Dear Sir,
I believe you are as aware as I am that the child you adopted and raised as your own is far
from ordinary. I know of his powers as much as you do. I know what he could do, and to
some degree, I know what he can do. I also know you did, and do, not approve of such a
lifestyle. As with all level headed thinking, that is something I can respect. I understand
that it would bring a level of pain and embarrassment to both you and your family if such
eccentricities were revealed to the world, with your name attached to it.
Knowledge has fallen into my hands that I believe you are not aware of. It is not about
this boy’s original alternate lifestyle, but a second which he has chosen. It has come to
my attention that this boy no longer lives within the walls of your home, and has struck
out on his own... or so he may have led you to believe. There is nothing singular about
the life he is living right now. He has moved into an apartment with another boy of
similar mutations. Instead of keeping things hidden as such curses should be, they have
chosen to flaunt them over the past weeks, attaching a great deal of distaste to the name
they are leaving behind wherever they go- Dursley.
Respect is deserved of all respectable men. You are a respectable man, and do not
deserve the shame that is being thrust upon you. However, I am not in any sort of
actionable position myself, so I leave things upon you to act as you deem necessary. Such
decisions should always be left in the hands of capable men such as ourselves.
*Lucius*
Vernon Dursley stared at the piece of parchment he held in his shaking hands with some
twisted mix between rage, disgust, and horror. It was coming at last. The dog, turning to
not only bite the hand that fed it, but to rip it off and maul it, then spit it in the mud and
trod upon it. That ungrateful wretch of a freak was doing what they had put sixteen years
of effort and training to prevent.
White faced, Vernon placed the letter down on the end table, and then picked it up again.
He read it again, and again, over and over, not believing a word he was reading, and then
believing all of it, and then not caring. The possibility was there. It had always been
there. But the money... the money had clouded his vision, it had blurred the lines. But
things were clear now. Things had never been so clear. He could see from A to E, and he
knew exactly what stops he needed to take at B, C, and D. It was a simple thing, such a
simple thing, that he had overlooked it... but he wouldn’t make that mistake again.
He rose from his chair with a slow and steady motion, hardly noticing as he shredded the
letter into three dozen sharp edged little pieces. They made good kindling for the fire for
a few seconds before puffing to ash and blowing up from the chimney, spread out for all
the world to see if they could read the letters racing through the air. For a moment he
wondered, or tried to wonder, who Lucius was, and where he had gotten his information.
But he simply could not view it as important. It wasn’t important.
What he needed to do was important.
His shaking ceased, Vernon opened a door that lead from the kitchen, and began to
descend the stairs into the houses basement.
***
Lucius Malfoy had never been so proud of himself in his entire life. In his line of work...
his *other* line of work anyway, the line that involved curses and explosions and torture,
there was so need for subtlety. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to excursive it correctly,
magic or not, but he had spent a pain staking week crafting the letter, trying to make it do
what a simple controlling charm couldn’t- make the target truly *want* to do what was
instructed... without ever instructing them.
***
There were twenty steps in all. Vernon noticed that right away, as he counted them for
the first time in his life. Twenty stairs. Twenty one years for manhood. Catch twenty
two... and there were no twenty threes. He labeled his own line of thinking absurd,
uncharacteristic, but it wouldn’t stop playing in the back of his head. It wasn’t distracting
him, quite the opposite, it was making him pay even more attention to the one line of
thinking that didn’t seem to be blocked out by the endless buzz. His eyes scanned the
basement, lingering with distaste on the dust, until he saw what he was looking for. A
cold smile twisted under the mustache
***
‘Necessary’ has been a work of brilliance, Lucius thought to himself, subtlety at its finest.
He had written ‘what you feel is right’ in the first draft, in the first six drafts... but the
seventh was when the shot of brilliance spurned him to change it. The simple word put
images in your mind, phrases. Necessary evil. Cruel but necessary. Necessary
manslaughter.
***
The lock was covered with rust, as could be expected. Vernon had opened the chest once,
upon inheriting it, and stared at its contents for only a few seconds before shutting it,
locking it back up, and carrying it to the basement, where it would lay forgotten for
sometime. The key was intricate, the old kind of key, that looked like it had flowed from
the hands of a sculptor as opposed to the grip of a mold. It took some force, but the key
turned, and Vernon opened the chest, staring upon the contents for the second time in his
life
***
Charms. Charms were even better. Not control charms, those were not... subtle enough.
Lucius was falling in love with that word. Subtle. It tasted delicious rolling back in forth
between his tongue and his tonsils. Focusing charms. And distraction charms. Charms
that brought one thing into focus and blocked out everything else, charms that increased
testosterone production, a dozen charms were the final count that had been laid upon the
letter, to be cast on whoever’s eyes first played across the name written in an incredibly
dark red ink at the bottom of the letter. ‘Lucius’.
***
Vernon’s eyes were wide, almost frantic, as he went about his business. The object he
held was reflected in the gleaming pupils, which recorded each sturdy moment. A pin
turned here, a bolt drawn back here... a dozen bright green shells with coppertone tips
shoved down a coal black barrel. The quick twist that brought the item back together
again, locking its new addition inside, to be called up with the flick of a trigger.
For a moment, Vernon paused, to gather his thoughts.
“There are no twenty threes...”
He blinked a few times and rose to his feet, remembering the address written on the back
of the letter, mumbling it to himself, as he climbed back up the twenty stairs to the
kitchen.