Chapter Text
Not for the first time, an argument broke out at Malfoy Manor.
They became more and more frequent these days. The war caused much stress, forming a wedge between Lucius Malfoy and his wife, Narcissa. When the disagreements first began, they chalked it up to the hormones that came with expecting a newborn. The first child is never easy, they said, but even after Draco was born—perfect and healthy—the arguments never stopped.
Hard enough was convincing the wizarding world of their rightful superiority over the ungrateful and ignorant muggles, but having to convince his own wife of the necessity of everything he did, became exhausting fast.
Together, they possessed greater wealth and influence than most of Britain, even before The Dark Lord rose to power, and their status has only improved since. Lucius sat at His high table. He wore His Dark Mark; he was his most loyal follower. The Dark Lord rewarded his followers tenfold for their loyalty and only punished the betrayers and mutineers.
Narcissa was afraid for nothing, they had no reason to fear Him.
“What would you have me do, Narcissa?” Lucius bounced his leg, sitting in the rocking chair in their son’s nursery. “Refuse the Dark Lord’s command?”
Narcissa rocked Draco in her arms, looking adoringly at their son. “If you had any care for your family, you would.”
“You think it so simple? I cannot refuse Him.”
She turned her silver eyes to look coldly at Lucius. “You will not refuse him, you mean? What has he done to frighten you so?”
“It’s not what He’s done. It’s what He can do—for us.”
“There is nothing he can do for us, Lucius!” she exclaimed as loudly as she dared to not wake up their son. “When will your sycophancy reach its end? When will you realize he needs our support more than we will ever need him? Our support is what adds legitimacy to his reign. Without us, he has nothing.”
“You forget yourself, wife.” Lucius’ leg stopped bouncing, planted firmly on the ground. “He is a powerful sorcerer. The most powerful sorcerer—”
“No, husband, you forget me.” She’d stopped rocking Draco, her eyes locked on Lucius’. “Before I was your wife, I was Narcissa Black. Daughter of the most ancient and noble House of Black. My family built the wizarding world in Britain; without us, there wouldn’t be wizards in Britain for this ‘powerful sorcerer’ to rule at all. It is my family that holds the real power in the wizarding world. My family, not yours. It’s our support that keeps him relevant and grants him a place at the table.”
“Held,” Lucius glowered, keeping eye contact. “Held the real power, Narcissa. You’re a Malfoy now. You and your sisters married out of the Black family. All that’s left of them now is that cousin of yours. And I don’t recall your parents, let alone Walburga or Orion, shying away in their support, rest their souls. They knew the Dark Lord would bring about a new age for wizards like us.”
“Yes, but they were all intelligent enough not to brand their arms with that hideous mark.”
“Your sister did.”
Narcissa scoffed. “Don’t suggest Bellatrix is an example to strive for.”
“Then what about Regulus?” Lucius asked, hitting where he knew it would hurt.
Her younger cousin, Regulus, had died only a year prior, and the circumstances were mysterious at best. There wasn’t a body found, and no one knew what happened. His death left the entire Black family grief-stricken, losing their beloved heir and youngest cousin hurt them beyond words. Rumors swirled that The Dark Lord tasked Regulus with a secret mission gone awry. Others speculated that the Dark Lord himself killed the boy himself because he betrayed them. The Dark Lord remained silent on the truth, not that any amongst the Death Eaters would dare inquire.
It had quieted her, and she lowered Draco into his crib, smoothing his thin blonde hair. “Regulus was a boy. He had no business wearing that mark or doing the Dark Lord’s bidding.”
“He was seventeen. He was a man, he knew what he was doing.”
“He was a boy,” she said sharply.
“Would rather he have been like Andromeda or Sirius? A blood traitor?”
Andromeda, Narcissa’s sister, another daughter of the House of Black, did not find a suitable match in a similarly powerful pure-blood family like her sisters had. Instead, she opted to marry a battering ram of a man, name of Tonks. A muggle-born ‘wizard’ who was no more fit to marry such a skilled witch as he was to wield a wand.
As for Sirius, it would be shorter to list what he’s done right than to list all of his transgressions.
“I’d rather he be alive.”
“Alive and a traitor to the Dark Lord?”
“No, Lucius. Just alive.” She walked out of the nursery, pursued by Lucius. After leaving the door open a hair, they continued their discussion. “We don’t know how he died. We don’t even know what happened to his body.” She shook her head. “Is that what you think of me? A blood traitor? Because I refuse to bow? You’ll have to forgive me, my love. I don’t have the practice.”
“Of course I don’t…” Lucius stroked her soft, porcelain cheek.
Narcissa pulled away. “Of course you don’t.”
“Still… I cannot refuse him.” He squared his jaw and wrung his hands.
The look Narcissa gave was harsher than any slap. “I do not want him hosting his war councils in my home! Not around our son!”
“He’s not holding it in the damn nursery, Cissa!” Lucius slammed his palm against the wall before regretting that it might’ve woken Draco. Lowering his voice, he said, “You’re not expected to attend. You can stay up here with Draco until it’s over.”
“My attendance is not the issue here. I do not want him and his worshipers to feel comfortable taking over my home whenever they wish!”
“This is a great honor.”
She looked at him incredulously. “You truly believe that, don’t you?”
“It doesn’t matter what I believe. They’ll be here soon.”
“Of course they will.” Narcissa walked off down the hall to their room. “I won’t wait up.”
“You know your sister won’t leave without seeing you!” he shouted, but she only responded by firmly shutting the door. Lucius groaned, rolling his neck in frustration before smoothing his robes, walking to the grand staircase. “Elf!”
With the sound of a whip crack, Lucius’ tentative house-elf apparated beside him in an old tea towel.
“Y–yes, Master Malfoy, sir?” Dobby’s large green eyes stared up at Lucius as he fidgeted with his thin fingers.
“Have you prepared the Manor for the Dark Lord’s arrival?”
“Yes sir, Dobby has polished the floors, and scrubbed the walls, and dusted the—”
“That’s enough! I don’t need a list. They’ll be arriving soon. I’d better not see a spec of you while the Dark Lord is here or I’ll allow him to use you the same he did with that old monster the Black family owned.”
“Y–yes, sir, of course. Dobby will remain hidden while Master Malfoy entertains his guests.”
“Good.” Now at the foot of the stairs, Lucius looked at the wide-eyed, big-eared, and miniscule creature. “And I don’t want to hear a sound coming from Draco’s room, either. If he wakes, I expect you to cast silencing charms and get his mother. Am I understood?”
“Y–yes, sir.”
From outside, there was a series of CRACKS. “Be gone. You can tend to my guests from the shadows.”
Dobby disapparated to wherever he normally went to hide, while Lucius adjusted his appearance for a last time. From the walking stick he used, he twisted free the serpent-head topper, revealing his wand. Eighteen inches, dark elm, dragon heartstring. After decades of use, it had turned nearly black, the tip a sharpened point. Rather a dull thing, Lucius spent a considerable amount of galleons to have a pure silver serpent forged to loop around the length of the wand. The snake served as a grip, curving to the contours of Lucius’ hand, and as the menacing topper of his walking stick. The snake’s head portrayed him ready to lunge, mouth wide and sharpened fangs bared. A pair of brilliant emeralds acted as the eyes.
With a flick of the wand, the massive verdant doors to Malfoy Manor creaked open.
In the courtyard were a dozen of his fellow Death Eaters, arriving just in time. Most gave a curt or respectful nod to Lucius as they entered the manor, exchanging brief pleasantries. Others walked past without a glance. It was all the usual sort: The Carrows, Mulciber (father and son), MacNair, Crabbe, Goyle, Avery, Crouch, Dolohov, Parkinson, Travers, Yaxley, Lestranges et al., and others he never cared to learn the names of.
“Lucy!” chirped Bellatrix, her arm draped around her husband’s. “Always so glum.” She gave him a mocking pout. “Don’t look so nervous, dear.” She extended her free hand, full of rings, out to Lucius.
“Bella,” Lucius sneered, kissing her outstretched hand. “A pleasure. Rodolphus.”
Rodolphus Lestrange, her husband, was a tall, black man with a strong jaw, closely cropped hair, and naturally suspicious eyes. He shook Lucius’ hand sternly, always a man of few words, unlike his wife or brother. A skilled spellcaster, and devastating to any who crossed him; it wasn’t often he got dirt on his hands, but even Lucius pitied those that came across him when he did. The Lestrange family had blood as pure as the Malfoys or Blacks, and almost as much money. Their family was never so influential, preferring to keep themselves in the shadows—ever watching.
“I’ll keep your advice in mind, dear sister,” Lucius said, doing his best not to roll his eyes. “I appreciate your concern.”
“Good. Now, where’s Cissa?” she strutted into the foyer, her heels sending harsh echoes through the room. “I miss my baby sister.”
“Upstairs. She’s resting while the boy sleeps. Raising a baby is tiring work; you would know that if you did your part in producing the next generation of pure-bloods.”
“Pity,” she said, ignoring any discussion about her having children of her own. “I thought motherhood would become her. Oh, well, I’ll just pop up to see her before The Dark Lord arrives.”
Lucius held his hand out to stop her. “Now, now, Bella. Let her sleep.”
Her shoulders slumped and she scoffed. “Fine, but I will see her before we leave.” She stared intensely at Lucius with her wild, heavy-lidded gray eyes before twirling and heading for the formal dining room. Her heels echoed through the cavernous room. “Come, Rodolphus!”
Scratching his eyebrow, Lucius could already feel the migraine growing behind his eyes.
“Severus,” he greeted the latest arrival. A prodigious young man with sunken, pale features and a long nose. He often looked sickly. His black eyes, long raven hair cascading past his shoulders and dark clothing did little to help this. But he was a talented Potions Master and spell-caster, having created more than a few of his own.
“Lucius.” He didn’t feign a smile like the others did when greeting him. “A pleasure. Thank you for hosting—”
“Oh, God, not you too.” Lucius ushered the younger man away from the door and lowered his voice. “Has He told you why He’s called this meeting?”
“I do not presume to know the Dark Lord’s reasons behind his decisions. I’m sorry to tell you he acts of his own accord with no input from me.”
Lucius sucked his teeth in disappointment. That’s what he was afraid of.
“I only assumed that after warning him of the prophecy, he’d have made you more privy to his plans.”
This year past, a few months before Draco was born, Severus convened the Death Eater court and made the Dark Lord aware of a prophecy given to Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts. It foretold the birth of one possessing power to defeat the Dark Lord, born to ones who have thrice defied him at the end of July. Unfortunately, the brute operating the Hog’s Head Inn threw Severus out before he could hear the rest. They spent weeks unraveling the lines they knew, and ultimately Lord Voldemort marked the son of James and Lily Potter for death.
“Half a prophecy. Something he is quick to remind me of. Not enough to make me any more privy to his machinations than the rest of you. I’d thought if anyone were aware, it would be you, Lucius. After all, this is your home.”
“Yes, you would think, but no. I’m as oblivious as the rest.” He could hardly hide his annoyance. “Come along.”
Together, they walked up the malachite steps to the Malfoy dining room where the rest of the Death Eaters sat around the long rectangular table. The only seats remaining were the two nearest the head of the table, which was reserved for the Dark Lord. Lucius assumed one of these as this was his house, with the other reserved for Severus Snape.
Despite not gaining more insight than the other Death Eaters, Snape’s revelation of the prophecy and his bold move to gain Dumbledore’s trust and a place with his Order of the Phoenix had secured the young man a place at Lord Voldemort’s right hand. The second youngest in their ranks and no one from a noble pure-blood family, his appointment to such a revered place came as more than a slight to many amongst them.
Though none would ever say so out loud.
None of the Death Eaters made idle small talk while waiting. No one spoke at all. Their eyes flicked towards the door sporadically or studied the woodgrain of the table. They fidgeted with their rings and sleeves or fussed over their appearance. All of them except for Severus, who had his hands laced together and resting on the table in front of him, looking content. Only the faint sense of boredom betrayed his youth. Nothing else of how he felt escaped from behind those dark eyes.
The constant fidgeting and silence must’ve been too much for Rabastan Lestrange, the younger brother of Rodolphus. Always an impatient one, he was incapable of keeping still for long. He shared his brother’s warm brown complexion and handsome look, though he kept his hair in braids tied behind his head. He sighed loudly and dropped his hand on the table.
“Malfoy, why don’t you call that elf of yours and get us a glass of wine? We’ve come a long way, after all.”
“No, Rabastan…” A cold, soft voice spoke before Lucius could. Forming out of the shadows beyond the open door, a slender, robed figure materialized. “I need all of your minds clear… for we are on the precipice of our victory…”
The Dark Lord glided silently along the long length of the table and assumed his seat at the head. The silence was even more palpable now than it was a moment ago, lingering heavily in the air. No one fidgeted anymore. Iron rods replaced their spines.
It was Severus who asked, “Our victory, my lord?”
A thin-lipped smile spread across the Dark Lord’s pale face. The most powerful sorcerer the world had ever seen, he resembled more an eldritch god than any mere wizard. His appearance had shed away most distinguishable human features and instead took those akin to a serpent. Bereft of hair, he had chiseled skeletal features and skin the color of marble; slits replaced his nostrils and fangs his teeth. His piercing eyes were a raging scarlet that saw all and stared deeply into your soul.
“Severus, my faithful companion, it was only a few months past that you enlightened us with the news of a prophecy… ‘the one to vanquish the Dark Lord’…” He let out a raspy, hollow laugh that the others hesitantly joined. “For months, we have devoted our energies to avoiding this outcome… weakening the Order… crippling the Ministry… searching for James and Lily Potter… Unfortunately, my faithful friend did not collect the full prophecy, leaving us in greater uncertainty than we ought to be…” His slitted scarlet eyes rested on Snape, neither showing malice nor disappointment.
Severus turned his head to meet his gaze, not showing any reaction of his own. “My lord, I would have given you the full prophecy had it not been for that fool of a barkeep—”
“Ah, Severus, fret not. One of your old schoolmates has provided us with an answer to our prayers… Wormtail?”
The red eyes shifted their gaze towards the shadowed doorway, and Snape followed. Trembling, another figure stepped into the room. This “Wormtail” was a short, stocky man with straw-colored hair, watery eyes, and a large pair of buck-teeth. He wore a flannel shirt and khaki-colored pants. He looked as far from the Death Eaters, dressed predominantly in black, silver, gold, and green finery. Still, a wave of familiarity washed over Lucius, though he couldn’t recall from where.
A few of the others did not have the same lapse in memory.
The younger amongst their ranks, including the typically measured Snape, shot to their feet in haste, their wands aimed right for this stranger. He threw up his hands in terror.
“Petrificus Totalus!” Snape’s wand flashed white, and the stranger froze in place.
The Dark Lord let out another hollow laugh. “So passionate…” Lord Voldemort said. “Calm yourselves, gentlemen, calm yourselves…”
“My lord,” Snape refused to take his eyes or wand off the stranger, “I would never presume to question you, but this man is a close friend of James Potter and Albus Dumbledore. He is a member of the Order of the Phoenix. I have seen him attending meetings and performing missions without question. He acts to protect the boy you’ve marked for death.”
“I am aware, Severus… You are not the only mole… or rat… we possess.”
Lucius’ memory finally caught up to him. Peter Pettigrew, a Gryffindor boy who was close friends with Narcissa’s cousin, Sirius Black. Though so many years younger, his reputation for following Sirius and James Potter around like their shadow was a well-known one. Despite barely knowing him, his betrayal was hard to believe.
“My Lord,” Evan Rosier spoke, still keeping his wand on Pettigrew. “I’ve known this one since we were boys. He holds no loyalty to us, likely he’s feeding information to the Order.”
“Is that true, Wormtail?” Lord Voldemort asked in a hushed voice. His wand flashed, and Pettigrew could once again move.
“N–no, my lord.”
“He lies!” Snape spat.
“Severus…” the Dark Lord’s cold eyes once again fell on him. “I recall you being quite a skilled Legilimens… Surely, you could find any sense of betrayal I may have missed… you seem so sure that I am wrong.”
Snape’s wand wavered and fell to his side. “I beg your forgiveness, my lord. I did not mean to insinuate—”
“Of course you didn’t… mark it down as boyhood grievances… For those of you still unconvinced, please tell me which of you, my most devoted, was responsible for the death of the McKinnon Family?” His livid red eyes flicked from each one of them to the other. “Come now, claim your laurels… They were so devoted against me… Rosier? Crabbe…? Avery…? Travers…?”
“I had the McKinnon girl marked, just as you commanded.” Travers shot to his feet. “I followed her day and night, preparing to make my move—”
“And were you successful?”
“…No, my lord.” He sat back down. “Another murdered her and her family before I could.”
“And do you know who committed this act?”
“No, my lord.”
“Severus, do you know? You work so closely within the ranks of the Order, do they have any suspects?”
“No, my lord,” said Snape. “All the Order is sure of is it being a Death Eater.”
“They’re right of that…” Lord Voldemort laughed again. “Your arm, Wormtail?”
Everyone’s attention floated back to Pettigrew, still trembling at the foot of the table. He undid the buttons of his cuff and rolled up the sleeve. Outraged gasps filled the room as he revealed the Dark Mark burnt into the underside of his left forearm. Protests broke out immediately, with most of the table jumping to their feet.
“Quiet!” snapped the Dark Lord in the same hoarse whisper. The protests ceased as quickly as they started, with everyone returning to their seats in shame. “You all know how that mark is earned… you all know it does not come lightly… isn’t that right, Wormtail?”
Pettigrew gave a shaky nod, covering the mark on his arm with his sleeve.
“It is our newest comrade that accomplished what you could not, Travers.”
“Marlene McKinnon and her family were not as dear to him as those you have marked now, my lord,” Snape boldly said. “Pettigrew would not turn his back on James Potter, let alone aid in his demise.”
“Severus, again you are so sure… In all your time with the Order, can you tell me the location of the Potters?”
“…No, my lord. Dumbledore has kept that close to the chest… especially with me.”
“And you do not see the hindrance there? My most trusted… my spy within their ranks… and yet you cannot give me that which I need most to secure my victory… Do you know how they’re being protected?”
“From what I gather, it is a Fidelius charm, seeing as none can speak of it.”
“And if it is, then who is their secret-keeper?”
“Sirius Black,” Lucius chimed in. “Everyone knows how close he is to Potter. Sirius is closer to him than he was to his own brother.”
“Everyone knows…” Lord Voldemort’s eyes rested on Pettigrew. “Don’t they, Wormtail?”
Pettigrew once again had the floor. “Th–They figured everyone would suspect Sirius… so at the last minute… he chose me as their secret-keeper, t–to throw you off the trail…”
“Little did he know, you were a clever one and knew where the power lied… even when he did not…” Lord Voldemort rose from his seat and walked along the length of the table, running his fingers over the shoulders of each Death Eater he passed. “My friends, as you know, the Fidelius Charm is ancient magic… difficult to conjure… difficult to dispel… He who holds the secret is bound to it… and may only provide it willingly… no matter of coercion would work. I could torture young Peter for decades and never hear a whisper of what he kept… but I do not need to… do I?”
He’d reached Pettigrew and stood behind him, slender hands with nails like talons on both of his shoulders, looking down at him as he waited for a response.
“N–No.” From the pocket on his breast, Pettigrew pulled a slip of parchment and presented it to the Dark Lord.
Lord Voldemort savored every word before passing the note to Rodolphus, who passed it to Bellatrix, then Rabastan, and so on until it reached Lucius. Written on the scrap of parchment was a single sentence:
Lily and James Potter are hiding their son at a cottage in Godric’s Hollow.
That was all.
All the Order’s protections culminated into fourteen words. Lucius passed the note to Severus, who snatched it from his hand greedily. He read it several times over, perhaps analyzing it for any sort of hidden message or trap the Dark Lord could not have foreseen. But he came up short and passed it to Yaxley beside him.
“Godric’s Hollow,” Lord Voldemort cackled.
“What do you plan to do, my lord?” Severus asked.
“Pay them a visit…”
The Death Eaters chuckled.
“When do you plan to have this visit, my lord? Shall we accompany you?”
“There will be no need, Bella… I am capable of killing the babe and his parents myself. There is much and more I intend for the rest of you to take care of in my stead. As for when… what better evening than that of Hallowe’en…?”
“Tonight, my lord?” Lucius asked with too much surprise.
“You object to this, Lucius?”
“No. Of course not, my lord. I am merely surprised by how quickly this was happening.”
“Surprised?” Lord Voldemort rounded the table to stand over Lucius. “Did you think the months spent preparing for this were all a charade? When would be a better time to enact my plan, do you think? Forgive me for not checking your schedule…”
“Apologies, my lord. I did not mean—”
The Dark Lord ignored him.
“Tonight, my friends… everything we have worked for… everything we have prepared for… it will all be ours. The boy will die, and any threat to my power extinguished.”
“What of Dumbledore, my lord?” Yaxley asked. “Surely, we will still have to contend with him and his Order.”
The Dark Lord resumed his place at the head of the table. “Surely… Severus?” Looking at the younger man on his right, he laid out his hand for him to hold court.
Snape rose from his seat. His fingertips remained on the table, and he stared straight ahead as he addressed them all. “Albus Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix…” he said in his usual monotone, seeming to pick each word carefully. “Have put much stock in their… prophecy. They’ve clung to it like a shield, willing the… Potters and the Longbottoms into hiding with their sons. I am of the opinion that Dumbledore does not seek to merely keep them safe because it is the right thing to do… He is keeping them safe to ensure the survival of the boys so they may live to fulfill their… purpose.”
“And?” Rabastan said impatiently.
Rather than turning to face the Lestrange, Severus only moved his eyes to look at him.
“And should these prophesized babes be… removed… The Order’s shield and their hopes of success will go with them. Dumbledore is but a man, without his secret weapon… he is lost. The ground will fall from beneath him, his supporters will lose faith, and the Dark Lord will rise with no one capable of stopping him.”
“But this only takes out one boy,” Barty Crouch, Jr., said. “We need to deal with the Longbottoms all the same. Just in case.”
“Agreed… You will each have your tasks to perform. But rest assured, today our reign shall begin and none will be able to stop us.”
The Death Eaters toasted their assured victory.
“Barty… you and the Lestranges three I entrust to take care of the Longbottoms.”
“Going to have another McKinnon family on our hands,” Rabastan laughed.
“We will not fail you, My Lord,” Bellatrix swore.
“I know you won’t. I need The Ministry and Order distracted… This, I leave in the capable hands of the rest of you. Except for you, Wormtail. You alone will accompany me to Godric’s Hollow… You know what the ramifications are, should you be less than truthful?”
“Y–yes, m’lord.”
“And us, my lord?” Lucius couldn’t meet his gaze. “Severus and myself?”
“Ah, concerned about your status in my court, Lucius?” asked the Dark Lord. “Worry not. You’re correct in your belief I have a task of your own to fulfill. Leave us,” he commanded the Death Eaters.
All of them filed from the dining hall, and Lucius heard them disapparating from the foyer.
“Don’t go too far, Wormtail. The hour of your deception is nearly upon us.”
“My lord.” Snape lingered for a moment. “If I could speak privately with you before your departure?”
“Of course, Severus… You will have my ear once I have finished with Lucius. I have my own tasks for you specifically…”
“Thank you, my Lord.” He gave a polite bow and a brief look towards Lucius before exiting, flicking his wand with a flourish to shut the doors.
“You,” Lucius cleared his throat. “You have need for me, my Lord?”
“Yes, Lucius…” The Dark Lord rose once again from his seat. “I can trust only you with this… You are the most… practical of my followers… A stable man… a family man…”
“My lord?” Lucius’ stomach clenched and flipped. Asking something of him was enough, but to bring in his wife? God forbid his son? Draco was not yet two. What use could he be to the Dark Lord? Then again, so was the Potter boy, and he had marked his name for death.
“I have no need for your son, Lucius… at least, not yet.” It haunted Lucius how easily The Dark Lord could peer into his mind as easily as if it were a book left open. “No, only your promise to keep a possession of mine safe.”
“A possession? Of course, my lord. Whatever it is will have the utmost security. I’ll keep it in my family’s vault—”
“No. This requires you keep it near for when the moment of its necessity comes.” The Dark Lord waved his hand through the air and, from a dark cloud of smoke, he retrieved a leather-bound book and bestowed it upon Lucius. Flipping through the black book, Lucius found the pages blank. The only thing written in it was the name “T. M. Riddle” inscribed on the inside cover.
“Is… Is there a spell to conjure its contents, my lord?”
“No, Lucius. That diary contains far more than any simple spellbook or grimoire. Though its pages remain blank, they hold the secret to our future… You see, many decades ago, while I was still a boy at Hogwarts, I was fortunate enough to attend with the Heir of Slytherin. It was he who opened the mythic Chamber of Secrets during our time there, released the ancient Basilisk from its tomb, and used it to rid the school of the muggle-born filth that pervades it.
“Unfortunately, he was unsuccessful in his attempt… the creature killed only one Mudblood girl before returning to its slumber. This diary contains the knowledge to open the Chamber once more. When the time is right and there is no one—especially Albus Dumbledore—to stand in our way, you will ensure this diary finds its way into the school and into the hands of a student… and we will purge the greatest wizarding school in the world of all those impure and unworthy once and for all.”
— —
“It’s all a lie!”
“They certainly don’t think so.”
“Yes, and they also think it’s appropriate for muggle-borns to attend our schools,” Lucius said. “I hold little stock in what they think… so much of it has so little basis in reality.”
He glared into the lit hearth. The flames danced across his slate-blue eyes. Narcissa sat in front of the fire, joining him in the library to discuss the news that came with the end of term at the Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.
“Draco seemed convinced enough.”
“Draco is a child,” Lucius spat. “The Dark Lord is dead, has been for over a decade; and if He weren’t, it would take more than an eleven-year-old boy to defeat Him.”
Narcissa sipped her tea, shooting her husband a look that spoke for itself.
“We don’t know the truth of what happened that night,” Lucius continued. “A baby could not conjure magic enough to defeat Him. He is unnaturally gifted. It was a–a mistake.”
“And whatever it was, did defeat the Dark Lord.”
Lucius exhaled deeply. “Regardless, one thing is certain: He is dead. The only one in the dungeons with the Potter boy weeks ago was an inept half-blood wizard who had no more business invoking the Dark Lord’s name than he did teaching our children.”
“How are you so sure? That he’s truly dead?”
“Because we would be the first to know if he weren’t!”
“Do not raise your voice.”
Lucius grit his teeth. “I was ever faithful to Him. He would reward our loyalty, Narcissa.”
“Reward?” Narcissa stifled a laugh. “As soon as the news came of his disappearance, what did we do? Claimed ignorance. Claimed we’d been bewitched and forced into his bidding. Would he see that as loyalty? Or is your certainty that he’s truly gone, a false hope that he won’t come after you for what you’ve done?”
“I did what I had to do!” he stormed. “He would understand that I am of more use to him in my current position than I’d ever be locked up in Azkaban with your sister. Or would you rather have raised Draco on your own all this time?”
She remained silent, but did not take her eyes away from him.
“As I said. It’s all a lie. The Dark Lord is not back, nor did Harry Potter face him. All he found down there was that frightened fool, Quirrell. A powerful gust of wind would have killed the man had Potter not. Though, his propensity to kill the half-breeds shows promise that not all hope is lost.” Lucius scoffed and rubbed his eyes, sitting in the chair beside Narcissa’s. Their hands lightly wove together.
“It was enough that Quirrell was a professor at all. Muggle Studies, of all things. A joke. But for Dumbledore to take him on as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher? That should have removed him from his post then and there. I tried, of course, but the other governors refused… Utterly foolish. Likely came up with the Dark Lord returning to cover up his own ineptitude for hiring Quirrell in the first place.”
The silence lingered for a while before Lucius’ attention turned to the bookcase, and a book he’d placed there so many years ago. He rose from his seat and collected the old leather-bound journal.
“Do you think anyone else will believe Dumbledore’s claims?” Narcissa asked.
Lucius flipped through the blank pages of the journal, knowing he wouldn’t find anything on them. “That’s yet to be seen… still, Quirrell’s alleged allegiances don’t bode well. I’m sure there are more than a few within the Ministry looking for an opportunity to climb the ladder.”
Narcissa finally got to her feet and walked over to him. “Then you, Lucius, need to do everything in your power to keep them away from our family. I’m sure I can find buyers willing to pay a healthy amount for most of your collection.”
In the years since the Dark Lord’s demise, Narcissa had become a renowned dealer of arts and antiquities while Lucius played politics in the Ministry and at Hogwarts. Anything to maintain what status they were robbed of.
“I will not sell them like common trinkets.”
“And I won’t have anyone asking questions in my home, not in front of my son.”
Lucius never looked up from the blank book. “You worry too much. And he’s our son.”
“No, Lucius. You said it yourself. You’re more useful not in Azkaban. So, do whatever you need to do to keep it that way. I want all of your trinkets gone, anything that even whispers of the dark arts, anything that shows any sign of your previous allegiances and pay off whoever you need to—will you put that damn book away!” She slapped the journal from his hands, forcing it across the room.
Fury rose in Lucius’ eyes. Narcissa did not flinch or look away. Her jaw tightened.
He summoned the book back to him, but he didn’t open it again.
“I’ll forgive your ignorance, my dear.”
With a pitying look, Narcissa returned to her seat and crossed her legs. “I didn’t ask for your forgiveness, husband.”
Looking at her with a mixture of trepidation and adoration, he held up the book. “What if I told you this would give us both what we want?”
“A cure to my migraine?”
“Something to rid us of—”
Raising her hand to stop him, Narcissa returned to her feet and walked over to her husband again. She softly caressed his cheek, coarse from the new hair growth, and kissed the other. “Deniability, Lucius. Deniability. I trust you to do what needs to be done, and the less I know, the better. Let me know if you need me to find a buyer.”
She left the room without another word.
Lucius turned the book over in his hand, glowering at it. It was the only gift he’d ever gotten from the Dark Lord. And one he said to protect at all costs. He’d flipped through its empty contents a few times over the years, especially after the Dark Lord’s death. Frankly, he didn’t see what was so important from the old thing, a diary from some muggle shop. But the Dark Lord claimed that when the time was right, they would use it to purge Hogwarts of all muggle-borns once and for all. How such an object could do that, Lucius still didn’t know. He was only told that it was bewitched. How it worked didn’t matter, Lucius needed it now.
He summoned his quill and opened the diary