Waiting | Lucius Malfoy

Chapter Forty-Three | The Graces

Guinevere knew she was uncharacteristically quiet today. Lucius also knew she was being especially quiet, but after attempting to gauge what had caused her silence, he had retreated to his study to give her some much-needed space. She was grateful, truly, that he perhaps understood her obvious need to be alone - but she didn't know what she wanted. 

Today was the anniversary of her parent's death. 

She'd gotten up early, adamant that this would be the year that she finally visited their unmarked grave to pay her respects. She'd styled her hair and even applied some lipstick in an attempt to feel ready to leave the Manor. And yet, she'd stood for forty-five minutes in the same spot. Waiting to build up the courage to apparate. It never came. That was where Lucius had found her. He'd given her a once over, worried that she was injured or ill, and found her face vacant of any expression. When he'd asked her what was wrong, she'd shook her head and told him that she'd forgotten her train of thought. And then, she was silent. 

They ate breakfast and she murmured in response when he'd asked if her poached egg was to her liking. As she ate, she felt sick but forced the meal nonetheless - some semblance of normality would surely do her no harm. Lucius had asked if she wanted to do some work in the library, but she declined. He had to head to London later in the day for a company meeting and had urged her to join him. Once again, she shook her head no and went back to whatever mundane task she'd been busying herself with. 

"I'm sure that Binky will be upset to learn you've folded all my clothes, Guinevere." Lucius had said, taking in the sight of her frantically folding his robes into neat piles. She'd started by organising by colour, then decided 'by occasion' might be a better system. As she placed the last of his cashmere scarves gently in the drawer, she sighed - what next? It was then that Lucius had gotten the hint and left her to her own devices. 

As she started folding her own clothes, she heard him shout in the distance that his shareholder's meeting had been postponed and that he'd be in the study should she require him. Staring at the fourth drawer in her cabinet, her hand gripped the handle and she took a deep breath. Opening it, she desperately averted her eyes away from the box that sat in the crook of the left-hand side. But it was no use. Guinevere stared at it for - well, she didn't know how long - before finally picking it up and taking a peek at what was inside. The ticking was louder, she thought than the last time she looked it at. 

Tick, tick, tick.

How had it been so many years? So many years without the people who had brought her into this world. As the years and weeks and days and hours and minutes and seconds went by, she felt further and further from them. She could barely remember what they looked like now. Her mother had bared some resemblance to her grandmother, she knew that much. Even then, it had been years since she had seen Maxine face-to-face so she wasn't even sure she could accurately remember her features either. 

Her mother was much like her, she presumed. She knew she had shared the same blonde hair and that her eyes were a similar shade of green to that of her father. She was average height - she didn't know how tall they'd been and whether that was interesting or expected. Memories of them came in green flashes and she screwed her eyes tight when they came to her. She didn't want to see. She was only grateful she had never seen their end. 

How could she tell Lucius that she was a coward? He'd always seen her as headstrong and independent and here she was afraid to visit the grave once again. She was a stronger person now, sure, but she'd never be strong enough. 

Draco had understood, once. He sat and stroked her hair and told her that her parents would be proud to see her working at the Ministry, helping to implement change across the Wizarding World - even if it was just through aiding Kingsley's correspondences. She'd done them proud. She'd live long enough to exist in the world they'd hoped for. Fought for. Died for. 

They'd never got to see her exist in the world they'd prayed aimlessly for and that was the thing that broke her. Here she was, in a house once surrounded by Dark Magic and Death Eaters, folding clothes and picking flowers whom she shared with the love of her life - who'd found peace from his dark beginnings. Her parents had known of retribution and hope for those who were lost. Lucius was the embodiment of their dream. 

"Darling, won't you tell me what's wrong?" Lucius asked from the doorway, watching hopelessly as she sat staring onto the Manor's lawn. 

"I-" She began. But how could she continue? 

"If you can't tell me," he said softly, crossing the room to meet her darkened form in the shadows of the velvet curtains. "Can you show me?" She nodded gently, moving slightly to allow him to join her, perched on the chaise lounge. 

She didn't know what to show him - so she showed him everything. Every minute she could remember. Her mother singing to her, her face darkened by shadows - her form just out of reach. Her father clutching his pocket watch, tapping his fingers along with the ticking. She could hear her younger self giggling along as he sang a song she didn't remember the tune of. Her grandmother telling her to be strong and wise up - there was a war that had ended and yet, it was still very much there. An open book, waiting to be reopened when the time was right. 

She covered her eyes as she remembered her moment with Draco, his soft eyes and gentle hands pressed against her shoulder blades. He couldn't do anything but be with her. That hadn't felt like enough, but it had been something. It had worked until it hadn't. 

As the tears began to fall, she pushed Lucius from her memories but pulled him closer. As he held her head and grasped her tightly, she felt suffocated by the memories - the ones she couldn't remember. What had they dressed like? What were their favourite spells? Did they use magic to light their fireplace? How often had her mother cooked? How did they die? 

"It's the not knowing," Guinevere sobbed. "That's the hardest part." 

"Would you rather know?" Lucius asked, cautiously, afraid to meet her watery eyes. She pulled herself from his tight embrace.

"Do you know?" 

"When I retrieved your father's watch, I read the case file. I didn't intend on doing so, but I," he stopped, watching as she placed her face in her hands. 

"You needed to know it wasn't you."

"Yes," he replied, his voice laced with guilt. "Yes, I did. And that was selfish." 

"It was," she agreed. 

"But, the question remains. Would you rather know?" 

"Was I right?" She whispered, her shaking fingers lacing his. "Was it Bellatrix and Greyback?" 

"MacNair was there too," he concluded, not willing to show any form of emotion. Guinevere was glad to see him occlude, for once. She didn't think she could deal with his guilt any longer. She felt enough of her own. 

"Okay," she exhaled, her chest sore. "That's all I need to know. That's all I want to know, for now." 

"Can I do anything?" 

"No," she said softly, her eyes fluttering closed as he held her close once more. 

-----------

She was already asleep as he carried her to bed, casting a calming peace charm around its four posts as he lay her down gently. It was a charm of his own creation, one which he seldom used for fear of its discovery. As he gave her one last glance, he apparated to the spot he'd memorised from the day he'd flicked through the case file. 

With a gentle wave of his wand, the dirt was covered with an array of flowers - each as bright as the next. He bowed his head and said a prayer - or at least what he thought resembled a prayer and apparated back to the Manor. He was pleased to find Guinevere right where he'd left her. 

He kissed her forehead as he climbed in to lie by her side. She'd tried her hardest to make it to their grave and he was sure that her parents knew how hard she tried. Next year, he'd encourage her to visit their final resting place. To try and find peace without the need for a charm he'd only hoped to ever use on himself.