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Lucius knew his time had come.
There had been something whispering in his ear for the longest time. A certain something which told him from the very moment he had faced the Dark Lord back in Albania that a grave and fatal future was hanging over his head. He had dismissed it as his instincts reacting from the Dark Lord's presence. The man was temperamental even on the best of days, and restrained in that frail form had not improved his attitude.
If he had to put a finger on it, he'd have marked out that moment when the Bulgarian Veela began performing in unison. There was a strange power oozing from the Top-Box, and Lucius had felt it. Seeing Cornelius thumping Potter's shoulder like a fond uncle should have told him that something was happening in the background. That the events post the detonation were heralds of something ominous. The cold voice at the back of his head had told him that he really must kill Harry Potter, no matter the cost, because otherwise, he wouldn't even have a life with him alive.
Now, as the aged patriarch of the Malfoy family lay on the floor in silence, already having dealt with the surprise of finding himself in an unknown setting, he knew that it was just a matter of time before he drew his last breath. His killer, likely Harry Potter, an amusing fact because just some hours ago, he'd have laughed off at anyone daring to suggest something so ludicrous about the Gryffindor Golden Boy, but he knew better now,
The boy was a killer, had killed, both in that terrifying bestial form, and as a human.
And now, he was going to kill him.
There was no saying what would happen to his family post his demise. He did not care too much about Narcissa. That woman could handle herself just fine. It was Draco that he was concerned about. With everything that was going on, he had forgotten to check where his son was. Even if something sinister had not befallen him, Draco bore an irrational hatred from the Potter boy.
Like him, Draco too had fallen for the goody two-shoes facade of the Gryffindor Golden Boy.
Unlike him, Draco lacked the cunning, the connections and the necessary skill of deception paramount for surviving in their cut-throat world.
Most likely, his son was already killed, and if not, would be killed in the near future.
And just like that, the Malfoy line would vanish. Everything he had spent decades building, his reputation, his wealth, his connections, his legacy — all of it was about to be undone.
So who was going to inherit his wealth?
Narcissa? Perhaps.
Lucius had the sneaking suspicion that should Draco die, Narcissa would slowly but certainly break her ties to the Malfoy name, leave it to be extinct for good measure, and attempt to return back to her roots. Their marriage contract made her privy to a fourth of the fortune if she chose to part ways.
But his empire? The Dark Alliance that he commanded for the better part of two decades?
Crabbe and Goyle were henchmen at best, filled with greed as they were, and would immediately change their allegiances to Nott who was most likely to assume command unless he too was captured or worse, killed. Parkinson would be beside himself at his passing, though that would be less due to his loss of a friend, and more because in Lucius's absence, House Parkinson would likely need to hunt for another benefactor willing to accept it as a vassal at the Wizengamot and give it representation. Jugson, Travers, Dolohov, Quentin — all of them would try to make his legacy theirs, assuming the other side didn't already burn things to the ground first.
Broderick… Broderick was always his partner at personal investment, and never one to deal with politics. He would likely take control of Lomfay Enterprises and slowly, unwittingly, let his friend Gideon Abbott into the business. That rat bastard was as sly as they came, and Lucius had no doubt Gideon would aim to grab for whatever he could get his hands on without making Broderick feel suspicious.
All in all, it was going to end.
For good.
And all of that because of the actions of Harry bloody Potter.
"Hello, Lucius."
Lucius was certain that up until a second ago, he could feel nobody around him. Except, it was no longer the case. His senses flared and the world around him suddenly blared into focus. He was lying on the floor, with his right hand —
His right hand —
A feeling of foreboding rose in him before it was nipped again. Yes, he remembered. His left hand was blown off from his shoulder because that madman Barty Crouch Junior had attacked him out of nowhere from behind. The stump was cauterised, he could feel it. His other hand was cleanly cut off from the upper arm too, and while that could normally be healed using the proper potions, the curse that was used to severe it was anything but normal.
Sectumsempra, Lucius realised. Snape's invention.
But the most disturbing of all things was the face that swam into focus. Sitting to his right, looming over him like the shadow of death, was that blasted green-eyed messy-haired brat. Now that he stared in the halfblood bastard's eyes, he could see a cold-blooded amoral killer behind them.
His first instinct should have been to attempt an attack. Even without his hands, Lucius was more than capable of several wandless charms. His second should have been to kick Potter in the face or the chest, followed by a wandless banisher. It would be a pain to attempt getting up without his hands, but an Ascending charm could do the trick. A third option could have been to cast the Animatus charm on himself and order his body about akin to a puppet.
Yet, he did none of those things. As a matter of fact, none of those things even crossed his mind. He was strangely, prenaturally calm. No bubbling anger, no anxiety over what had transpired and would follow, no sense of vengeful retribution, no desire to crush the bastard's throat with his bare hands, nothing. Just a calm, unnerving acceptance that bordered on tranquillity at what was to follow.
"A calming draught," he said at last.
"Ah, you recognized it that quickly?" asked the boy, his eyes fleeting with amusement. "It's the Draught of Peace actually. Only a tad more potent, or so my potioneer tells me. Seeing the effects, I'm inclined to take her by her word."
She. He had said She. But who could it be? The mudblood werewolf? Draco had reluctantly conceded that she was one of the best brewers in his class. But brewing a potion and altering it were two different things. One could be skilled and diligent like Lucius himself, or skilled and talented like Severus.
So who was it?
"Are you going to kill me?"
That spark of amusement was back. "Of course I'm going to kill you. Why does death always come as such a shock to people? I mean, you're quite used to seeing people, aren't you? By your own hand, especially."
"Yes, I have."
"How many, if I might ask?"
"Fifty… sixty perhaps?" Lucius answered without the slightest hesitation. "I avoided killing by my own hands if I could help it. Killing is often a chore, and there is always the chance of blood splattering over my robes. Too many vanishing charms can damage those fabrics. There's also the issue of evidence lying around, so I had others deal with the riff raff."
His eyes went slightly wide as the words escaped his lips. "You have dosed me with veritaserum."
"And a babbling potion," said the boy nonchalantly. "She warned me that the Draught of Peace contains Hellebore, which can violently react with the crocodile heart strings to induce organ failure. Given the situation we have here, I thought it was well worth the risk."
The clinical and polite, friendly tone in which the words had been delivered chilled him. It was like listening to someone simply making conversation with an old friend he had not met in a while. It told Lucius that if, no when Potter chose to kill him, it would be done with no fuss whatsoever, not unlike squishing an ant.
And the worst part? Nobody would see it coming. Dumbledore's favourite, the Gryffindor Golden Boy being a psychopathic killer? Who would believe him?
Said killer was looking at him, intrigued. A form of sickening interest that Lucius couldn't put a finger on.
"So who were the ones you personally killed? Go on, and don't think of leaving any gory details back. Spit your heart out, Lucius. You might never get the chance after this."
Just what was his endgame? Lucius had no doubt he would be killed soon. Was this his way of ensuring that the Malfoy name was irrevocably destroyed? Did he want to release the memory to the government? No, that would be foolish. Dumbledore would obviously denigrate Potter's actions, so perhaps this was his way of self-justification?
"There was Marlene McKinnon. Sirius Black's fiance. I made some passes at her back at school and she refused. Her brothers were Aurors, and firmly opposed the Dark Lord. During the raid on Azkaban prison back in 1981, the Dark Lord killed her brothers. Taking advantage of that, I infiltrated their manor with Dolohov's aid, put her father under the Imperius curse, and incapacitated both of them. I defiled her and her mother, then imperiused her mother to repeatedly stab her husband with a knife. Then I animated the corpse into defiling both women and killing them, and—"
"Stop."
Lucius paused, the babbling potion taking effect. He wondered what sort of additions Potter had made to it to make him this pliable to his commands.
And then Potter snapped his fingers.
Like a glass wall shattering, Lucius suddenly realised that he had been unable to see just what was Potter sitting on. Or rather, what was next to him. His insides turned cold with horror as he realised that it was his wife Narcissa that was sitting next to him, with not a stitch of clothing on her, sucking Potter's dick. She was rolling her pink tongue in a slow teasing circle around her pouty lips, making them shine invitingly, the red lipstick standing out brilliantly against her creamy white skin.
"Come and get it," said Potter, equally naked. "I've got another nice big load for you."
He surged the dripping knob of his surging prick at Narcissa's face, a glistening web of precum flying from the tip and landing lewdly on her cheek.
The touch of that slimy discharge seemed to fire Narcissa's ardour even more. Lucius watched, flabbergasted, as she slid both hands along Potter's thighs and moved closer, her mouth open invitingly, pushing her lips forward for a torrid kiss. She pressed them against Potter's cock, moved her head forward, her lips opening wider as they followed the expanding contours of his mushroom-shaped crown.
"Mmm…." came a gentle sound from his wife's throat.
"Fuck, look at her go," said Potter. Lucius watched as Narcissa methodically pushed and pulled her head back and forth while pumping her fist on the lower part of Potter's shaft. She made nasty cocksucking sounds as she pleasured him feverishly, frothing slobbers of saliva oozing from the corners of her mouth and dropping on her large breasts that dangled lewdly below.
Lucius should have attempted to wildly attack Potter right then. Instead, not a word escaped from his lips.
Then Potter looked at him. "Well, go on. Don't let me stop you on my account. I'm pretty sure you have many more conquests to talk about."
And so he did. His insides burned with rage and humiliation, but his mouth kept speaking out loud. Lucius took Potter through his episode with Edgar Bones and his family, about how the daughter escaped his hands because she was away. And then about the Prewitts. About how it was unfortunate that Molly Prewitt was already married to Arthur Weasley and living under the protection of the Order, about how he missed spilling his seed into her pureblood cock and spoiling her in front of Arthur Weasley's eyes, but how he had taken his frustration on Fabian Prewitt's wife and little daughter instead.
Meanwhile Narcissa had just made Potter cum, and pulled back at the last moment, making him spray his cum — a wholesome amount he couldn't help but notice, all over her face and breasts, before lewdly rubbing them all over like some kind of body lotion. He stared in mounting horror and humiliation as she used her breasts to further pleasure the boy, as Lucius progressed to talking about Fleamont Potter and his wife Euphemia. About how he had only made Euphemia give him oral under the Imperius curse before Macnair had his way with her. He hoped— he really, really hoped to see anger and rage surging through Potter's face as he spoke of his grandparents' fate.
Instead the bastard kept making groans of pleasure as Narcissa pleasured him.
Lucius then described, in rather brazen terms, his eyes burning brightly with excitement as he relived the episodes where he had gotten off the pain. It was where he had realised that true excitement came from defiling the weak, seeing their fragile faces as he destroyed their innocence and shattered their lives. And as he did, Narcissa proceeded to settle down on Potter's cock and jump back and forth, her whole body glowing from the sexual pleasure she was getting. Seeing Potter take his wife like that, see his ultimate conquest — Narcissa Black, his trophy wife be taken so brazenly in front of him while he watched impotently — the two opposing emotions clashed in his expression and all the while, Potter kept grunting while Narcissa kept moaning, jumping on his cock.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of this humiliating punishment, Potter looked at him again.
"Lucius Malfoy," his killer said at last. His voice had an edge this time. "Let me be frank with you. I had devised at least eighteen different ways of killing you without anyone knowing any better. You know, the quick and neat sort. But that wouldn't be half the fun as this one."
And then he met Lucius's grey eyes and spoke.
"Feel."
It was like someone had set him on fire. One moment Lucius was lying down, utterly tranquil, describing all the horrors he had committed, revealing his darkest secrets to his would-be killer while his wife sucked and pleasured the bastard. The next moment, his heart exploded with fiery rage, sweat erupting all over his body and his facial muscles began moving erratically in all directions, like going into paralysis. Lucius attempted to get up, but found his legs and waist chained down to the floor, and no matter what he did, no amount of magic was within his reach.
"I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU, YOU BAST —"
And then blood spewed out of his mouth and nostrils.
"Ah," said Potter, with a hint of embarrassment. "I knew I was forgetting something. You see, I chained you with the Shackles of Malchance. Ring any bells?"
Despite the turmoil and tumultuous agony he was under, a part of Lucius registered what Potter had just spoken, and its implications.
The Shackles of Malchance. A cursed version of the shackles employed to restrain the prisoners during the fast-track Death Eater trials. Unlike the original variant that completely repressed the person's ability to cast magic, this one simply turned the magic inward into heat. With all the emotional turmoil Lucius had been going through, and the way he was lashing out, the shackles were transmuting all that energy back into the body — like a never-ending vicious cycle of the blood-boiling curse.
He had himself used the Shackles several times on his victims, letting them burn from the humiliation and rage he was dealing them.
His nostrils flared as a pungent smell hit him right then.
"Ugh!" said Potter, and flicked his wand, and a convex shield formed all around Lucius's body, limiting the stench from escaping and letting him have the full experience. "Remember what I said about hellebore and crocodile heartstrings? The elevated body temperature only makes them react more vigorously. I guess that your bladder giving away was a symptom."
Lucius couldn't speak. He was still frothing in the mouth, blood trickling down his eyes, nose and ears, as he impotently attempted to lash out physically but to no effect, while Narcissa kept jumping on the bastard's cock. He wanted to speak, to curse both of them from his deepest darkest recesses of his shrivelled heart, but not a single word escaped his lips. After a while, he calmed down again, the Draught of Peace's effect for sure, and instead looked around with morbid curiosity.
He was lying down in an ornately drawn ritual circle. Was this what it was about? The Boy-Who-Lived was going to sacrifice him on the altar to gain power? Had Narcissa helped him — of course she had! That woman knew Black Family Magic like nobody he had met, save for perhaps, Walburga Black and Arcturus Black himself.
"Let me tell you what is about to happen, Lucius," said Potter, pushing Narcissa away. "I am going to take everything from you. Your life, your fortune, your empire… everything. This ritual will consume your blood, your magic and your soul. It will kill you, kill those you have descended from, and those that have descended from you."
Lucius paled.
"Yes. Draco, your only son."
Lucius attempted to move, but the most he could do was feebly move a finger. It was like his entire body had been petrified.
"Yeah, sorry about that. Narcissa here was too scared you might attack and kill us. She really holds your skill in high regard. I suppose you could think of your current position as a compliment."
He chuckled. "Now, there are really two ways we can get this done. Option one: You can keep vainly attempting to break past the restraints I have put in place. It's going to end up with your blood burning even more, and I'll be forced to just kill you before you kill yourself, and dear Draco will join you soon after in the afterlife."
Narcissa flinched.
"Option two."
He held up a set of papers. Even from his vantage point, Lucius recognized them as Gringotts forms.
"You cast Draco out of House Malfoy. By name, by blood and by magic. Draco would never be able to exercise any magic proprietary to the Malfoy would be barred from all properties registered under the Malfoy name, and will have to forge a new name for himself to choose to join whatever family he shares blood with. As far as House Malfoy is concerned, Draco will be effectively a mudblood."
Lucius's eyes widened with disgust. There was no way he would let his son befall to such a —
"But," said Narcissa, cutting his thoughts short. "He will be alive."
That made him pause.
And think.
"Now," said Potter. "Because I am such a good guy, I have already filed them for you. All you have got to do is stamp them, voluntarily, with your blood and magic. If you try anything other than that, I'll drive this dagger right through your heart and we know exactly how things turn out after that. Now, nod once if you understand and twice, if you have anything worthwhile to say."
After a moment of pondering, Lucius nodded. Twice.
Potter snapped his fingers yet again, and Lucius suddenly felt like someone had pulled an invisible hand from pressing hard over his mouth. He glared at the boy in front of him, the boy who was taking everything from him! Everything!
But he didn't say a word to Harry Potter. Instead, he turned to look at his wife. "Was it worth it, giving up your life, your family, your son, the Malfoy name, all of it just to warm this halfblood bastard's bed?"
His wife met his eyes. "You wouldn't understand if I tried to explain it, Lucius."
Lucius opened his mouth in a silent snarl, but held back yelling out a curse. His body was already heating up to dangerous levels. His eyes were blood-red with lifeblood trickling down the edges. Anymore and he'd die of an aneurysm. Part of him wanted to do exactly that and deny the boy whatever he aimed from the ritual. But if he did that then…
"The form."
Potter held it out at the correct page. With a flick of his finger, he made a tiny incision at Lucius's forefinger.
"Go on."
Lucius pressed the incised finger on the page, which began to greedily soak up his blood. With all the magic saturating his blood all this while, this signature, and his words would become as potent as it could be. No doubt Potter had planned for that too.
"By my blood, by my magic, by my name, I, Lucius, Lord of House Malfoy, son of Abraxas Malfoy, declare Draco Malfoy an Outcast. Let his name bear meaning no longer. Let him be those without Malfoy blood. Let him be tormented, so that… so that he might live."
He paused for a moment, before speaking again. "I, Lucius, Lord of House Malfoy, declare this as my last will and testament. All that belongs to House Malfoy, every property, every investment, every single knut, is to be transferred to Draco, formerly Malfoy's name. So have I spoken, so mote it be."
He gave Narcissa a look of vengeful satisfaction. Surely the bitch hadn't —
"Thank you."
It wasn't Potter that had said that. It was Narcissa.
For once, Lucius had no words.
"You did what I expected, no, what I wanted you to do. For Draco."
She probably meant it as an apology. Or whatever apology she could pull out of her black heart after betraying him like this. Narcissa probably even expected him to forgive her or some such bullshit.
"Do not look at me like that, bitch," he snarled. "You chose that halfblood Potter! For what? For your Black heritage? You would deny your own son just to jump on that halfblood's dick? If Draco is my son, then remember this well Narcissa Black, he will avenge my name."
Before Potter could react, Lucius pushed his bloodied finger against the Gringotts form, snarling. "I curse Draco to hate the Black heritage with every fibre of his body! I curse him to look at his mother and burn in hatred! I curse him to ensure that his mother, Narcissa Druella Black, dies ALONE!"
His eyes were blazing. His heart was burning. His soul was screaming for vengeance.
"SO HAVE I SWORN, SO MOTE IT —"
Stab.
In a flash, Potter impaled the antiquated dagger deep into Lucius's chest, piercing through his heart. Lucius's consciousness only remained awake, barely, so that he could finish his final word.
"...be."