Mind of a Machiavellian

So cold… it was so cold.

Lucius lay curled on a cot that was struggling to support his well-muscled weight, a thin pinstriped uniform his only protection from the icy wind whipping into his cell through the thin window.

The sea seemed angry tonight, battering the large rock that supported Azkaban furiously, as if intent on destroying the collection of evil within its walls.

He was drenched and chilled. The wizarding prison was almost larger than the ‘island’ on which it was built, so the impenetrable walls were close to the water. Every so often Lucius was assaulted with the salty spray of the turbulent waves, how he cursed the small slit.

It was as long as his arm, yet not wide enough to push any extremity through. When he was first brought here, he’d wondered at his purpose, but not anymore. Clearly it was only meant to increase the occupant’s discomfort, and it was doing a wonderful job as the once proud pureblood shuddered, attempting to pull into himself even more.

He was undernourished and weak, and quite ill, he suspected. Luckily the Dementors had been removed so his sanity declined at a slower rate.

A particularly large wave crashed against the bricks, and even more water sloshed in, hitting his back across the small room. His cot could be dragged no further, and he could mould himself no closer to the soggy wooden door leading out of his cell.

The Dark Lord had been particularly fond of torture, using any failing as an excuse for it, and so Lucius was not stranger to pain. Still, he’d always been able to apparate back to his luxurious home. Someone would remedy his wounds, and by the next day he’d be back to relative normalcy.

This constant state of discomfort was having an extremely detrimental affect on Lucius. He’d received a life sentence for his involvement in the war, and was denied any means of ending it by being placed in this infernally barren chamber.

His food was sloppy and shapeless, best described as a foul gray stew. It had no nutritional value whatsoever, and he was barely served enough to stave off the pangs of hunger.

He was also gifted with a glass of dirty, tangy water. The tang was a result of the minute amount of rum added to kill some of the bacteria in it. Not all of it, certainly, but some.

He was aware that the water was stored in old wooden barrels, for simplicity of use. The guards of Azkaban were the filth of the wizarding world, only socially considered a step above the inmates they guarded. Unable to control even rudimentary magic, they were little more than inept squibs.

His bathing facilities included a hole in the middle of the floor for secretion, as well as for draining the water that spilled in from the sea, which conversely served as his only means of washing.

Broken, alone and powerless, Lucius Malfoy was only a shadow of what he’d once been.

~*~*~*~

Daylight broke in the dreary stone cage, and Lucius stirred, huffing slightly as he pushed himself away from the wall he was still huddled against. He felt warmth on his back, and rolled to see the sun had risen and the storm was over. Feeling unreasonably happy to see the streak of heat beaming through the narrow crack, he stood and slowly stretched, much like a large cat awakening from a nap.

He marveled at the pleasure he could feel from something so simple, but when he had nothing it was the little things that gave him the fortitude to carry on.

Once he would have groused to be woken late, or to wait too long for breakfast. Now he was just happy to have column of light to bask in.

He did a few relaxed stretches as an unnecessary, vestigial remnant of his past life. As if good health was attainable in these conditions.

All of Azkaban wasn’t necessarily this bad, though in no place was it pleasant. It seemed that the community at large simply felt that the remainder of Voldemort’s followers should live in torment for the rest of their lives. Actively torturing him might cause a twinge of conscience in the would-be do-gooders, but simply leaving him to wallow in his own filth like this, wasting away day by day, was worse as far as Lucius was concerned.

He raked grubby fingernails through his matted hair. He felt absolutely disgusting after last night’s storm, the salt water adding just another layer of grime to his already filthy self.

To a man as naturally fastidious as Lucius, the lack of hygiene involved in this lifestyle was a constant cruelty.

He wearily shuffled the short distance to his drain, relieving his bladder. It was the only discomfort he was capable of assuaging.

He ran a hand over his face, rubbing at his eyes, as he sat on the edge of his cot. Now he would wait for his ‘meal’, and if it strengthened him any, he’d take another shot at exercise. It seemed his body was doing all it could to just operate these days, let alone improve.

His life was looking rather bleak, and the only silver lining he could spot on this storm cloud was that under these conditions he wouldn’t last much longer.

With a loud pop a burly man appeared in the middle of the cell. In one meaty hand he clutched a smooth gray brick, in the other, a club.

He was over 6 feet tall and completely bald, sporting a bristly looking orange beard. His brows were thick and reminiscent of the Neanderthals, as was the rest of his hulking form.

Lucius blinked at him dully from his cot. It had been over 5 months since he’d seen a single person. His incarceration had seemed so much longer.

He was surprised to find that even he required some level of socialization to retain his sanity, and 5 months of having his tray of food simply appearing and disappearing after consumption was getting to him.

That was most likely the cause of his lack of reaction. It’s not as if there was anything he could do. His wand had been seized, naturally, along with everything else that defined him, and he was left to rely on his physical stature which though once was impressive was now malnourished and weak.

Club or no club, he was not foolish enough to think he could take on the hulking brute in his emaciated state.

And so the guard and the inmate regarded each other for some time, before the larger of the two finally chose to spoke.

“Git up.”

His voice was deep and rough, his words garbled. Lucius tilted his head somewhat. He was weaker in body and perhaps dampened in spirit, but his mind still soldiered on heroically.

“Why?”

Perhaps not the most eloquent of questions, but it was short and simple and summarized his internal dialogue completely. Highly recommending features when he barely had the energy to bother expressing himself at all.

“Yer got a visit’r,” the underdeveloped man grunted.

“Oh?” Lucius breathed out, lowering his eyes but raising his brows.

He couldn’t think of anyone who would want to visit now if they hadn’t bothered initially. An enemy perhaps, wishing to see the great Lucius brought to his knees?

Whatever pride he had left scattered in himself, he gathered, and somehow found the strength to push himself up with it, though he swayed somewhat.

For all the ape’s simplicity, he reached out and wrapped a heavy arm around his shoulders, and with that the brick labeled “Lucius Malfoy” disappeared again with a pop.

~*~*~*~

Sitting wearily on a wooden chair, Lucius took in his surroundings.

The office he was held in was somewhat barren, though a great improvement to his cell. There was a mirror on one wall that he surmised was two sided, and he gazed at it passively as he waited for events to unfold.

How he missed the control he used to have over his life, his mastery of himself and his surroundings. Now he was simply a waif for others to position at their leisure.

The door at one end opened, and an older man with a thin mustache and a comb over stepped in. Spectacles perched on the end of his nose, and what remained of his sandy brown hair was dusted with gray. He carried with him a large canvas bag that clashed horribly with his dull blue robes. Lucius wasn’t of a mind to comment or dwell on such trivialities now, though.

The man was a thoroughly unremarkable and forgettable person, though obviously not dependent on his physique. That left him a role that somehow involved management when dealing with Azkaban employees.

“Mr. Malfoy, how are you feeling?” He asked with a dry, wheezy voice that promised a cough.

A healer, then. Amazing that the prison even employed one, really.

To his utter shame, Lucius felt far too weak to reply linguistically, and so simply groaned in what he hoped was a self-explanatory manner.

The elder man’s eye’s held no warmth or pity as they surveyed the shrunken specimen before him. There would be no pity for his kind anymore.

“That is to be expected, but I’d hate that your guest suffered these conditions only to have you unable to converse… so drink this.” And from his cheap, canvas bag he pulled a bottle of red liquid that upon sight sent Lucius into a level of internal joy he’d never experienced before.

The Pepper Up Potion was placed before him, and as he’d collected the strength to stand, so too did he gather the will to reach out and take it in his palm, clammy from excitement, and raise it to his chapped lips.

The elixir burnt a trail of warmth down to his core, filling his empty stomach and revitalizing his tired mind. He felt better than he had in months, and that was just after a sip.

What a wonderful concoction, meant to work out whatever was wrong with whoever consumed it, and alleviate their discomfort by supplying what they lacked.

It was obviously a very potent draught, as he felt his nutrients balancing out, and his body temperature rising. Even the haze that had become the norm lifted from his mind and he once again felt sharp and on point.

With much clearer eyes he looked up at the healer.

“Feeling up to a visitation?” The man asked, simply.

“Yes, I do believe I am.” He replied, a bit of his old self returning.

He may still be covered in filth and wearing prison garb, but at least his mental facilities had been returned to him. Internally he was a Malfoy again, and ready to face this mystery guest.

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So that's the first chapter. I'm rewriting "Political Perceptions" since it just didn't feel right the first time, and I was loathe to build on a foundation I thought was unstable.

Hope you like it, hope you review, hope you help me correct any typos or grammatical errors you see since I sort of zoom through.

I love all reviews, be them compliment or criticism. Both can be beneficial in very different ways.