AN: Written for Kamerreon's Rare Pairing Meme. I wrote it around the same time as my other responses to the meme but looks like I forgot to post this one here. Oh well. I hope you enjoy it!
The prompt was: Lucius/Voldemort
Lucius is a veela and Voldemort is his mate, angst, pain.

Warning: angst ahoy.


The flame of love is now just a cold loneliness.

-Uniek Swain


Azkaban was a dark place. Very little light touched him through the small, barred window although the frigid wind didn't seem to have any such problems getting through. Lucius Malfoy shivered on his wooden cot as the icy fingers brushed past him again. His mate had left him here, rotting, for his failure. The veela in Lucius cried out relentlessly, day and night, for his mate's forgiveness but the human in Lucius knew Voldemort would never deign to hear it. The Dark Lord did not lower himself to feeling anything even akin to sympathy or mercy. His battered body tensed as a harsh cough abused his sensitive throat- sensitive where it still bore finger shaped marks, a dark purplish shade against his ashen skin.

It had been his mistake, Lucius knew, that he had told Voldemort of their intrinsic, intimate connection. Soul mates, he had said. He did not know that his mate had ruined his soul in such a way that it could not recognise its own other half. The veela in Lucius cried at that too, his mate was damaged and he could not help him. What use was he if he could not even lessen his mate's pain?

His thoughts were terminated there by a familiar cold seeping into his bones. This was not a chill from the elements, but dementors. Over and over, until he was gasping for breath, he was forced to relive Voldemort's 'punishment'- cruciatus after cruciatus and when his nerves could take no more of the curse, Voldemort resorted to muggle methods. His veela was almost screaming now, pushing so hard against the confines of Lucius' mind that he was physically clenching his fists to restrain the talons from ripping out of his tender skin.

And then they were gone.

Lucius collapsed back against his cot, face pallid and weary. The dementors rotated regularly, he didn't know how often but he would hazard a guess at every fifteen minutes, or so. Every time they passed Lucius was subjected to hell, reliving his own personal nightmare. Was it not bad enough that his mate rejected him, detested him? No, he had to lock him away where that knowledge could never be forgotten.

Lucius would remember, and his veela would cry.


Thanks for reading!