#BUT IT'S ALWAYS SOMEONE ELSE'S FAULT / bccksmarts.

[malfaith]

@bccksmarts

"Dear me," Lucius says, "are you so desperate to be a Muggle?" He can't decide whether he hates the absurd multi-piece clothes or the person wearing them more. "One wonders why you bother working here, instead of treating . . ." he casts around for things Muggles might injure themselves with ". . . knife accidents."

He curls his lip. There's nobody else here, not at this hour. His usual personal physician is on a week's vacation. He's stuck with this Mudblood, no matter how much he hates it. He wouldn't be here if he didn't absolutely need to be.

He unbuttons his left sleeve. The fabric comes up to a morbid sight: the dark scar which had once been the Mark has started to change. Pain thrums up through his forearm in waves. The scar has started to spread, turning his forearm a necrotic black and eating its way up the veins on its edges.

Lucius wouldn't put it past the Dark Lord to put some kind of delayed dead man's curse on the Mark. Perhaps it's only started to spread because he never expected to die. Either way, it could kill him. And - an impossibility on the very edges of his consciousness - the Dark Lord could have, somehow, returned. It happened before.

"I need to know what's happening."

[malfaith]

❛  alright, you’ve won. happy now?  ❜ — snarky miss 'Mione

Lucius leans ever so slightly over her, his cane hitting the floor right next to her boot. He smiles widely, smugly. "Yes." This is his first victory in years, and it feels euphoric. His reputation is ruined, and nobody will be seen in public with him - he's barely allowed in the Ministry, but this was a public hearing.

Politicians will always love his gold, no matter what his outward reputation. Intimidation, even implicit and unproveable, is twice as effective now that he has records of his very real crimes hanging over his head for everyone to take a good look at. "You didn't think your inane demands for the rights of monsters would go unchallenged, would you?"

Lucius has very little political support these days; Narcissa claims that he only bribes people to stop from going mad with boredom. Perhaps his fixation with this bill is the fallout from having to have Fenrir Greyback in his house - either way, the idea of werewolves being allowed to keep their condition a secret from their employers is mental by any reasonable person's standard.

[malfaith]

TAG DROP

[malfaith]

“ where did you learn that? ” — Gives you a thing to work with

@bccksmarts

"A book." Lucius slams the door. There's four of them, more than he could take on a good day in his prime. Right now, they're screaming and afflicted with terrible delusions, but there's no telling how long it will last or if there's more of them. Thank you, book bound in human skin I found several years ago.

Whatever kind of attack this is, it's targeted: the two of them were the only two people in the building. Lucius had been lured here with the promise of a late-night meeting with another official. If Lucius had to guess, they're a few remaining loyalists to the Dark Lord who haven't been snapped up by the Ministry. They'd have a reason to go after her, as a flagship member of the Order, and him, for his shameless betrayal of them.

"There's the way out," he points, and moves down the hall. Usually he'd just as happily see her die, but two against four is better odds than one.

[malfaith]

@bccksmarts

They stand much too close together behind a thick curtain. The tension in the air is tight enough to cut with a knife. Lucius knows some of the questions that they will be asked - gold still talks, gold always talks - but he doesn't know all of them. He leans on his cane, a side effect of the injuries sustained in the second war and his advancing age. (Lucius knows they're calling it something new now, to distinguish it from Grindelwald's rise to power, but he can't be bothered to shove any more modern terminology into his brain.)

"A pity for you there aren't any house elves in the audience," he murmurs. "Try not to speak about yourself in third person."

[malfaith]

✂ — Probably not the best idea for a first ask but you know what?? Heck to it. Have at it, Lucius 😭😭😭

Have Lucius kill your muse meme.

Warning for: suicide (fake), lots of blood.

The girl puts up more of a fight than Lucius expects. She has a will to her, pushing at the edges of his curse when she gets a chance. Lucius actually has to put some effort into maintaining control, but he has cast more Imperius Curses than he can count or remember.

"I warned you," he says. She can hear him, he knows she can, even if she can't respond. He fixes cool eyes on her, passionless. "I told you what would happen if you came anywhere near my son again." He curls his lip. He wonders if they fucked. He could get the answers out of her, but the thought disgusts him, and he prefers not to know.

He busies himself with setting it all up again. It has to be good enough to fool Dumbledore, the girl's parents, the Ministry. He paints a picture of a miserable, troubled girl - pushed to the brink by her desire to succeed, the bullying at school, the war she believes is coming. "You put my son in danger. You are well aware of the consequences of this sort of behavior on him." If he doesn't do this, Draco will be hurt, and Lucius will lose his already shaky status with the Dark Lord.

Really, this is the cleaner way, for her and for him - she doesn't suffer much, and he clears his name and abdicates any responsibility. He produces the razor blade, holding it up so she can see it. "Muggle weapons for a Mudblood girl."

She takes it from him, face pleasant, nothing in her disposition indicating she knows what is about to happen. Granger walks over the bath and sits down, doing nothing yet.

Draco will be devastated, of course. Narcissa will help him through it. It's trauma Lucius doesn't enjoy inflicting on him, but it's necessary, in the most fundamental way. Draco has never been good at looking out for himself. Lucius has to do it for him, over and over, and he intends to do it for him always, as many times as it takes.

Blood starts to pool between Granger's legs and on her thighs, turning her shorts crimson. Her hair falls over her face and is smeared with it as she leans over each arm in turn. Then the insides of her thighs, just to be sure. Blood loss can take a long time to kill someone. How much is too much? Could he sever the arteries in her neck? No - he can wait.

Lucius stands there, a dark shadow looming over his victim as she fades. He knows the deed is done when he feels the other end of the Imperius Curse sever.

[malfaith]

@bccksmarts

send 💀 for Lucius to die in your muse's arms

:3c

The castle walls tilt as he tries to walk. The once-familiar castle has become a war zone, blurry dark shapes rushing by him. His head pounds with every second, every step more pain - Why can't I lay down? Why can't I stop?

His heart pounds in his chest, but the rhythm is all off. The signals his body is sending him that something is horrifically wrong have become so intense that he can no longer parse them. There's something he has to do. Something important. Something more important than keeping his hand on his stomach or stopping the pain. Lucius reaches out for one of the figures, catching their arm. They throw him off with a yell; he stumbles back. The pain makes him cry out.

"Where is my family? Have you seen my son?" He tastes blood when he speaks. It smears his lips. When he moves his head to look for someone else, it hurt somehow more than it did only seconds ago. His breathing comes in desperate gasps, every one inadequate.

Moving gets harder. The wall he leans against is dotted red with his smeared hand prints. Draco - Narcissa - he has to find them. He grabs at a passing sleeve. "Have you seen my son?" The man merely stares. Lucius moves on - one agonizing step. Another.

There are more people here now. Faces blur into a mess of skin and eyes. The pain overtakes everything. He lurches forward towards the only familiar person in the crowd. Static fills his head and he falls forward, grasping with crimson fingers at the shoulders of a witch much smaller than him.

"Draco," he begs with bloody lips, "my son. My wife. Where are they?"

His body fails him. He grabs with both hands at her robes. When his hand leaves his stomach it opens, spilling out his insides in a looping, bloody mess. "My . . ." His consciousness briefly leaves him again, sending him to the cold stone.

His head pounds relentlessly, his heart stuttering, darkness beginning to take him for good. He opens his mouth to ask again, but all that comes out is low noises and sputtering blood. His fingers clench her hard enough to bruise. He has to find them. "Draco," he tries to say, again, but he only bleeds.

The darkness digs its claws into him. His body is numb and prickling. He can't stop. Not until he finds them. He tries to explain it. Surely someone knows. He has to find them. He has . . .

His traitorous body gives one last spasm before the world goes dark.

[malfaith]

@bccksmarts

❛ what are you going to do to me? ❜

"What am I going to do to you?" Lucius asks mockingly. "Likely very little personally." It feels good to be back in power for once. With Potter's capture, he is back firmly in the Dark Lord's favor, and mocking the little Mudblood left in his basement isn't even the first on his list of pleasures. Her arm bleeds from Bellatrix's torture - Lord, the woman is still debasing herself by hurting people like Muggles do.

"But I don't plan on killing you now," Lucius says. He grabs her wrist, pouring a potion over the open wounds. He roughly binds it up, the blood already smearing the letters. His grey eyes glint in the light of the cellar. "I've found that having leverage is very useful. Our next step will be to find the rest of your friends." The smile he gives her is all teeth. Severus can be called in to scour her memories for anything useful. Bellatrix's methods are so . . . barbaric. And unreliable.