kennahijja (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kennahijja) wrote2006-12-22 06:31 pm
kennahijja) wrote2006-12-22 06:31 pm
Holiday Ficlet the Second: Tribute (Minerva/Lucius, PG)
Happy Holidays,
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chthonya!Title: Tribute
Pairing: Minerva/Lucius
Rating: PG
Length: 1292 words
Note: Another little Yuletide ficlet for
chthonya and her incomparable Lucius! With a lot of help from lazy_neutrino.Kingsley Shacklebolt's horned owl quite resembles its owner, Minerva thinks as the large bird executes a flawless landing on her desk, feathers flattened sleekly to its solid body against the winter wind. It sticks out a leg in a dignified manner, and suffers her to untie the parchment with never a ruffle.
Minerva breaks the Ministry seal, eyes scanning the parchment and the list beneath.
His name is there, of course, in second place after mad Bellatrix. She has known it beforehand; she was at the trials, after all. To exonerate Severus Snape, and to speak up for the Death Eater children whom the Ministry had swept up in the aftermath of Harry's victory along with their parents, and whom Scrimgeour was quite willing to condemn to the same fate.
Her own testimony and an interview with the Daily Prophet before the trials were not enough to save Draco Malfoy, however. The stupid boy, who bears the Dark Mark for all to see, has been sentenced to four years in Azkaban for attempted murder and the use of an Unforgivable 'under duress'. While for publicity's sake the Ministry is eager to get on the good side of Hogwarts' new Headmistress and Order of the Phoenix veteran, they won't humour her too far. The influence Albus wielded over them still rankles.
Lucius Malfoy, however, had been doomed from the moment the Aurors picked him up among the surviving Death Eaters right where they'd fallen after Voldemort's death. The final flare of the Dark Mark had killed the weaker - luckier - ones among them like Avery and Wormtail. But not Malfoy.
She tells herself that she'd only stayed to hear his sentence because she was already there; a gesture of acknowledgement to a former pupil. There was no testimony she could have given on his behalf, nor did she desire to. He wore the ice mask she had always hated, sharp eyes haughtily raking over the milling, hissing crowd packed into Courtroom Ten. He did not offer her a nod of acknowledgement when he found her among the spectators, although his eyes did.
The Kiss, in two weeks' time. No one could have expected anything different. How easily the Ministry embraced the Dementors back into the fold after their defection to Voldemort, she thinks; the same magnanimity is not extended to his human servants.
Two weeks and a day later, Minerva smoothes the parchment, then shuts it away in one of the carved drawers of her desk. Her blank face contrasts with the painted eyes of her predecessors along the walls. Albus' half-finished portrait sits on its easel by the window, not yet animated and wrapped in a piece of linen. Even if he were already with her, he wouldn't understand.
Wouldn't understand because he hadn't seen her some twenty years earlier, walking in Hogwarts' walled-in apple garden, on a very fine spring morning. He'd caught up with her there, Lucius Malfoy, and she still recalls dropping the apple blossom she'd been toying with, embarrassed at having been seen at such schoolgirlish behaviour.
They'd walked, discussing a special project on Animagus transformation for his NEWTs, and for a moment she had wondered what his form might be - a hunting bird, a peregrine perhaps, or some woodland predator - a marten, otter, or mongoose. Well, perhaps not the latter, not a snake slayer for such an accomplished Slytherin. But she'd known he would not follow those studies through to their final conclusion: too little relevance to his upcoming NEWT, not enough long-term gain. He had mentioned studying over Easter with Antonin Dolohov, a disciple of Durmstrang's famed Transfiguration Magister Stephan Grigorievich - and a lot more besides.
And he'd kissed her there, in a ring of scrunched apple blossoms amidst the tart chill of spring morning; not sweet, arrogant or nervous - gentle, if anything. Of course it hadn't been the first time a hormone- or mischief-driven student had tried to press his affections on her, even if this was the first since the lines had begun to encroach on her mouth, eyes and neck, and her strict bearing had become less mask and more second nature. It was, however, the very first who had sparked in her an impulse to respond.
It hadn't been his looks - in fact, the excessive refinement of pureblood breeding repelled rather than attracted her, like the sort of over-bred hunting Crups that are all bone-structure, sleekness and streamlined ears, incapable of being anything but a testimony to their own worth.
More interesting had been the few instances of lively, eager intellect she'd seen flare in him, in class or during mealtimes in the Great Hall. Flawed by ambition, undoubtedly, but there. Unlike Albus, who had greater concerns and could turn a blind eye on all but a chosen few, and with less glaring selectiveness than Horace, she'd watched the students of all houses, even the Slytherins. The boy's desire for knowledge shone when he immersed himself in his favourite studies, even if, in time, he became less Lucius, and more Malfoy.
By seventh year, she would have thought Lucius Malfoy above any spur-of-the-moment passion, not with all the beauties of Black fawning over him. Nor could his Slytherin mind hope to gain anything from her, not so close to the NEWTs. In the end, she'd dismissed it as a dungeon-hatched prank.
She'd disengaged herself with all the dignity she could muster, with the same haughty mien she'd always reserved for the situation, and assigned him two weeks detention. Not with Arsenius Jigger as he'd have so richly deserved, but with Horace, who admired the young man's father and would use the time to touch up on his potions skills, Malfoy's weakest NEWT subject. He'd bowed to her with a lifted eyebrow that said he well understood the spirit behind the punishment.
It was an offence that would have warranted a complaint to the boy's head of house and a letter to his father, but although they would have made all the right noises, it would come across as the flusterings of an aging spinster. Minerva had no love for the Slytherin obsession with status, but knew how to play the game well enough.
Months later, as the world darkened and the war sneaked up on them on poisonous cat paws, Minerva found herself crowded between Alastor Moody and Dedalus Diggle in a corner seat of the Burrow's kitchen table as the Order went over a list of potential Death Eaters and Voldemort supporters who might be approached to work against him. The name Lucius Malfoy curled on her tongue throughout the discussion, like a sharp, elusive mint. None of the others brought up the possibility; he was, it seemed, abandoned to the enemy by name and breeding. Minerva herself kept quiet in the end, for lack of a reason to give. She had kept quiet ever since.
Her hand does not tremble as she serves the messenger two owl treats, which it nips off her fingers with dainty pecks. She opens the window, and it throws itself out into the night.
She wonders what has become of his soulless body, with his son in Azkaban and his wife fled to the continent. A bed in St Mungo's spell damage ward, or in some less prestigious institution, no doubt. Not that it matters any longer.
Minerva closes the window and the warmth of the fireplace reaches out to embrace her again. She watches the sharp curves of the owl's wings beat and blur and become one with the dark. Back at her desk, she reaches for her quill and the stacks of parchments waiting for her, and returns to her work.
But at night, her dreams are bleak.
no subject
Seriously, it makes it seem so much more real to see it written by someone else, after years of giving it up as a newbie's misjudgement. I'm so, so sorry now that my computer's power failure seems to have disappeared my 3/4-done 'Sheathed Claws' sequel...
But of course, not only is it Lucius and Minerva, but it's Lucius and Minerva by you. I love the way you've written them both, the respect-at-a-distance, never concrete enough for open acknowledgement. And your ever-brilliant turn of phrase:
her strict bearing had become less mask and more second nature
in time, he became less Lucius, and more Malfoy.
Oh, yes
She wonders what has become of his soulless body... Not that it matters any longer.
Because it was in his soul that she saw a potential - which makes the Dementor's Kiss all the more cruel.
Thank you so so very much for this. :)
no subject
*mourns the Sheated Claws sequel*
No saved version on any disk?
And very many thanks for the lovely card, and the even more lovely picture! That made me smile so much 'cause it just *has* to be true :). And yes, it looks quite a bit (and lots better) like my default icon :D. You're so wonderful!
no subject
No saved version on any disk?
I haven't found one yet, which is doubly annoying as I was sure I'd backed up all fics-in-progress last time I was afraid my computer was about to die. I guess I could always see if I could get the power wires joined up directly to the input pins without the little plastic plug. Come to think of it, there's probably a multimeter in the garage that would tell me whether the transformer is at fault.
Or as a last resort, I could see if someone could download all the data from the hard disk, once I get some money.
no subject
*falls totally and permanently in love*
There were so many gorgeous moments and character details. I love the innocent apple blossom setting and the "tart" spring morning ... and the image of creeping on "poisonous cat paws" ... and this tender little observation just reduced me to helpless quivering: "in time, he became less Lucius, and more Malfoy". The little TWIB references fitted perfectly. If only you weren't always so cruel to Draco ;-) How on earth did Lucius's shining desire for knowledge fail to be transmitted to that stupid boy? (For the record, I blame Harry, without whose constant interference Draco might have gone on to be a man more in his father's image.)(Maybe.)
Naturally I love the idea that Lucius might have been - should have been - considered as a defector. The more canon reveals Voldemort's many flaws, the more you have to wonder what Lucius is doing taking orders from him.
The similarity between the sleek, beautiful owl and the recently departed is just pure delicious fun! Reading it a second time, I was really grateful they got their one moment of mutual acknowledgement in Courtroom 10. Really, this is about as sweet and innocent as this pairing could ever be - and the contrast between the sweetness of the earlier encounter and the sombre developments in the present makes it all the more poignant.
no subject
It's interesting that you have her own inaction, despite the feeling, the understanding, the sympathy, mirror the Ministry's unwillingness to allow witches and wizards a chance to rejoin the mainstream, while Dementors are accepted at once; as Scrimgeour is willing to condemn children for their parentage, just so she silently condemns Lucius for his breeding. The only difference is that she feels regret.
Now this is an example of the character exploration fic you were asking about: nothing 'happens', but Minerva McGonagall's world is shaken, and colder thereafter, and you show us why.
no subject
Clare
no subject