Disclaimer: Usual fare: I do not own Harry Potter, neither am I making any money from this story.
Summary: ABRAXAS MALFOY/TOM RIDDLE. 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 and the dark lord looms on the horizon…
Author's Note: This story plans to cover three generations. First, Abraxas Malfoy and his creation of the bond between the Malfoy family and the Dark Lord; next, Lucius, and how he deals with the consequences of his father's actions and, finally, Draco and how his knowledge of his grandfather, his father's commitments and Voldemort converge. It will not quite be chronological, however. Present time is the summer at the beginning of the fifth book, whereas the text for Abraxas is his memoirs, which begin in 1941, are not so much the truth of events as they happened, but how he remembers them, as an older man. There will be intervals of Draco and Lucius, then Abraxas, mostly alternating chapter by chapter. Think of the story not as a straight narrative, but rather as a prism which reflects each Malfoy from different angles. "M" indicates a change of scene. I have written three chapters already so I've got a feel for where this train is headed. (This introductory chapter is short, but fear not, following ones will be longer!) "Paterfamilias" is Latin for "father of the family."
One thing to note: In HBP Draco says that his grandfather "Always spoke very highly of you Slughorn, and said you were the best potion-maker…" However, at that moment Draco was trying to inveigle himself into Slughorn's good-graces, so I have chosen that Abraxas dies before Draco was born, because it fits my take better. I mean, I could work it that way, but it would be less poetic. So I'm doing it deliberately.
In which Lucius wonders what to do about the Dark Lord, Draco looks for his father but finds his grandfather, & Abraxas begins his tale.
It was an appallingly hot summer which marked the Dark Lord's return. The weather seemed as sleepy as the wizarding community was at that moment. Lucius sat on a bench near the rose gardens, under the pleasant shade of a cedar tree. It really was ridiculously warm. His eyes drifted to where Draco was practicing quidditch over the lake, a green and silver blur against the hazy afternoon sky, causing Lucius to smile. He has no idea what this means… he thought sadly. Draco had the luxury of growing up in a world free of obligations. Narcissa was a good mother and Lucius considered himself to be a reasonable parent; but the Dark Lord's return changed everything and Lucius knew that the paradise he had spent so many years trying to create was in danger.
The rub was, of course, that Lucius was faithful to the Dark Lord. He would, he knew, do anything asked of him. But I did not plan for this. Lucius had taught his son the old ways, the things that mattered, emphasizing the natural superiority of pure blood… but he had been vague when it came to the Dark Lord, vague when it came to Abraxas Malfoy – his own father – and vague about what servitude to Voldemort actually entailed. In short, Lucius had romanticized events, ensuring his son would still look up to his father with respect: as a heroic champion of purity.
How his father would have laughed! Oh, Lucius, as if the Dark Lord could ever have been vanquished! Even Dumbledore would call you a fool! You have neglected Draco's education, brought him up to lead a charmed life. Just as when Lord Grindelwald was defeated, people said it could never happen again and forgot – you have forgotten, Lucius!
And it was true, he had forgotten, had slipped into the same false sense of security as the rest of Britain. I do not know if I can do it again… there is such a difference between then and now, he thought solemnly. His mark began to burn and he looked back up at his son and did not smile.
Draco landed gracefully on one of Malfoy Manor's balconies, but spoiled the effect by almost tripping as he got off. What a boring summer! Gregory was in Germany visiting his aunt and uncle and Vincent had been allowed to go with him. Draco had asked, but his father had refused, saying that Draco was not going away at such a critical time. Draco could have understood this, had anything actually happened, but as far as he could tell, the Dark Lord hadn't even called on his father since the final night of the Triwizard Tournament. Besides, what did that have to do with him? It wasn't like he was the one the Dark Lord needed. It was totally unfair that Voldemort's return should, of all things, stop him having fun. I won't get to see anyone until September, he moaned to himself. Shouldn't life with the Dark Lord back be better – not worse?
Resolving to ask his father again, Draco made his way down the hall to his father's study. He knocked. Unusually, the darkly polished wood simply swung open under the pressure. Odd, thought Draco, father locks it when he's not in. It was messier than usual too. By the smell coming from the fireplace, someone had just used the floo network. A smile spread itself across Draco's face. He'd often wanted to have a good exploration of his father's study. He checked for the black cloak hanging behind the door. It was gone – his father was definitely out.
He went through the papers on the antique walnut desk, a guilty flush on his cheeks. A few Ministry reports that his father clearly wasn't meant to see, some of which Lucius had made notes on in green ink. Draco moved across the soft carpet to one of the bookshelves, pulling out random volumes. Mostly they were books on wizarding law. Then a black-bound book caught his eye: 'The First & Second Dark Lords of the 20th Century: A Comparison,' by Abraxas Orion Malfoy. Grandfather wrote a book? Draco got it down and had a flip through.
'This book is dedicated to my son, Lucius, may he prove to be a better man than his father.'
Draco raised his eyebrows. He'd never known his grandfather – he'd died of Dragon Pox when Draco was only a lump in his mother's stomach. Funny that. He'd caught it too, later, but all Draco had to show were a few little poxy scars on his chest. Obviously, he'd never met his grandfather, but he'd seen photographs. The same long hair as his father, but graying; grey hair and grey eyes and the same pointed face Draco and Lucius had, but very different at the same time; there was lightness in those photos, something more graceful and leisurely, lacking the intensity of Draco's father. Looking back on it, Draco wished that he had known Abraxas. It would have helped him to understand his father too, probably.
The book was very boring, all of it about blood-purity and the different ideologies of Grindelwald and Voldemort and the traditions they had inherited. Describing them as the "reactionary forces against ministerial control," seemed dry beyond belief. Then Draco caught sight of handwritten note at the bottom of the page
'A drop of Malfoy blood,'
Hearing someone coming up the stairs, Draco fled - the book in his arms - to his rooms in the east wing. He sat on his bed with the book, re-reading the note. Is it a clue to something or just a note? Curious, Draco picked at a scab on his elbow and then touched the words with his reddish finger. Immediately, the book changed. The bookshop print was replaced by beautifully neat handwriting and flipping through, Draco saw that there were sketches too. In particular, Draco was drawn to a labeled sketch of the Dark Lord, whom Draco had never seen before. It was very well done, and snake-like eyes blinked up at Draco creepily. Draco turned to the beginning of again and read a different dedication.
'I dedicate my memoirs to the man known as Tom Marvolo Riddle, may never forget our times together.'
Draco had a feeling of hearing that name before, but he couldn't think where. Curling up on his bed, he began to read…