Chapter Text
Lucius paced the master bedroom of Malfoy Manor.
The lavish mansion had been a gift from his parents for his first house; he was an aristocratic pureblood who got whatever he wanted.
He was not usually one to say no to.
He had been dreading this situation for months. It's strange to say he could dread anything, being such a cold and brutal man of the upper-class, but every witch and wizard would understand his apprehension.
See, the Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or Lord Voldemort, had called for him specifically through a bit of tattoo telepathy.
As members of Voldemort’s troupe, also commonly known among wizards as ‘Death Eaters’, were all marked with a special symbol of a swirling snake twisting in on itself and winding through a skull with its bottom jaw dropped.
The ‘Dark Mark’ they called it, and it would summon their dark lord.
Now, Lucius was somewhat new to this violent group, and a few weeks before, he had fucked up an assignment and had some Muggles catch him in the act of magical murder; he had tried his best to cover it up, but he knew there was no such thing as ‘covering it up’ in Lord Voldemort’s vocabulary.
And so, Lucius paced some more in the large and luxurious master bedroom of his large and luxurious manor.
“I can't procrastinate going,” he muttered.
“But he’ll have my head if I don’t show!” he responded to himself, pausing his fervent pacing to stare at his reflection in a vanity mirror.
“He’ll have my head anyway,” he scoffed, running a hand through his medium-length blond hair.
He wrinkled his nose slightly at the texture on his fingertips and applied hair product to his ends, smoothing them and reducing dryness.
He sighed, knowing he couldn’t delay his arrival any longer, and donned a dark black robe and a silver mask with designs etched on the front.
He collected an empty walking stick shell and placed his snake-headed wand inside it before flipping up the hood of his robe and apparating to the place Lord Voldemort wanted to meet him.
§
Lucius could feel his insides tighten and shrink as he apparated, but it only lasted a second before he felt normal again.
pop!
He stood in a new location, a minor headache growing in the back of his skull.
I’ll never get used to that, he thought weakly.
He wasn’t sure exactly where he was, and that was because of the fog.
His surroundings were dreary; fog clouded every inch of the landscape, limiting his vision so as he couldn’t see twenty feet in front of him.
Dry, cold air nipped at his lungs as he inhaled through his nose; the smell of wet grass, dirt, and pine mingled with the cold biting air in his nostrils.
He took off his mask, walked a tentative step forward, and cleared his throat.
“You.. You called me My lord?” he asked the fog, trembling slightly, his voice slightly higher than usual.
He looked around to see if he could locate Lord Voldemort, but it was of no use. It was just fog.
Then, a pale, robed figure emerged from the fog behind him and placed a cold, clammy hand on Lucius’s shoulder.
Lucius let out a squeak and turned around to face the Dark Lord, then recovered and masked his fear with a confident façade.
“Lucius, my good man, how have you been?” Voldemort smiled grimly, his rotting teeth flashing.
Lucius knew that it was a fake smile; he also knew he was in deep shit when his Dark Lord referred to him as ‘my good man’.
“Uh, well, My lord, I-” He stuttered.
“Quiet, Malfoy, don’t keep the truth from me now; I know you tried so desperately to hide that little stunt you pulled a few weeks ago, but it won’t do you any favors.” Voldemort clenched Lucius’s shoulder a little tighter, and he could see the tendons rise on the back of his Lord’s tense hand.
“M-My lord..” he couldn’t get the words out.
“SPIT IT OUT!” Voldemort roared, clutching Lucius’s robes collar and pulling him close to his face. The silver mask fell from Lucius’s hands and onto the grass.
His ugly, rotted teeth were bared menacingly as his face was only a few inches from Lucius’s; his breath a deadly venom which Lucius could barely restrain gagging from.
“You’re going to answer a yes or no question, Malfoy, and you’re going to answer correctly.” He hissed, his grasp still tight on Lucius’s robes.
“Did you, or did you not, allow the Muggles to see you on your last assignment?” He spoke in a low growl.
Lucius nodded. “I did, my lord. I’m deeply, truly sorry, my lord. I’m sorry!”
Voldemort released him from his grip and thrust him onto the ground.
“You’re lucky I don’t kill you on the spot, Malfoy. I would, oh, I would.. But you are a valuable asset to my coven, so I won’t kill you just yet. No, I will send you somewhere to make you regret ever trying to hide things from me.”
Lucius’s eyes widened, and before he could say or do anything, Lord Voldemort cast an unspoken spell on him, and the last thing he ever saw was his Dark Lord’s malicious grin before the world faded into black.