The Malfoy Chronicles

I know that I haven't gone into too much story line, but he has to get home first doesn't he? I loved my first review!!
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Once on the mainland, Lucius and Draco Apparated back to Malfoy Manor, with Draco taking the children along with him. They landed in the foyer of Malfoy Manor, and Abraxas immediately took off up the stairs. Draca stayed with her father and grandfather; curious of the stranger she was related to. Draco looked at her. “Do you not have anything better to do than follow us around?” he said impatiently. She shook her head softly.

“She’s not bothering anything.” Lucius said. “Besides, I was just about to disappear to my room for a long shower and a change of clothes.

“Well, lunch will be served at one.” Draco said.

Lucius’ head turned to Draco. “I know when lunch is served. It’s been served at one for the last fourty-something years.” Lucius snapped at his son. Draco just looked at him.

“I meant nothing by it, father.” He said. Lucius regarded his son only for a moment before apparating to his room. He looked around. Nothing had been touched, only cleaned. He tossed his sack of belongings aside and walked over to the window, whose heavy dark green curtains had been drawn shut. He shoved them open, letting natural light fall into his room. Then he turned around to look at his room in a better light. He glanced at his tasteful, four-poster king-sized bed. He admired his beautiful green damask bedspread with silver satin trimmings trimmings. He looked down, and admired his hardwood cherry floors. Shiny, and pleasantly cool to walk on in the summer, they added a bit of color to the room. The wood of the floors was repeated in his wooden bedposts and his bureau.

He began disrobing himself, quickly trying to shed the last bit of that awful place. When he was completely nude, he walked to the door of his en suite bathroom, and opened it, admiring once more the elegant, light-colored marble. He walked slowly and slightly fearfully to his full-sized mirror, and gazed in horror at his reflection. His once beautifully glowing blonde hair was a disgusting grey-blonde mess. His lean, sculpted body was overly thin, and if he stretched he could count his ribs. His face was sallow, and sunken, giving him the appearance of a moving corpse. He walked to his shower and turned on the water, fine-tuning the temperature. Once he felt the water was right, he stepped inside. It felt great to have the water hitting him, washing away the grime of a place that he never wanted to see again.

After enjoying his shower, he dried himself off with a fluffy towel. He walked out of the bathroom to his closet, and began to rummage for something to wear. He emerged wearing black trousers and a soft emerald colored sweater, both of which were way too big. He checked the time on a large grandfather clock that sat in the corner of his room. If the thing was correct, dinner would be in five minutes, and he was actually anticipating a good meal.

There was a small knock at his door. “Yes?” he said.

“It’s ‘Cissa.” Came the soft female voice. “May I come in please?” she asked.

“Come in.” he answered. The door opened, and Narcissa came into his room. She was still as beautiful as he remembered her. Her long blonde hair was pulled behind her in a tail with a white satin ribbon. She was wearing a knee-length skirt of baby-powder blue, and a soft white sweater. She had donned short spiky white heels, but wore no jewelry. She gasped softly when she saw him.

“Oh Lucius…” she said softly, coming toward her husband. He swallowed hard. She reached up and touched his thin face. “You look positively dreadful.” She said. He gave a weak smile.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long time.” He said, his voice soft.

Narcissa continued to gaze at her husband, taking in all that he had physically become. Lucius gazed at his wife as well. Sure she could be arrogant, but so could he. One of the only things he truly missed in Azkaban was his little wife. He extended his arms slightly to the side. “How about a hug for your poor old hubbie?” he asked, trying his best to look pitiful. In Narcissa’s eyes, he didn’t have to try very hard.

She smiled. “Well, I would, but you are NOT old, and-“ she chuckled “-not poor.” But she wrapped her arms around his almost non-existant waist anyway. Nine years ago her husband had been a trim, sculpted man who was proud of his body, and took well care of it. Now he looked like a little corpse, and she was on the verge of crying.

“Don’t fret, kitten.” He said softly, running a hand over Narcissa’s back. She let out a shaky breath.

“I haven’t heard you call me that in nine years.” She said, and burrowed her face into his chest. He smiled.

“I would love to just throw you down and cuddle you all over the floor, but I’m extremely hungry, kitten, and I do believe that if I don’t get some food soon, I may pass out…” he said, gently prying her off of him. She let go of him immediately.

“Of course! How stupid of me! Come then, lunch should already be on the table.” She said. He took her hand, and apparated them both to the dining room.
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