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One week.

Lucius lay in his bed staring at the emerald canvas above it. He couldn’t sleep. He hadn’t slept in days now. Every time he felt a promising drowsiness wash over him he would remember what was coming and his body would run so cold he was surprised he didn’t bring the temperature of the room around him down.

One week. That was a laughable amount of time. One week was a trip to France, or the time it took to get over a bad cold. One week was so miniscule it wasn’t even a real timeframe. How was anyone meant to do anything in a week? Come to any sort of decision?

With a groan he hauled his achingly tired body from its bed and put on his robes. Maybe a walk would help clear his head.

What to do?

He slid quietly through the dimly lit corridors. Morning was almost here, the sky outside was a pale shade of navy; its peaceful nothingness was threatened by the oncoming sun and there was nothing it could do. It was losing hope, losing colour, dying. Or maybe the sun was just coming up. Feeling frustrated with his own thoughts Lucius picked up his pace.

His feet led him and he followed submissively, too busy thinking to concentrate on direction until he found himself heading for the Quiddich stands. He almost laughed; he’d heard this is where Delilah had spent her day after beating up Narcissa. They were two peas in a pod it would seem.

He’d been so angry when he’d stumbled upon them, drawn to the scene by shouts and screams for help. Narcissa had had her hands deep in Delilah’s hair pulling it mercilessly and he’d very nearly strode forward and hit her himself, not that Delilah needed help, she’d been howling whilst her tiny fists battered Narcissa’s face into a bloody mess.

He still didn’t know what had caused the fight but he had a fair idea and it made him ache that he was the reason for any pain Delilah suffered. There was no way he could kill her. How could he kill her if he couldn’t even bear her having her hair pulled? It was ludicrous. He couldn’t hurt her, he couldn’t love her; what could he do? Nothing. He never did anything.

The fight flashed through his mind again and how he’d stood on the sidelines staring in horror unable to make a decision on how to react. He was almost sure he’d stepped forward to break it up when Sirius Black had hurled himself into the thick of it and pulled Delilah out of harm’s way. Sirius fucking Black. How he loathed him, how he envied him.

He had climbed into the bleachers and was highly considering throwing himself from them when he realised he wasn’t alone. A few stands above him James Potter looking despondent. Great. Apparently the Quiddich stands were where sad teens went to cry.

Feeling rather doomed Lucius collapsed onto the stands and stared bleakly at the ground far below fighting another horrific Delilah flashback. Why had he done this? Why had he let himself become so involved with someone so wrong for him? Someone so crazy? Someone so utterly infatuating?

God he loved her. Everything about her. He loved her untameable hair, her wild cackle of a laugh, her quick temper and the tiny little creases by her eyes when she smiled. He loved when she jumped right into his arms, he loved when she breathed on his ears in a way she knew drove him crazy. He just loved her. Everything about her. The good, the bad, the ugly.

She wasn’t wrong for him at all. She was perfect for him. It was he who was wrong for her. He could see it now.

In fact, he was wrong for everybody. He was just wrong. He wanted things he shouldn’t have, he destroyed everything he touched. He was to women what a cruel child is to butterflies pulling off their wings. Narcissa was a bruised reflection of his soul. Battered, sore, terrified. He was a monster.

It would be better for everyone if he just flung himself from the battlements but he knew he’d never do that. Suicide was his only chance of redemption and yet he knew he would never go that far to be redeemed. He was too selfish.

Selfish. The key term to describe him.

Here lies Lucius Malfoy, the most selfish boy who ever lived; he caused pain wherever he went.

“Lucius, right?”

Oh sweet Merlin. Lucius turned slowly like a character in a scary movie that has just realised the monster is right beside them and found James Potter perched on the next seat.


“You’re up early.”

Oh no. Was the Gryffindor expecting to bond over their pathetic morning antics?

“Yes.” He said again.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“Yes.” The next question would probably be in regards to his mental ability if he didn’t deviate from this automatic answer soon.

“Me neither.” Potter sighed ruffling his hair, “Let me guess, women troubles?”

Lucius just stared at him. Was this happening again? He thought back to how Potter had rambled on about his problems on the day of the Ball and wondered if it was actually James who was mentally incapable.

“Me too,” James continued ignoring Lucius’ silence, “I mean how can I compete with a rock star?” Without leaving Lucius time to answer James ploughed on, “It’s just Lily is so great, you know? So great. She’s so pretty and smart and great. She’s great. I know I’m lucky to have her. I had to basically harass her for six years. Six years of battering at her spirit until she’d go out with me and now I’ve got a rock star to compete with? It’s not even fair. It’s like my life is a cruel cosmic joke.” He was suddenly brandishing a black piece of parchment, “I’m mean look at this! What is this?” He waved it in Lucius’ stunned face, “Lily,” Read James with an expression that would not be out of place if he’d been sniffing dung, “I was disappointed that we didn’t get to hang out after the gig- uh, school ball Jazz you twat- but was hoping you’d meet me in Hogsmeade blah, blah, blah. You’re beautiful blah, blah, blah. I’m so intrigued, blah, blah, inspired, blah, blah, I’m an utter twat, blah, blah.” Looking furious James crushed the letter into a ball and flung it off the Quiddich stands, “I could kill him!”

Lucius said nothing wondering if he could just get up and leave without too much bother. So much for somewhere quiet to wallow in self pity.

“Here Lucius mate you look tired.” James said suddenly and Lucius turned to stare at him blankly. Since when did James Potter even talk to Slytherins? Maybe James Potter just talked to anyone who would listen. “You should probably try to get more sleep. Your eyes look like you’ve just spent some time on the wrong end of a trolls club.”

Lucius blinked very slowly wishing his sluggish brain could come up with something snide and insulting to sneer but came up with nothing.

“Well I best get going; I need to sort this mess out. Thanks for the chat,” James clapped him on the shoulder and sauntered off like a man with a weight off his shoulders. Lucius watched him go, then turn back and hunt around the Quiddich pitch for the scrunched up letter. It took him a while but Potter eventually found it and left again whilst trying to smooth the crumpled letter with his hands.

Fucking Gryffindors.

A/N heya! it's been like half a year. i know. *slaps hand* and this is only a section of a chapter i know *slaps face*. but i'm super busy and i figured a little bit was better than nothing! i'm gunna try and get the rest of this chap up either tonight after work or at the latest this weekend *fingers crossed*. hope you enjoy this segment of chapter, I know it's slow paced but I'm into exploring Lucius at the moment (ruggaduggadugga ;) ). Read/ Review!! Gracias =D also follow me on twitter if you are that way inclined:
Hope I haven't lost all my wonderful reviewers by being slow </3

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