One Honest Heart

1. Delivery

There were cold whispers
stalking Lucius Malfoy through the dark corridors of Malfoy Manor; the silent
suggestion of a madman\'s gibbering; the prowling sensation of some strange
creature (not a man at all, though madness hung in the air, swinging like a
lynched soul\'s innocence) tied to him, leech-like, through some invisible
snare, slowly strangling all life, all remnants of joy, out of him.

Every loose
object lining his path looked deadly, lethal, a potential tool towards the
destruction of his mortal flesh. Every ancient battleaxe a swift blow, every
knife a quick slice, every small pike a final fall.

Everywhere on
the oppressive, looming, towering walls, paintings joined in the screaming
silence; ancestors shivered and sneered; fair maidens fluttered to attention,
their eyes unfocused but not as vacant as before, pupils dilated, following his
shaky progress, small smiles surfaced where scowls had once seemed a fixture;
creatures cowering or gone; suns taking refuge in angry, billowing clouds; a
once sleeping dragon undulating inside its smoky darkness, eyes on fire, claws
tearing at the ancient canvas.

It was as though
all the life seeping out of Lucius - his unwinding thread of fate - was flowing
into the paintings, weaving itself into their canvases, inspiring a level of
sentience, of intent, of willpower never intended. A desire to break free.

Lucius hurried
his steps. The icy presence swept along, a shadow of himself, a nagging
conscience not quite his own. Outside, the wind refused to howl. Silence ruled supreme, a dictator
of evil dreams and living nightmares.

Malfoys did
not break into a run over figments of the imagination. Malfoys did not turn
around to face invisible foes. But Malfoys did sweat as profusely as any peasant,
however much they wished it was not so.

Malfoys still
felt cold. They fought fright, commanded fear, but froze like any mortal prey.

Lucius threw
the door open, basking in the warmth billowing into the corridor but frozen to
the spot by the cold stare of his guest.

\'Don\'t you
ever knock, Malfoy?\'

\'I apologise,
my lord. Force of habit.\'

\'You told me
to make myself at home,\' the red eyes glowed, \'and I never share mastery of my
home. You would be wise to remember that while I am here, Lucius.\'

\'Of course.\'
The deposed master of the manor pushed the door closed, jerking further into
the room, eyes wide, restless.

\'Something the
matter?\' It was not a friendly inquiry.

\'What? No. No!
Nothing.\'

\'Good.\'

\'It\'s just all
so - silent.\'

\'Good.\'

\'Apologies,
master. I - have what you requested.\' Lucius pulled a small vial from his
robes.

\'Of
course you do,\' said Voldemort, snatching the vial from Lucius\'s trembling
fingers, \'or you would not have dared come here.\' He turned and strode over to
a table in the corner of the room. A small potions lab was set up on top. \'Very
wisely so, I might add.\' He sat down.

Silence
descended.

Lucius
remained standing. For a very long time.