The Deceit Of A Lifetime

“We failed, my Lord,” said Lucius hesitantly. Despite all of his pureblood pride, he could not allow himself to demonstrate it in front of his present company. He had found himself in the Dark Lord Voldemort’s presence, having been forced to bring his master news that the attack on Hogwarts did not have the intended results.

“No, Lucius,” replied the cold, dark voice of the man who was seated at Lucius’ desk. They had convened at the den in Malfoy Manor, at the Dark Lord’s insistence. The slits of his eyes glared angrily at the elder Malfoy, his enter demeanor having become more rigid and hateful than usual upon hearing of the failure. “You failed!” he hissed.

“Yes, of course, Master,” replied Lucius, bowing his head. Even though he knew better, he hoped that the sign of acquiescence would put him in a better view for his Lord.

“Crucio!” came the voice of the madman, but Lucius was unable to respond before he fell to the floor in horrible pain, as if a million daggers had penetrated every millimeter of the surface of his skin. He felt as if every internal organ was about to burst inside his body, leaving him a mere shell of the man. All he could do, however, was scream in agony.

After several minutes of the torture, Voldemort raised his wand and the curse ceased. Lucius crawled over to his master, on his hands and knees, and kissed the hem of the snake-like man’s robe as soon as he was within range of the chair. “I apologize, master. I swear to you, we had no idea this would happen.”

Voldemort glared angrily at Lucius, and considered raising his wand to the man again, but decided against it. “Perhaps if you had told those bumbling fools who serve me that they should be a little quieter when attempting to kidnap someone from Hogwarts, the results of this plan would have been far more favorable.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Lucius replied, his head still bowed, his lips still within inches of the hem of the robe he held between his fingers. He feared that if he dared look at Voldemort again, he would find himself once again subjected to the Unforgivable curse that, for the most part, ruled his existence.

“Do we know Potter’s condition?” the Dark Lord asked.

The anger and disdain for Malfoy were dripping from his voice, and Lucius winced at hearing it. “No, we do not, my Lord. We only know that he survived.”

Voldemort stood from the chair, kicking his foot outward and knocking Lucius to the floor as he walked to the den’s large windows, glaring out into the lawns behind the huge estate, as if the answers to the bane of his existence for the last 16 years could be found there. “Any guesses as to what the old fool will do as a result of the attack?”

“You mean considering his Golden Boy was nearly killed?” replied Lucius, eyes widening as he realized the slip of his tongue. He cringed in fear when Voldemort slid across the room and raised his wand at him again, but sighed in relief after a few moments of silence, realizing that, as of yet, no curse was forthcoming.

“Yes,” Voldemort hissed in reply, moving the wand ever closer to Lucius.

Lucius gulped nervously. “He may strengthen the defenses of the school,” he spat out uselessly, unsure of exactly what he was expected to say.

Voldemort growled from deep in his throat. “Lucius, you are indeed more useless than I could have ever imagined,” he replied.

The matter-of-fact tone the Dark Lord used shook the elder Malfoy to his core. He did not, however, have a chance to reply before he was once again his body was engulfed in suffering at the hands of the Cruciatus curse.

I may not have gotten you this time, Potter, though the Dark Lord to himself as he watched his ‘loyal’ subject writing and screaming in pain on the floor, but I’m not nearly done with you yet.