The Difference Between Life and Dreams…
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Written By:
LegolasLover2003 aka Ashley aka LuciusLover2003
Category:
Fanfiction - Books - Harry Potter
Genre:
Angst/Drama
Disclaimer:
I do not own anything related to Harry Potter. It is all J.K. Rowlings. I also do not own Jason Isaacs... just thought I'd throw that in there since this is Lucius centered...
Note:
This story takes place between the events of "The Order of the Pheonix" and "The Half Blood Prince". There will also be flashbacks to other books and to points completely made up by me.
Chapter 5:
Present Day, Part I
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Present Day – Azkaban Prison
I am tired.
I find myself starring at the cold grey walls, so thick with grime one could hardly tell they were not black. The cold seeps up through the concrete floors, making the bars and the supports of the little cot I sit on unbearably frigid. There is no window. No light but the artificial globe, that blazes high above my head and continues to burn brightly, even though I have seen neither hide nor hair of guard in what seems like hours.
I sit, stripped of all my wearable worldly possessions. I can only imagine who had this filthy shirt… this pair of disgusting pants… before me. My robes are gone, my wand most likely shattered or locked away in some hidden vault deep within the confines of the Ministry of Magic. My dragon hide boots, so fashionable amongst society, have been taken and replaced by shoes fit for some Muggle ditch digger. They have even taken my gloves and any jewelry I possessed. They probably think it enchanted in some manner.
Pure wizarding blood means nothing in this place.
It only gives the guards a reason to mock and jeer.
Platinum blond hair falling in my face, I sigh in disgust at the loathsome position which I am now forced to keep. No longer the head of a once noble, feared, and respected house. I am made to suffer the inhumanities that Azkaban has to offer.
My first week here, I feared I would starve to death, not to mention my loathing of the accommodations. ‘I am a Malfoy!’ I had said, as if it meant something to those horrid guards who walk past my cell at all times of the day. ‘I demand to be treated with respect!’ I cried… but my only response had been a laugh and the thought that I had thrown away any respect my family had earned when I had failed the Dark Lord.
Do I dare tell these simpletons my reasons for joining Voldemort’s schemes?
Do I divulge my heart, my own weaknesses of spirit and of character, in an attempt to save myself?
No.
Voldemort has many spies. If they caught wind of my betrayal, then my family would be dead before I even saw the light of day.
The Dark Lord has no mercy. Not even for the innocent lives of my wife and son.
I must place my hope in escape, in the thought that perhaps Voldemort will send more of his followers to free those who tried, and ultimately failed.
A few days ago I had written a letter to both Narcissa and Draco. In all truth, I had wanted to tell them more, and yet I feared what would be thought of the letter if read by the Ministry. They did not know I owned a pensieve, nor that I had collected my memories within. Surely if they found out, the house would be raided and soon enough turned upside down in the search. To find such a wealth of memories dealing with Voldemort… one could only imagine how happy that would make the Minister.
So, I had been reduced to hinting at my wishes, praying that Draco would heed my words and take it upon himself to watch my most guarded memories. I want him to learn from my mistakes, for I fear he will soon be called upon, in these dark and evil times, to take my place. How I wish I could stop him, to tell my son that if he allies himself fully with the Dark Lord, that I fear death will be his end. Voldemort is sorely angered by my failures, both with his diary and now this prophecy. He will, no doubt, take his anger out on Draco if the boy succumbs to his wishes.
Oh, Draco… How I wished to protect you from all of this. To protect you from the truth and from the lies. You are my son, my only son, and I fear I will never see you whole again. For, if the Dark Lord pulls you into his fold….
I tell myself not to dwell on such dark thoughts in this dismal place. Soon, my family would be allowed to visit me and, perhaps then, I do hope, I can share these most disturbing of notions with them.
Until that time, I simply sit, content to watch the world pass me by from my cold, damp prison cell.
I have made my mistakes… and now I am paying for them.
I have no choice.
Present Day – Malfoy Manor
“Mother, are we going to visit father soon?” Draco asked, looking up from the book he was reading.
The boy was sitting comfortably on the couch, his feet propped up, shoes laying on the ground beside him. He had been reading, “Quidditch Seeker Tips”, in hopes that it would aid him in his next school year. Draco had yet to catch the Snitch during a single game against Gryffindor. He vowed to change that losing streak.
“Next week.” Narcissa replied from her chair near the fireplace. “The Ministry will not allow us to visit until then.”
Draco sighed, “Ridiculous.” He spat, sitting up and throwing the book down beside him in anger. “They’re not going to let father go, so what is the harm in us seeing him?”
“They are just following procedure, Draco. Besides… I would rather your father be given the time to adapt to his surroundings before letting you see him.”
“Letting me see him?” the boy asked, “Why’s that? Afraid he’ll be too angry. Might say something he doesn’t mean?”
But Narcissa’s eyes, as she looked up at Draco, were cold and serious. “Your father has been under a lot of stress lately, but you have been too busy at school to notice. He is safe where he is, and he knows it, and I will not have you going on about this when you know perfectly well there is nothing I can do to change the situation. Your father is in Azkaban, Draco, and like it or not that is where he will remain.”
“But wouldn’t Voldemort not…”
“No, he wouldn’t!” Narcissa shouted angrily, “Your father failed, Draco, twice! It’s a wonder he isn’t dead right now! So be happy that he is alive, even if it is in that god forsaken place they call a prison!”
That, seemed to shut the boy’s mouth. Draco lay back against the sofa once more, his mind whirling with what his mother had said.
‘If father did fail, and if the price of failure is death as mother seems to think… then maybe this isn’t so bad. I could… I could redeem the family name, I know I could! Besides, when Voldemort comes to supreme power, then maybe, if I helped, father would not be looked upon as a failure. I could save him. I could save us all.’
And with those thoughts, Draco returned to his Quidditch book, content to read and put such dark ideas out of his mind until another day.
To Be Continued...