Work Text:
Kings Cross Station – Lucius’s 7th Year
Abraxas gave a long sigh as the elves took his son’s luggage and went to board it on the train. He wasn’t watching the elves. He was watching his son, preening like a peacock as the usual flock of witches circled him and asked about his summer. Lucius, like any Malfoy, had a natural talent when it came to entertaining a crowd.
It wasn’t Lucius’s arrogance, nor the fawning witches that made Abraxas sigh with irritation.
It was that damn hair.
It was too long. Hard to maintain. And, according to Abraxas, it just wasn’t refined. He chalked it up to teenage rebellion. But now Lucius was in his final teenage years and there was not a pair of scissors in sight.
So, Abraxas compromised.
“Son,” he called to Lucius.
Lucius shifted his attention from his adoring fans to his father. He parted the sea of hormones, leaving behind a bevy of swooning witches fanning and giggling amongst themselves.
“Yes father?”
Abraxas frowned, rummaging through his tailored robes and presenting Lucius with a rectangular black box. “Since you refuse to get a haircut, I thought we could compromise.”
Lucius quirked a curious brow as he accepted the box. He opened it carefully, and the contents revealed a sleek black ribbon made of silk. But to Lucius, this did not feel like just any random accessory.
When he opened that box, it was as if a golden glow surrounded the silk ribbon, illuminating his face. And even though Lucius Malfoy did not believe in angels, he swore he could hear a symphony of harps playing and ethereal voices singing a heavenly tune.
He retrieved the ribbon, handing the box back to a relieved Abraxas Malfoy. Lucius quickly conjured a mirror and tied his hair back. Then he took several seconds to admire himself.
“Thank you,” Abraxas said with a breath of relief.
Lucius stepped on to the Hogwarts Express feeling like a new man. As he approached the compartment reserved just for him, he heard a familiar giggling that always made his heart soar. He glanced into the connecting compartment, seeing Narcissa Black sitting far too close to Bartemius Crouch Jr… his hand was on her thigh, and he was whispering in her ear! She. Was. Blushing!
Lucius could have any witch he wanted. But there was something about that 5th year Slytherin…
He swung the door open, hard enough to cause the other two to jump.
Narcissa narrowed her eyes, albeit briefly. She studied Lucius, and her frown turned into a curious smile.
“Lucius…” she purred. “There is… something different about you.”
*******
Six Years Later
Lucius stood before a full-length mirror, admiring his wedding robes. Abraxas stood behind him, a proud father.
“Now for the final piece,” Lucius announced, pulling the precious silk fabric from his pockets. He tied his hair back; the movements were very natural by now.
Once again, Abraxas gave a relieved sigh.
During the wedding ceremony, as he watched his bride walking down the aisle, he didn’t miss the way Narcissa stared at him. She had a hungry look in her eyes, and he had a feeling she was going to want to skip the reception entirely.
That night, as he waited for her, sitting on the edge of the bed, all he could think about was how perfect his life turned out to be. Narcissa finally exited the lavatory, one arm against the doorway and wearing a silk nightgown that hugged her in all the right places. She gave him a sultry look, and Lucius knew he was in for a very adventurous night.
She pounced on him, all pretense of the ladylike pureblood gone and replaced by a feral Nundu in heat. He growled when he caught her. Narcissa straddled his lap as she devoured his neck.
Lucius groaned, rolling his head back. “Do you want the bow on or off, my dear wife?”
Narcissa gave a dreamy sigh.
“On…”
*******
1993
Lucius was frustrated. Running his fingers through his luxurious hair as he listened to the Board of Governors giving heated excuses as to why Dumbledore should remain Headmaster.
“Hogwarts will not be safe if we dismiss Albus!” came the boisterous voice of a geriatric fool who should have retired long ago.
“Safe?” Lucius scoffed. “Muggleborns are being petrified! That old codger has yet to apprehend the culprit. As a father of a student, I must insist we remove him from the school.”
“Your son is a pureblood,” came a witch who wore far too much perfume. “He’s safe.”
Lucius gasped in theatrical astonishment, “Are you insinuating I only care about the wellbeing of the pureblood students?”
"You're not fooling anyone, Lucius," huffed the geriatric politician.
Lucius took a deep breath, finding his center. The Board was being particularly difficult today. He could bribe them, but he didn't want this lady buying any perfume with his money. He could slip a rumor to The Daily Prophet, start a scandal... but that would take too much time. He needed Dumbledore out now.
Desperate times call for desperate measures. He excused himself and entered the loo. He stared at his reflection, giving himself a silent pep talk. Lucius reached in his robes and pulled out his saving grace.
When he re-entered the meeting room with his head held high, a hush fell over the small gathering. Lucius strode in, serpent cane tapping against the stone floor, and his hair tied back with his favorite accessory.
It only took a few, menial threats to the Board members' families (it pays to know the gossip), and magically, Lucius retrieved all twelve signatures. He offered to deliver the termination paperwork to Dumbledore himself. No one had any objections.
*******
1997
Lucius was freezing. His clothes were itchy. He hadn't had a decent shave in days. And his hair was stringy, dirty, and disheveled.
As he stared at the stone wall of his prison cell, he thought about how he got into this mess.
The Dark Lord ordered him and a few other Death Eaters to raid the Ministry. Voldemort was rushing him. Lucius did not want to disappoint The Dark Lord, but he needed that extra boost of confidence. The silk bow was in his vanity, and Voldemort wouldn't give him five minutes to retrieve it.
So, he went to the Department of Mysteries without it. He had the prophecy. He was so close to victory. He thought maybe he didn't need his bow after all... then that blasted Longbottom kid ruined everything. Before Lucius could react, the prophecy was in pieces, and he was surrounded by Aurors.
Now he was in Azkaban.
He should be missing his family... and he did. But he felt like a lesser man without his bow.
Maybe Draco would grow his hair out. Stop taking after his grandfather. Then he could inherit the bow. Lucius would like that.
The Dementors could feast on his soul all they wanted... Lucius had given up.
*******
Later that year...
He was free.
He was home.
...but it not look like home.
The landscape, no longer perfectly manicured, appeared deeply neglected. The stone statues that adorned the Malfoy gardens for centuries were in pieces from dueling practice. His precious albino peacocks had lost their luster from stress and lack of care, and it seemed like someone had set the stables on fire at some point.
It mattered not, because when Lucius entered the threshold, his beloved wife was back in his arms. She looked frail and distraught. And as he held her and kissed her hair, he promised to fix this. All he needed was to get to his room, find his secret weapon, and win this damned war.
He was determined as he strode down the long corridors of Malfoy Manor, ignoring the portraits of his ancestors as they gawked and scrunched their noses at his disheveled appearance. They would stop mocking him soon. He was close to the mahogany doors that belonged to the master suite. Just a few more steps and all his problems would go away.
As he entered his room, it was dark and eerily quiet. He felt a cold chill crawl up his spine as he cautiously made his way to his vanity. Lucius took a deep breath and opened the drawer.
It was empty.
"No..." Lucius whispered.
He frantically opened another drawer. Then another. He found hairpins, brushes, combs, and discarded jewelry... but not his saving grace.
"Looking for this?"
Lucius gasped and turned around. His leather winged back chair was placed in a dark corner, and he had to squint his eyes to get a better view through the dark. Sitting in his chair was Lord Voldemort, and between his skeletal fingers was a black silk ribbon.
Lucius felt panic quickly consume him. He took trembling steps towards his master and reached a hesitant hand out.
"My lord," he whispered. "Please, that was a gift from my father."
"Ah yes, Abraxas," Voldemort said in a soft his as he wove the material between his digits. "Such a pity to lose dear old Abraxas to a simple ailment."
Lucius took another step and Voldemort pulled his hand back. He smirked at Lucius. "Why is this so important to you? It's just a piece of fabric."
"As I said," Lucius swallowed nervously. "It was a gift from my father."
Voldemort cackled, "Your father has gifted you numerous things throughout your life, including this manor. What do you need this frivolous accessory for?"
"Please," Lucius pleaded, reaching further.
Voldemort's eyes glowed red and in a flash, the black ribbon turned to ash and scattered across the floor.
Lucius choked on his breath and fell to his knees. This sudden loss hit him as painfully as the Cruciatus Curse. He let out an agonizing wail and cried to the gods above, his laments drowning out the incessant wicked cackling from The Dark Lord.
The world spun around him, the heavenly tune of the angels died out, and the golden glow of that precious bow dimmed and vanished forever.