Lucius Malfoy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
byrightsinhell) wrote2010-05-22 06:05 pm
byrightsinhell) wrote2010-05-22 06:05 pm
A possible future: I don't care what is written about me so long as it isn't true.
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.
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.
no subject
no subject
But he's too tired to fight, and he's willing to let her lead for now.