Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Crossover ❯ Lucius Malfoy ( Chapter 14 )

Chapter 14

It had been almost fifteen years, and yet the power rush was still just as exhilarating as it had ever been. Just as sough after, just as craved.

It still came at a prize, though, and Lucius wasn't quiet sure if it was really worth it. Since the summer after Draco's fourth year, he had begun questioning past choices, and the repercussions they had on the child he loved more than life itself. Even more than power.

That summer he had been presented with what were probably the harshest truths of his life: Narcissa didn't love him (hell, for all he knew, she was having an affair); he was once again reduced to being a simpering, boot-licking underling to what he now considered to be a madman (if man was still a term that could be applied to "that" thing); and Draco would never willingly follow the path that Lucius himself had so carefully set down for him.

That had been the sole bright point to an excruciatingly miserable time. Ok, so his "wife" had been dropping hints (more like hollering at him) that she would do everything in her power to keep their precious son out of Voldemort's claws. He was frankly inclined to agree with her (not that he would ever tell her that) and had thus taken the appropriate steps to keep his son free, without looking like a traitor before Voldemort's eyes.

Narcissa had caught up with him soon enough and began helping him whole-heartedly. It had been the first time in years that they had worked together as a team, and damn if they weren't good at it.

Everything had reached its climax during Draco's sixteen birthday, and now his son's future was set.

Lucius had been incredibly pleased with himself, until he had arrived to the meeting arranged on August 31st. Voldemort had locked them all in one room and told them what he wanted them to do. At least three quarters of those in the room had frozen with shock. Those that hadn't. . . well, they weren't parents.

To kill their own flesh and blood. . . their innocent flesh and blood, just to prove to the madman that they were loyal. . .

He had seen the doubt and the disbelieving fear that had begun to nag at those around him shine clearly in their eyes.

The Parkinsons, the Zabinis. . . hell, even Crabbe and Goyle had looked horrified at the prospect.

Others, like the Lestranges or Macnair had obviously been unaffected by the orders and looked at those that were with as much contempt as they could muster.

The next few hours had been a living nightmare, as they all waited for the timing to be appropriate for the attack. That way, non of them could rat out the plans in hope of saving their offspring.

As the hour rolled by, Lucius had apparated with his fingers crossed, hopping against hope that Draco would be smart enough to keep out of sight.

The job assigned to him had been to stop the children from escaping through the forest. Easier said than done, as per usual when dealing with the dark lord, but he had obeyed. Taking the five men in his command, he had set an ambush in an appropriate looking clearing and waited. He had not been disappointed.

Several minutes later, and when he was beginning to rethink about his chosen location, a small, cloaked figure had tripped into the clearing. All six of them had jumped out, acting as menacing as possible (not a difficult task, considering that they were six grown men against a tiny looking child). Lucius had begun congratulating himself for their first catch of the night, when he had felt his whole body become lighter.

It was with shocked surprise that the fact that his sword, knives and wand were missing had registered into his mind, and by the time he had looked up, he had been able to catch sight of the death of one of his men.

The "waif" had then turned towards the nearest man, and continued his attack.

Lucius' brain had taken precious second in getting a kick start, but once it did, he flung himself towards the first man to fall. As expected, his wand was still in his rapidly cooling hand, and Lucius had used that to conjure a new sword. There was no way he was going to let that little upstart use a family heirloom of his to murder the men under his command.

Their impromptu little duel had been fast and harsh. Whomever this child was, he had been extremely well trained in the art of swordsmanship, even if his style was unfamiliar to Lucius, and he wasn't giving the blonde any openings to work with.

The sudden flash of pain was so unexpected, that Lucius couldn't help the small, surprised cry that escaped him. The blood dripping from the wound and over his torso, and the fact that he suddenly found himself face up on the ground with the rain splashing against his face told him everything he needed to know. For the first time in twenty years, he had lost a white weapon duel.

A convenient flash of lightning allowed him to see his opponent strapping the pilfered knives to his limbs. As if knowing he was being watched, the child raised his still cloaked head to look at Lucius' barely conscious form. A vague impression of midnight blue was all the blonde was able to catch as the light became even more intense. . . and he knew no more.