in Azkaban had become soft. Since walking away from the paths of bodies that they had
carved through the public in the past they has come unaccustomed to the killing,
comfortable in their new status in society, and happy with the government jobs and boons
they had been granted as a repentance for the Misitrys lateness in freeing them from their
‘bonds’. Though none dared to say it, many of the Death Eaters wished that the night had
never come where they felt the mark burn again against their arms.
That thought flashed through Lucius’ mind in an instance, and he quickly expelled it, as
he knelt prostrate on the stone floor of one of the many floors of his basement. His robes,
which once would have scraped against the chalk lines he had sketched across the floor,
were stretched barely comfortably across his body. He would get new ones... god knew
he could afford them... but Death Eater robes were cut in a defined and unchangable style
that could be recognized by most tailor’s of the world, and it really wasn’t a risk worth
taking.
“Luuuuciussss....”
Lucius winced at the sound of his own name, and fixated his glance even more focused
upon the floor. Though he didn’t have the skill of Parseltongue, he could guess quite
easily that those slow, hissing words were what the serpents would sound like when they
spoke in the language of man. “Yes,” he mumbled, adding “my Lord” almost late in the
phrase. He really did need to get back in practice.
“I am calling upon you for a great task, Lucius. A great task indeed.”
Not surprisingly, this did not bring a smile to the lord of Malfoy Manor’s face. Certain
things meant good, pleasant, when addressed to as ‘great’. Tasks appointed by the Dark
Lord were not one of those things. Great meant difficult, and it meant that if you failed,
you would not be around to fail again.
“Your son... is living with Potter.”
Eight white streaks appeared on the stone below as Lucius’ hands seized up, scraping his
nails roughly, and he almost lost his footing in his position of reverence. Of course!
That’s why he hadn’t been able to find out on his own... looking into the current
residence of the Gryffindor’s patrons had been so absurd he hadn’t even considered it.
His son... and the ultimate enemy. Briefly, Lucius dwelt on what this meant for the fate of
his son, but then pushed the thoughts aside. He could address that later. For now, he
needed to be on his toes.
“I want you to remove Potter, once and for all.”
It was like being struck by lightning. Euphoria over the ultimate task battled in vain
against the terror of responsibility and the dreading of failure, and he was ultimately left
feeling simply hollow. How in God’s name was he supposed to do what hundreds of dark
wizards had not been able to over the last few months since Voldemort’s uprising?
Dumbledore had so many anti magic charms laid down... it was physically impossible for
a dark wizard to even step within a mile of a protected house, let alone cast spells at it.
He couldnt get his son to do it, he knew that, and if that was what the Dark Lord was
expecting...
And then it hit him.
The father.
Wait, it wasnt the father...
It was the Uncle.
He would use the Uncle.
He bowed his head even lower to the flor. “Your will be done, my Lord.” But Voldemort
had been long sicne done was him, and he uttered the shaky words to empty air.