My brother is handsome in a cruel way; there is something undeniably attractive about a man possessing the heady combination of looks, power, money, and breeding of the sort that makes certain people take note. He is looking me directly in the eye with that cold gaze that brooks no enlightenment. I do not know what he is thinking, never have. As children we were presented together as the future of the Malfoy name, perfect in every way, but we shared little beyond common ancestry and our parents’ ambition. Our eyes are level, two blonde heads locked in a minor battle for understanding. A scruffy young man approaches, grubby fingers in grubby gloves playing together in desperate anticipation of something to fill them, be it money or food.
“Spare some change?” he asks, coughing to punctuate his sentence. Lucius looks down at him with such a blank expression that I feel even distaste would be an improvement. My hand is released and the beggar given my brother’s full attention.
“Go away.” The words are smooth, blind to any feeling.
“S’all right, mate, no need to look like that.” The beggar shrugs and shuffles away. How he got beyond the entry barriers is beyond me; presumably beggars and thieves have ways and means. Looking at Lucius I wonder what the bedraggled boy saw when I only see emptiness.
“Why,” he hisses, “do you insist on associating with such disgusting Muggle scum?”
“Why do you insist on associating with Wizarding scum? I have nothing to fear from a beggar, but you should know that you have much to fear if your friends take a dislike to you.”
His laughter is forced and hard. “And why would they do that? Are you going to harm my prospects by continuing to mix with the likes of that?” He nods in the direction of the beggar, who has successfully extracted some money from a careworn middle-aged woman. “You are a constant barb in my side, sister, and you become more so as time passes.”
“May I remind you, Lucius, that it was you and not I who chose to have this confrontation. I left the train; you need not have followed me.” It was not hurtful to be spoken to in such a way. In normal circumstances a sister might have expected protection from her brother, not disapproval, but this was not the way between us. “Why are you using the Underground? It is hardly the place for you; surely you have not managed to break the Floo network?”
“Do not mock. I told you; I am seeking.”
“What are you seeking; a better life below ground where you and that idiotic wife of yours belongs? Or are you merely hounding someone to their death? I rather suspect it is the latter.”
I could see his fists clench very slowly, controlled but threatening. He could clench as much as he liked for he would not dare strike me or exhibit any aggression; Lucius has an odd sense of honour, one which he has honed over the years. His exhibitions of violence are all a pretence done for the sake of an audience that would believe in his absolute power. If he were to cause a person damage it would be indirectly and with as little blood tainting his hands as possible. Perhaps I should inform him of Lady Macbeth’s fate, but I do not think he would think it much of a story and would certainly not see himself in the scheming murderess.
And yet, for all his posturing and preening, he does not have absolute power, not with the odious Dark Lord on the loose again. Lucius is once more an underling and this does not sit well upon his face.
“You look tired,” he says, allowing his hands to fall lazily by his side. “Are the Ministry working you too hard, or is it perhaps some other activity?”
Commuters swarm forwards as the rush of another train arrives. There is a sardonic smile on his face now as he waits to see if I will rise to his bait.
“I am only tired of the fact that my brother despises me for merely being who I was meant to be.” The words sound pompous, even to my ears.
He looks at me, his face a question, and then takes my arm. This is not a rough action, rather one meant to remove me from the danger of boarding the train. I pull away and make to step aboard but he grabs my arm again and this time there is real force behind his intentions.
“Let us get above ground.” There is a change, a resolve, about him as he almost drags me away from the carriage. The doors close and relief clouds around his head.
“You wish to be seen in public with your Muggle-loving sister? Really, Lucius, you go too far!”
“On the contrary, Eleanor, you go too far; you always have.” I flinch from him as I see a small hint of some feeling behind his frost-ridden façade. “You could not have done something dramatic and wilful, something that would have made Father lock you up and despatch the key for ever, that would have been too easy for my sister. You had to play by our parents’ rules and subvert them by being who they thought you should be. You have a respectable job at the Ministry, you live quietly, you bring no attention to yourself, but they don’t know about your constant desire to be with Muggles and Mudbloods, do they? I know about your associates. Do not think that just because I have distanced myself from you publicly that I have distanced myself from everything that you do in private. There is a place in London that you go to, is there not? I believe it is a place that you wish to keep secret. I know where it is, Eleanor, and I know why you go there. Now, shall we go above ground or would you prefer to continue on your original journey?”
It does not seem as if I have a choice so we head for the escalators, his hand still clutching my arm in a possessive manner that does not sit well with me. I wonder how much Narcissa knows about him, really knows about him. His activities must keep him away from home for periods of time that she must question. He is a virile man, one who attracts women as bright-coloured flowers attract bees. Like bees, I rather suspect that Lucius’ life contains a mighty sting somewhere. He negotiates the escalator well for one so unused to Muggle contraptions and we stand to the side to form an orderly line of human traffic as it rises to the surface.
Diving into the hubbub that is the station proper, he slides his ticket into the slot and glides out to the freedom of the exit. I follow him, my wonderment at Lucius having something as mundane as a Tube ticket unchecked. He takes my hand and we could be lovers escaping the humdrum for an illicit tryst. Unasked, he has already drawn the attention of several women and it is hard not to feel some pride in his darkly demanding presence.
His hand feels strange in mine and I am flung backwards to find myself land in a memory. I am six and he has just marked his ninth birthday. Our parents have taken us to visit our grandparents at the house that Lucius now owns. Malfoy Manor is imposing in a detached style. It is a house built to impress and I wished my childhood had not been quite so attached to it. There is a river running through the estate, a dominant, fast-flowing river that is a fair reflection of the way the Malfoys have run their affairs down the years; forcefully and caring little for those that they erode on their path to better things. I am clinging to a branch, my coltish legs kicking against the rapid flow of water that is sucking at me, trying to claim me. I hear a crack as the branch shudders and breaks, flinging me out into the water. I am crying, arms flailing against my fate. Tears mingle with freshwater as I sink and bob, feeling river life brush against my dying limbs.
Something lifts me, an unseen force that wrenches me free of the water and flings me breathless onto the steep bank. My lungs struggle to gain mastery over the water that has lodged there and I cough violently, looking around me with bewilderment. My eyes come to rest on my brother’s tall figure, his new broomstick propped idly by his side.
“You should be more careful.” He sneers just a little, far less than is normal. “The water is no place for a weakling like you. I always said you should learn to swim.”
The tears return and then the memory restores me to the present. The feeling of his hand in mine as he led me from the river back to the house is replaced by reality. It was probably the only time my brother showed any real care for me.
We step out into the onslaught of London waking up. People are moving around with purpose, their heads down as they make their way to their offices. Lucius turns me in the opposite direction from that which I would ordinarily have taken and I hesitate.
“Where are we going?”
“We are going away from here.” His answer is less than satisfactory.
“Why? What is there to escape?”
He takes a moment to think about this before inclining his head slightly. When he does answer it is with tight lips and extra steel in his eyes.
“Your intuition is always unerringly accurate. You will not be going to work today, Sister. Come.” He clasped my hand a little harder and pulled us towards a doorway.
“Lucius, you are disturbing me. Your behaviour has always been less than clear, but this is something else.”
“We are going Disapparate and will arrive at Malfoy Manor where we have been all morning and all night. Do you understand?”
“Not at all.”
There was a low rumble in the distance, threatening as thunder but far more ominous. I must have looked startled because he shook his head.
“Do not let it trouble you.”
“But, Lucius””
As the tug of Apparation overtook me I thought I heard a scream and the shrill shriek of several car alarms, but by then we were gone and around me the luxurious impracticality of Malfoy Manor was solidifying.