LUCIUS abraxas MALFOY [<3]

[lucie]

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{ A B O U T . Y O U }

Name: Le Fief.
Gender: Femme.
Age: J’ai dix-sept ans.
E-mail: [e-mail]
Twitter: LancasterRose.
Years of RPG Experience: Five.
Other: Teddykins.

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{ Q U I C K . Q U I Z }

How did you find us?
What about ISS inspired you to join?
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{ A B O U T . T H E . C H A R A C T E R }

Name: Lucie Lucius Abraxas Malfoy.
Age: Sixteen, turning seventeen this summer.
Gender: Male.
Year: Seventh.
Face Claim: Boyd Holbrook. *swoons*

Canon or Original? Of the canonical variety.

Facial Properties:

BONE STRUCTURE
well, something on the surface, it stinks
i said something on the surface

Ever since he was a child, Lucius had been told that he was the perfect picture of his mother. With his highly sculpted cheekbones, his plump, light pink lips, and his narrow, thin nose, it is no wonder that, with his perfect blend of sharpness and beauty, Lucius should be given such a compliment. True, he looks very much like his mother – this is not something of which he feels ashamed or insulted by, as his mother is very attractive and even though to say he strongly resembles her would be akin to calling Lucius feminine, he does not mind. He has accepted the fact that he is a very pretty boy (yes, and in his youth, he was even occasionally mistaken for a girl, especially when he grew his hair out in the fashion of the day) and really, he revels in it. It is was sets him apart from his friends and from the other boys in the school. His shrewd, sharp, harshly romantic face has been weathered slightly by the development of a beard and faint mustache (both of which are against the school dress code but, being blonde, Lucius can get away with a small bit before being asked to shave). Mostly, he keeps facial hair over the summer and is clean-shaven during school, but every once and a while he ventures a small fringe. To Lucius, it just man’s-up his appearance, so to speak.

EYES
well it kind of makes me nervous
who said that you deserve this?

If Lucius had to pick the one thing about himself that he best liked, it would have to be his eyes. Because Narcissa likes them Because they are the one thing that he inherited from his father. His cold, piercing, penetrating, stormy gray eyes are what complete his personality, and they are the one thing about him that are, truly, very distinctly masculine. The fact that they are fringed with the long and thick blond boyish lashes that never faded from his youth slightly feminizes even this trait of his, but he chooses to ignore that. In his mind, his dark gray eyes are symbolic of his manhood, since every other trait of his person has been claimed by the lineage of his mother. Like I said above, he doesn’t necessarily mind having many qualities of his mother, but like every little boy, he endeavors to please his father, to be like his father, and Lucius feels this connection with his father through their matching eyes. Besides, he likes having gray eyes. He believes they’re sort of rare, and possessing a rarity does indeed make him feel quite special. Not that he needs to feel more special, because his mummy tells him how special he is every day. Don’t give me that look, Lucius. You know it’s true.

HAIR
and what kind of god would serve this?
we will cure this dirty old disease

All right. I’m going to be totally honest with you, here. Lucius, just shut up, wipe that pout off your face, and go sulk for a while as I divulge your obsession with your hair. Yes. That’s right. An obsession. Lucius loves his hair. The way it feels against his cheekbones, the way it swishes when he walks or plays Quidditch... he washes and conditions it excessively, and if his father hadn’t said anything, he would have continued to grow it out at least to a shoulder-length and kept it back in a ponytail. Hey, don’t laugh! It’s the style! Plus, long hair on a guy is what Narcissa likes what is attractive, and Lucius has always been a bit of a trendsetter, in his humble opinion. He keeps up with what is in style, at least to a rather discreet point, because he is a boy after all and only cares about fashion to a small extent. It’s just that, having been raised by such a formal mother and such a stringent father when it comes to dress code, Lucius is used to having to look nice. Whether it be for a ‘casual’ family dinner, for a holiday gathering, for a family outing, for a formal gala or ball... Lucius knew how to dress, and he knew how to do it with style. And with style comes knowing how to do your hair to accentuate the rest of your outfit. And this is something with which Lucius is very familiar. He is always well groomed, and his particular pet peeve is greasy hair (yes, Severus, and this is why Lucius can only handle you in intervals). Lucius obsessively washes his hair, combs it, and keeps it in tip-top shape. Otherwise, his mother would probably have his head.

Physique:

BUILD
they were counting down the ways to stab
the brother in the be right back after this

You wouldn’t be able to tell it by looking at him, but Lucius is packin’. Really. He’s got some serious development in the muscular department. That comes from playing Quidditch and from exercising in the lifting room of the Malfoy Manor – and, again, from his father’s insistence. He has always been a strong boy, laced with thick muscles around his arms and upper chest regions. His legs, too, are firm and supple, but the majority of his strength lies in his upper body. He played Quidditch the year prior, and had in fact occupied the position of Seeker, so it was imperative for him to keep his upper body strength on a very high level. This year, though, Lucius has decided that he can do without the excessive practices and meets and the seemingly never ending training sessions with Regulus. He’d much rather just have authority and not be bossed around, even though Regulus is his friend. But we digress. Lucius is athletic all the same and is skilled at riding a broom, even informally. He adores aerial pursuit and has the body for it – his muscles are thick and stony and he could hold his own in a duel, if he ever worked up enough nerve to participate in one. Shut up, Lucius. You’re a bloody coward and there’s no use denying it.

HEIGHT & WEIGHT
the unavoidable kiss, where the minty fresh
death breath is sure to outlast this catastrophe

Lucius is tall. Having his veins filled with the blood of the Malfoy family, and the Bingblott family (from which his mother takes her maiden name), that is an undeniable fact. He is not lumberishly tall, or even gangly. He is merely of a healthy height, standing at 6’3’‘. He is proud of his stature, certainly, for it is another thing that makes him feel much less feminine. He is taller than most of his companions and most of his fellow students, and though trying to get a custom-made set of robes long enough for him can be a bit cumbersome of a process. Lucius revels in his height. His father is a few inches taller, but Lucius has already soared past his mother, who was about 5’8’‘. Yes, he had certainly received a splendid mix of tall genes, and with those genes came the thin ones as well. He has a high metabolism by nature, which he inherited largely form his father, who is also rather gangly and lanky in appearance. But Lucius doesn’t really mind being thin, as long as he’s not too thin, because that would be embarrassing to be athletic and too thin when all the guys around you weighed 200lbs in pure muscle. This is a bit of the reason why Lucius quit the Quidditch team, also. He was the skinniest guy there, weighing only 180lbs for his height of 6’3’‘. It was a bit humiliating, truth be told, and Regulus always called him ‘string cheese’ and... no. We’re not going to relive this.

SKIN
dance with me, because if you’ve gots the poison,
i’ve gots the remedy

Pale, pale pale. And when I say pale, I mean pale. Like porcelain. Like really expensive, imported porcelain from China or something. His skin is almost translucent, no joke. You can practically trace his veins all the way from his wrist up to his shoulder, and not loose sight of it at all along the way. You would almost think that he gets absolutely no sun in his entire life, and while there may be some merit to that statement, that does not have to suggest that Lucius never gets out. Because he does. But he’s just very careful when it comes to going outside, because he is physically incapable of tanning and fries like chicken when you put him under the sun. Yes, it’s rather pathetic. He’s sure to lather up in the spectacular sun-away potion that Severus occasionally concocts for him whenever he goes outside, and in this way carefully preserves the well being of his flesh. He hates sunburn. It is so excruciatingly painful and it really messes up his entire lifestyle. He can’t bathe normally, he can’t move normally... it’s jarring, really. And so he takes what lengths he has to to prevent it. The Malfoys are traditionally pale and blond and he’s not about to change that. He’s never been one to go against the grain, and besides, even if he wanted to, there was no way he could. Yeah, when he was little, he pulled the ‘I’m an individual’ card and went out into the sun without lotion. Came back looking like a lobster, and that was enough to dissuade him from ever pulling that shit again.

Wand Type: Elm, Dragon heartstring, 13 inches.
Wand Expertise: Dark Arts, potions.
Patronus: Unable to produce one.
Boggart: Failure.

Personality:

OCD
the remedy is the experience
this is a dangerous liaison

Don’t. Ever. Make. Unnecessary. Noises. Around. Lucius. Dear, sweet, Morgana he hates noise. Any noise. All noise. Noise coming from your mouth as you chew, noise coming through your windpipes are you breathe. He hates it. There are certain noises that he will tolerate, and those are few and far between. He tolerates music, but only classical music. He tolerates talking, but only if the saliva in your mouth doesn’t slosh around excessively. Oh, and don’t even get him started on touching things. If you so much as flick your wrist toward something that is his that’ll be the very last thing you do in his house. He’ll throw you out. Lucius is extremely possessive of his objects and he does not like anyone touching them without express permission. If you pull any funny business, he’ll be prone to throwing one of his hissy fits or succumbing to a panic attack, which is really no fun for anyone in the room. He’ll start loosing his ability to breathe and will start, well, panicking, and will begin to sweat and he hates sweating and so that will make him even more anxious and... yeah. Don’t piss him off. Don’t trigger an OCD attack. You’ll regret it. He really can’t be held accountable for his actions if you do. Lucius isn’t really sure of where his obsessive-compulsive nature came from, as neither his mother nor his father has it, but his parents both are under the impression that it came from the incessant amount of coddling Drusilla gave him when he was a child.

SPOILED & ARROGANT
i says the comedy is that it’s serious
this is a strange enough new play on words

The words ‘no’ and ‘wait’ are simply not part of Lucius’ vocabulary as a child. His mother would not – could not – refuse him anything, and soon enough this ideology extended to Abraxas and little Lucie was just spoiled left and right. Whenever he wanted something, he got it. Whenever he wanted to go somewhere, he went. Lucius is used to getting his way and by Morgana, if you give him a hard time or hassle him into doing something he doesn’t want to do, there will be hell to pay. Lucius wasn’t told by Professor Dumbledore that he was an excellent duelist for nothing. He’ll challenge you to a duel and he’ll beat you if it’s the last thing he does. Granted, he doesn’t always win, because he can be a bit forgetful and clumsy, especially when he’s really ticked off and can’t correctly focus, but most of the time he comes out on top. However, that might just be his arrogance coming out. Of which he has tons. He’s extremely pompous and cocky and thinks that the world revolves around him. Again, this is his parents’ fault, really. If they didn’t go and put him up on a pedestal the second he was born, Lucius probably would have become a bit more humble. But what’s done is done, and Lucius is extremely arrogant, whether or not it was due to his parents’ influence. He does not really pay attention to anyone else besides himself, and when it comes down to it, he protects his own interests over someone else’s. Except Narcissa. She comes first, always. But he is an honest to goodness mama’s boy and if the shit hits the fan, he’ll go out on a limb for her. For his dad, too, but more so for his mum. And Cissy, above even his own mother sometimes but don’t tell her that.

SADISTIC COWARD
i said the tragedy is how you’re gunna spend
the rest of your nights with the light on

What an oxy moron, eh? Well, yeah. Lucius was the kind of kid who, if he had had a little sister, would have ripped the heads off her dolls. He liked throwing rocks at small animals to see them run away in a hurry and he liked to push the boundaries of fear by yelling at birds or squirrels or things like that to make them freak out. He wasn’t a nice boy. But, it could have been worse. Ask Bellatrix’s parents that. All he did was scare things, and even then, he never hurt anything. It wasn’t that he was a pansy, or event hat he liked animals, so much as it was that he was more afraid of the consequences than the rewards. The brief reward of watching an animal scream in pain in comparison to a lecture from his father, or even the death of the animal? Not such a great deal. Lucius liked torturing but he didn’t like killing, unless he had to. And that held true, even to this day. His favorite of the Unforgivable Curses is the Imperius Curse, because he can have a whole lot of sadistic fun with it without actually killing anyone. Now, if the Dark Lord told him to kill someone, of course he’d do it. But otherwise he’d just prefer to have his fun with no real consequences. Consequences equal responsibility and that is something that Lucius does not like to have in large quantities. He’s afraid of it. Not of power, but of having to deal with it in a responsible way. Now, the thing is, he is responsible, and he’s mature for his age, and he knows how to buy friends and win allies, but he doesn’t like the burden of having to do it all on his own, and he’s afraid of when that day will come, when there won’t be an Abraxas Malfoy to get advice from. He needs a daddy to go to, and he’s afraid of when those days will end, and he’ll be all on his lonesome.

AMBITIOUS
so shine the light on all of your friends
well, it all amounts to nothing in the end

But Lucius has power, and he does know how to use it wisely. He enjoys making connections, finding allies, buying people into friendship and intimidating others into doing his bidding. He enjoys the feeling of dominance and control and he usually will do anything to get that feeling. He’s ambitious in every sense of the word and he works hard to get at the top. He’s intelligent, calculating, powerful, and rich, and with those four qualities, he can get himself anywhere. He’s a prominent member of the so-called Slug Club, of course, and Professor Slughorn is his favorite teacher, obviously. Lucius is very skilled at potions and that is really what landed him a spot; that, and the fact that he is a Malfoy. He didn’t really like how Slughorn treated him like a trophy, but Slughorn was the only halfway decent professor in the whole school, so he dealt with it. Besides, it brought him higher on the social chain both inside and outside of school, and that was all he was really interested in. That, and Cissa. She was in the Slug Club too. At any rate, Lucius is extremely good at hosting pureblood parties for the high society royals, of which he was proudly one, and he was damned good at making himself look like the perfect son. Because, in the end, it all brought him attention, and it all brought him respect, and with respect came power, and with power came joy.

CLUMSY
i, i won’t worry my life away
hey, oh

Though he is cold, calculating, and intelligent, he often makes an ass out of himself when it actually comes to executing his plans. He’s not quite sure why he has been afflicted with such a curse, but for some reason he just can never seem to get anything done in action the way he had planned it in his head. He tries very hard to keep up with himself mentally, but sometimes he gets a little bit overzealous and in his haste to get something done that he’s sure he’s planned out carefully enough in his head. Lucius, for instance, has a habit of planning out dueling techniques and then forgetting every single one of them when he comes face to face with his opponent, falling victim to last minute nerves and relying simply on his adrenaline to carry him through the fight. This is not a totally foolproof plan, as he could tell you, and it has often lead to losses and victories alike, but mostly losses, and mostly painful losses, in which he was carelessly unaware of his opponent’s oncoming strike and was hit by some wayward spell before he could even turn around and see from which direction it came. When he gets excited, he gets hasty, and he gets clumsy. He’s prone to dropping things and missing signs and all of that good stuff and boy, is it annoying. Especially when he’s trying to flirt while on a broom and falls off. Yeah. He’s done that before.

SHALLOW & PREJUDICED
when i fall in love i take my time
there’s no need to hurry when i’m making up my mind

Lucius is a neck man. He is picky about girls because he won’t date them unless he likes their neck. It is his favorite place to kiss. If you don’t have a good neck, don’t even think about hitting on Lucius. He won’t be interested. He only likes girls with great necks, curvy, childbearing bodies, and who are shorter than him. No exceptions ifs, ands, or buts. He is extremely picky and he prefers it that way because he is a Malfoy and there are plenty of girls who’d like a taste of his money, and weeding them down to a handful helped him pick and choose which ones were worth it and which were not. Most were not. And of the few that were, none of them were half- or mud-bloods. Lucius doesn’t date anyone who isn’t a pureblood. There have been, across the expanse of his young life, brief instances where he has made exceptions and dated a half-blood, but under any normal circumstance he will not allow that kind of person to surpass beyond the level of friendship or acquaintanceship, at best. And, of course, you can’t be a mudblood and date Lucius Malfoy. He’s a staunch follower of the Dark Lord for a reason, you know. He’ll make exceptions for half-bloods but for a Muggleborn? He’d sooner die. Or – well – maybe die is too strong of a word. Let’s say this, then: he’d rather clean the bathroom floor with a toothpick than date a Muggleborn. There we go.

HOT-HEADED
you can turn off the sun but i’m still gonna shine
and i’ll tell you why

Even though he is admittedly a bit of a coward (okay, not so ‘admittedly,’ but he knows I know he’s a coward and he knows everyone else knows it too), Lucius tends to have a problem with creating drama. He gets pissy, and he gets pissy easily. It doesn’t take much to make him tick, and once he’s set off, he’s likely to get into some stupid situation and make an ass out of himself. It stems back to that whole ‘planning-but-can-never-execute-very-well’ thing. Lucius, when angry, can, say, challenge someone to a duel. But when he does, he usually fails, and he usually fails miserably because he is so deluded with rage that he can’t focus long enough from one assault to the next and totally misses the moves of his opponent, as stated before. When he gets angry, Lucius’ senses are impaired, and though he is normally almost unhealthily hypersensitive to everything, fury and adrenaline seem to drown out that sensitivity and replace it with carelessness. But, the point of the matter is, that Lucius can get very angry very quickly. Though it is one of the things that makes him an ass, it is also one of the things that makes him deadly. He can snap from one mood to the next with little warning, and what does give him a one-up when he’s angry is that he can attack so quickly that his opponent will be temporarily stunned, having no idea what just hit him. Lucius takes advantage of that shock and will continue to rapid-fire his pants off until the opponent collects himself and blasts Lucius off the playing field. But hey, at least Lucius got a head start! Hah... hah... yeah.


Likes:
+ Music. Not that silly, distasteful ‘raving’ music, but the softer, more pretentious stuff.
+ Cleanliness and bathing.
+ Torturing small, innocent creatures, such as house elves.
+ Narcissa.
+ The feeling of expensive silk on his skin.
+ Being wealthy.
+ Being respected and feeling dominant.
+ Potions.
+ The Dark Arts.
+ Dueling.
+ His mother. (Oh, do shut up. He’s a mama’s boy through and through, and Drusilla would have his ass if he was anything but.)
Dislikes:
– The noises people make when they eat.
– Failing.
– Disappointing.
– The noises people make when they breathe.
– Being alone.
– Being intimidated.
– Losing.
– Lint and dust.
– Being patronized.
– Albus Dumbledore.

History:

Mother: Drusilla Livilla Bingblott-Malfoy.
Father: Abraxas Drusus Malfoy.
Sister: Messalina ‘Lina’ Octavia Malfoy.

Picture the most beautiful house, with the most beautiful residents, with the most beautiful children, and I can personally guarantee that whatever your mind has imagined would be present within the ancient and respected House of Malfoy. With its handsome patriarch and lovely matriarch – both, of course, possessing the silkiest, fairest blond hair – the family was complete with all the stereotypes of a wealthy, pureblood family: power, influence, intense sex appeal, and guard peacocks. Wait – guard peacocks? Well, yeah. They’re kind of in style. Just go with it. Anyway, it was to this couple that the handsome baby boy, Abraxas Malfoy, was born, on the fifth of December, 1932. His parents were particularly enthused to discover that he was in fact of the male gender, for they desired an heir to their fortune upon their own deaths. They dubbed him ‘Abraxas’ after his paternal grandfather, and ‘Drusus’ after his maternal grandfather. With his sparkling blue eyes, pale skin, and fair hair, it was no doubt that he was a Malfoy, and he grew to enjoy the full benefits of what came along with that name. He was wealthy, he was powerful, and he had influence. Even at the age of two, he lorded over his cousins and his friends, and it was clear that he was born a leader, especially when he attended Hogwarts and became Prefect for Slytherin, a title he held for the remaining two years of schooling. As he grew into a young man, he developed a very distinct beauty, and with it, a taste for women. But that did not last long, for upon reaching the age of fifteen, Abraxas was formally betrothed to a girl in his year and house: the entrancing Drusilla Bingblott.

Drusilla, too, came from old stock, having found her origins in the Bingblott family, which had formally come into power in the late sixteenth century. She had two sisters and a brother, Portia, Io, and Phoebus, and was thus not an only child, as her future husband was. Out of the four siblings, Drusilla was the youngest, but only by one year’s separation from Io, the middle child. All children were powerful and knew what they wanted and how to get it, and this was no exception for young Drusilla. She wanted Abraxas Malfoy and she knew how to get him. Having come from a pampered lifestyle, being the youngest child as she was and thus the most spoiled, Drusilla did not have to connive to get what she wanted so much as she had to ‘put out,’ if you will, and draw what she wanted to her. This came fairly like second-nature to her, as she was arguably one of the more beautiful girls of her Hogwarts class and boys practically fell over themselves in pursuit of her. She was intelligent, so she knew what was good for her, and despite the fact that boys cringed at this, she successfully remained a virgin throughout all of her years there. Drusilla was at the top of her class, was a prefect for Slytherin alongside Abraxas, and it was through this joint responsibility that they first met, outside the pretension of pureblood galas. Abraxas appealed to his parents and soon enough a betrothal was secured (which was an excellent thing for the Bingblotts, being the amateur social climbers that they were, to receive an invitation of marriage from a Malfoy) and shortly after their graduation, they were wed.

If you have ever attended a pureblood wedding, then you will be well aware of the fact that nothing is skimped on. This held true in the case of Abraxas’ and Drusilla’s union, which was the event of the season – the April season, to be exact – and had been millions of galleons in expense. Anyone who was anyone was invited, everyone had expensive party favors from Borgin and Burke’s, and then Drusilla’s dress alone cost half the entire cost of the wedding. But that didn’t bother them, oh no. They were rich, they were esteemed, and money was totally relative in their world. Their daughter’s happiness was all that mat – all right, you’re just fooling yourself now if you think that they actually cared about making the dream wedding for their youngest daughter. Oh, no. It was all about showing off for the Malfoys, who were arguably the most respected of pureblood families next to the Blacks. So giving them a huge production was a big deal to the emerging Bingblott nobility, and in addition to them, they had to impress the congregation of two-hundred and fifty people as well. Some of which, of course, were the Blacks. Walburga and Drusilla had always been close in their schoolgirl days, and thus she had chosen ‘Wally’ to be her maid of honor. So, the wedding was complete with a hired wizard orchestra, dancers from Russia, imported foods from the best of French wizard chefs, and bridesmaids dresses from England’s finest robesmiths. It was an outdoors wedding with edible pink roses dangling from the imported white trellises and floating particles that began to sputter into a dimly glowing light when the sun had begun its descent behind the horizon.

All in all, it was a huge success, however near to broke it left the Bingblotts thereafter. Drusilla and Abraxas moved into a large and sumptuous castle in the tranquil fields of southern Kent, where they set up their home and Drusilla, who had recently discovered her pregnancy, began to nest for their child – hopefully, a boy. But Drusilla was only eighteen, and though she conveniently ignored this fact, her body was not well-equipped nor prepared for childbirth in any way, shape, or form. She was also unaware of the proper prenatal treatment, being young and naive in the ways of motherhood, having just barely emerged from childhood herself. Her mother, however, was very supportive in trying to help her cope through her difficulties – the violent ‘morning sickness’ so it was called, the frequent mood swings, the incessant cravings, the overall infirmity of the body, etc. – as was her new husband, who was entirely devoted to his young wife and though he was a bit of a stoic, loved her very much. Perhaps it was that love that produced the strength for Drusilla to survive the particularly rough pregnancy, and after a long and arduous nine months, another long and arduous period of intense agony at St. Mungo’s followed, culminating in the form of a sick, weakly, little girl, who was soon dubbed ‘Messalina’ after Drusilla’s maternal grandmother. Messalina was beautiful, that was certain, and carried the blond and pale appearance of both parents, but she was infirm, for she had suffered many complications during her development in the womb: anaemia, and hemophilia (which, incidentally, had been inherited from the Bingblott family – it was a rare strain that had only touched a small percentage of their family, but it preyed upon the vulnerable, and Messalina was what one would definitely term vulnerable).

Still, her parents loved her as any parent would its child, and they lavished upon her myriad gifts and luxuries, treating her like the little princess that she was soon growing to become. In all honesty, Abraxas had been disappointed that it was a girl, but he loved his little daughter so much that the disappointment soon faded into hope for her survival of infancy and for a potential of a future son. Drusilla was utterly devoted to little Lina, and found that even though she too had been hoping for a male to carry on the Malfoy name, she was so in love with her daughter that she could not possibly have imagined things happening in any other way. She spent all day with her, traversing the floral labyrinth surrounding their stead – walking outside in the expansive castle gardens was Drusilla’s favorite leisurely activity – and was sure to take all the necessary health precautions to prevent Lina from bleeding out, or even cutting herself to begin with. There were parties held in her name left and right across the months following her birth, mostly to celebrate the newest addition to the Malfoy family and to welcome visitors to come and see the new child. Messalina was immensely popular with all the guests, for she was quiet, dulcet, sweet, and was probably the most beautiful little baby anybody had ever seen. Everyone loved her. It was impossible not to. Photographers were hired all across the board, for family portraits and the like (incidentally, it was the Raisz family that was often hired out to this position) and for quite some time, little Messalina was the epicenter of her family’s world, and the world of some of the more brown-nosing of pureblood-royalty wannabes.

There was only so much attention that Messalina could handle, though, because of her frail and sickly state, and so the Malfoys had a limit on the visitors and the amount of times they could visit. They hadn’t really envisioned her – a girl, no less – to be this popular, but Drusilla didn’t mind her little baby getting so much attention, though she did admittedly want more time alone with her. In response to her daughter’s medical needs, Drusilla and her husband set up an extremely safe bedroom for her, complete with plush toys and plastic guards on all sharp edges. Her crib was fashioned of sanded wood and pillow guards were set up all around her, to prevent any kind of accident while she was sleeping. Drusilla slept in that room on the love seat by the window for a good year after Messalina was born, and Abraxas sadly, was demoted to a sleeping bag on the floor. But the family was content, and Messalina was grateful to have her parents in the room at all times, for she suffered from particularly violent night terrors, as many infants do, and with her mother at arm’s length, sleeping came much easier to her. In the mornings, the family would go to the gardens and press flowers, which was Messalina’s favorite activity. She learned to walk in that garden, and helped her mother plant several flowers (Drusilla had always been very skilled in herbology). By the time she had reached two years old and was able to talk and walk, Lina would frolic in the garden and name the flowers by their Latin names, which she memorized as a result of Drusilla’s tutelage. The life of Messalina and her parents was truly idyllic, and yet, as we all know and have to deal with from time to time in our own lives, not everyone can have a happy ending.

It has been said that Messalina suffered from chronic night terrors, and though one would think those were fairly benign, they were ultimately the cause of her untimely death. The pillow guards in her crib only extended so high, and given the fact that her parents had moved back into their bedroom, Messalina was prone to more violent night terrors than before. She often suffered from fits of unconscious thrashing, which would normally end in her smacking up against the pillow guards and writing around in her blankets. Normally. But this, sadly, was an abnormal case. Little Lina was having one of her night terrors, like any normal evening, and unfortunately for her, the pillow guards were being washed and soft plush blankets were stuffed in their places. But these blankets were thin. As she thrashed, she kept knocking at them, eventually pulling one side totally across her body. She smacked her hand into the wooden side of the crib, and a small nick on her wrist soon formed. This wouldn’t have been a big deal if either parent had been around, but seeing as she was alone, and seeing as their bedroom was slightly further down the hall, they couldn’t hear her crying in her sleep. She kept bleeding, and since she was still asleep, she had no way of knowing that she was bleeding (she and her parents had set up a system, where if she saw she was bleeding she had to go and tell them). So, there she lay, until morning, by which time the blood had been drained from her tiny, sickly body, and she had died. Drusilla woke up early that morning with a certain and indescribable sense of dread, which was only heightened when she went into her daughter’s room, found her, stone cold and white as snow, surrounded in blankets with blood, still fresh, dotting their downy surfaces. With a scream, Drusilla scooped her tiny child out of the crib, dropped to her knees, and hugged her little body to her chest, hoping in vain that someway, somehow, she was still alive.

But she was dead, and no amount of wishing could have reversed that. Her funeral was held in the garden, to an extremely private audience, consisting only of Lina’s parents and grandparents. It had been a chilly fall morning, but the coldness and the frequent gusts of wind did not seem to bother anyone in the slightest. Drusilla stood, buffeting against the wind with her black robes, staring over the grave, behaving much like a stony statue; incapable of movement, incapable of emotion, incapable of perceiving the goings-on around her. She was devoid of all joy, completely and utterly, and Abraxas, despite his persistent attempts to cheer her, was devoid of all joy as well. For the next few weeks, neither could venture into her room, neither could clean the bloodied sheets, neither could even so much as mention her name. She was dead to them physically, and she was dead to them emotionally as well. The only thing that comforted Drusilla was her walks in the garden. The whole thing erupted into a media frenzy, and it wasn’t long before representatives from various magazines had arrived on the Malfoy doorstep, asking for quotes about what had happened to everyone’s favorite pureblood princess. Drusilla couldn’t bear to answer the door anymore, and Abraxas refused to do anything but hex them and send them on their jolly way. In the meantime, Abraxas spent his days comforting his wife, and his evenings meeting with other pureblood royalty and discussing the ‘rights’ of Muggleborn witches and wizards. These meetings were his livelihood, for they were the only place that he could afford to let his anger loose, target it at a specific cause, and vehemently debate what should or should not be done with mudbloods.

Drusilla’s brother, Phoebus, was very close with her, and he would visit very frequently with his two daughters. They would walk around in the garden, but Drusilla could not bear to be anywhere near her daughter’s grave. Drusilla had, in fact, destroyed every living remnant of proof that her daughter had once lived, for she found it easier to live in her own home without the constant memories assaulting her. Abraxas had only managed to save one picture from his wife’s wrathful cleaning, which he keeps tucked away in his drawer, under lock and key. He, for one, could not stomach the idea of having no proof that his daughter once lived, however better that made his wife feel. At any rate, the bedroom in which Messalina had lived was closed to all entry for any reason, and was completely emptied of all but a single rocking chair, in which Drusilla could often be found in the late hours of the night, rocking back and forth as she stared out at the twinkling stars, singing her little baby to sleep like she used to do. Abraxas had once found her like this, but he had not disturbed her. Really, the only solace he was capable of bringing her was solitude, sometimes. She loved him still, very much, but distance was occasionally what she needed, just to have some time to herself, and to her own thoughts, however painful. But he was the only person with whom Drusilla was able to communicate about Messalina, and she needed him for that. Even though all the tabloid gossip about her innocent daughter had gotten out, passed over, and been forgotten, Drusilla still had not forgotten it. But it was only after it died from the media that she was able to begin the slow steps to moving on with her life. A.k.a., entertaining again, almost two years later.

In honor of Drusilla’s birthday one spring, she and Abraxas decided to host a little gala for some friends, get their feet wet back in the ways of the pureblood high society. They invited the Bingblotts, the Blacks, the Lestranges, the Carrows, and a new, up-and-coming family, the Pryces. A few representatives for each family came, and for the Pryce family came an older woman named Prunella. About halfway through the antipasti dish, the very same thin old woman was engaged in pleasant small talk with Drusilla, and unfortunately chose to mention ‘the tragedy,’ or so Messalina’s death had been called throughout the tabloids. Drusilla dropped her fork with a loud clatter, looked up piercingly at Prunella, who in turn shrunk embarrassedly away from her, realizing her error. Abraxas had touched Drusilla’s hand from underneath the table, but it did not pacify her. Icily, Drusilla had ordered Prunella to ‘get out,’ and hence condemned the poor woman to perpetual social disgrace. She had then proceeded to stand up, look everyone over at the table, apologize quietly, and walk out of the room. Abraxas excused himself and followed her, and soon, the entire gala had been dissolved. Formal apology letters, though nondescript, had been sent out to each one of the guests beside Prunella, explaining that Mrs. Malfoy had been feeling ill and offered her most heartfelt apologies to all who had planned to spend their evening at her manor and were sent home. After that day, the Malfoys did not host another gala until the fifth birthday of their son.

Yes, that’s right, they had another child. Drusilla was not so sure she wanted children anymore after ‘the tragedy,’ and she was also a bit apprehensive about the safety of her pregnancy. She was now twenty-three years old, though, and the healers at St. Mungo’s had informed her that she was much better prepared now, and that they would provide her with the appropriate prenatal care so as to hopefully prevent any kind of development of a congenital disorder such as Messalina had had. Both Abraxas and Drusilla were hoping for a boy this time, because they weren’t sure they could handle another girl after what had happened. Thankfully, on the twenty-first of July, 1954, their prayers were answered in the form of a little, slightly underweight baby boy, who they called Lucius, after one of Drusilla’s cousins who had been particularly helpful to her during her recovery from depression, and Abraxas, after her husband, of course. He was truly beautiful, with his sparkling blue eyes and fair tufts of blond hair. He could have been Messalina’s twin, but luckily for his parents, that faded with time. He took mostly after his father in the facial structure, but after his mother in personality. Lucius was a sprightly and active little boy, always exploring, until he got into trouble, of course, and then he stopped. Like the one time he’d walked into Messalina’s room one night that he couldn’t sleep and found his mother there, crying. Unbeknownst to him, though, that would be the final time that Drusilla shed tears over her lost daughter. After that night, she vowed to devote all her time, energy, and love to Lucius, and to her husband, and to never think about Messalina ever again.

And that is precisely what she did. No more was she to behave like a ghost in her own home, no more was she to be seen sitting in the rocking chair weeping like a fool, no longer would she treat her husband or son indifferently. No, no more. They were all she had, and she couldn’t afford to loose them. So, she buried her sadness and began to act as any pureblood mother ought; she threw a gala, in the name and honor of her son’s fifth birthday. To this gala she invited everyone who was anyone in the pureblood high society, and some social climbers too. But not the Pryces. No, their opportunity had come and gone and she was not about to provide that vicious bitch Prunella with a second chance. So she pointedly snubbed her and invited everyone else she could fit into her castle. Lucius was old enough to understand that this party was for him, and yet, he wasn’t so keen on getting all dolled up for people he didn’t necessarily know or care about. His mother explained to him the whole point of social galas, though, in as simplified terms as she could manage, and then he understood why it was important. So, he allowed her to dress him up in a silly little suit and tie and comb his blond hair back and all of that fun stuff, so that he looked like a perfect little angel boy when the guests arrived. He stood at the door and greeted all of them, but he didn’t really appreciate this, and grew extremely bored, as any five year old boy would. His mother soon slapped the boredom out of him, though, and he stood tall and erect at his height of three foot nine inches with his chest puffed out, desiring to make his mother and father proud, now that he knew he would get in trouble if he slouched. The party then commenced, and Lucius had fared very well, having made several friends, including his younger cousin by two years, Audrey, Phoebus’ youngest daughter.

Lucius’ childhood was fraught with expectations. Being the son of the most wealthy pureblood family in the history of them (even wealthier, in fact, than the Blacks), it was a heavy weight on his shoulders to know that he would one day have to inherit it, and that, moreover, he would have to fend off superficial women who wanted to inherit it with him. His mother and father knew this too, and this is why they attempted to instill virtues in him that would prevent such a thing at a young age. For instance, his mother tried to make him an extreme gentleman, and his father attempted to encourage athletics in him. The idea was that if he was active and cordial, he would attract the finer women of his generation as opposed to someone who was just interested in his money, and not his other attractive personality traits. But Lucius was not very athletic; he enjoyed working out, exercising, running, those kinds of things. But stick him on a broom and he just makes an idiot out of himself flailing after the snitch. He had some remote talent, but he has anxiety problems with flying. So shoot him. Don’t worry, his father nearly did. Out of pure frustration. But the point is that Drusilla at least was successful in her endeavors to fashioning her young son into a gentleman. He was the best behaved child at all of the functions, the galas, the parties, and the balls that they held at the Malfoy Manor, and every single parent or adult commented to Drusilla on how well-mannered he was.

Of these adults had been the Macmillans, childhood friends of Drusilla, and their young daughter, Victoria. She would grow to become Lucius’ most trusted female companion, and they were to spend many years together, playing in the gardens. Another of his childhood companions was Cygnus and Druella’s youngest daughter, Narcissa. They got on fairly well and often played at her house, where they snuck into an abandoned manor in the lot next to hers and frequently played house. But Lucius had male friends as well, in Regulus Black and Severus Snape. He met Regulus because of his mother’s deep friendship with Walburga, and often frequented the Black Manor, as much as Regulus frequented the Malfoy one. They grew very close very fast, being so near in age, and it was Regulus who was finally able to teach him to ride the broom with grace. This was probably the only reason Lucius was able to try out for the Quidditch team in second year and maintain the position of seeker until sixth. Under Regulus’ tutelage, and deserved position of Team Captain, Lucius learned a whole heck of a lot about skilled broom-riding. Yes, this does mean that Lucius proved his magical ability, and that he was indeed accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

When Lucius was at the tender age of seven, he discovered his ability to perform magic. It was during one of the family galas, as he was politely asking for someone to pass the particular dish he desired. He ended up just passing it right to himself. Drusilla and Abraxas were very proud of their little son, and were even prouder that he had demonstrated his magical ability in front of all the prominent wizarding families in the area. They continued to parade him around asking him if he could do it again, and by the time the night was over he was totally exhausted. But of course, he’d run to see Regulus the next day and tell him that he’d practiced magic; made him feel slightly better, too, since Regulus had already been practicing for a while and Lucius was a bit of a late bloomer compared to him. And then he went and showed Victoria, Narcissa, and Audrey his abilities and entertained all three girls, much to his delight. Lucius liked being the center of attention, came with the territory of being a Malfoy. So he reveled in his newfound ability, went around parading his skills across town to any wizard or witch who would watch. And by ‘around town,’ I mean, ‘around his yard to stick figures that he set up and named.’ But let’s keep that between us, eh? Anyway, all he could really do was move things here and there, a rock from point A to point B, but he acted as if he was the vessel for some immense, supernatural power that only he could understand. Everyone was delighted by this boyish charm of his, particularly Drusilla.

The close relationship between mother and son only developed and increased further when Lucius received his invitation to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, July twenty-first, 1965. it was his birthday and as he was sitting down in the living room opening gifts with his magic, his mother went into the kitchen to bring out the cake and was greeted by a beautiful little owl carrying a small letter in her beak. She took the letter out, opened it and carefully read it, and sure enough, it was the very thing she had expected: his invitation to wizarding school. Drusilla, beside herself with joy, called Abraxas over to show him and then with the letter behind her back, allowed her son to eat some of his cake before she showed him the ticket to his future. He was immensely pleased, and after briefly celebrating with his parents he hopped on a broom and flew over to Regulus’ house to show him. Regulus had already gotten his letter, and the two giddily discussed their ambitions for school and their plans to go shopping together for supplies. Which they did, a month later, in all the very finest stores and shops in Diagon, accompanied by their mothers. Walburga and Drusilla fully enjoyed themselves and Regulus and Lucius were so preoccupied by Florean Fortescue’s ice cream that they didn’t even notice as their mothers gossiped and giggled behind them. They had each gotten a cone and as they sat on a bench and licked them to their heart’s delight, their mothers purchased some robes and Quidditch equipment for them – only the finest, of course.

When it came time for Lucius to leave his home for the year, though, he was slightly less enthusiastic. He was extremely close to his mother and father and did not want to leave them. But he knew it was necessary, and he did want to go to school. He was hoping beyond all hopes that he would be sorted into Slytherin, like the rest of his family and his friends. Lucky for him, he was. All he could talk about on the train ride to Hogwarts, though, was how nervous he was that he wouldn’t be sorted into his house of choice. Regulus, though, with whom he sat and had been conversing, informed him that he would be surprised if he wasn’t sorted into Slytherin, and was convinced that both of them would be in the same house and hopefully share dormitories. Lucius tried to siphon off some of Regulus’ confidence and thankfully, some of that siphoning produced favorable results. At any rate, both boys were sorted into Slytherin nearly before the hat even touched their little heads, and much rejoicing ensued. Unfortunately, though, they were not placed in the same dormitories, but were close enough. They played wizard’s chess in the common room very frequently and always without fail accompanied the other to meals and classes. When they reached second year, they both tried out for the house Quidditch team and Regulus was placed as Chaser while Lucius was given the title of Seeker. Abraxas and Drusilla were immensely proud, as was Lucius. Perhaps that’s why Slytherin lost just about every game they’d been in, because of Lucius’ damned pride.

The two are still very close, even to this day. Lucius has extended his boundaries of friendship, though, past Regulus and toward the Lestranges and other such families. He has become a follow of the Dark Lord, under Regulus’ and Severus’ advisement, and though he did not really want to be a Death Eater initiate, he is very much enjoying the power that comes with it. And the fact that it turns Cissa on increases his standing with his parents. Drusilla is proud of his accomplishments and Abraxas, a notorious pureblood supremacist was pleased with his son’s decision to join forces with the Dark Lord. He participated in the assault on Hogsmeade and accidentally unintentionally by chance happened to kill a girl using a handy dandy spell he learned from Severus. Regulus was very proud of him for that. And he continues to do well in school, particularly in potions and herbology (shut up, he takes after his mother) class. He receives excellent marks and is currently at the top of his class, rivaling even some of the Ravenclaws. He excels in his job as a Prefect as well, and though he does not like Dumbledore, he does admire Slughorn and enjoys working for him. He is an excellent prefect because he is an excellent tattle-tale, but don’t tell him I said that. He’s intelligent, wealthy, spoiled, and dangerous (especially when it comes to the Imperius curse, his favorite), and he gets what he wants.

Well... most of the time. Isn’t that right, Narcissa?






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{ C O N T R A C T }

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[Andromeda Black]

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