Love From Afar Chapter 2

[altogetherisi]

Fandom: Harry Potter
Title: Love From Afar 2/?
Rating: PG13
Pairing: Lucius/Harry
Summary: Lucius has self-control and realistic views toward his relationship with his mate, but loves him none the less. My take on Veela!Lucius.

Chapter 1
and here's chapter 2...

A/N Yes, I have decided to update this and turn it into a proper fic, so I need to clear up some facts about continuity that did not really affect the first chapter. Firstly, this fic is set in Harry’s seventh year. The first chapter took place right before the end of sixth year, which was why Draco was still at school. This chapter takes place at the beginning of seventh year, so Harry and Draco have just turned 17 recently, whereas Hermione will be nearly 18.

HBP- in this fic everything that is canon did happen, but after the first chapter and Draco had nothing to do with it. So, Dumbledore is dead and Snape has fled, but Draco is returning to Hogwarts with his left forearm intact.

 

1^st September 1997

Draco cast a sad look at his father as he stood on Platform 9 ¾ for the last time—Lucius was trying to be a good father, a good Malfoy and a dignified Death Eater all at the same time as being distracted by the potential of Harry Potter to be here. Draco couldn’t blame his father; Draco himself was immensely glad he didn’t show any signs of carrying an active Veela gene as of yet.

It must be hell.

He boarded the train, waved to his father who Apparated away as soon as the train was moving. Draco found the compartment with Blaise in it, holding tightly onto his wand all the time. Everyone knew that after last summer no Slytherin would be totally safe.

Slowly, more of Draco’s friends joined them in the carriage: Pansy, Theodore, Greg, Millicent, Vince. They sat mainly in silence, which was better than the attempt to make conversation that wasn’t painful or awkward.

For the first time, Draco did not wish to go looking for the Boy Wonder, even if it meant he would have less to tell his father. He was going to be selfish this time, because, as much as his father yearned for him, Draco didn’t particularly have a death wish. Potter could wait.

When they got to Hogwarts Draco carefully manoeuvred a carriage without coming into contact with any angry Hufflepuffs or vicious Gryffindors and the Slytherin seventh years shifted nervously.

‘Who got Head Boy?’ Goyle asked quietly, unsure if anybody would want to answer him.

‘Potter, of course.’ Pansy spoke quickly and slightly sharply. ‘Granger got Head Girl too, so no surprises there.’

Goyle nodded hesitantly, wondering if that was to be the extent of the conversation.

It was, as the friends didn’t talk again until they were seated in the hall.

Unlike other years the Hall was not filled with many happy children catching up with each others’ summer holidays while waiting for the feast. The loss of Dumbledore and the lack of Snape’s presence hit hard throughout the hall and everything was muffled. Even the traditionally boisterous Sorting ceremony was only accompanied by stilted applause.

The feast itself was loud but not from loud voices; instead it was full of whispers and lowered voices, murmurs from people who did not want to break the hum of noise that had built up.

 

2^nd September 1997

The seventh year Slytherins entered the Great hall en masse for the first breakfast; it was a tradition left over from when they were first years and were terrified of getting lost so travelled in pack format. Somehow it had stuck, and since it was their last first breakfast they wanted to make the most of it and relive each and every tradition that they could.

Draco could tell straight away that something was up.

People going between the house tables, looking curious and grave.

Moreover, no one was speaking to the Slytherins, who were looking confused and rather annoyed. Although traditionally Slytherin house was quite separated from the rest of the school, in reality they got on pretty well with most Ravenclaws and the older pureblooded Hufflepuffs. They talked often enough and simply weren’t used to the idea that their entire house was being cut out of the gossip loop.

Draco also noticed a huge number of Gryffindors either looking or plain out-and-out glaring at the Slytherins in general and him in particular.

Automatically he searched for the bright green eyes he expected to be on him, but Potter wasn’t there yet. Neither were Weasley or Granger, but that wasn’t so odd; they were probably waiting for Potter to drag himself out of bed.

‘What’s going on?’ Pansy asked as they sat down. ‘No one even has the paper yet.’

They shared blank looks.

‘Oi Lawrence!’ Thomas said, grabbing the shoulder of a passing Ravenclaw. Lawrence was a fifth year who had just been made a prefect. ‘What’s going on, huh?’

Draco found it slightly disconcerting to see Lawrence’s face still so suddenly as he closed up completely.

‘Nothing’s going on,’ he said tightly. ‘Enjoy your breakfast.’

Draco would have gaped but that would have been unsightly. Karl Lawrence had always been a firm believer that house unity was not ‘Let’s unite against the Slytherins’ as some Gryffindors seemed to think but actually meant ‘Always endeavour to include Slytherins’. Yet he was… refusing to talk to them?

Theo grabbed his shoulder again, slightly harder than before, and leaned in against him.

‘Something is clearly going on,’ he murmured quietly. ‘What is it?’

Karl’s eyes slid from Theo to Draco to the Slytherin House crest on his robes.

‘Enjoy your breakfast,’ he repeated stiffly before walking back to his seat at the Ravenclaw table. Draco watched as Lawrence whispered something to a sixth year girl who then stood up and walked toward the Gryffindor table where she spoke to Ginny Weasley.

Ginny turned her head and glared at Draco, as if to confirm that they were talking about him.

‘Has the Weaslette been crying?’ asked Millicent. Draco mentally kicked himself; he should have noticed that first. Though she was looking determined there was still a redness around her eyes, which, against her pale skin, stood out so it could be seen even across the large hall.

‘Something is definitely going on,’ Pansy murmured in agreement.

The Slytherin seventh years sat in silence, eating sparsely and sipping from their goblets contemplatively. Even Crabbe and Goyle ate with more care than usual.

‘We should just ask,’ Millicent concluded the unspoken debate that had taken place. Theo nodded and Pansy looked to Draco for his agreement.

‘Fine.’ Draco smoothed his robes down as he stood up. ‘Let’s go then.’

Draco led Crabbe and Goyle over to the small gathering that had formed around the Gryffindor table and Ginny Weasley in particular. Draco pretended that he didn’t notice that people stilled and stopped talking as they approached, until eventually Neville Longbottom, who was facing Ginny and didn’t notice their arrival, was the only one still talking in the Hall.

‘- do you know? I mean, what if…’ he trailed off, finally realising that the people around him were stoic and silent.

‘What’s going on?’ Draco asked, honey coated voice barely disguising the threat behind his words.

Ginny Weasley sized him up before smiling and shaking her head.

‘Isn’t it perfectly obvious?’ she murmured.

Longbottom glared at Draco.

‘Get lost, Malfoy,’ he said sharply.

Draco cocked an eyebrow.

‘Three whole words without a stutter, Longbottom. Very impressive eloquence there.’ He turned back to the Weaslette.

‘Well, it’s rather to miss, isn’t it?’ Her voice was much older than he remembered. ‘In case you haven’t noticed Malfoy…’ she trailed of, making a tantalising eye contact with him before continuing, ‘Harry isn’t here.’

Draco’s first thought was, I did notice that. He allowed a smirk to stretch over his lips as he turned away, even as his second and third thoughts left his mind reeling.

Potter isn’t at Hogwarts… Voldemort must have Potter… Potter isn’t at Hogwarts…

Which consolidated into one ice clear thought in his mind.

I have to tell my father.

*

Lucius’ eyes got wider and wider as he read his son’s short letter, and finally sat down hard. His heart was beating frantically and his mind was racing; Harry, his Harry, was gone. Missing. Unless the Light was making a huge bluff, they didn’t know where he was.

That could only mean one thing.

Voldemort had Harry.

The glass of white wine he had been sipping from abruptly shattered.

Voldemort had his mate.

Lucius considered suddenly what could happen if Voldemort had found a way around the blood protection, and managed to kill Harry. It was impossible to break through, he was almost positive, but what… what if there was something he hadn’t thought of? Some way to get around the spell? This was the Dark Lord after all; he had studied and mastered magical arts Lucius hadn’t even heard of. He was so much more than a match for Lucius.

What if Harry died?

Lucius closed his eyes against the flood of images that came to mind.

Harry dead, the Dark Lord standing over him triumphantly.

Voldemort desecrating Harry’s body.

Pretending to be a loyal Death Eater, surrounded all the while by people overjoyed about the murder of his Harry.

Living out the rest of his life alone, pining for his mate.

Slowly fading away when he had competed everything and was free to mourn for Harry.

Lucius eyes snapped open.

If the Dark Lord did have Harry, what was he doing with him? Lucius had not heard any word and had been called to the Dark Lord’s side only a handful of times since being released from gaol. He was not Voldemort’s favourite anymore; the fickle Dark Lord was busy with Snape, the only Death Eater not to fail him. But surely he would be sent for to witness Harry’s destruction…? Voldemort would want as many Death Eaters as possible to watch that spectacle.

But if Harry had not been killed yet…

That meant that Voldemort must have some purpose for keeping Harry alive.

Was there some horrible Dark Ritual that he had discovered? Some terrifying sacrifice, or worse, perhaps the brain washing of Harry?

More horrific images filled his head, but this time Lucius did not succumb to the terror and frantic disgust at the ideas that he had conjured.

Instead, his mind filled with just one thought.

I have to protect him.

But how? The blood protection was the only thing he had- the most powerful magic in the world, a voice in his head reminded him. But he shouldn’t, couldn’t just assume that.

He had seen the Dark Lord in action.

However, he soon realised with a sense of dread that there was nothing more he could really do.

In regard to his mate, he would just have to wait and see.

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