Кассандра Клэр - Draco Sinister

1) "I suppose I did," said Draco, looking rather cheerful. "If, that is, you mean defeated in the sense of 'having met'.'" — Buffy.

2) "'I May Be A Tiny Chimney Sweep But I've Got An Enormous Broom'. - Blackadder.

3) Undiscovered Country — "Hamlet."

"Hello, Father," Draco said.

Lucius Malfoy slowly lowered the book he was holding, although he did not stand up to greet his son. He looked much the same, Draco thought. Even in prison, Lucius retained most of his sharp dignity -

he looked neat and trim in starched-looking, plain gray robes.

"Draco," said his father, inclining his head.

"I didn't think they'd let me in," said Draco, in a rather constricted voice.

"I left instructions that they were to allow you in when you came," said his father. "The Malfoy name still counts for something, despite all you and your mother have done to destroy it."

"So you bribed them," said Draco. "Typical."

"I ask myself sometimes," Lucius said, "did I raise a child who is ungrateful, or merely stupid?" He tilted his head to the side, his eyes still fixed on his son. Draco saw that his thin, long-fingered hands were locked tightly together across his lap. "What do you think, Draco?"

"What were the choices again?"

Lucius narrowed his eyes. "I had forgotten," he said, "how amusing you find yourself. Is that why you came here? To impress me with your wit?"

"No," said Draco, in the same flat tone, "I was just hoping we could continue our great familial tradition of gut-wrenching misery and verbal abuse. Tell me: would it kill you, just this once, to say 'Hello, son, what did you want to talk to me about?"

Lucius leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. He kicked out sharply with his left foot, catching the chair opposite him with one booted toe and sending it spinning across the room towards Draco, who had to jump back to avoid being hit by it. It fell to the floor at his feet.

"Sit," said Lucius.

Slowly, Draco reached down and yanked the chair upright. He sat down, keeping a wary eye on his father.

Anyone looking at the two of them would have been startled, first by the resemblance between them — the same sharp, refined features and pale coloring, although Lucius' eyes were black — and secondly, by the hostility that crackled between them like an electrical charge.

"So, son," said Lucius Malfoy. "What did you want to talk to me about? Did you want to ask me how I'm enjoying myself here? The congenial company, the excellent food, the kindly treatment?"

"No," said Draco. "I wanted to ask you something about our family."

Lucius raised an eyebrow.

"You told Harry there was madness in our family," said Draco. "I wanted to know — what kind of madness? How far back does it go?"

Lucius' eyes betrayed a flicker of surprise that quickly smoothed itself out into indifference. "You think you're going mad?"

"I'm not sure."

Lucius looked at his son, and for a moment saw the pale, familiar face stripped of its defenses, saw the pain and the panic behind the eyes. He thought of his wife, who had given their son her slanting silver eyes and her propensity to feel things strongly. And yet. Since his son was four years old, he hadn't cried. Not that Lucius could recall. Unnatural, his wife had said, a child that doesn't cry.

Draco stood up suddenly, and leaned his hands on the back of the chair. He looked very young. He said, "I've been having… dreams.

Not my own dreams. Somebody else's. There are battles, a lot of blood and killing. A woman. Sometimes she's Hermione, sometimes she isn't. A banner with a dragon on it-"

"Facing left," said Lucius. "A silver dragon on a black background."

Draco blinked at him. "You know whose dreams they are," he said.

"Don't you?"

Lucius examined his fingernails. "They're your destiny, boy," he said in a bored tone.

"My destiny?" snapped Draco. "I haven't got a destiny. That's Harry, he's the one with the destiny."

"On the contrary. You certainly have a destiny, Draco. In fact, I might go so far as to say that it has you."

"What are you talking about?"

Lucius smiled. "Let me tell you a little something, boy. When a man joins the Death Eaters, he gives himself to the Dark Lord. And the Dark Lord in turn takes one thing from him. To be accepted into his circle, you must offer up one thing that is purely yours. It might be a specific memory, or a gift with languages, a skill at sports. It is his choice. When I joined him, he asked me for you."

Draco's face was blank with astonishment. "But I wasn't even born!

You were sixteen!"

"No, you weren't born. But he knew you would be. We are among the last families with remnants of Slytherin's blood, and you… the timing was perfect. The Dark Lord showed me how to perform certain dangerous and difficult spells and enchantments to ensure that you would be born in the image he had designed. With certain qualities. Magid powers. Viciousness and charm. Lack of empathy.

Competitiveness. Cruelty…you were to follow in his footsteps, and I-

"

Draco interrupted him. "What happened? Did the spells not work?"

"Oh, they worked," said Lucius. "But then the Dark Lord was defeated. You were not yet one year old. And there was no one to direct your growth, to continue the spells and the potions and the training. There was only me. And I did my best, but somehow you got away from me. You were meant for a purpose, but I don't know what that purpose is. I'm afraid I never have known it. When the Dark Lord returned to power, he refused to tell me. He said I would learn in good time." Lucius shrugged. "I suppose this is as good a time as any."

Draco had gone very white, staring at him.

" Think of it as an alarm clock," said his father, leaning back in his chair. "Whatever you carry inside you has lain dormant, until now.

Until your Magid powers began to work, until you were nearly grown, until you found the sword."

"The sword?" Draco echoed.

"The sword is the key," said Lucius, blandly. "The Dark Lord gave it to me when you were born. Of course, I couldn't touch it," he added, sounding slightly bitter, "so I was never…tempted." He looked at his son. "Does it give you visions?"

"Nightmares," said Draco, in a clenched sort of voice.

"Visions," said his father, again. "You see what you want, what you need, what was and what will be."

"It doesn't show me what I want!" exclaimed Draco, revolted. "It shows me…horrible things.."

Lucius smiled. "The first time you saw it," he said, "you wanted it, didn't you? You took it from Harry, you kept it by you, and you resisted all efforts to deprive you of it. You take it wherever you go -

you have it with you now. You cannot bear to be parted from it." He looked at his son. "It's your future, boy. And you can't walk away from it."

"I can," said Draco. His hands were shaking.

"You can't," roared Lucius, suddenly starting up in his chair. "You were made, don't you understand that? You were built to fulfill a purpose. Even your name — " He broke off and subsided back into his chair. "Even your name was chosen for you by the Dark Lord. The dragon…"

Draco sat very still. Without looking at his father, he said, "And that was all right with you?"

Lucius said nothing.

Draco raised his head. "Whatever else I am, I'm your son. Of your blood. I look like you. I have our family name. And you traded me to the Dark Lord for a little bit of power?"

"It would have been a great deal of power," corrected Lucius. Then he looked away. "I never wanted a child," he said. "It was all part of the Plan."

Draco looked down at his hands where they gripped each other in his lap. "In my dreams," he said, hoarsely. "He tells me I have to kill Harry."