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hp_bunintheoven2018-03-26 10:19 pm
themightyflynn) wrote in hp_bunintheoven2018-03-26 10:19 pm
Fest Fic: Countdown
Title: Countdown
Author/Artist:hikarievandar
Pairing(s): Xenophilius Lovegood/Lucius Malfoy
Prompt: # S6
Summary: Lucius’ time is running out. There’s a self-inking quill in his hand and the name Draco written on his paperwork. There’s a Dark Lord who wants him as his servant, and there’s a gaping hole in his heart where Xeno should be. He doesn’t need to be a genius to know that, regardless of what he chooses to do in the next few minutes, something will die as a result.
Word Count: 1371
Rating: PG
Warnings/Contains: References to abortion
Notes: Thanks so much to S and R for their work as beta readers on this, and also to B for her cheesy pro-motherhood slogan. Thank you to the mod as well, for running the fest and for being so patient.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
It’s been eleven weeks since he last saw Xeno. Eleven weeks since he slid out of the bed they’d shared in the Come and Go room and pulled on his robes; muttering about duties and not looking his lover in the eye. It’s been ten weeks since they graduated.
In two weeks, Lucius is expected to marry Narcissa Black. A pale and perfect pureblood bride; a match he doesn’t want, but that suits both of their families well.
In three weeks, Lucius is expected to kneel before his father’s master and be branded like cattle in the name of pureblood superiority.
In twenty-nine weeks, he has learned, he will give birth to a pureblood child that – if his family have their way – will be terminated before it can bring shame on them through its illegitimacy.
There’s a contradiction there that Lucius doesn’t want to examine too closely, but that keeps sliding back into focus no matter how hard he tries to ignore it. He’s running out of time, running out of options, and yet. And yet, the master he is expected to serve claims to be a descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself, but doesn’t bear any sort of magical name. His father says that their Lord is a Parselmouth and that that should be proof enough of his claims, but Lucius is too much a Slytherin (and has spent far too long in the company of a Ravenclaw) not to wonder why any wizard of such esteemed ancestry would choose to go by an alias.
Unless his ancestry is not so esteemed after all.
It’s an idea that disgusts him. Not that the Dark Lord may be illegitimate, but that he will be expected to terminate his own bastard in favour of serving another – one that he is certain has more…sullied ancestry than the child that he still carries.
He shifts uncomfortably on the wooden bench, and stares fixedly at the paperwork the Mediwitch handed him. Terminations are hard to come by in the Wizarding World. Hard, but not impossible. There are posters on the wall opposite him that are trying to tell him that he’s making the wrong decision – that a baby will be a blessing; that Motherhood is Magical! The witch on the posters is buxom and smiling; she has a toddler perched on her hip and they both keep waving at him as if trying to catch his eye. They’re the furthest thing from the reality of Lucius’ situation that he can imagine.
For all that he agrees with the sentiment of the posters in general, pregnancy, for him, is nothing short of a disaster. A death sentence, in fact. If not from the Dark Lord then from his father. After all, it wouldn’t do to remind the world of the Veela strain in the Malfoy line. (Even though magical blood is magical blood and Lucius knows fine well that there isn’t a family in the Sacred Twenty-Eight that hasn’t had an interspecies marriage somewhere down the line. Better a Veela than a Muggle.) The child he carries is nothing more than an accident. It’s an unfortunate result of Lucius’ preferences combined with the gender-defying traits of his grandmother’s race. It’s…
The time of his appointment is fast approaching. He hasn’t got further than inventing a fake name to go with his false appearance. He’s checked and double-checked the ingredient list of the termination potions he’s going to be dispensed and knows that they won’t react with the Polyjuice he’s already consumed. He’s safe – for now. If he keeps writing. But.
Draco, the name he’s given himself for the occasion, is a name that Xeno would adore. A constellation and an animal and a name that fits with the Malfoy naming traditions – he’d be all over it like one of his imaginary creatures. He’d be ecstatic about this, if he knew. He’d be a devoted father, too.
Lucius closes his eyes and tries not to picture it. He tries to imagine his impending death – the inevitable death of his child if he so much as tries - instead of the imaginary paradise that they could have had together. He reminds himself of the side-effects of his father’s favourite poisons and the Dark Lord’s penchant for the Cruciatus and reminds himself that any future in which this baby survives the next hour is one that will end in three deaths instead of just one – Xeno won’t be shown any mercy either.
He tries, but he fails.
There’s a golden world that he can’t help but dream about. A world filled with soft, autumn sunlight and the sound of Xeno singing quietly. A world where a Lucius carves runes into bones and hangs them above a cradle and paints a mural of dragons and hippogryphs on a nursery wall. A world where a child with silver-blond hair and indeterminate gender grows up lively and curious instead of stifled and restricted. It’s a world that’s neither as gilded as the one he was born to or as saccharine as the one in the poster on the wall, but one in which he thinks he could be happy.
It's all he’s wanted since he found out about his pregnancy two weeks ago.
There are five minutes left before his appointment.
There’s a self-inking quill in his hand and the name Draco written on his paperwork. There’s a Dark Lord who wants him as his servant, and there’s a gaping hole in his heart where Xeno should be. He doesn’t need to be a genius to know that, regardless of what he chooses to do in the next few minutes, something will die as a result.
He doesn’t even know if Xeno would take him back after this. After everything. He doesn’t –
But he does. Xeno’s the kind one; the good one. The one who deserves better than Lucius has ever been able to give him, but who fought for everything they had regardless.
Xeno deserves better than the messy, bloody death that Lucius would bring with him, but he also deserves the warmth of that golden world that Lucius dreams of. If it can exist. If there’s just a chance, then…wouldn’t it be worth it?
Three minutes left.
He sets the parchment and the quill to the side and stands. The waiting room is, mercifully, empty, so there’s no one to see as he slips out of the door and down the corridor to the stairwell. He disapparates.
…
The house Xeno inherited from his parents is set in acres of farmland that Xeno has allowed to grow wild. Lucius’ robes trail over wildflowers and young trees as he makes his way to the door, and he can hear birds twittering to each other. There’s ivy creeping up the uneven stone walls, and dirigible plums planted outside the door. It’s remote and pretty in a way that reflects Xeno himself, and Lucius can’t quite help himself from smiling as he approaches.
His trust account is empty now. The funds removed and placed into a new vault that his father won’t be able to learn about. There’s a merry trail of magical signatures leading to the docks outside Dover, and a ticket for an ocean liner booked under a blatant alias that will never be used. It will, by some miracle, be enough to distract anyone who would think to pursue him until after Lucius can either make his amends here or make an escape.
Or both.
He knocks on the door and then settles on the stoop to wait. Xeno isn’t the type to start shouting at him; rather, he’ll make Lucius wait until he deems him suitably punished. In a mokeskin pouch at his hip, Lucius has enough provisions to last out a small research project or the duration of his pregnancy, whichever ends first. He’s fairly sure that Xeno would let him in if he started to give birth on the front porch, no matter how angry he might be.
He leans back against the stone wall and its ivy and stares out at the surrounding meadow, and for the first time since he found out about his pregnancy, he touches his hand to his lower abdomen.
He can wait.
Author/Artist:
hikarievandarPairing(s): Xenophilius Lovegood/Lucius Malfoy
Prompt: # S6
Summary: Lucius’ time is running out. There’s a self-inking quill in his hand and the name Draco written on his paperwork. There’s a Dark Lord who wants him as his servant, and there’s a gaping hole in his heart where Xeno should be. He doesn’t need to be a genius to know that, regardless of what he chooses to do in the next few minutes, something will die as a result.
Word Count: 1371
Rating: PG
Warnings/Contains: References to abortion
Notes: Thanks so much to S and R for their work as beta readers on this, and also to B for her cheesy pro-motherhood slogan. Thank you to the mod as well, for running the fest and for being so patient.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
It’s been eleven weeks since he last saw Xeno. Eleven weeks since he slid out of the bed they’d shared in the Come and Go room and pulled on his robes; muttering about duties and not looking his lover in the eye. It’s been ten weeks since they graduated.
In two weeks, Lucius is expected to marry Narcissa Black. A pale and perfect pureblood bride; a match he doesn’t want, but that suits both of their families well.
In three weeks, Lucius is expected to kneel before his father’s master and be branded like cattle in the name of pureblood superiority.
In twenty-nine weeks, he has learned, he will give birth to a pureblood child that – if his family have their way – will be terminated before it can bring shame on them through its illegitimacy.
There’s a contradiction there that Lucius doesn’t want to examine too closely, but that keeps sliding back into focus no matter how hard he tries to ignore it. He’s running out of time, running out of options, and yet. And yet, the master he is expected to serve claims to be a descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself, but doesn’t bear any sort of magical name. His father says that their Lord is a Parselmouth and that that should be proof enough of his claims, but Lucius is too much a Slytherin (and has spent far too long in the company of a Ravenclaw) not to wonder why any wizard of such esteemed ancestry would choose to go by an alias.
Unless his ancestry is not so esteemed after all.
It’s an idea that disgusts him. Not that the Dark Lord may be illegitimate, but that he will be expected to terminate his own bastard in favour of serving another – one that he is certain has more…sullied ancestry than the child that he still carries.
He shifts uncomfortably on the wooden bench, and stares fixedly at the paperwork the Mediwitch handed him. Terminations are hard to come by in the Wizarding World. Hard, but not impossible. There are posters on the wall opposite him that are trying to tell him that he’s making the wrong decision – that a baby will be a blessing; that Motherhood is Magical! The witch on the posters is buxom and smiling; she has a toddler perched on her hip and they both keep waving at him as if trying to catch his eye. They’re the furthest thing from the reality of Lucius’ situation that he can imagine.
For all that he agrees with the sentiment of the posters in general, pregnancy, for him, is nothing short of a disaster. A death sentence, in fact. If not from the Dark Lord then from his father. After all, it wouldn’t do to remind the world of the Veela strain in the Malfoy line. (Even though magical blood is magical blood and Lucius knows fine well that there isn’t a family in the Sacred Twenty-Eight that hasn’t had an interspecies marriage somewhere down the line. Better a Veela than a Muggle.) The child he carries is nothing more than an accident. It’s an unfortunate result of Lucius’ preferences combined with the gender-defying traits of his grandmother’s race. It’s…
The time of his appointment is fast approaching. He hasn’t got further than inventing a fake name to go with his false appearance. He’s checked and double-checked the ingredient list of the termination potions he’s going to be dispensed and knows that they won’t react with the Polyjuice he’s already consumed. He’s safe – for now. If he keeps writing. But.
Draco, the name he’s given himself for the occasion, is a name that Xeno would adore. A constellation and an animal and a name that fits with the Malfoy naming traditions – he’d be all over it like one of his imaginary creatures. He’d be ecstatic about this, if he knew. He’d be a devoted father, too.
Lucius closes his eyes and tries not to picture it. He tries to imagine his impending death – the inevitable death of his child if he so much as tries - instead of the imaginary paradise that they could have had together. He reminds himself of the side-effects of his father’s favourite poisons and the Dark Lord’s penchant for the Cruciatus and reminds himself that any future in which this baby survives the next hour is one that will end in three deaths instead of just one – Xeno won’t be shown any mercy either.
He tries, but he fails.
There’s a golden world that he can’t help but dream about. A world filled with soft, autumn sunlight and the sound of Xeno singing quietly. A world where a Lucius carves runes into bones and hangs them above a cradle and paints a mural of dragons and hippogryphs on a nursery wall. A world where a child with silver-blond hair and indeterminate gender grows up lively and curious instead of stifled and restricted. It’s a world that’s neither as gilded as the one he was born to or as saccharine as the one in the poster on the wall, but one in which he thinks he could be happy.
It's all he’s wanted since he found out about his pregnancy two weeks ago.
There are five minutes left before his appointment.
There’s a self-inking quill in his hand and the name Draco written on his paperwork. There’s a Dark Lord who wants him as his servant, and there’s a gaping hole in his heart where Xeno should be. He doesn’t need to be a genius to know that, regardless of what he chooses to do in the next few minutes, something will die as a result.
He doesn’t even know if Xeno would take him back after this. After everything. He doesn’t –
But he does. Xeno’s the kind one; the good one. The one who deserves better than Lucius has ever been able to give him, but who fought for everything they had regardless.
Xeno deserves better than the messy, bloody death that Lucius would bring with him, but he also deserves the warmth of that golden world that Lucius dreams of. If it can exist. If there’s just a chance, then…wouldn’t it be worth it?
Three minutes left.
He sets the parchment and the quill to the side and stands. The waiting room is, mercifully, empty, so there’s no one to see as he slips out of the door and down the corridor to the stairwell. He disapparates.
…
The house Xeno inherited from his parents is set in acres of farmland that Xeno has allowed to grow wild. Lucius’ robes trail over wildflowers and young trees as he makes his way to the door, and he can hear birds twittering to each other. There’s ivy creeping up the uneven stone walls, and dirigible plums planted outside the door. It’s remote and pretty in a way that reflects Xeno himself, and Lucius can’t quite help himself from smiling as he approaches.
His trust account is empty now. The funds removed and placed into a new vault that his father won’t be able to learn about. There’s a merry trail of magical signatures leading to the docks outside Dover, and a ticket for an ocean liner booked under a blatant alias that will never be used. It will, by some miracle, be enough to distract anyone who would think to pursue him until after Lucius can either make his amends here or make an escape.
Or both.
He knocks on the door and then settles on the stoop to wait. Xeno isn’t the type to start shouting at him; rather, he’ll make Lucius wait until he deems him suitably punished. In a mokeskin pouch at his hip, Lucius has enough provisions to last out a small research project or the duration of his pregnancy, whichever ends first. He’s fairly sure that Xeno would let him in if he started to give birth on the front porch, no matter how angry he might be.
He leans back against the stone wall and its ivy and stares out at the surrounding meadow, and for the first time since he found out about his pregnancy, he touches his hand to his lower abdomen.
He can wait.