True Colors
Chapter 12: Fools and Madmen
By Anne B. Walsh
Author Notes:
Warning for creepy images.
"Narcissa, have you lost your mind?" Lucius exclaimed. "Draco, not exist? He was here with us less than an hour ago! I spoke with him, I touched his hand, I saw him decide to take the Lovegood girl for his own!"
Narcissa sighed deeply. "I apologize for this," she said, turning to make eye contact with the people sitting around the edge of the semicircle. "I had hoped to keep it quiet, but it seems it must come out at last." Her eyes rested on Sirius. "You recall my pregnancy. Though we were not in contact personally, I am sure you knew of it."
"Of course. Lucius made sure everyone knew." Sirius glanced at Remus. "Mentioned it to me the day after a certain memorial service, in fact. And said something about making sure we all had strong guardians for our homes and lives."
"He never could resist gloating," Danger murmured without opening her eyes. "The more fool, he."
Narcissa smiled at this. "I was brought to bed during the day of the fifth of June, 1980," she continued, gazing at her former home, which had collapsed quietly during Remus’ story into a pile of smoldering embers. "So much is well known. What very few people have ever known is that I did not give birth to a son that night." She looked back at her husband. "I gave birth to a daughter. A daughter who came forth weak and dying."
Lucius stared at his wife, his mouth silently forming her last word.
"The cord had become tangled around her neck in the birthing process, the Healers told me." Narcissa lifted her face to the sky, now streaked with dawn. "And she was obviously a strong witch already, for the accidental magic she performed, trying to save her own life, instead rebounded on me and injured me within. The Healers were able to keep me alive, but the damage was beyond repair. I would never bear another child."
Which would have been the kiss of death for their marriage, if Lucius had found out about it. He might have been willing to give her a decent stipend, pension her off somewhere, but he’d never have agreed to stay married to her, not with his precious line to further...
"The feelings, the emotions, evoked by my daughter’s birth and imminent death seemed too much to bear. I could not understand them, and I had no one with which to share them. The Healers were kind, but professional and distant, and I doubted somehow that Lucius would be understanding." Narcissa smiled thinly at the snickers which swept the circle. "My salvation came from, to me, unexpected quarters."
What is she—oh, of course! Sirius wanted to smack himself on the forehead as Narcissa clasped hands with Remus. Moony always was the one of us who’d take the first years to the infirmary after they fell off their brooms and hurt themselves. And I’ve seen Danger pick worms up off the pavement after it rains and bring them inside to her window box. Even with what had happened to them, what Cissy’d been a part of... but no, she wasn’t, was she? She was likely Danger’s mistress in name, but Lucius would have kept the true mastery for himself...
"You’d never done anything to hurt or humiliate us," Remus said, his eyes distant as though he were seeing not the poised Narcissa of now but the grieving young mother of that June night so long ago. "We had no reason to hate you, other than a generic anger towards everyone who knew about us. And you were in pain, a pain we understood far too well."
"So you comforted her, werewolf," Lucius sneered. "Did you begin then and there, or did you wait until the morning when you were human again?"
Remus slashed his wand down in Lucius’ direction. Lucius recoiled, then smirked and opened his mouth to say something cutting—
And stopped with his mouth still open as no sound came out.
"Please, go on," Remus said politely to Narcissa.
"Thank you." Narcissa had a small, wicked smile on her face, one which made her look rather more like Andromeda than Sirius had ever thought possible. "Remus did, in fact, comfort me that night, Lucius, but not in the way you are insinuating. He and Danger—Caesar and Calpurnia, as they were then called—sat with me and listened to my words, admired my child and commiserated with me over her fate, allowed me to dry my tears against their coats and even embrace them. It was a new phenomenon to me, to have another person care for me although I had never done anything for them. It affected me deeply."
I just bet it did. Sirius recalled his own first experiences with friendship, how it had changed everything he thought he’d known about the world and himself. But I still want to know what Cissy’s talking about, saying her kid doesn’t exist. If there’s no such person as Draco Malfoy, who’s Harry been to school with for nearly a year?
He glanced down at Harry as the boy shifted position. His godson was looking over Sirius’ shoulder, into the depths of the garden. Sirius turned, curious, to see what Harry was looking at.
Not what, who. It’s a kid. Can’t see him clearly, but he’s about Harry’s size...
The boy shifted on his feet, giving Sirius a moment’s glance at his face.
A moment was enough.
Well. That explains everything, doesn’t it now.
Narcissa’s story and Remus’, what Harry’d been telling him in letters and anecdotes all year, twelve full years of dreams about the Lupin family had all locked together in Sirius’ mind as soon as he’d seen the person standing behind him clearly. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, what was Remus and Danger’s final revenge on Lucius Malfoy.
And Prongs and I have just been completely eclipsed. This is far and away the best prank I have ever seen, heard of, or dreamt about.
Beautiful work, Moony. My congratulations.
Sirius sat back to watch it play out.
Narcissa turned her smile on Lucius, and watched him edge back from it, wary of this new side of her.
All I have said so far has been truth. What I owe these, my friends—for so I think I may call them—for their kindness to me on that night.
But now I shall delve into my imagination for a time.
Now I shall have my own revenge.
"After a time, I noticed that Danger was moving oddly," she said, twining her fingers around the edge of the pocket in which she kept her wand. "I asked if she were hurt, and she dissembled. I then noticed that her shape had changed. For some months, she had been growing, as you thought, Lucius, stout. You had, I believe, cut down her rations as a result of it. Tonight she was slender once more."
Lucius nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing.
"Having just been through such an experience myself, I tasked her with the most likely explanation, and she admitted it. She had, that very morning, borne her own first child."
I would never have thought to ask that question. I was too sunken in my own grief, in watching my little girl struggle for her every breath, and come closer and closer to losing her fight. The Healers were gone, I had sent them away after bribing them well to keep quiet about the night, so I was alone with the Lupins, and they, not I, broached this subject...
"I sent Dobby to fetch the child. What he brought me, once it had been unwound from the blanket in which it had snarled itself, appeared to be a wolf cub. Healthy, vigorous..." Narcissa allowed her smile to grow slightly. "And male."
Lucius was beginning to shake his head. Likely hoping to stave off the truth. Try as you like, husband mine. I plan to help you, though I doubt you will appreciate it...
"Danger said he resembled his father in human form, while Remus averred he was like his mother. Both of them, though, agreed that he was beautiful. And that their hearts would break, should he be enslaved as they had been."
This part of the tale is true enough. Though they never told me the last in so many words, I could see it in their eyes, hear it in every word they spoke. They had thought they would never have children—to have such an unexpected blessing turned into a curse would have been unbearable for both of them.
"I cannot recall which of us thought to mingle drops of the children’s blood, making them relations, and then magically exchange their forms, but it worked beautifully. The little boy who had been born in that cellar room, to a woman with a collar around her neck, was very shortly the image of an infant Lucius. And my own precious daughter, whom I had named Cassiopeia, took on fur and four legs, and it was in that form, a few minutes thereafter, that she breathed her last. She seemed calmer as a wolf cub, more settled. I hope that she died at peace."
No need for Lucius to hear that I know she did, that the bracelet around my wrist gave me power to allow Danger free use of her magic on me and mine, that she gave me a dream to share with my daughter for those last few moments of her life... I was able to hold her not only in my arms but in my heart, to show her beyond all questioning how much I loved her, and I will always believe that she understood and accepted that love, and that she loved me in return.
Narcissa blinked away the tears which came, even now, to her eyes when thinking of her dear Cassie and cast a sidelong glance at Lucius. He, judging by the look of suspicion and horror on his face, had drawn exactly the conclusions she wished him to draw from the story so far.
But to this point, I have been only slightly mendacious. Here, I abandon all attempt to hold to the truth. It might seem unnecessary—the true version of events would destroy Lucius’ peace of mind quite admirably—but I wish to destroy him entirely, to leave him not even the illusion of comfort. As well, it dovetails with a goal of my friends’, which I believe I shall find amusing.
Very well. On with the show.
"I had thought, at first, of keeping the Lupins’ child and raising him as my own, but then a thought came to me. Albus Dumbledore had known these two people who sat on my bed as wolves, known them well. And all Britain knows how much he enjoys his office at Hogwarts, with all the curious contrivances therein. Including the book in which is recorded the name and birthdate of every magical child born in these islands. If he should happen to look into the book and see that a little boy had been born that day who had the last name of Lupin..."
Which did not occur to me, and would never have. Remus thought of it, in conjunction with the spells on their collars, which would have caused their deaths if anyone had referred to them, with certainty and by name, as being alive. He was, in fact, rather eloquent on the subject of irony, if somewhat profane. I seem to recall Danger nipping him for using such language in front of the children.
The memory made her smile fondly, and it was with that expression that she continued. "If Dumbledore, being presented with such undeniable proof that Remus and Danger lived, should search for them, it was very likely that he would find them. In that finding, of course, he might well kill them, due to the magic laid on their collars to prevent their discovery. I therefore sent Dobby to him with a note, asking if he could meet me at my home the next morning." She lifted an eyebrow at Lucius. "My husband being away, as he had shown no desire to be mixed up in ‘all that messy birthing nonsense.’"
Whereas the true note merely asked him to say nothing about the two most recent arrivals in his book, and to adjust it for other eyes so that it would reflect one rather different arrival instead...
"Dumbledore came as I had requested, and I confessed as much as I could without killing those I was beginning to think I could call my friends. He heard me out, asked enough questions in coded language to make me sure he had understood me perfectly, and examined the Lupins’ son there with me. With his greater knowledge of magic, he was able to return the boy’s appearance to its original state without changing his blood, which retained its magical bond with my daughter’s. Her being fully human mitigated the tendency towards change the boy had inherited from his parents, meaning that he would not change into the shape of a wolf on any night except that of the full moon, and would never lose his mind as a werewolf does."
As it is, the child does change only one night a month, but that is artificially induced, by the same potion which keeps, or kept, his parents and his "servant" in their wolf form through all but one day a month. And I see in Lucius’ eyes that my little touch about the mingling of the bloods is having the effect I wanted—though he now knows that the boy he called Draco was not sired by him, he can allow himself to feel proprietary towards the child still.
Time to release the Bludgers.
"However, Dumbledore agreed with my reluctant admission that I could not maintain the façade of having given birth to the boy. His parents farewelled him, and I gave Danger permanent permission to contact him through her dream-magic..."
Which she could have done anyway, through his blood to her, and does regularly to not only her own child but to others.
"...and he took the child away with him. I did not know with whom or how he would foster the boy, given that the wizarding community of Britain is not terribly large..."
Dumbledore sighed, causing Lucius to whip around. "I fear I should have told you this years ago, Narcissa," he said, his face the perfect mixture of resignation and worry. "Though perhaps you already knew from other sources." He nodded to Remus, and to Danger where she sat on her bench with Hermione. "As you have said, our people are not numerous. It is quite possible to know the name of literally every wizarding family in Britain. And I feared that Lucius, if he ever discovered what you had done, might be motivated enough to search for a family which had mysteriously developed a son around that time. For that reason, among others, I chose to take the boy to a Muggle, rather than a magical, home."
Somehow I thought he would know the perfect thing to say.
Lucius’ color rose alarmingly. Narcissa glanced at Remus, who nodded in agreement and removed the Silencing Charm.
"My son?" Lucius breathed in the dead silence which had fallen over the garden. "You left my son with a houseful of Muggles?"
Dumbledore stroked his beard. "I thought it had just been established that Narcissa’s child was a girl and not a boy," he said. "And that she died shortly after her birth."
Lucius waved this point away. "His blood was partly mine, it could have been purified—yes, and he belonged to me, which makes him doubly mine!"
"Belonged to you?" Remus asked softly, dangerously.
"Yes." Lucius turned to face him, matching his tone. "He belonged to me. He was my property. As were you, werewolf. As was your Mudblood wife. As, if the world were properly ordered, you would still be! And none—" He spun to face Narcissa. "None of this farrago of nonsense explains to me why my son Draco, the boy I have known for twelve years, the child who was in my house only this past night does not exist!"
Have I mentioned, husband, that I love you best when you make my work easier for me?
Outwardly, Narcissa merely nodded, letting the movement set her tone of sorrow and weariness. "I had thought you might return to that point. Lucius, I am sorry to make it so public, but for that same twelve years you mentioned, you have been... not quite yourself."
"In what way, Narcissa?"
"You have been..." Narcissa paused, as though trying to think of the correct term.
"Off your trolley," the Weasley boy supplied loudly, making his friends snicker.
Narcissa bestowed a quasi-freezing look on him, hoping he knew she was not as put out as she appeared. Then again, judging by his mother, he will be unmoved by my best work.
"Not quite the way I would have put it, perhaps," she said, drawing Lucius’ attention back to her. "But, sadly, accurate. I told you, Lucius, when you returned home on that sixth day of June, of our daughter’s birth and subsequent death. You took it calmly. I was relieved. Imagine my horror on the next morning, when I discovered that your calm was a veneer over the fact that you had rejected reality and substituted your own more palatable version, as evidenced when you asked after our son’s welfare, and told me that you wished to name him Draco..."
Lucius glared at his wife. This is outrageous. She is inventing these lies on the spot. Certainly I asked after my son on that morning, certainly I told her what I wanted to name him, but Dobby brought him to her bedchamber while we were talking, we discussed what he should be named while she fed him—I held him myself, in my own arms, I felt his weight and his strength, and I knew he would be a wizard to contend with when he was grown!
"I tried to remind you of what I had explained the previous night, and you laughed and commended me on my joke," Narcissa went on. "I tried to persist, but stopped when I feared you might become violent. I see now that was my mistake. Perhaps, if I had broken through your delusion then, we would never have come to this pass."
"Don’t blame yourself, Cissy," said Lupin, laying a hand on Narcissa’s shoulder. "You couldn’t have known. You were only trying to do what was best for everyone, and I’m sure Lucius understands that." He smiled at Lucius, condescendingly, as one might smile at a small child.
Or at an idiot. A madman, too addled in his brain to know truth from falsehood.
Or... Lucius clenched his teeth. Or at a slave. One whom you have told many times that it is well for him that you took him in hand, for otherwise he or his wife or both would surely have been dead by now, killed by the relentless effects of full moon after full moon and their own recklessness in handling those times.
He drew a long breath, forcing himself to calm. Obviously Lupin resents the truth, and takes pleasure in attempting to turn it back on me. But I will not play their game. Even if parts of this story are true, whether Draco was born originally to Narcissa or to Lupin’s Danger, he is real, he is my child by blood, he is the son I have raised...
A flicker of movement at the edge of the cleared area caught his eye.
And he is here. How convenient.
"Draco," he said in a tone of command. "Come to me."
The child-sized silhouette drew back slightly.
Lucius frowned. "Draco, what is the matter? Come here."
"I’m sorry, Lucius, but I think you’re a bit confused," Lupin said delicately.
"Confused?" Lucius cocked an eyebrow at the werewolf. "In what way?"
"Well..." Lupin waved a hand in the direction of the half-visible child. "You seem to have mistaken my Reynard for your Draco." He turned his motion into a beckoning gesture. "Come on, son, it’s all right. He won’t hurt you."
The boy stepped forward, lifting a branch that hung in his way to peer out from underneath it. He was slightly built, his movements graceful but giving the impression of controlled strength and speed. The black robes he wore carried the rampant lion of Gryffindor.
So far, he is like my son...
But this boy’s hair, somewhat mussed from his passage through the garden, was a sandy brown and lay on his head in waves, and though Lucius could not see the child’s eyes, which were fixed on Lupin, he would have laid money that they were the same clear blue he had grown used to seeing daily in the face of the wolf called Caesar.
So either that much of Narcissa’s story was true, or Draco has been placed under a glamour charm. I will reserve my judgment until more evidence appears.
The boy’s face, which had been politely curious, bloomed into joy, and he broke from his place to run to Lupin, his arms out. Lupin laughed once, in a somewhat choked voice, as he caught the boy into a tight embrace. "There’s my boy," he murmured into hair only a shade or two darker than his own. "There’s my Ray."
Ray. What Narcissa calls our son, when she thinks I am not listening. Proof, proof positive that she has tried to feed me a complete fabrication. And, too, had this child been raised anywhere but this house, how would he have known Lupin? Neither he nor his wife have been off my grounds for as long as this boy has been alive. No, this is Draco. His appearance has been altered, his behavior changed with a Confundus Charm or perhaps even the Imperius, but he is my son, and I will have him.
He started forward.
The boy gasped in fear and clung to Lupin tighter, as Lupin’s wand—my wand, which he has stolen as he tries now to steal my son—came up to cover Lucius. "It’s all right," the werewolf murmured, pulling the boy close with his other arm. "It’s over now. He can’t ever get you."
Get him? As though I were a monster, something to come prowling at night? Lucius snorted. Fine sentiments indeed from a werewolf—a monster of the night himself! The Confundus must be very strong indeed, to compel Draco to such closeness with him.
"Reynard," said Dumbledore, stepping forward so that he was beside Lucius. "Do you know this man?"
"Through Mum’s dreams I do, sir," the boy answered respectfully in a clear treble, glancing at Lucius for a second before looking back at Dumbledore. "But I haven’t ever seen him before, not with my own eyes."
I am wrong. It must be the Imperius that Draco is under—for that is Draco, I recognize his voice—to force him to say such laughably untrue things. And they accuse me of performing illegal magic. Who are the ones using an Unforgivable Curse on a child, then?
"Very good. And in your mum’s dreams, who have you been told that he is?"
Blue eyes flashed with anger. "Lucius Malfoy, sir. The man who’s held my parents as slaves for longer than I’ve been alive. Who killed my grandparents and stole my sister-aunt away from them to do the same to her. Who would’ve done it to me, if Mum and Dad hadn’t got me safely away. I had to grow up in a foster family because of him, and I hate him for it!"
The vitriol in the boy’s tone sent Lucius half a step backwards. Could even the Imperius produce such a convincing act? He seems truly livid, as though I have somehow wronged him...
No. He shook his head. That way lies madness. Beyond doubt he is being compelled into this story. How, without my wand, can I break this compulsion to let him speak freely, to tell the world the truth?
"Can you tell me about your foster family, Reynard?" Dumbledore continued. "Are they kind to you?"
"Well, my foster mother is." The boy smiled shyly at Narcissa. "She’s always looking out for me, making sure I understand my lessons, keeping me out of my foster father’s way when he’s angry or when he drinks. And even he’s not so bad, when he’s in a good mood. He’ll teach me things if I ask him just right."
"What sorts of things?" Dumbledore asked, for all the world as though he were really interested. "Has he taught you how to ride your broomstick properly? Or how to manage a magical creature?"
The boy laughed aloud. "I think you’re being silly, sir," he said. "My foster parents are Muggles. They know about magic—I think they have a second cousin who’s a witch—but they’re not magic themselves. And you know that, because you’re the one who brought me to them and asked if they would take care of me. And the one who took me away again when I was a bit more than a year old, and brought me back with a little gray puppy that was really a girl..."
He paused, looking curiously at Lucius. "I suppose I have seen him before, then, though I don’t remember it. The day he gave me... well, I had to call her Zelda when she wore the collar. But I always knew her real name was Neenie. Hermione. Just like she’s always been a sister to me, a twin almost, even though it looked like she was my pet and we’re aunt and nephew by blood..."
The word broke through Lucius’ growing sense of unreality, through his feeling that this was surely a nightmare, some demon of his mind haunting his sleep. "Blood," he repeated in a hoarse whisper. "Yes. That is the answer."
"I beg your pardon, Lucius?" Dumbledore turned towards him.
"I demand that our bloods be tested," Lucius said, pointing towards the boy, who shrank away from him, clinging to Lupin. "To show, once and for all, that this is my son. No matter who gave birth to him, he could not have looked so much like me for so many years if he did not bear my blood, and I want that proved here and now." He whirled towards Narcissa. "And you can explain to me how I could have given over control of Griselda to an imaginary child."
"Reynard has told you that himself." Narcissa waved towards the boy, a faint smile in place on her face. "By the time Hermione arrived in our lives, I had given over trying to convince you that Draco was not real, contenting myself instead with keeping our lives running smoothly despite your... malady. I demanded that you deal with her bond to Greyback, not only because it would certainly be detrimental to her, but because I needed time to contact Dumbledore and have him retrieve the boy. Though you kept the full mastery of her collar for yourself, as you did for Danger, and she was therefore forced into a mostly lupine existence, she was still safe and happy with Reynard and his parents. As I had known she would be."
She has an answer for everything. Lucius turned back slowly, observing the werewolf and the child, now holding out his arm obediently as Lupin explained something to him. And the boy truly looks happy with Lupin. Could it be—is it possible—
No. It is not possible, and therefore it cannot be. If only I could see through whatever spell they have performed, see the truth of the matter plainly...
For one instant, the scene before his eyes flickered. The brown and blue of "Reynard" were replaced with the blond and gray of his own Draco, the cheerful smile with an expression of horror, as the creature which clutched him with one twisted paw ran its red tongue along his outstretched arm with a gloating laugh—Draco’s eyes lifted to Lucius and filled with incredulous hope, as though he were scarcely able to believe his father could have come in time—
Lucius blinked, startled. The brown-haired boy in front of him was indeed regarding him, but the look in the blue eyes was challenging, perhaps even a bit aloof. His arm was extended before him, Lupin’s pressed against it, and Dumbledore’s wand had wreathed them both in red smoke, the positive result of a lineage spell.
So he is Lupin’s brat by birth, then. No matter, that can be changed—Lupin and his bitch will have to die, of course, and the boy should do it himself for the best results, but that may take some time—still, it can be done, and it will. I will have my son again, no matter what obstacles lie in my way. Narcissa may have been trying to disguise him with the bonding she worked all those years ago, but it still means my blood runs in his veins, and no amount of trickery can overcome that...
"Lucius?" Dumbledore’s voice broke into his musings. "We are ready for you."
"I don’t want him touching me," the boy objected, pulling back as Lucius approached.
"You need not touch," Dumbledore assured him. "Only hold your hand near enough to his that the spell may recognize you both."
My poor child. Afraid of me, who wishes only to restore you to your rightful place, but not of these, who would warp and twist you into a degraded existence. Lucius went to one knee in front of Lupin and the boy and held out his arm, leaving a careful three inches of air between his skin and the child’s. Still, this will allow you to see their lies for what they are, and I will trust to your Gryffindor courage to lead you unafraid on a quest for the truth...
He turned his head to smile at Narcissa as Dumbledore lifted his wand to cast the spell. You were right, my dear. Despite his Sorting, my son is a true Malfoy after all.
"Revele cognationem," Dumbledore intoned.
Lucius returned his attention to the spell.
The smoke surrounding his hand and the boy’s was a bright blue.
Blue. Negative.
He shut his eyes for a second, then opened them. The color had not changed.
I share no blood at all with this boy, and never have.
"Dad?" The treble voice quivered, as with weariness or great joy. "Can we go home soon?"
"I think we can do that." Lupin’s own voice was wavering, as though he had never expected to speak these words. "Son."
Slowly, Lucius lifted his head, rage beginning to frost his vision. Lupin, his face beatific, cradled the boy against him. The small brown head rested on his shoulder, eyes closed trustingly, a tear trickling from beneath one long-lashed lid, as though Reynard were weeping for the joy of being in his father’s arms at last—
No. I must not believe the falsehood. I must strive to see the truth. The spell was faked, must have been faked—this is all faked, I am being deceived, but I saw through the illusion for a moment earlier—if I try my hardest, turn all my magic to the task, perhaps I can do it once more—
He focused, putting to work the concentration and strength of a trained wizard, one with ten generations of magical ancestors behind him, and with a tangible snap, he broke through. The child in Lupin’s arms was suddenly his own Draco again, Lupin the twisted creature reminiscent of Fenrir Greyback, and the peaceful embrace transformed like magic into a desperate struggle. Draco writhed, panting in terror, as Lupin poked and prodded at various parts of him, laughing coarsely. "You’ll need some feeding up," the werewolf said with a leer, "but I’m sure Danger can handle that..."
Draco turned his head and saw Lucius, and his eyes lit once more with disbelieving joy. "Dad!" he screamed, stretching out his arms.
"Release my son, animal!" Lucius lunged forward to snatch his child to safety.
Lupin’s wand was up in a flash, and Lucius was blasted backwards across the garden, away from his shrieking son, away from the cackling thing that held him. "Draco..." he panted, trying to get to his feet. "Draco... no..."
"Quickly," hissed the withered and hideous figure which knelt beside the werewolf, waving one shriveled hand as though to signal someone. "Before he has another chance."
Rough hands seized Lucius and pulled him upright. He looked at his captors and barely managed to stifle a scream of his own—one was a blank-faced, drooling idiot of a man, the other a mad-eyed woman who let out a penetrating giggle as she saw him looking at her—
"Dad, please," Draco sobbed, reaching towards him again. "Please."
"Don’t look," the werewolf commanded, turning Draco’s head away forcibly. "Don’t look at him." He grinned once at Lucius, exposing yellowed and stained teeth, then bent over Draco’s exposed neck, licking his lips.
"NO!" Lucius fought, twisting as though he were crazed himself, but the madman’s grip on him did not falter—the woman’s loosened, and he redoubled his efforts, but she drew a wand and pointed it at him, giving voice to her insane laugh again—only this time, there was a word contained within it—
"Stupefy!" she shrilled.
Draco’s hopeless wail followed Lucius into darkness.
Ray clung to his dad, shaking, keeping his face buried in the man’s robes rather than look up at Malfoy, now slumped unconscious against Mr. Longbottom. I saw it, he said in family speech. When he went mad. I saw it in his eyes—he wasn’t seeing the real me and you anymore, he was seeing something his mind had made up instead—
I know. Dad held him tightly, stroking his hair every so often, not commenting at all about the tears that had to be soaking through his robes by now. I never intended that. Nor your mum. Narcissa... possibly. But it would have happened in any case. And he brought it on himself, Ray. He made his own decisions, and we made ours, and now it’s over.
Ray nodded, not trusting either of his voices, and repositioned his face to find a dry spot.
Author Notes:
Geek: Noun. One who finds a way to make a Mythbusters reference fit in a Harry Potter fanfiction. Points to those who spot it!