I Do What I Want (Drarry)

Emotions in Abundance

            Everyone stared at Lucius with growing worry. He had been gaping when Harry told him that he should look into Necromancy but when he didn't say anything in response, it got the attention of the rest of the room. As amusing as a gaping Lucius was, Harry was concerned. Had something happened to him? Was the thought of Necromancy scary enough to render the great Lucius Malfoy speechless and immobile?

            "Oh Merlin." Lucius choked out covering his face with his hands. His body started to shake and he couldn't stop it. He felt sick. Utterly and completely sick. He had always known that Abraxas Malfoy was a bastard but to think that the man would have had a hand in murdering his own child was unthinkable. A squib was a humiliation to their world but nothing would have made Lucius kill a child. He himself would have loved to have another child. Squib or not. He had always wanted a little girl and never really knew why but now it made sense. A sister. He had a baby sister and she had the life snuffed out of her for no reason other than she didn't have magic.  

            It was unthinkable. His father could have just sent his sister to the muggle world. That was still cruel but at least she would've been alive! The fresh memory of his younger self at seeing the beauty of his sister for the first time was crushing. How is it possible to love something so much in such a short amount of time? That sweet baby had changed his world and Lucius hadn't even remembered it. She was the reason he had become so determined to be a good Malfoy heir. He can remember the surprise of his father over the couple of weeks that followed that day when Lucius had buckled down into the teachings. His father probably thought it was something he had done. And in a way that was true. His own father had obliviated him and made him forget. Part of him was horrified that at six he had witnessed something so gruesome and so awful. Just seeing that would have changed everything in Lucius's world. He knew without a doubt that 90 percent of his life's choices wouldn't have happened if he had remembered the memory. There is no way that he would have done anything that his father wanted of him after witnessing his sister's death.

            With a pang, he could still feel the dream of becoming an artist. That dream had never gone away. It had faded into whimsical fantasy over the years. Something that he wasn't allowed to think about. It was harder than one might think to lock that part of him away. Every time he saw a painting he would spend too long admiring the work and artistry of the painter. His wife was always wanting art work in their home but it would have been too hard to keep those thoughts at bay if he had to see such beauty every day. It was hard enough as it was without any reminders.

           There were times when he would have a relapse and his hands couldn't help but draw something. During it was nice, it was wonderful to be able to set aside his worries and just live in his artwork for a moment. But then when it was over, he would feel like he had failed somehow. Failed his life and failed himself. Good heirs don't become something as frivolous as an artist. He replayed the words that his father taunted him with over and over throughout the years. Every time he would say the words to himself it felt like a little piece of himself had died. Lucius had never been able to stop the longing every time he saw spare quill and parchment. It was like a drug. It was something that he knew he shouldn't do but couldn't help but crave.

            He had hoped long and hard that Draco wouldn't have picked up any lingering skills for art from him. Because there was absolutely no way that he would be able to smash his son's dreams like that. He thanked everything that could be listening when his son took up potions. That was a skill that he wouldn't discourage. That was a skill that was practical for an heir. That wasn't something that he could have a problem with. But a tiny part of him had still felt disappointed. He wouldn't have encouraged his son to go for a career in art if that was what he wanted but he also wouldn't have discouraged it either. He would have been happy living his art dreams through his son but that hadn't happened. His son had not a single artistic bone in his body.