Bound by Fate

Chapter 8: Poisoned Legacy

Draco stood in the hallway outside the library, his heart pounding as the door clicked shut behind him. He had done it. He had brought her to the one place in this forsaken house where she could escape, even if only for a few hours. It wasn't much, but it was something—a fragile truce in a world full of hatred and violence. A small victory.

But it wasn't enough.

As much as Draco wanted to believe that bringing Hermione to the library would somehow make things better, he knew it was only temporary. Lucius was still out there—still in control, still pulling the strings. And as long as his father lived, Hermione would never be safe.

The thought had been gnawing at him for days, growing louder and more insistent with each passing hour. There was only one solution, one way to protect Hermione, to free himself from the shadow of his father's cruelty.

Lucius had to die.

The idea had started as a dark whisper in the back of Draco's mind, but now it was a full-blown scream, an inescapable truth that he couldn't deny any longer. He had tried to push it down, tried to find another way, but there was none. Lucius Malfoy was a monster, and monsters didn't change.

But Draco could stop him. He had the means, the knowledge. He could do it tonight.

He took a deep breath, his pulse racing. He had thought about this moment for days, but now that it was here, his mind was a mess of nerves and doubt. Could he really go through with it? Could he really kill his own father?

Draco forced the thought aside. There was no time for second-guessing. This was the only way.

With one last glance at the library door, he turned and headed toward Lucius's study.

The study was dimly lit, the fire casting flickering shadows across the room. Lucius sat in one of the high-backed chairs near the fireplace, his legs crossed, a glass of wine in his hand. He looked perfectly at ease, his face a mask of arrogance and self-satisfaction, as though nothing in the world could touch him.

Draco's stomach churned at the sight.

"Ah, Draco," Lucius said, glancing up as his son entered the room. "You're up late."

Draco nodded stiffly, his heart hammering in his chest. "Couldn't sleep," he muttered, stepping into the room. "Thought I'd join you for a drink."

Lucius raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by the offer. "A drink?" he repeated, his voice laced with amusement. "What brings this on?"

Draco shrugged, keeping his tone casual, even as his nerves screamed. "I've been thinking," he said, crossing the room to the small liquor cabinet near the fireplace. "About everything. I thought maybe we could talk. Like we used to."

Lucius's eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion flickering in their depths, but he said nothing. He gestured to the bottle of wine beside him. "Help yourself."

Draco nodded and poured two glasses of wine, his hands trembling slightly as he filled them. He could feel Lucius's gaze on him, watching, waiting. Draco clenched his jaw and forced himself to remain calm. He had to keep his composure. This had to be perfect.

As he poured, his fingers brushed against the small vial in his pocket. It was a fast-acting poison—one that wouldn't leave any obvious traces. The effects would seem like a heart attack or stroke, something natural. Something no one would suspect.

Draco's pulse quickened as he slipped the vial from his pocket and tipped a few drops into Lucius's glass. The liquid dissolved instantly, leaving no trace behind. He stared at the glass for a moment, his mind racing, before taking a deep breath and handing it to his father.

Lucius took the glass with a nod of thanks, his eyes glinting in the firelight. "To family," he said smoothly, raising the glass to his lips.

Draco's throat tightened, and for a moment, he thought about stopping him. But the thought was fleeting. He couldn't stop now. It was too late.

"To family," Draco echoed, his voice hollow as he raised his own glass.

They drank.

Lucius took a long sip, swirling the wine in his glass before setting it down on the small table beside him. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes flicking to Draco with an almost bored expression. "So, what's on your mind?"

Draco set his glass down, his hands still trembling slightly. "I've been thinking," he began, his voice carefully measured. "About everything that's happened. About what you said."

Lucius raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

"You've always told me that power is everything," Draco said quietly, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames in the fireplace. "That we have to do whatever it takes to maintain control. To keep our place in the world."

Lucius nodded, his expression approving. "Yes. It's the only way to survive in this world, Draco. You've seen that yourself."

Draco clenched his fists, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. "But at what cost?" he asked, his tone sharp. "At what point do we lose ourselves?"

Lucius's eyes narrowed, a flash of irritation crossing his face. "We don't lose ourselves, Draco," he said coldly. "We become stronger. We do what needs to be done."

Draco swallowed hard, his pulse racing. "But what if it's too much?" he whispered. "What if we go too far?"

Lucius scoffed, his lips curling into a sneer. "Too far?" he repeated, his voice dripping with disdain. "You sound like a child. There is no such thing as 'too far' when it comes to power."

Draco's stomach twisted with disgust, but he forced himself to remain calm. He had to play his part. "You may be right," he muttered, glancing down at his empty glass. "I suppose I've been overthinking things."

Lucius smirked, clearly satisfied with his son's response. "Good," he said smoothly. "You'll learn, Draco. In time, you'll understand."

Draco nodded, his throat tight. He could feel the weight of the vial in his pocket, the knowledge of what he had done pressing down on him like a boulder. Lucius had no idea. He was sitting there, smug and confident, completely unaware that his own son had just sealed his fate.

The minutes passed in silence, the fire crackling softly as Lucius sipped from his glass. Draco's heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing. Any moment now.

Lucius shifted in his chair, his face suddenly twisting in discomfort. He rubbed his chest, frowning slightly. "Strange," he muttered, his voice tight. "I feel... off."

Draco's breath caught in his throat.

Lucius's hand clenched around the armrest of his chair, his face contorting in pain. His breathing became labored, each breath shallow and ragged. He looked at Draco, confusion and fear flashing in his eyes.

"Draco..." Lucius gasped, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Draco stood frozen, his heart racing. This was it. This was the moment he had been waiting for, the moment he had planned. But now, standing here, watching his father writhe in pain, the reality of what he had done hit him like a punch to the gut.

Lucius collapsed forward, clutching his chest, his breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. Draco watched, his mind numb, as his father's body convulsed, his strength draining away with every passing second.

And then, it was over.

Lucius lay still, his body slumped in the chair, his chest no longer rising and falling. The room was silent, save for the crackling of the fire.

Draco stared at his father's lifeless form, his heart pounding in his chest, his hands shaking. He had done it. He had killed him.

But instead of the relief he had expected, all Draco felt was a sickening emptiness. He had thought this would make everything better. That killing Lucius would free him, would protect Hermione, would give him control over his own life.

But as he stood there, staring at his father's body, all Draco felt was the weight of the decision he had made.

There was no turning back now.