Spell Master

Author: Babychan

email: baby_chan1778@yahoo.com or babychan1778@yahoo.com

Title: Spell Master

Rating: R but it will become NC17 later.

Series: Yes. Chapter 18/?

Parings: H/D S/N/L N/B

Summary: The wizarding world is going to find out that Harry Potter is not the only one with awesome powers. Its a Pro-Slytherin and Pro-Draco fic. This is slash fiction. This is also the re-edited version.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its characters do NOT belong to me :( (pout) I’m just writing for the fun of it. I get no money for it whatsoever. .

A.N.: I would to thank everyone for their reviews for my fic. It means so very much. Thank you.

Spell Master




“Come, Malfoy.” A haggard looking man gestured as he smirked sinisterly. “Our Master is waiting.”

Lucius, who had just apparated in, followed without a verbal complaint. Though inwardly, he was seething. Voldemort’s summons always came at the most inopportune of times. The Dark Lord acted as if no one else had a life *outside* of his militia.

Without conversation, the two men walked through the maze like halls of Voldemort’s fortress. However, the journey was not quiet. The hallways were teeming with the unrelenting cries of muggle and muggleborn men, women, and children. The torturous screams, wails of sorrow, and pleads for mercy and freedom filled up every crevice of the stone carved corridors.

And it was giving Lucius a headache.

Logically, the Veela understood why Voldemort chose to line the walls of every passageway with the cells of his victims. It was a visual reminder, for his minions, of what would happen if they crossed the line. But the *noise*... It was so *aggravating!* Lucius didn’t understand why his Lord didn’t cast a silencing charm over them.

Inadvertently, the setup of the fortress was also a reminder for those who were sent to prison after the first war.

Perhaps that was why this place was so foreboding to him.

Lucius was one of the unlucky many who had been sent to prison after the infant Harry Potter defeated Voldemort. He spent two long weeks of his life in Azkaban as the Ministry tried to determine his guilt. Or in other words, *prove* his guilt. And if it wasn’t for his wealth, and his ability to hire the best lawyers money could buy, he would have stayed longer. Azkaban was the worst experience of his life. He honestly believed that nothing could ever top it.

He observed his surroundings and decided that...

He was wrong.

A few meters ahead, sharp, crystal eyes observed two guards. They were vampires and they were walking out of a cell. One of the two men was zipping up and buttoning his pants. He looked smug and sexually sated as he licked the blood from his lips. The sight made Lucius frown.

He hated that particular breed of Vampire. Loathed them actually.

They weren’t like his beloved Severus. The Potions Master was a magical creature. A pureblood and a trueblood vampire from his birth. He was a day-walker and therefore the sun was not his enemy. Severus had all the powers associated with being a vampire and none of the limitations.

On the other hand, the men in front of him weren’t like Severus. They weren’t magical creatures and they weren’t wizards. They were The Cursed. They were muggles who were bitten by, and then shared the blood of another who was cursed.

The Vampire Curse was a punishment for *muggles.*

About a hundred years before the first witch trial, muggles had risen up against vampires and killed them. The proud race of magical creatures were almost completely slaughtered. So to protect their remaining small numbers, they were forced to retreat and hide in the shadows. Just like witches and wizards, who now hide safely away, in the wizarding world. Unfortunately, the muggles who were consumed with fear, prejudice and hate were not satisfied, and they journeyed into the dark realms, hell bent on killing every last vampire.

So to keep this breed of magical creatures from becoming extinct, a group of wizards, Dark Masters, scarified their lives and created and invoked the Vampire Curse. A powerful spell forged with blood magic and fueled with contempt and revenge toward muggles.

The curse was one of the most vicious ever written, and it took away what all of those murdering muggles held dear.

Their life.

Yes, it took their life without actually *killing* them. They were damned. They were the walking dead. Most victims of the Curse also lost the ability to be free thinkers. They turned into savages and often fought amongst themselves, or they followed the command of whoever was strongest. Their hunger could only be satisfied with blood. Muggle blood. A hunger for the flesh, of their flesh, which was a cannibalism that was highly frowned upon. The curse also took away the muggles ability to bare children. Their numbers could only increase by integrating other muggles. And since the true vampires were forced into the shadows, the Cursed muggles also the lost their right to bask in the light as well. The sun would now kill them.

Actually, *a lot* things could kill them. Despite the vampire mythos, the Cursed vampire’s mortality was really really fragile. That was why the Cursed ones hadn’t over run the world.

“Mommy.” Came a strangled whisper. “Please....mommy ... Please... save me.”

Lucius left his thoughts and turned his head slightly. He wasn’t sure why this particular plea caught his attention, but it did. Dispassionately, He looked down his nose and at the person in the cell. He saw a child. A little girl that couldn’t have been older than the age of seven. She was adorned in a dirty, bloodied, and torn muggle dress. She had bloodied bite marks all over her arms, neck and legs. Absently, he remembered that this was the same cell the two beasts came out of. And by the looks of her, he surmised that she was a feeder, meaning she was being fed upon. Unfortunately, for her, her blood must have had a unique and pleasant taste, for she was being kept alive and not drained completely. But worst of all –not that Lucius really cared, mind you– was that he could smell the scent of sex mixed in with the foul stench of waste and blood. The scent turned the Veela’s stomach. Rape wasn’t really his cup of tea. Especially the raping of children. He found it cowardly.

Now Lucius couldn’t care less about muggles, one way or another. This was a fact. But sometimes his icy heart melted a bit, and he felt compelled to do a good act. And that was why he stopped in front of the child’s cell, took out his wand and...

Cast the killing curse on her.

Now most people wouldn’t think that what he just did was an act of mercy. Seeing how she asked to be *saved* and not killed. But in Malfoy’s opinion, one must look at it this way:
1) The girl’s mother and family were more-likely-than-not dead.
2) There was no way, in hell, Lucius was going to risk his life to try and rescue and save this child. He didn’t even care enough to attempt such a feat.
3) And this was probably the most important reason why one should see this as an act of mercy. *Death* was a *much* gentler alternative than the hell she was living in now.

“Hey!” One of the vampires shouted. The rapist. He grabbed Malfoy’s shoulder and turned the man to face him. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

The man leading Lucius stopped and calmly, and in a bored fashion, turned to see how the scene was going to play out. Though inwardly, he already knew.

Lucius didn’t answer with an explanation. Instead, he pointed his wand and whispered the killing curse again. He smirked with dark amusement at the shocked expression on the vampire’s face, when his dead weight hit the ground. The blond then shifted his steal and unwavering gaze toward the other one. He raised an elegant brow, in a silent dare, for him to question his actions, or retaliate. Oh how he hoped the man would try the latter.

However, the other man didn’t take the bait. Instead, he held his bloodied hands in front of his chest. “Uh.. hey, man.. No hard feelings. I...I never like the guy anyway.” He gave a weak smile. “Good riddance to bad rubbish, I always say.”

“Exactly.” Came the ice cold and malevolent agreement as Lucius pointed his wand at the last vampire standing. However, before he could repeat those killing words, he was interrupted.

“Malfoy.” The tone of the voice was not stern. “Our Master is waiting.” However, the reminder was still a command.

Lucius scowled and put his wand away.

“Now, you.” The other man growled as he bestowed a deadly glare on the vampire. “Clean this mess up.”

“Yes...yes sir!” The vampire stuttered and slightly bowed.

Lucius turned dismissively, stepped on the dead vampire, then followed the other man deeper into the undercroft, which was Voldemort’s lair. However, the deeper they went in, the more Lucius noticed the resistance from the new wards. The wards which protected the Dark Lord from unwanted visitors. They were so thick that it made walking slightly difficult.

Inwardly, Lucius snorted and shook his head. Those Ministry fools actually believed that if they could locate this place, they could actually capture it. Idiots. They wouldn’t even be able to get in the front gates, for the only ones able to pass through these wards were the bearers of the mark.

And if you bore the mark then, unfortunately, there was no way you could kill Voldemort.

It was a catch twenty two. A deadly precaution that caused many uncover aurors their life. Not that Lucius cared about those fallen aurors, mind you Those hateful bastards raided his homes more times than it was necessary after the first war.

It was almost ironic that most people who believed, or knew that Lucius was Death Eater, thought he was Voldemort’s #1 man, but that was so far from the truth it was laughable. Voldemort didn't’ have a #1 man. He didn’t trust anyone. In the sadistic bastard’s opinion, *everyone* was expendable. However, if he did, it would be the man leading the way in front of him.

Peter Pettigrew.

Peter was probably the only true loyalist. However, the man was not loyal to the Pureblood Cause. It would be ridiculously stupid if he were, seeing how he was a muggleborn. No, Peter was the truest form of Voldemort supporter. He practically worshiped the man.

Pettigrew was a nobody during the first war, but he managed to make an impression in the eyes of the Dark Lord when he turned against his friends.

Lucius was disgusted by depths and depravity of Pettigrew’s betrayal. Not even a Slytherin would stoop that low. Well, with an exception of Voldemort. But he was half muggle and in Lucius’s not so humble opinion, that was to be expected, because he believed muggles to be wicked, nasty, and faithless creatures.

Then to kick Peter’s blind allegiance up a notch or two, or a hundred, the bastard wouldn’t allow the Dark Lord to die and stay dead! While everyone else was enjoying their newly found freedom, the Gryffindor fucker spent the next ten years delving in black magic to become a necromancer. A necromancer of all deplorable things! The ass-wipe just couldn’t allow everyone to be *free* and live out their happy lives! No, he had to find a way to revive Voldemort! The sick fucker who was the bane of the wizarding world to purebloods and non-purebloods alike!

Lucius glared at the back of Pettigrew’s head. He would kill him if it didn’t mean his and his families death sentence.

Lucius sighed.

His family’s safety was the reason he had committed so many evil and despicable acts, in the name of the Pureblood Cause.

Lucius quickly left those thoughts and returned his mental vengeance toward Pettigrew. The brown haired man wasn’t a particularly powerful wizard. Honestly, he didn’t have anything on Lucius. It was just that Pettigrew was the only man who could and *would* bring the Dark Lord back time and time again, even if it meant his own life. Thus making him Voldemort’s favorite pet.

Oblivious to Lucius’s burning hatred, Pettigrew pushed open the large double doors, which led into the Dark Lord’s throne room. He then stood to the side and allowed Malfoy to pass, before he closed the doors and left.

“Come in, Lucius” Hissed the Dark Lord. “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting.”

The man address entered the dark, dank, and dreary room with liquid grace. “I came as soon as I could, my Lord Voldemort. Is everything alright?” He asked as he bowed in respect.

Red eyes narrowed and a sneer appeared on serpentine lips as he gazed upon the beautiful man before him. Like the meaning of his name, Lucius stood out, in his dark domain, like a beacon of light. He was dressed in a Veelan Royal garb. A multiple layered robe of white Veelan diaphanous silk. There were jewels –diamonds– embedded into the ornately designed, white-on-white, embroidered collar.

“Did I interrupt anything important?” Voldemort asked hopefully. He hated that his followers had a life outside *his* world. Even more, he hated that Lucius Malfoy had the grandest life of all.

Still bowed in respect, Lucius lied. “Nothing is more important than you, my Lord.” Though he made sure not to reveal any of the loathe he truly felt toward the creature.

However, in truth Lucius and his wife were anxiously waiting for their son and Snape, to portkey themselves to the Manor. The reason he was dressed in Veelan royal attire was because Draco’s temper was always less volatile if he was required to behave with royal etiquette.

“It would be wise if you remembered that.” Voldemort hissed warningly. “You disrespect me, with what you are wearing!”

“Of course, my Lord. I shall never make this mistake again.” Lucius apologized as he stood up straight. He tried not to let his focus stray around the room. Not that there was much to see. Voldemort’s “Throne Room” was a actually a cave. No, not a cave. A sepulcher. And in Lucius’ opinion, it smelled like one too. He hated coming here.

“Jussssst to make sure that you don’t forget.“ The deformed man hissed and raised his wand.

Lucius felt every muscle in his body spasm and convulse violently, and he grit out painfully “Yes, my Lord, I won‘t forget.”

“I think you lie.” Voldemort hissed as he increased the intensity of the curse. “Because why else would you disrespect me like that?”

“I came as soon as I was called.” Lucius admitted as he fought to remain standing. “My Lord, I didn’t mean to disrespect you... I simply forgot in my haste.” Actually, Lucius didn’t think anything of coming adorned in his Veelan robes. Most of the time, when he was summoned, he just came in whatever he was wearing. Only during official Death Eater meetings did he dress in the distinctive black cloak.

Voldemort allowed the curse to end only a few seconds after Lucius’ fell, painfully, to his knees and his true hair revealed itself. The man’s hair always fascinated him. And only once before had he seen its true length, and just like that one time, so many years ago, it was extremely long, and already in a thick braid. Victoriously, Voldemort looked at the, now, badly injured Veela with a satisfied smirk. Every so often he felt the need to remind Lucius just who was in charge.

“You should thank me for sparing your pathetic life. Because I am beginning to think that I would be more happy with you dead.”

Fuck you. “Thank you, my Lord.”

“Stand up, Lucius.”

The order was obeyed with quick compliance, but with too much aristocratic grace, in Voldemort‘s opinion. Grace that *he* didn’t have anymore, and he hated Lucius for it. “Crucio!” The Dark Lord smiled as he watched the man writhe in pain, then scowled when he realized that Malfoy wasn’t screaming. Lucius never screamed. Ever. And he hated him for that too.

When he reluctantly ended the curse, he asked. “What do you say?”

“Thank you, my Lord.” Came the hoarse response.

Crimson eyes narrowed at the third quick concession. He didn’t trust it. Slowly, he slithered off of his throne and walked over to the weakened man. He raised one scaled, decaying hand and gently caressed creamy alabaster skin.

“Do you hate me, Lucius?” His foul smelling hiss was a poor attempt at sounding soothing.

Yes. “No, my Lord.” He lied as he forced himself not to wrench away from the unctuous touch.

Voldemort brought his scaled lips to the man’s ear and trailed his hand into Lucius’s hair and whispered. “I would hope not.”

Lucius forced himself not to gag at the foul smell of the other man’s breath. Though he did stiffen in anger when Voldemort caressed his queue.

“You don’t like that do you?” Was the dark chuckle as he started wrapping the long, thick braid of silky hair around his hand.

Small nostrils flared in anger but Lucius didn’t answer.

“It’s okay...” The serpentine man purred. “You can tell me.”

“No.” Lucius grit out. “I don’t. Would you kindly let it go.”

“Now why would I do that?” Voldemort laughed darkly as he gave it a violent tug. He laughed even louder when he heard a few of the white-gold strands break. “Why do you hide your hair, Lucius?” It was a quandary that had always perplexed him.

“I don’t.” He gritted out when his head was jerked back.

It was an answer that gave him no answer at all, and it pissed the scaled man off. “This...ponytail...” Voldemort mocked the hairstyle because it was, in no way, a simple ponytail. It was a thick braid which gathered all of the man’s hair. It started at the nape of Lucius’s neck and reached to the back of his knees. The only thing ponytailish about it was the velvet ribbon bow that was tied at the bottom of it. “This girly hairstyle....It’s a demon tradition correct?”

Insulted, Lucius scowled.

“But it’s not Veela, is it?” Voldemort continued but received no verbal answer again. So he tightened his grip on the braid and broke a few more strands of that glorious hair. “No, I suppose it isn’t it. Seeing how your grandfather, who *wasn’t* Veela wore a similar hairstyle. He was Shin wasn‘t he?” He jerked his grip on the queue. “I would advice you to answer me.”

“Yes.” Was the curt response.

Voldemort chuckled darkly. “What would you do...If I cut it off?” He had learned a long time ago –when he was still a student at Hogwarts– that Shin demons loved and prided their hair. He also learned that they were *very* temperamental when someone touched it. That lesson almost cost him his life. He never forgot it.

Lucius turned his head and revealed that the black of his pupils burned with a golden flame –a Shin fire –“I’d kill you.” Lucius promised.

“You wish.” Voldemort laughed sadistically. “You must have forgotten that I *own* you, Lucius!” He leaned in closer and malevolently hissed into his ear. “You couldn’t even kill me in your dreams.”

Which was true.

Voldemort made sure, a long time ago that none of his minions could ever hurt him.

But demons, they were powerful, dangerous and very secretive creatures, and Lucius was as every bit a demon as he was a wizard. And that was why the Dark Lord let go of the braid.

But it wasn’t because he was afraid.

So he told himself.

“Lucius, Lucius, Lucius...” He taunted as he turned dismissively and sauntered back to his seat. “Why so much anger over a silly ponytail?”

Lucius purposely ignored the goad. Instead, he gathered his braid and tenderly ran his hand down it as he cast a cleaning charm on it. Oh he was going to KILL that disgusting fucker! Some how, some way, he was going to kill him for TOUCHING his queue!

As if reading his thoughts, “Surely you’ve realized by *now,* my little pet, that any attempt to kill me would be futile.” Voldemort chuckled darkly. Oh he hoped that Lucius would engage in one of his petulant little tantrums. He was in a bad mood, and he really wanted to put the man in his place. Moreover, Malfoy was always a better and more obedient henchman after a good beating.

None of his followers knew this, but Malfoy had tried to kill him, a few times, before and *after* his resurrection. Not with covert plans behind his back, mind you. But with full frontal attacks heated with the fury of blind rage.

But did anyone know this? No, they thought that the Veela was one of his most faithful followers.

Faithful?!?

Hardly.

Voldemort snorted at the popular assumption. The only reason he kept Lucius around was because he was one of his most powerful allies: magically, politically, and financially. However, he used the term ally *very* loosely.

If it wasn’t for the Sclavus Curse, which was placed on all of his minions, when they received the dark mark, Lucius Malfoy would have killed him along time ago. Because in truth, that was Lucius’s sole intention when he joined the Death Eaters in the first place. The blond wasn’t concerned about muggles or muggleborns. If they died, he didn’t care. If they lived he didn’t care. Their presence, in the wizarding world, held no baring on his life, whatsoever. Lucius was so far above them, in station, that besides in the classroom, their paths never crossed.

Malfoy joined the Death Eaters to kill Voldemort. The Veela was confident that he could defeat him. Because even if he was out magically matched, as it related to wizardry, he could always rely on his demon prowess to give him an advantage. The xanthochroid was skilled in the battle arts of both Shin and Veela, and he was certain that one, or all, of his three skills could purge the world of this mad man.

However, Voldemort’s assassination was *not* going to be done for the “good” of the Wizarding World. No, Lucius was going to kill Voldemort, then take the reigns of the new Dark Lord himself.

*He* wanted that power. *He* wanted to take over the world. And he felt that as a Malfoy, it was his right.

For a sixteen year old, Lucius Malfoy had *big* ambitions.

Unfortunately, what the teen didn’t expect was that Voldemort already knew of his plans, for the boy wasn’t the first to think of it. That was why the Sclavus Curse was necessary. No matter how powerful Voldemort’s followers were, the mark on their arm made them slaves. It inhibited its victims from ever being able to harm their master. The Sclavus Cruse also kept its victims from ever being able to protect themselves from their masters sadistic whims.

In short, once a person took the dark mark, he or she were completely at Voldemort’s mercy.... For the rest of their life.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, Voldemort also made sure that none of the family members, of those who bore his mark, could hurt him either. Sclavus was an ancient spell that was also a generation curse. It passed from the bearer to the children and then to the children’s children. They didn’t have to bare the mark to be affected by the curse. From birth, they were completely at Voldemort’s will. And if one married, then the wives or husbands were married into the curse as well.

It was a Curse in every since of the word.

That was why the Dark Lord started his movement under the cloak of the “Pure Blood Cause.” He knew that by initiating the spoiled and strong willed pureblood brats of Slytherin, first, there wouldn’t be many others with enough magical power to defeat him. For it only took *one* person to put an entire family at Voldemort’s will and mercy. And that meant, if he had the children, then he had the parents, or their related guardians as well.

And it wasn’t long before Voldemort had entrapped the most powerful wizards and wizarding families on his side.

In spite of this, the “Pureblood Cause” was not the true reason he started this war. In truth, Voldemort hated Purebloods. The arrogant bastards. He reveled in tarnishing their respected status in the wizarding world. It was payback for all the times they picked on him for being a half-blood.

The reason for this war was that he looking was for someone. A particular child. An heir of a muggleborn who was prophesized to be the death of him. He wanted to find this child, and he wanted that child dead.

Voldemort left his thoughts and gazed at the spun white-gold which entwined his fingers. He smirked as an idea emerged in his head. “I‘ll share a secret with you, Malfoy.” The deformed wizard hissed, almost pleasantly, as he untangled the tresses from his fingers. Yes, these strands of Lucius’s hair were going to come in handy in the future. He murmured a spell, and they disappeared to a safe and sterile location with a ‘pop.’ He wanted to make certain that they weren’t contaminated.

The blond awaited the secret with forced patients.

The crimson eyed gaze shifted to him. “You may not believe this... But I was very pleased when *you* became one of my myrmidons, Lucius.”

Malfoy took a deep breath to calm his anger. “Thank you, my Lord.” Though he didn’t mean the words of gratitude.

A pale, scaly head tilted to the side, in mock contemplation. “Though I always wondered why your grandfather allowed you to join. Seeing how he thought so *poorly* of me.” The term poorly was an understatement. Lucifer had the nerve to call him a *mudblood!* Actually, Lucifer was the same Shin demon who almost killed him, in his youth, for touching his hair. What was worse, he didn’t even try, or want, to touch the demon’s hair. It was *Lucifer* who had backed up and bumped into him!

“I believed in the cause.” Lucius lied as he mentally tried to determine where Voldemort was going with this.

At that fallacy, Voldemort left his memories and snorted. “No...That’s not it.” He tapped on his, almost, non existent chin. “Your *hate* for muggles and muggleborns didn’t come until... Later.” He trained a knowingly glare at the Veela. “Not until.... your daughter died.”

Crystal eyes widen in a flash of surprise before he cooled his reaction.

But it was too late.

Voldemort smirked victoriously once he realized that he had hit a bulls-eye. If he had any doubts before about the truth of the deceased heiress, Malfoy’s reaction now confirmed all of his suspicions. He was going to have to reward his spy.

The Dark Lord had known Lucius since the wizard was sixteen years old, but in truth, he knew very little of the man and his private affairs. Malfoy guarded his privacy better than the goblins protected the fortunes in Gringotts Bank.

Voldemort gave an oily smile and said with mock sympathy. “I heard she...your daughter that is... died of a simple muggle cold.” When Lucius didn’t answer, he continued with syrupy malevolence . “But she suffered with it, for a year. Must have been painful.”

It was. Nonetheless, Malfoy still refused to be goaded.

So the Dark Lord continued. “Filthy, disease-carrying rats, muggles and muggleborns are. Wouldn‘t you agree, Lucius?”

“Yes.” Was the short answer. He was including Voldemort in his statement as well.

Red eyes narrowed knowingly, but he continued anyway. “I can scarcely imagine how it must have felt to watch your child *die*... and knowing...” He made a dramatic pause and smiled. He was pleased at the pain he saw in those crystal eyes. Not even a close to death beating and the Cruciatus Curse caused Malfoy to look so broken. “And knowing that all-the-while the culprits.. The *same* muggles and mugglesborn who *infected* your precious baby girl would never be prosecuted... Even though they *murdered* your child.”

Still no answer, but that tattletale x shaped vein on Malfoy’s temple was *throbbing!* It told Voldemort that the Veela was about to explode. That was why he said what he did.

“Would you clear one thing up for me?” The Dark Lord leaned forward, in his seat, and asked with wicked innocence. “Where do demons go when they die? For I always assumed it would be Hell, seeing how your ancestors were kicked out of Heaven.”

That transgression was the last straw.

Lucius instantly changed into True Veela Fury as he screamed. “Why don’t I just let you see for yourself!” He then ran to attack. Though his change was Veela, his method of attack was purely Shin.

A long, golden bar of light appeared in front of him, but when he grabbed it, it manifested itself into a scythe and a black robe and hood cloaked him.

He looked...

He looked like Death. Shinigami himself.

Then, in a blurred flash, he was gone.

“Fuck.” Voldemort’s eyes widened in fear and, from his seat, he searched around the dark room for the infuriated demon.

This was an unexpected predicament, indeed.

Then by chance, Voldemort looked up. He was just in time to see Lucius coming down toward him, at an alarming speed and precise direction. However, what was most distressing was the fact that Lucius had the mens rea to lop his scaly head off with that deadly weapon.

Unfortunately, for the demon Malfoy, a bubble shield erected itself around the Dark Lord before he could cause him any harm. Then, when his scythe touched it, he was shocked with a hex that was, quite possibly, ten times worse than the Cruciatus Curse ever could be.

Lucius fell to the ground with a painful and sickening thud. “Dammit!” He painfully coughed out, through a mouthful of blood. He was in _so_ much _pain. Death right now would be a *blessing.* In an excruciating haze, he wondered what in the hell he was *thinking* attacking Voldemort like that. He couldn’t believe that in his anger, he didn’t expect this defeat. Because really, he should have, for it was the same thing that happened EVERY FUCKING TIME he tried to kill the bastard!

“Are you finished?” The Dark Lord asked in a patronizing voice. He sounded like a parent who was just barely humoring their child. Though inwardly, he was really shaken up. Never had Voldemort been more grateful for his Sclavus Curse. Only once before had he fought with a Shin demon, and he barely lived to tell the tale.

When Lucius didn’t–couldn‘t– answer his question, Voldemort chuckled darkly at the fallen man‘s pain. He hated Lucius, this was true. But in spite of that very real fact, the man was also his favorite. Even more so than Pettigrew, who would blindly follow him into the depths of Hell. It was this favoritism that kept Lucius alive after all of his tantrums. Voldemort had a begrudging respect for the demon who wouldn’t give up. Even when the odds were completely against him, he didn’t cower like the rest. Lucius was the only one of his minion who dared to call him Voldemort to his face. In truth, and deep down,–so deep he barely ever acknowledged it– if the Dark Lord were ever to have had a son, Voldemort would hope the child had Lucius’s will. The man was like a fire that could be smoldered but not extinguished. Never extinguished.

He was a good slave.

After a good beating that is.

“Malfoy.” He called more sternly. “Get up.”

Painfully, and slowly Lucius complied.

Voldemort smiled when he noticed that all of the blond’s natural grace was gone. “Malfoy, you are probably wondering why I called for you today.”

The blond swayed slightly as he stood in a haggard attention. He was, now, back to his human form, though his queue still remained. Resignedly, he gazed at his “master” with bleary eyes. They were unfocused because he had blood in them. His blood. And it stung. Actually, he was *soaked* in his own blood, and all of his bones felt broken, and all of his organs felt like they were shutting down.

Absently, Malfoy admitted that the protection hex that the Sclavus Curse created was impressive, to say the least. If he was a lesser being, he would have been dead. Nonetheless, powerful hex or not, he was still a live. Barely. And all he could managed to do was stare at his “master.” And he could barely do that.

The Dark Lord smirked victoriously at the state Malfoy was in, then asked “Are you listening, Lucius?”

“Yes.” Was the forced, coarse, reply.

“Good.” He hissed. “Because I have another job for you.”



tbc
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I am so sorry for the delay of this chapter. Please forgive me. So many bad things have happened to me these past few weeks you, have no idea.. My computer completely crashed on me when I tried to upload a new virus protector. I mean *completely* crashed. Wahhhhh! To get it back, I had to use a recovery disk. And for those of you who have had to use one of these things, know that you lose EVERY THING! From down loaded programs, to saved files, to emails your address book and your complete favorites list. Everything is GONE!!! Gone I tell ya! GONE!!! It’s like starting from scratch! Actually, it *is* starting from scratch! I am so sad, you have no idea. I had so many unfinished fics saved on hard drive because I was too cheap to buy disks. Wahhh!!! The thought of it still makes me want to cry!!!

So don’t ever make that mistake!! Don’t be dumb like me! Buy Disks!!

Then my sinuses are going crazy. My eyes are itchy, swelling up to the size of golf balls and pussing so nastily I am ashamed to go out!! It’s so gross. WAhhhh!!!!!

So as of right now, my life sucks. (sob hiccup sob)

But enough about me and my pathetic life.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I tried to give a reason why Purebloods, who have so much to loose would risk everything for what will be a futile cause. Because really, no one can stop change. I also tried to explain some of why Lucius and the Malfoys hate muggles so much.

Again, I hope you enjoyed this chapter because I really enjoyed writing it, despite all my drama.

~hugs~
babychan


oh one more thing, Sclavus means slave in medieval Latin