Lucius\' Bookshelves

Chapter 17

A/N: This chapter has some necessary violence. It’s not drastic, but really – could a conversation like this happen without some minor violence? Especially between a somewhat volatile son, and a slightly less volatile father? I always anticipated that the junior and senior Malfoy would come to blows at some point or another. This just seemed like a controlled way of doing it. Anyway, consider yourself forewarned.

Again, thanks for the lovely reviews – I really appreciate it! Things are slowly reaching their logical conclusion, but there will be some smut in the next chapter or so. Because it’s not healthy to go without Lucius Malfoy smut for too long! ;)
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“You’re just against me being with Harry. You’ve never liked the fact that I went behind your back and dated someone you wouldn’t ever approve of.” Draco paced the floor of the study.

Lucius looked at his son, a tolerant, almost amused look on his face. The boy was so predictable. “Is that why you’re with Harry? To spite me? I’d say that’s not being very fair to your partner.”

“No. I love Harry, and I want to be with him. Not some horrid girl that you’ve picked because of her bloodlines.”

Lucius sighed. Hermione was right. It would clearly take some time for Draco to accept his family responsibilities. “I’m glad that you love Harry. And I didn’t invite you here to argue you with you.” He deliberately softened his voice. “I invited you here because I wanted to see you. It’s been a long time.”

Draco eyed his father suspiciously. “Of course it’s been a long time. I left you, and your fucking Dark Lord ages ago. Certainly before his demise was obvious to even the most blinded of observers,” he added acidly.

Lucius held himself in check. The boy obviously had problems that went far beyond his relationship with Hermione. He kept his voice low, his eyes focused on his son’s. “Draco. I made the wrong choice in following him. I was only acting on what I believed to be a good move for the family. I failed.”

The surprise on Draco’s face was immediate. Lucius studied his son’s silent reaction; Draco had never been able to hide his emotions very well, and this was no exception. Surprise was followed by anger – anger no doubt stemming from some perceived childhood slight.

“You failed?” Draco’s voice contained as much scorn as he could infuse into it. “Failed? I didn’t think that Malfoys ever failed.”

Lucius re-appraised his son; the venom in his voice sprung from more than a mere slight. Clearly the boy harbored deep resentments. Not altogether different himself as a young man he conceded. “You have a lot to learn about the family history if you think that no one in this family has ever failed. Go to the Portrait Gallery sometime and talk to your Great-great Uncle Freyr – if he’s in the mood, he’ll tell you every spectacular failure brought upon the family. Luckily, we’ve just had more successes than failures.”

“Well you happen to be one of the failures, father.” Draco commented with a forced bravado.

Lucius’ eyes narrowed. “Actually, Draco,” he lost the indulgent tone, “as far as my family responsibilities are concerned, I am a success. I have produced a healthy, physically and mentally fit heir. You, however, have not yet shown whether you will be a success or a failure.”

Anger blazed in Draco’s eyes. Yes, the last remark had struck its target, Lucius decided. With a sense of satisfaction, he realized that his son’s anger was stemming from ‘a personal sense of failure’. Those had been the words Hermione had used when they were talking about Draco last night in bed, and he was amused to realize that she was obviously right.

He had quietly agreed with her at the time, but he had not explained to her that the head of the Malfoy family had always sought to subtly teach his off-spring that they were naturally inferior to their elders. It taught them respect, and, in his opinion, served as a reasonable impetus for the natural confrontation that occurs between a father and his children. In a flash of insight, he realized that Draco likely blamed him for a great many things, many of which were probably justified.

Lucius smirked openly. He remembered having a discussion like this with his own father. It had resulted in the permanent crookedness in his father’s once aquiline nose. Of course, it had also resulted in his father’s ultimate support in his bid to become a Death Eater. He considered for a moment.

Maybe, that’s what Draco needed; maybe if he let the boy take a swing at him, he’d be able to vent his pent-up anger, and they could start treating each other as adults, rather than as a parent to a child.

The older man noticed that his son was preparing to say something. He held up his hand, and the boy glowered. “Wait. Before you say anything, let me say one more thing. I realize that I will not win a ‘Father-of-the-Year’ award” – another of Hermione’s contributions – “ anytime soon, and I realize that you are probably angry at me fro a number of things that I have done – as well, no doubt, for a number of things that I didn’t do but should have.” The change on Draco’s face from anger to astonishment was swift, and Lucius couldn’t help but feel another surge of pride; Hermione had certainly known what she was talking about with regard to Draco.

“I’m not really sure if there is anything I can do at this point to change what I have done.” He paused. Maybe his father’s broken nose wouldn’t look too out of place on his own face. And it would be a small price to pay if he could somehow encourage his son to continue the bloodline. “However, if it would help repair my past actions, I’ll give you the opportunity to strike me once.” Draco’s undisguised glee convinced him that the next words were absolutely necessary. “Just once, though. Anything after that, and I will strike back.” Lucius reached meaningfully for his wand.

Draco’s eyes were wide with astonishment. Clearly, Lucius decided, this was something Draco had hoped for for years. The younger man spoke hesitantly, almost as if he was afraid that this opportunity would vanish, “You – you’re serious – aren’t you?” He paused, moving closer to stare at his father suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”

“None. Other than that you’ve got to give your word that you will be willing to try to put our past differences behind us. I’m not the man I once was, and I want to build a relationship with you as I am now, and not one based on the ruined foundation of a relationship between a Death Eater and his son.” Thor’s balls. This had better work; he was quite fond of his nose the way it was.

There was a moment’s hesitation from Draco as he considered. “Okay. I give you my word. I’m willing to try.” Draco’s emphasis on the last word was unmistakable. Obviously, he hadn’t made up his mind about his father’s public profession of remorse. Still, it was something.

“One strike, Draco. No more.” Lucius’ eyes glittered dangerously.

Channeling his anger, his fear, his frustrations, and his hatred, Draco’s fist connected forcefully with his father’s symmetrical nose, resulting in the distinct crunch of cartilage yielding to a stronger power.

Draco stepped back quickly, the shock evident on his face as he watched blood gush from his father’s nose, quickly staining the front of his crisp white silk shirt before Lucius could take his wand and mutter the words needed to staunch the flow of blood.

Reaching for a silk handkerchief, Lucius mopped the blood from his mouth and chin before looking at his son. “Did that help? Do you feel better now?”

Draco was still too stunned to answer; the older wizard had managed to maintain his dignity despite being covered in his own blood, and speaking with a nasal tone.

“I ask,” Lucius continued, fully aware of the thoughts running through Draco’s mind, “because I know that I felt a lot less angry once I had broken your grandfather’s nose.”

Draco blinked uncertainly. “Grandfather? Your father? You hit him?”

Lucius’ mouth turned up at one corner. “Did you never wonder why his nose was perfectly straight?” He winced as his long fingers gently probed his own swelling protuberance.

“But, what – I mean, why, er,” Draco faltered. Lucius couldn’t help but wonder if his own father had triqualqually hard to keep the bemused expression off his face.

Lucius gestured to the couch by the fireplace, grimacing slightly at the feeling of clammy blood-soaked silk clinging to his chest. “A seat? Where we’d be more comfortable?” He raised his eyebrows delicately.

Draco nodded, his eyes returning to the carnage he’d inflicted on his father.

“My father raised me much the same way I raised you. If you remember, he was liberal with his punishments, and sparse with his praise.” Draco nodded, and Lucius smiled painfully. His father had beaten Draco on more than one occasion, and he was certain that the boy had not forgotten those instances. “He dedicated his live to the family vaults – increasing their holding by negotiating percentage points with the goblins, and buying up items to increase the desirability and value of things we already owned.”

“His gods were Pluto, Adrian, and Kuvera. Gods of wealth,” he added, noticing Draco’s puzzled look. Lucius paused, his eyes searching for memories of the past in the fire. “It infuriated me to no end that he was only interested in gold. He had no greater vision. No sense of destiny – no desire to mold the world to his desires.” Even now, Lucius’ voice was infused with old frustrations.

Draco crossed his legs comfortably, his full attention directed toward his father. Perhaps, Lucius mused, he should have told the boy this a long time ago. It might have preserved the evenness of his nose. And a perfectly good silk shirt.

“Rumors about the Dark Lord were thick at school, and I saw the opportunity for greater glory. To follow a dream that consisted of more than ledger books and long meetings with goblins. Initially, your grandfather was not pleased with my decision. Only after a long discussion – much like this one - was I able to convince him to support my bid to become a Death Eater.”

Draco broke his stunned silence. “I – I just always assumed that you and your father had always gotten along,” the words were coming slowly, and Draco was obviously deliberating as he spoke, “But, obviously you didn’t at some time?”

“I think my father was hoping for me to show some sign of interest in the family beyond seeing what I could get when I threw the name around. After our discussion, he saw me in a different light, as I did him. Unfortunately, I eventually failed in my own quest. But the family name will still go on.” I hope, he added silently.

Draco turned his gaze to the fire, the reflecting light highlighting his confusion. The muscles of the younger wizard’s throat tightened and then relaxed. “I’m not like you, father. I can’t give up Harry just for the family name. I love him.”

Lucius relaxed. Turning back to Harry was hopefully a good sign. “You don’t have to give him up. You wouldn’t ever have to.” Mithras – let the boy think about this solution, he prayed briefly. “In fact, you don’t even have to separate. I’m sure we could find you a pureblood who would be willing to marry you in name only, and bear your child. Harry could adopt,” despite the screams of protest that would come from the Portrait Gallery, “and you two would be free to do as you wish.” Lucius paused, searching his son’s face for a reaction. “And I could formalize my relationship with Hermione,” he added softly.

Draco’s head snapped up. The boy’s shoulders squared and Lucius exhaled harshly. Clearly, the issue with Hermione had not been put to rest.

“So that’s what this is all about? See that I have a kid so that you can shack up with that slut? Did you ever think that maybe I don’t want kids? That maybe I don’t want to be a father – especially not one like you?”

Thor’s hammer. If losing the clean lines of his face was all for naught, it would be difficult to prevent himself from strangling his progeny. The thought of having another child himself briefly crossed his mind. Of course, he’d have to find a pureblood wife, and he doubted that any family would be willing to turn their daughter over to him. And more importantly, he’d have to hope that Hermione didn’t leave him. No. That was a worst-case-only option. He was too old to have any more children. Draco would have to carry on the family name.

Lucius raised one eyebrow. “There’s nothing saying that you would have to be a father like I was – no doubt you and Harry would be better parents than your mother and myself were. And,“ he added, “you don’t have to become a father tomorrow. Just sometime.”

Draco eyed his father suspiciously, “And what about Hermione? The mudblood,” he added pointedly.

“I really don’t understand your animosity toward her. I thought you two were friends. Or at least acquaintances – for Harry’s sake, if nothing else. And you know it’s not like I haven’t slept with your friends before,” he smiled, thinking of a disastrous encounter with the Parkinson girl. What a disappointment she had been.

The scowl on Draco’s face deepened. Lucius cleared his throat, tasting the coppery tang of his own blood. “Hermione is my business. And you’ll have plenty of time to learn to accept her. She’d not going anywhere soon, if I have any say in it.”

Draco stood up, glowering at his father. Lucius wanted to add another comment before his son left, “Don’t concern yourself with her if it bothers you so much. But I hope that you and Harry will stay for a while – as a gesture of good faith in holding up your part of our bargain.” Lucius gestured to his swollen face and bloody shirt.

Draco hesitated. “I gave you my word. That I’m willing to try.”

Lucius nodded somewhat painfully. “Thank you son. That’s all I can ask of you.”

Draco nodded and left the study. Lucius glanced around the empty room, and then down at his ruined shirt. “That went rather well, I thought,” he said with a smirk.