Shadows Of The Past

AN: Hi everyone! Welcome to another of my twisted tales. =) After I finished with His Saving Grace (DM/HG) a friend asked me ‘How do you think it would be different if it had been Lucius?’ It took me awhile before the story began to unfold and this is it.


The beginning of this tale may trouble some of you…hell it troubles me, but it is just how the story played out in this over crowded head of mine…so if you can look beyond the beginning and read the rest I hope you will find a sweet tale of redemption that warms your heart =) It jumps off quickly, but I think you will understand why as you get deeper into it. So, here we go…

WARNING: This, as always is AU/AR (obviously) so if it bothers you…don’t read it =) I don’t use Beta’s, I have control issues and don’t like putting my work into the hands of others….plus a few bad experiences have left me jaded. So expect some errors, I apologize in advance and will tell you right off that I worry more about telling the story than grammar and punctuation. So…with that said….I hope you like it =)





Preface: Aftermath

In which we learn how it all began.


Hogwarts Castle stood quiet, silhouetted against a clear, moonlit sky. The sounds of battle had given way to silence and a section of the castle lay in ruins. All over the wizarding world people celebrated their victory and mourned their losses. Voldemort was dead and when the sun rose a new world would wake with the dawn. Hermione Granger made her way through the silent castle, checking up on the refugees seeking solace within the school’s walls. She was weary, exhaustion that went bone deep weighing her down. It had been a day of great joy and great sorrow, filled with satisfaction and disappointment alike.

Her mind was racing as she moved slowly through the halls, her steps hesitant and her body sore despite the long, hot bath she had indulged in when the chaos had finally died down. She had locked herself inside the prefect’s bathroom and cried until her body ached with it. She cried for the friends she would never see again, for the families that were broken and for her poor, broken heart.

It seemed so foolish to be crying over Ron Weasley but she couldn’t help it. She had been in love with him for as long as she could remember and when they kissed she thought that it meant something to him, that he finally saw how she felt and returned her feelings. Then, when the adrenaline died down and people began picking up the pieces she saw him standing with his family huddled together in the corner. She had gone to him and tried to offer him comfort but he had shoved her away, told her to leave him alone, he had rejected her. And so she was alone.

A cold draft blew beneath the hem of her nightgown and she curled her toes inside the thick socks on her feet as she reached the top of the dungeon stairs. She didn’t think anyone would be down there, the dungeons and Slytherin dorm were in ruins but she checked anyway, needing something to take her mind off of things and prevent her from crying again. Suits of armor lay in dismantled heaps on the floor and the shredded tapestries blew in the cool breeze that penetrated the halls, no doubt from a damaged, outside wall. She stepped through the rubble, mindful of her stocking clad feet as she avoided jagged stone and broken glass. The portrait that once guarded the Slytherin common room lay charred on the floor, the frame shattered and the image burned away.

She stepped inside, surprised to see a lone flickering candle casting its light on the far side of the room. Very carefully she tiptoed her way across the room until she stood just behind a black leather sofa now sliced to ribbons and showing its foam innards. She stared at the sofa’s occupant with no small amount of confusion. Soft, grey cotton was stretched over his broad back, the muscles bunched beneath the fabric and his long blond hair hung in a damp curtain over his shoulders. He had obviously hit the showers…but why was he still there? Sitting alone in the Slytherin common room?

“Mr. Malfoy?” She said hesitantly. His shoulders tensed even more if that were possible but he didn’t lift his head, he continued to stare at the floor between his bare feet.

“You shouldn’t be down here, girl, there are still death eaters out there and this castle is unsecured in its current state.” He said, his voice thick and hoarse. She bit her lip as she tried to sort through her confusion. She wanted to leave, to walk away and leave him be but something in her told her to stay.

“You shouldn’t be down here either.” She said softly, her arms crossed over her chest as she hugged herself for warmth. It was so cold in the dungeons and he hadn’t bothered to light a fire in the grate. He laughed but the sound was without warmth, without mirth.

“They can do nothing more to break me.” He said softly. He was hurting, the shock and first waves of grief were hitting him. She felt sympathy for him and that surprised her. The man had been the poster child for evil for as long as she had known him. The name Lucius Malfoy brought forth images of hedonism, hatred, violence, bigotry, selfishness and stubborn pride, not a single good trait. Yet she had looked out across the battlefield and watched as he dispatched death eater after death eater. In an instant his priorities had changed and his loyalties had shifted. It was no longer about him, about power and blood supremacy. It was about his family and saving them.

He had been desperate as he raced across the grounds and into the castle in search of his son. The look on his face when he saw Draco across the courtyard was etched in her mind. She had never seen a man look so relieved. But it had lasted only an instant as a stream of light raced across the courtyard and hit Draco in the shoulder. Narcissa Malfoy screamed and ran for her son, Lucius called her name, yelled at her to stop but it was too late, another blast shot through and hit her square in the chest.


His transformation in that moment brought to mind the tales of Viking Berserkers, so lost in their rage that they could not be stopped. Hermione had watched from a balcony as he annihilated the death eaters responsible, taking them down without mercy, without guilt. Then he fell to his knees beside his wife and touched her cheek. He closed her eyes gently and crawled the short distance to his son. She wondered if she could bear to watch his pain as he rolled Draco onto his back and pulled him into his lap. She had turned to walk away when she heard his triumphant sobbing. When she looked back Draco was arching in pain, his hand clutching at his shoulder while his father sobbed with gratitude.

She had seen Draco earlier in the hospital wing sleeping soundly and had assumed Lucius would have gone home. Maybe the memories were too much for him there. Without really thinking about it she walked around the sofa and sat beside him. She saw a half empty bottle of bourbon sitting on a stack of text books he had piled in front of him and the empty glass clasped in his fingertips.

“I am sorry about your wife.” She said quietly.

“So am I.” He answered. She shivered, her teeth chattering audibly and he turned his head to look at her. “You are freezing.”

“It’s cold down here.” She said, giving him a sad smile.

“Go back upstairs, go to bed and sleep.” He said.

“Come with me…I don’t want to walk alone…there are death eaters about and the castle is un-secure.” She said, trying to lure him out of the ruins by turning his words back on him. “Come, if you don’t want to go home I will find a bed for you.”


“You will be safe enough. Do not worry about me, I shall not be sleeping.” He said wearily.

“I don’t think I can sleep either.” She said on a sigh. “Do you want to talk?” Lucius smirked and chuckled mirthlessly before refilling his empty glass. He held the glass out to her and shook it gently when she didn’t take it right away. She sniffed it then figuring what the hell she closed her eyes and tossed it back quickly. She shoved the glass back at him as she sputtered and coughed as the fiery drink burned its way down her throat and warmed her belly.

“First time?” He asked, refilling the glass again for himself.

“Yes….probably the last too.” She said between coughs. “Are you drunk?”

“Yes.” He answered simply, taking another drink. “What is it you want to talk about?” He asked.

“I don’t know…I thought maybe it would help.” She said, staring at the flame dancing atop the candle.


“I guess I figured you would be off celebrating with Potter and Weasley, not roaming around the dungeons.” He said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

“No…Harry is off with Ginny, and Ron…well, he told me to leave him alone.” She said sadly.

“I am certain he didn’t mean it.” Lucius said quietly. “We say things we don’t really mean when we are distraught.”

“What are you going to do?” She asked softly. He exhaled slowly and ran his fingers through his damp hair.

“I don’t know. Draco is going to be fine in a few days…I suppose I need to start thinking about funeral arrangements for Cissy.” His voice hitched a little on her name and Hermione’s heart ached for him. “I can’t believe she’s dead. It’s my fault. If I had never gotten myself involved with the Dark Lord…if I hadn’t allowed myself to be poisoned by my father’s beliefs…if I hadn’t been a selfish prick she wouldn’t be lying in that room right now with the other casualties.” He took another long swallow of bourbon and hissed slightly at the burn. “Tell me why everything good in my life I destroy? In business every thing I touch turns to gold…but as a father I am a failure, as a husband I was worse. Because of me my wife is dead and my son nearly so, it should be me…not her. She didn’t deserve to die for this war.” He lowered his head, his voice breaking slightly.

He was drunk, there was no way he would be sitting in the dark with a young woman spilling his guts if he weren’t. But then again, who did he have? He didn’t have any family aside from Draco and it was quite possible that when his son woke and realized that his mother was dead he would hate him. He had no real friends, no one to confide in, no one to care how he got through the loss of his family and the destruction of everything he once stood for. He had no one except for the girl sitting next to him offering him the shaky hand of truce. He felt her touch on his shoulder and turned his head to stare at the small, fragile hand resting against gray cotton. He set his glass on the floor and laid his hand on top of hers, squeezing those small fingers gently.

“Draco was right, you really are a genuinely good person.” He said with wonder. “I don’t deserve your kindness.”

“You lost your wife and almost lost your son…you need kindness.” She said, smiling softly. She was nervous about being so close to him, nervous about offering him her trust, her comfort, but at least he accepted it.

“You have every reason to want me dead…you would have been justified in cursing me the moment you walked in.” He said, his words slurring just a little.

“I think that what you’ve been through tonight is punishment enough.” She reached out and pushed back a lock of hair that fell into his eyes. Her heart was aching for him, she couldn’t imagine how it must feel, the guilt that no doubt felt like a knife in the gut.

“Then why don’t I feel anything? Why am I numb?” He asked, staring at her as though she had the answers at the tender age of eighteen.

“Shock and alcohol.” She jolted when he reached out and laid his hands on her cheek, his fingertips lightly stroking the softness of her skin. Instinct told her to run away, he was dangerous but something deep inside her, that vulnerable part of her personality that wanted someone to need her made her stay just as she was.


“So much goodness…such innocence…” His eyes were glassy and vacant. “So many wonderful things await you…a life…a good life…why can’t I just be good?” It was like a dream, one of those dreams where it felt like you couldn’t move, that everything was happening to you and you just couldn’t stop it. One moment they were talking and the next moment she was reclining back against the arm of the worn sofa and Lucius Malfoy was drunkenly stroking her face, tears glistening in his obscenely long lashes though never sliding down his cheeks.

Suddenly she felt a strong arm go around her and his face was pressed into her shoulder while his other hand pushed her nightshirt up her thighs. She could barely breathe and her entire body felt frozen. Rough hands removed her underwear and shoved the front of his cotton sleep pants down and still she didn’t move, didn’t resist. She was too confused by what was happening. He pushed her legs apart and settled between them, jerking her none to gently beneath him and pushing into her without preliminaries. He didn’t seem to notice her ragged cry of pain as he tore through her hymen and penetrated her virgin body. It hurt, she felt invaded, raw and so damned confused yet she didn’t try to stop him. While she felt no pleasure at all in what he was doing to her, his arms around her felt incredible, she felt needed as he thrust into her again and again as he sobbed brokenly against her shoulder.

He stiffened and groaned, his body trembling against her as he spilled inside the tight heat of her young body. Tears poured from him then, rolling down his cheeks and soaking the curls of the woman beneath him. She felt so soft and so very warm yet lust was not what drove him. He didn’t want her, he didn’t even want sex, he just wanted…something…release, to feel, to be held…to forget. She whimpered beneath his weight and he lifted up off of her, looking down at her. It registered then what he had done and with whom.


“Oh gods…” He groaned, paling as he pulled out of her and scrambled to the opposite end of the sofa. “What have I done?” He whispered, horrified as he stared at her, sprawled on the sofa in confusion, blood smearing her thighs and his seed pooling on the sofa beneath her. “You were a virgin and I…” he looked down to see her blood streaking the length of his flaccid penis. “What sort of monster am I?” He sobbed, burying his face in his hands.

Hermione winced as she sat up and pulled her nightgown down to cover her. She was sore, the focus of her pain centered between her thighs. She had just lost her virginity to Lucius Malfoy in a moment of…what? What had just happened? It wasn’t lust, wasn’t desire and it certainly wasn’t love. What was it?


“Mr. Malfoy…” She whispered, thinking to ask him what they had just done but he flinched and turned his back to her.

“Go…just go quickly before I do something else to hurt you. Everything good that I touch is ruined…” A tortured sound escaped him and Hermione reached out once more to touch him. “I said go!” He shouted, startling her enough that she didn’t think twice, she fled, running as fast as she could through the rubble and back up the stairs and into the prefect’s bathroom. She dampened a wash cloth and cleaned away the blood and semen on and between her thighs before making a pallet out of towels and curling up into a ball to cry herself to sleep.

When morning came she scrounged up some clean clothing and joined the others in the great hall. The noise was deafening as she entered, moving slowly in deference to the throbbing ache between her legs. As she moved through the crowd she saw what had them all riled up. Aurors were leading Lucius, his head bowed and his hands shackled, through the hall. As they passed her he looked up at her and she gasped at the sorrow, the pain and the guilt that she saw in his eyes. His lips moved and tears filled her eyes as she read his lips.


“Forgive me.”