,' it was written by my grandfather." It wasn't quite a disaster; he managed to sound smug at his grandfather having written a book.
Pansy easily took the book from him and placed it beside her on the seat. "It sounds fascinating, Draco." She turned to Crabbe and Goyle, "Get out and quit staring," she snapped. They went, with only a hint of confusion at how to get out the door at the same time. This left Draco alone with The Menace. It was held, by a consortium of Slytherin boys, that Pansy Parkinson was possibly the only girl in the school who could go from ugly to utterly and disturbingly sexy in five seconds flat. It wasn't her body, they agreed, but what she did with it that made the difference. They were going to go on to reason as to how she accomplished this remarkable feat, when Blaise said "Like Professor Snape," at which point the topic had dissolved in favour of Blaise Zabini's torment.
Draco, whose head was still full of Voldemort, wondered if Pansy would look ok with red eyes… probably. Everything looked pretty bad on her. But when her cleavage was in your face that didn't seem to matter so much… "So, how's things?" she asked, somehow on his lap, "everything ok with your parents?"
"Yeah," Draco answered, "they're fine… yours?"
"They're cool." There was silence. "So…" she said vaguely, "want to make out?"
Lucius sat in Cornelius' office, waiting for the minister to arrive. It was late afternoon and Fudge had been delayed by reporters. If Lucius hadn't already seen the reports before they got to the Minister's office, he might have been tempted by the papers on the desk, but there was nothing to do but wait. Sometimes money took all the fun out of espionage.
Casually, Lucius exited the office to take the lift to the atrium; he strolled confidently down the corridor to stand, quite naturally, outside the corridor leading to the Department of Mysteries.
A secretary came out, clutching a ream of papers with a few memos flying after her, pretty auburn hair in a tight bun, very kissable. "Can I help you, sir?" Her voice was just as crisp and business-like as her robes and he wondered what she would look like without them. No ring, he noted. He smiled at her, "What is your name?"
"Claire Somerset, sir."
"How nice… would you be averse to my buying you lunch, Claire?"
She blushed attractively. "You're married, Mr. Malfoy." Ah, I find myself recognisedShe said it as if reminding him to brush his teeth.
"Indeed, happily married, Miss Somerset. Surely eating at the same table would not jeopardise that?"
"I suppose not," she said stiffly. "I'm off at one."
"Excellent. I'll meet you in the atrium at one-fifteen."
Claire Somerset knew she shouldn't have agreed to lunch with the illustrious Lucius Malfoy. Basic common sense dictated a definite no. He was married. Everyone knew that half the ministry and nearly all of the Wizengamot were in his pocket. His enmity could break a person like her. But everything seemed fine. They were drinking expensive white wine, eating oysters and he was the epitome of gentlemanly conduct.
Claire found herself happier than she had been in ages. A dreamy quality settled over her features and she was sure Lucius would kiss her soon… and wouldn't that be nice? She'd had a crush on him for ages, hadn't she? Where were they again? Did it matter? He was lovely… surely he would kiss her soon? Wouldn't he?
"Claire," said that wonderful voice. "Where do you work in the Department of Mysteries?"
"I don't, really – I'm just a secretary, mostly cataloguing how many cups of coffee working wizards need to survive… totally top secret."
"Is there anyone in the department who has been acting… oddly recently?"
"Oh yes," she spoke hastily, wanting to please him, "Bode – he's been having emotional problems, Natalie told me his wife left him, poor thing." Lucius asked her a few more questions about Bode, which bored her… He ought to be talking about her.
"Ah – quite – now, Claire, you aren't under a curse or a potion, are you? You're just a bit tipsy, isn't that right?"
Clair considered this. Who would want to harm her? She was special. Hadn't he sad she was special? "Of course I'm not under a curse!" she laughed.
"And if anyone happens to ask you, tell them you were having lunch with Bode… out of – ah – concern. We must keep our love secret, you understand?"
"You love me?" She knew it. It was the happiest moment of her life.
"How could I not?"
Severus Snape was good at corridors. He'd even go so far as to say he liked corridors. Corridors had excellent visibility; sound tended to carry down them and for him to proceed along one required multiple students to part in fearful waves. He found these facts comforting. As a person who has been alone for a long time, he took his daily pleasures from such things.
In this case, the voices which carried to his ears were those of Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Weasley, who seemed to have gotten into the proper Hogwarts spirit already, though it was only the third day of term. Severus strolled over, positioning himself directly behind Weasley. One, two, three… "What exactly is going on here?" Experiencing a shiver of delight as the Gryffindor froze in mid-harangue, he raised a pertinent brow. "Mr. Malfoy?"
Draco's eyes were calculating, his lip bleeding, and his pale cheeks coloured by a guilty flush. "Weasley was… insulting my father, sir."
"I trust you said something equally vitriolic about Mr. Weasley's own progenitor?"
"Hey…!" Weasley moaned, a bruise on his freckled cheek, "Malfoy said-!"
Snape's eyes glinted, "Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley, for insolence. Now get out of my sight." The two boys fled in opposite directions. However, it seemed that one of them had dropped their books. He picked them up, two textbooks and a third, titled in gold: 'A Comparison of the First and Second Dark Lords of the 20th Century,' by Abraxas Malfoy. He flipped it open at the back page.
But I am dying. Tom is with me, though Lucius is elsewhere – he will rejoice at my death, of course – but those red eyes continue to watch me even as my body rots without and within. I itch all over and cry out during the night. It has been a long road and my words are almost at an end. A finite air hangs around the bed curtains as I cast aside yesterday's hopes of recovery. The afternoon light is golden at the end of the bed. I suspect Lord Voldemort would end it now if he had the courage, but of course, but even he must wait. He is away now, but he promised to return this evening, leaving me to complete my story in his absence. He has not left my side in three days. I see mother sitting on the other side, waiting – my escort, perhaps. She is silent. I feel sure I will die tonight… tonight is… yes… the full moon – I have been watching it swell in the sky all month. Narcissa's boy… perhaps he may decide to be born… but my words are spent.
Abraxas Orion Malfoy
Severus blinked. Surely Draco doesn't actually carry this around in his bag? The boy's stupidity was mind numbing. This book probably contained written proof of Lucius Malfoy's status as a Death Eater. Weasley himself could have taken it straight to his father.
Severus locked the book in one of his desk draws and sat at his desk, his fingers almost itching to get it back out. Whatever happened, Draco would not get the book back. That boy needed a strong dose of paranoia and the idea that anyone in the school could be privy to his family's darkest secrets was an excellent stimulus toward caution in the future. Not all teaching was done in the classroom, after all. Perhaps he ought to return the book to Lucius…?
Leaning back in his chair, Severus thought about the first time had had met Abraxas Malfoy. He had been all of twenty-two, young and eager. He felt his dark mark twinge just at the thought. Few people knew Abraxas' true role within the circle, fewer still credited it, but Severus had the luck to have caught his eye.
He had been ushered into an elaborate bedroom, decorated in warm colours, everything with gilded edges. Lucius stood behind him in the doorway. "He's in there. Be careful, Snape," and the door closed with smart click.
"Do not mind my son," a voice drawled from the bed, "he can be rather tiresome. Please, sit." There was an armchair on the left side of the bed and Severus gingerly sat down, his eyes never leaving the man who had spoken.
His hair was long and blond, like his son's, his mouth small and cherubic, set into a porcelain face. The eyes were pale grey, hard like the diamond pin he wore at his neck. He gave Severus the impression he got up only to dress for bed. The mood created was rather like what Severus would imagine someone looking at a manticore lying in the sun would feel: relief that the creature appeared placid, but dreading the time that it might decide to end its morning ritual and look for lunch.
"The Dark Lord speaks very highly of you, Mr. Snape," Abraxas began. In his right hand was a long, lacquered cigarette-holder and blue smoke curled above it. Abraxas inhaled deeply. "He insists that you are the only man with a reasonable chance of fooling the great Albus Dumbledore. Why is that?" He blew a smoke ring.
"I consider myself an expert at dissimulation, sir."
"Then how do I know you are not lying?"
Severus' expression was carefully blank. "That would be your prerogative, sir."
Abraxas began to laugh. "Oh you are good… but placing an informer requires a subtlety somewhat lacking in our powerful leader." Another smoke ring, "I assume you are already a skilled occlumens? And that the Dark Lord distrusts you because of it?"
"You speak the truth."
"Cautious for a youth, are you not? So much the better, we need more like you and less idiots like little Bella Black. You are a valuable commodity, Severus… now, what do you know about the Order of the Phoenix?"
Oh, Abraxas Malfoy had been the best asset the Dark Lord would ever have. If Severus' loyalty had been wavering, it was secured for another few years by Abraxas alone. The man had controlled an extensive network of spies, some of whom Lucius had inherited, while others had simply disappeared. Papers were always strewn over the bed, awaiting perusal. Often Severus would walk in and there would be a tray bearing parchment and ink on the man's lap, an expensive quill in his right hand. This small book doubtless held a rich yield of secrets and it would do no harm to learn them before giving it back.
After all, if Lucius was stupid enough to let Draco take such a precious book to school, then he had only himself to blame if Severus found something… useful. Reverentially, Severus unlocked the draw and began to flip through, searching for mention of Lucius.
…It was one of those rare days that found me up and about. Tom had asked me to expect him that afternoon. I stood in the morning room, flexing my knees slightly just for the sensation of movement. Tomorrow might bring a relapse and I resolved to take the opportunity to take a turn about the house and perhaps into the gardens.
As I walked down the hall I became aware of a noise, a… squeaking… like mice or similar. Intrigued, I turned into the spare suite where I thought to source of the noise might dwell. As I turned the handle, a whimpering began… as if someone were trying to hold back tears.
Long, white fingers were pressing against my son's face, held against the wall by a tall, sinuous form. Lucius' face was streaked with tears, trembling like a creature caught in a snare. I cried out and gripped the doorframe tightly, like a drowning man. "How… you…you…!"
Tom whipped round; the first time I had seen those reptilian features slack with shock. "You're… up," he managed faintly, letting go of Lucius, who fled past me, his footsteps echoing in the silence between us.
"How… how long have you been doing that with my son?" I breathed, feeling almost paralysed by shock. Tom worshipped me. It was the foundation on which I built everything which I thought or said about him. Surely… surely…
"Abraxas… I…" He came toward me, towering above as I slid down the doorframe. He attempted to gather me in his arms but I jerked away.
"Do not touch me… you creature…"
He slapped me across the face. "I love you!" he snarled, continuing to hit, "and I would have tortured you long ago for the pain you cause if your constitution would allow it!"
"You deny me my rights! You sulk, you protest! Your snivelling son is nothing! But if you would be nice to me for once… if you would only let me…!" He started to stroke my face, gently rubbing his fingers over the bruises that were doubtless forming. I wished my wand were not lying beside my bed, for I would have hexed him rather than subject myself to the kiss that followed. Darkness took me.
I woke in my room, dizzy and sore and once again unable to move my limbs. Tom sat beside me on the bed, red eyes determined. "You had an episode," his tone icy, "you shouldn't distress yourself like that…" He stood up and took a hairbrush out of one of my draws and repositioned himself behind my shoulders. "Remember how you used to ask me to brush your hair?" The brush worked delicately through a knot. Still, I remained silent as those long fingers twined through my hair, "…such beautiful hair."
It may interest you to know that I have come into the possession of a certain volume written by your father, Merlin grant him peace. In it, he expresses views which might be said to be… controversial? It is also rather illuminating as regards certain episodes in your family history. Fortunately for you, I rescued the book from the Gryffindors your son almost gave it away to.
As your friend, I shall state my expectations plainly. I require you to vouch for me in all meetings and enhance my standing with the dark lord. That is all. In return I shall your secrets as safely as I do my own.
Lucius went to the window of the music room, watching the owl wing its way across the autumnal sky. The carpet was old and faded except where that piano had stood, gone now, of course; as if he would allow it to remain.
He sat at the piano, his fingers hovering above the keys. Both his parents played, his father even more dexterously than mama had. But Phyllis died before teaching her son anything more than a few nursery rhymes. Nervous, the thirteen year-old placed his fingers in what he thought the correct position and played a chord. Suddenly, the lid was slammed down on his fingers. He screamed and jerked them away, pressing his hands tight to his chest.
"Just what are you doing?" His father said, tone droll. "Please do not pollute the air with your feeble skills, Lucius, you will only embarrass yourself." Mirror-like eyes full of spite.
The owl perched on the ledge and Lucius opened the window and removed the letter; a Hogwarts owl, perhaps a letter from Draco? Opening the letter, he read and re-read its contents, his anger tripling with each successive sentence.
Pansy sat next to Draco, happily spreading marmalade on her toast. As she was not expecting mail, she didn't look up and the shower of owls descended on the Great Hall. But a movement (or perhaps a lack of movement) beside her caught her attention: Draco Malfoy was staring at a howler. The older Slytherins began to jeer, thus giving the younger ones permission to join in. "Present from your father?" asked a 7th year girl sweetly. Draco, glaring murderously at her, reached to open the ominous scarlet letter. Oh Merlin… Pansy edged away and covered her ears. But the voice when it came began as quietly sinister:
"I had thought, Draco Tiberius Orion Malfoy, you to have at least a modicum of intelligence. I see I am to be disappointed. Your actions, of which I'm SURE you are aware, are a disgrace to your ancestors! THAT YOU COULD RISK EVERYTHING YOU STAND FOR IS SIMPLY EXTRAORDINARY! HAVE YOU NOT THOUGHT? HAVE YOU NO IDEA OF THE RISK!? YOUR MOTHER IS DISTRESSED AND I AM COMING TO CALL AT THE SCHOOL TO TALK TO YOU AND YOU HAD BETTER HAVE A READY EXPLANATION!"
The letter exploded, singing Draco's plate. Pansy tried to place a hand on his back, but he shrugged her off, not meeting her eyes. She looked around, no one looked unhappy that better-blood-than-thou Malfoy was getting some come-uppance. Pansy hoped it wouldn't hurt too much.
Thanks. Please give me feedback and tell me it was worth finishing the night before my Latin test. I NEED to have some justification!