Stronger Than Silver

The Wrath of the Dark Lord

Author's Note: Trigger warnings for suicide and violence.

After weeks of immense struggle, Lucius had somehow been able to replenish enough electrolytes and weight to tip the minimum threshold. It was beyond him how he had managed to do it, but gradually, one meal by another, he had been able to slowly put the weight back on.

Now, he was finally released from the hospital, and in that feeling of relief that was so similar to the one he got the moment he broke out of the Azkaban prison was a shimmer of hope.

Hope was a dangerous thing, and he knew, but it remained within him nonetheless.

For a while, he felt stronger. He felt fuller and happier, and although thoughts of binging and purging constantly crossed his mind, he could resist them a bit more even though it meant he still slipped up.

With the support of Narcissa and Severus and the consolation that Draco was okay, Lucius seemed to be able to manage it a day at a time, even though he often still caved to his compulsions at the end of most days.

He was getting better. He was getting there.

As the war progressed, and the conflicts between the muggle-borns and their allies and the Death Eaters intensified, Lucius and his family fought to restore the confident persona he used to take great pride in.

It was easier said than done. Just as he thought his life was heading upward again, all it took was for one fateful day in early May to snap him in half.

The Dark Lord had, with his troops of Death Eaters, made his way to invade the school of Hogwarts on the second of May in a final effort to seize and kill Harry Potter.

Of course, it had not been Lucius' concern whatever happened to Harry Potter and the rest of the mud-bloods and blood traitors, so he could not care less.

What he had not expected was that the Dark Lord  wished to make it a day of duty and desolation for him.

His dark mark burned in agony, and he had no choice but to approach the Dark Lord at the destination, the Shrieking Shack, an eerie, haunted abode so distraught that not even the phantoms occupying the school castle would dare intrude the entryway.

"Goodbye, dear Narcissa. I shall return soon." Draco was at Hogwarts, so merely the couple and some Death Eater acquaintances resided in the mansion.

"Farewell, my darling," kissed Narcissa goodbye. The patriarch curved his thin lips into a sorrowful smile and traced his thumb over the line of whitening hair draped over his wife's temple, aged nearly as much as he was.

Without another sound, the Malfoy turned his back on the woman he loved, grabbed a makeshift cane, and fled the stairs, hurrying into the awaiting darkness save for the bone-chilling green glow shining upon his left arm.

The wife's firm red lips broke the smile as she worried incessantly about her husband's well-being, but she took a breath and steadied herself, for she could only hope that all would go well.

Without his wand, Lucius was nearly inept, as his sense of magical ability had faded with him along with his body weight. He attempted to perform an apparition spell to the best of his ability, but it was in pitiful vain.

Cursing, Malfoy sped to the nearby floo station and tossed a handful of the powder into the hearth, breathing rapidly through his nose as the dust carried him to the interior of the abandoned shack in Hogsmeade.

Like he had expected, the Dark Lord was present, trailing his fingers over the Elder Wand with a manner in such a peculiar way that seemed almost... protective.