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Title: Craving Advice

Contributors: lucius_malfoi, dm_fugitive

Edited by: Carla Lute

Posted: 2006-01-16 to 17

Game Date: September 6^th

Disclaimer: No one at Levicorpus owns Harry Potter, the world or its characters. We just like to play in J.K. Rowling’s world.

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Lucius felt . . . cold. He shivered against the chilled morning air which seemed to pervade the house every dawn and never left until well into the afternoon. For that matter, the house always seemed to be cold. It was simply that the particular level of frigidity changed from the biting chill of early in the day to more of a deep seeded cold which rested in your bones as it progressed. Lucius shivered, just the same, frowning into his mug of Wizard's Coffee (a firey combination of espresso and fire-whiskey) which he had taken to ingesting in place of a real breakfast. He was not an alcoholic, but a simple charm removed the over-powering stench of alcohol from both the liquid and his breath. A Malfoy could not take a chance, even among allies. He turned away and glared at the screaming picture of Yaxley. Lucius couldn't even remember if the rather insignificant man even had a first name, and he finally reached to tear the picture free. The article was the usual Daily Prophet's bullshit but that picture . . . well, at least it would remain a constant reminder of why Lucius simply could not get caught. Or maybe that was simply what he told himself as he folded it into his robes, where it would wait to join the other news-clippings, ever more sadistic, which he had collected over the years.

Draco walked into the kitchen. He halted for a second when he saw his father sipping coffee and reading the paper. Then he continued on the refrigerator to pour himself a glass of orange juice.

Lucius looked up as his son entered and suddenly realized just how long it had been since he had last encountered him. This particular phenomenon in such closed quarters only began to annoy Lucius' further.

"Where have you been?" He didn't turn around as he spoke, but folded the newspaper neatly closed and pushed it away.

"I just got up," Draco said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Which was almost true, he had laid in bed for a while after waking, dressed, washed his face, and preformed various other grooming tasks. He put the orange juice back and began to contemplate the meatier parts of his breakfast.

Lucius frowned at his son's vague response and although his logical mind knew that he ought to be proud of him for exploring the Malfoy's deceptive nature, he was not too pleased that this particular tactic was being used against him. Suddenly Lucius re-thought his tactics in this matter and, still not turning to look at his son, changed his tone ever so slightly. "I don't believe I've seen you for weeks. Snape must be keeping you busy?"

"Yeah," Draco said. Settling on some cold cereal, mainly because it the least amount of preparation required. "Though I've hardly seen him the past couple days. Franklin dragged me into his project."

"Franklin?" Lucius laughed to himself. "What's that old bat working on this time?"

Draco poured the milk over his cereal, trying to get the right amount. Despite his milk addiction, he felt a weird taboo about drinking the leftover from the bowl and preferred not to waist it. "I'm not sure I can talk about it yet, but I think it's going to be announced soon," Draco replied. He hadn't actually looked at his father yet, but he felt Lucius's eyes on him.

"Hmm." Lucius heard Draco pouring milk over his cereal and turned to study his son. It wasn't that he was going to push him to reveal Franklin's 'secret project', because, frankly, he didn't care, but he was curious about what his son had been up to. "Well, I'm glad you're able to keep busy." He raised an eyebrow. "You heard what they did to Yaxley?"

Draco put the cap on the milk, and finally looked at his father. "Yeah, I read," he said grimly. "Did you know him?"

"Not well." Of course, this was the Malfoy way of saying that someone was not worthy of their company and this was certainly an understatement when it came to that odious little man. "Ridiculous, don't you think? The very idea that we could be intimidated by that excuse for a penal system."

Draco put the milk away and sat down at the table with his breakfast. He was extremely intimidated by that penal system, but he found himself not wanting to tell his father that. He took a spoon of his cereal and chewed, looking at the table surface.

Lucius watched his son eating for a minute, wondering why, exactly, Draco didn't seem to want to discuss this. His hand slowly balled into a fist and he attempted to retain the calm demeanor, which he had so far been playing up. Was being a father always so frustrating? Again, he changed tactics, his son's silence would be broken and it was up to Lucius to figure out how that would be accomplished. "That Muggle of yours is quite pretty, isn't she?"

Draco stopped eating. He almost felt too weary to be exasperated. He dropped his spoon into the bowl. "She's a Muggle," he said in a slightly disgusted tone.

Lucius felt a genuine grin rise to his lips at this response. "Very good." He held his chin slightly higher than usual at the comment. He turned what was left of his lukewarm coffee into his mouth and allowed the liquid to slide down his throat. Malfoys didn't 'gulp' after all. "Just be sure not to let your little plaything get out of hand."

"Oh my-!" Draco rocked back in his chair and stared at his father, exasperation returning at full force. "She's not my plaything! She's the damn, bloody grocer girl!" He was temped to storm off, but that would mean soggy cereal and explanation when he returned for it, so he just sat there fuming, looking petulant and sullen.

Lucius smiled to himself at this outburst, but externally, he simply shrugged. "Very well." He knew that this would be the most that he would get out of Draco and despite the rather emotional response, it was enough for Lucius to be certain that more complex . . . feelings were not involved.

However, he was still nagged by the memory of Draco's attempt to extricate her from their domicile when it would have been so much more fun to introduce her to their dungeons. Although the Dark Lord had warned them against any local...disappearances. Lucius sighed and almost laughed when he saw his son's look of antagonism.

Lucius's very well was not putting Draco's mind at ease. He wanted him to understand, to accept it. "I'm not sleeping with her," he said, so that they were clear. "I haven't touched her."

"As you said." Lucius smiled lightly. "And I am glad to hear it. The Dark Lord would not be pleased."

Draco had half expected his father to be disappointed with him. He relaxed a bit. "No kidding," he said, remembering his summons before the Dark Lord a few days before. He knew his cereal was getting soggier, but his appetite had temporarily left him. "What does he say to you about me?" Draco asked.

Lucius had certainly not expected this sudden turn in the conversation, and it took a moment for him to regain his thoughts. A moment in which he silently flicked his wand over his cup and it was once more filled with his breakfast. "I won't lie, Draco, he was disappointed in your failure. I believe he hopes that you will improve." What Lucius was leaving out was just how outraged Voldemort had been and how much Lucius had done to ensure that his son didn't become expendable.

Draco played with his bowl. He had been hoping for more details. Snape had told him this much already. Snap out of it he told himself. You have to make a show. "What sort of things will make him happier with me?" Draco asked.

This was a question Lucius had often asked himself and one that was never difficult to answer. "Absolute obedience. You must obey every whim as though it were your own, and you must never hesitate."

"Yeah," Draco said vaguely. "But to become a favorite. I mean does he like someone to show a little ambition or is he impressed by cleverness or the just the death toll. Does he have a favorite desert or type of music? Are there topics I should avoid, or ones he's particularly fond of?" Draco stopped, picked up his spoon, took another bite of cereal and watched his father for an answer.

Lucius was pleased that his son was showing such initiative and asking such important questions, and he smiled appropriately before sipping his coffee. "There is a great difference between simply improving his opinion of you and becoming a favourite, I'm glad that you can see that." And are willing to try hard to become one. "Of course, that is more than absolute obedience, it is . . . ambition, yes, but successful ambition. I would not say cleverness, necessarily, but . . . originality. He is impressed by surprise, by the novelty of an event." Lucius smiled at the memory of a particularly original revel he had once organized, in which the Dark Lord had very gladly taken part. "And you indeed, must pay attention to things like that, but they are...secondary. The Dark Lord is first and foremost a lord and likes to be reminded of it with grand gestures."

Draco nodded. Something showy then. Or perhaps a series of small things rather than large ones. Draco fell quiet again, chewing his cereal, and trying to put all the pieces together. Thoughts of Ginny had swum up again though. He knew he should be focusing of Voldemort. But Ginny, who was his greatest source of comfort was becoming an increasing source of worrying.

He wondered if this was easier on Snape who seemed to be a naturally private person. Draco had never been private, and his new found feelings and worries and jealousies beat at his chest. Not so long ago it had been an easy thing to talk his father, to tell him every triumph and discomfort. But now, he couldn't.

So Draco took another bite of cereal and drank his orange juice and stared at the far wall.

Lucius watched his son begin to process this information and saw the familiar signs of his mind busy at work. It was so much like that of his own that Lucius smiled, but he was certain that Draco didn't notice as he quietly rose and left the room, left Draco to his plans.

Draco was aware of his father leaving, and for an insane second he wanted to call out to him. To tell him everything and ask him what he should do. Or if not everything, at least about Ginny. Because the strange, radiant ache was beating inside him, and he felt unqualified for self-diagnosis. Craving advice, any kind of advice.

But he couldn't ask his father, so he didn't.

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