A possible future: I don't care what is written about me so long as it isn't true.

[byrightsinhell]

It had been a year.

Lucius repeated this tiny mantra to himself for a few moments, trying to internalize it. It didn't feel true, though he had no reason to doubt it. After all, the wizards who'd broken them out looked much the same as they ever had.

He could tell from their reactions that the same wasn't true of him. Oh, certainly, he was dirty and ill-kept, which couldn't help, but he suspected the change wasn't something so easy to rectify. For the moment, though, his energy was tied up in making sure he didn't faint. The distance between himself and the nearest dementor felt like eons compared to what he'd had, the absence of their influence almost a pleasure in itself. The sky. It was a clear night, stars sharp and bright. There were people around him, some speaking, some planning, some casting spells. He just stood, and looked up.

After a moment, he registered that someone was speaking to him. It was Dolohov. Lucius would have laughed, if he didn't feel he'd lost the capability. The large Russian offered him his wand, and said quietly, "Go home, Malfoy. The Dark Lord will be contacting you soon." Though his tone was a bit gruff, there was something in his face not entirely unlike sympathy. He'd been here, Lucius remembered. He'd been in after the first war. The fact the man had remained outwardly sane gave Lucius a new respect for him.

When Lucius took his wand, Dolohov repeated, low, "Go home." There was a subtle emphasis to the words.

Then again, what else was there to do?

He almost wished he had a broom. Veiling himself and flying home would have given him some time. But the part of him that had remained apart, cool and logical throughout the ordeal, pointed out that in his current state, he'd fall off a broom long before he got to Wiltshire, if he wasn't shot from the sky by an auror with a twitchy wand finger. And it would be cruel to make Narcissa wait for word of him. He wouldn't do that to her, not this time through. He wasn't ready to see her, but he didn't know when he would be, and she deserved better. Much better than anything that would be likely to come any time soon.

Dolohov had moved off and, thank Merlin, Bellatrix had other priorities than tormenting him that night, which gave Lucius a moment to clear his mind and apparate.

He didn't apparate directly into the house, of course. That would have been foolhardy, for a number of reasons. But he didn't appear as far away as he might have, either. His legs felt uncertain from ill-feeding and lack of exercize, and he would be damned if he didn't stride into the house under his own power.

Lucius Malfoy strode up, murmured the charm to unlock the door, and let himself into the manor. He felt nothing but a dull exhaustion. But he was, at last, home.

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[byrightsinhell]

He touches her cheek, lightly, but more for her benefit than his, as if it's something he remembers he should do. "I'm not yet a complete invalid," he says, quietly, but he does put an arm on her shoulder as they turn for the stairs. He's certainly weak regardless of whether he's an invalid, and he won't be too proud to take the help.

As they make their slow, steady way upstairs, he says, "Is it true? About Dumbledore?"

[vanities]

The disparaging sound she makes about his pridefulness is a little more brittle than she'd like, pretending at normalcy where there isn't any- she feels weak herself, so very, very tired. "Yes," she confirms, thinking of the vow and tightening her grip on her husband's arm unconsciously. "Yes, it's true."

[byrightsinhell]

He catches the change in her grip, and something in her voice, and he says, "Narcissa... what happened?" His old self would have just noted it, and filed it away to discuss later, but he's exhausted and broken and, contrarily, he doesn't want her to shield him. After all, Narcissa and Draco are alive. He'll cope with what he has to.

[vanities]

"Soon," she says, after a pause, instead of answering at once; it seems like she wishes very hard she could refuse to answer at all. Narcissa has absolutely no desire to talk about what happened while Lucius was gone, but she'll have to and she knows just...not yet. "Please come and sit down and let me find you something clean, Lucius."

[byrightsinhell]

He wouldn't be up to fighting her, besides which, he has no desire to fight. Not so soon after returning. He shakes his head, but lets it drop for the time being. And he follows her instructions, because he can't yet do much of anything else.

Everything looked a little bit different. He had no idea how, precisely, but something subtle had been altered.

"I'm sorry that I don't know what to say," he says, quietly, as they reach the top of the stairs.

[vanities]

"Lucius," she says, in a voice that barely suggests an edge of hysteria she surely doesn't have the energy for, "if you intend to apologize for all the wrongs we've had-"

Then he'll be out of what breath he has before he's done? Then she'll strangle him on the stairs with her bare hands? Then she'll keep crying?

[byrightsinhell]

The last threat would probably be the worst one, in all honesty. He's never been much good at standing it when she cries. "Just the ones I am responsible for, my love," he says, still low.

Of course, in his current state, this may be all of them.

[vanities]

"I won't have you blamed," she says, in the tone of a woman who has had this argument once or twice or a hundred times before and was tired of it long before Lucius returned to throw his voice in. She sets her jaw, small and stern next to him, and steers him toward their rooms without saying anything else.

[byrightsinhell]

He lets it lie. Knowing she doesn't blame him, contrarily, makes him feel worse, instead of better. She's always been so direct and honest, and having her so defy his expectations (albeit expectations formed in Azkaban, which can't be called precisely reliable) is throwing him off balance.

But he's too tired to fight, and he's willing to let her lead for now.