It would come as absolutely no surprise to find that the walls of Azkaban, which are perhaps made of stone and mortar but also contain what is likely an equitable amount of blood, would be exceptionally haunted. However, Azkaban, though it may be a literal prison in the sea full of grey people whinging on about their plights, it really was devoid of such entities. Nobody wasted time leaving this place the moment they could.
For his part, Lucius intended his departure to be one of great fanfare and with loads of Ogden’s now that his son was apparently happily reunited with a now earthside former ghost but still very present menace if his son’s letters that she insisted upon contributing to were to be believed. He resented the notion that he was prissy and he didn’t need her imaginary house points. So there.
However… it seemed that his brief contribution to the communicative endeavors of his son’s erstwhile bullying target and his own future daughter-in-law opened the floodgates for the one solitary ghost of Azkaban and unfortunately this ghostie was very much under the impression that the whole place would be greatly improved if only we let in a little Christmas. That is all fine and well except Lucius was not particularly of the Christmas spirit, owing to the whole general lack of snow… and freedom.
Nevertheless, Lucius woke up every day to Christmas carols and the blasted ghost even smelled of Christmas. Lucius found every day closer to the holiday that he was further into an apple-cinnamon, pine, and cranberry-scented hellscape. He was becoming positively Dickensian in his distaste for all things jolly and merry. Bah-humbug.
And it was at around the 5th day of Christmas in the ghost Bartholomew’s (that was his name, just so you know that Lucius hadn’t lost all decorum in his bleak place. He, of course, made his introductions upon the commencement of the ghost of Christmas eternal’s haunting) song, that Lucius snapped up out of bed and demanded he stop. “For the love of Father Christmas himself, in the name of Merlin’s bleeding ballsack, will you please shut your holly jolly jaws?!”
“Lucius… Lucy? May I call you Lucy? I think I will, I think it is fitting..” the “Lucy” in question was currently raking his hands down his face, “Well, Lucy… I think it is time you learn to really enjoy the holidays. Stop and sniff the eggnog!”
“There is no bloody eggnog here you prat.”
“I will have you know, good sir, I am not a prat.”
“You are dressed like my grandfather… maybe my great grandfather.” Lucius sneered. “A waistcoat and breeches? Were the ladies swooning Bartholomew? I am sure they were positively dripping to be with the little man dressed like a dandy with a sprig of holly in his pocket.”
“I will have you know, Lucy, that I am dressed at the height of fashion.”
“Tsk tsk tsk, not answering my question…” Lucius dug in a little, “were you perhaps interested in attracting the gaze of wizards instead?” He noticed the darkening of the cheeks of the Regency-era ghost and knew he had hit the nail on the head and he softened slightly. “Oh fear not little wizard, the times have changed… nobody gives a damn who you bedded anymore.”
Bartholomew brightened up slightly and went back to singing his Carols, slightly more quiet this time though. Lucius rolled his eyes and went about finding some parchment to write to his wife. Perhaps the little Christmas ghost was on to something… he did have that to be thankful for this year. In providing his son with the tools he needed to have his life back, Lucius had proven to his wife that he was indeed redeemable. Perhaps he was worthy of Narcissa. He could work toward it.
He found the parchment, put it on what passed for a table in his cell, and went to work finding a quill he had stashed in a small hiding place he had fashioned in what passed as his mattress and sat to write only to look up and see the round-faced ghost sitting on said desk, little round cheeks plopped right in his hands as he smiled at Lucius.
“Oh goodness, Lucy! Have you ever heard of paper chains? Oh, it could be positively FESTIVE in here!”
“If I’m being honest, Bartholomew,” Lucius said the name as if each syllable tasted like burnt fruitcake, “the only types of chains I have any interest in at the moment are the ones I’m trying to stay free of whilst I’m on this little holiday by the sea.”
The Christmas ghost was unfazed and continued on, “ooooh, or snowflakes?? Don’t you have that little rehabilitation circle tomorrow? I say it would be a most jolly good show to propose the idea of a craft circle! Liven up the place. Bring the prisoners some merriment!!”
“Bring the prisoners some merriment? You do realize where you are right?? I myself find myself atoning for my profound racism, several unforgivable curses, and oh let’s not forget the bit about helping to facilitate a fascist’s attempt at genocide. That is considered apparently low-security enough to afford me an attempt at rehabilitation and a scant hope that I may one day have a meal that tastes like anything again—and that’s nothing to say of tasting my wife’s cu—“
“Aaaaand that sounds lovely dear Lucy, but let’s get back to the task at hand: rehabilitation via Christmas Cheer!”
“… thank you for that lovely…contribution Lauris. That said, while I appreciate your idea to, what was it you said, cleanse the realms of ‘unspeakables’ by making special cookies… maybe another group building activity would be better suited?” The mind healer from the ministry was really trying, Lucius could tell, but everyone has their limits. Cookies made in an attempt to annihilate entire groups seems to be bordering on hers.
Bartholomew was positively vibrating at the opportunity, “Oh pleeeease Lucy!! Mention the snowflakes?? Please! Come on come on come on.”
You remind me of my son as a toddler except I could at least send him off to be with his nanny elf and is there anywhere I could send you? Lucius sat stoically bored while thinking out loud at the ghost in question.
“Nope, not a single place, so…” he clasped his chubby little ghost hands together, “snowflakes and papercraft it is. Now, speak up you skinny Scrooge.”
First off, I am not skinny, I am the epitome of breeding…
“Your family tree is a Christmas wreath, let’s get on with this, I want to have craft day.”
Lucius, who initially sneered had to relax his face and concede the unfortunately correct nature of the ghost’s comment. He shuddered but then he said aloud, “Might I make a suggestion?”
The mind healer sputtered, nearly choking on her coffee. This was, after all, the first time Lucius had ever spoken in the group meetings. He was barely participating in the private ones and he was very clear it was so he could eventually get back to the comfort of his home. To volunteer to speak here? Well… “Lucius! How very exciting indeed. Please, of course. What suggestion do you have?” she was practically vibrating.
“How much of that beverage have you been ingesting dear girl? You seem… unwell,” he sneered but when faced with a look of consternation from an imp of a ghost as he crossed his arms and stared him down, he relented, “Yes, erm… how about some holiday crafts. My family always celebrates the season. Christmas, yes. It is all a tad muggle, but you know, we can’t let them have all the fun… Yule is also happening…” he looked at the stares from around the circle. Many looked at him with their mouths agape, he could’ve sworn one was drooling. “Perhaps we could make some snowflakes? My son and his elf used to cut them out using those training scissors you give to little ones. They're charmed not to cut flesh, so they could be safe for us correct?”
“The paper chains! Don’t forget the paper chains!” the ghost was bouncing on his heels.
“Oh and yes, how about those paper chains? We could string those up as well. Could lend a festive feeling to this dreadful space.”
Quietly, and with some trepidation, the others in the group started to chime in.
“My family used to make strings of popcorn…”
“I do miss my elf’s Christmas cookies.”
“Once, we made a gingerbread house and charmed the gingerbread family to guard it!”
And so on until there was a cacophonous noise of Christmas joy in the room that little Bartholomew stood reveling in while the healer took hurried notes and Lucius sat with his legs crossed as if he was highly above all of it despite having suggested such a thing in the first place.
“I told you this would be fun!” the ghost said to him as he sat unbothered by the unfettered holiday joy around him.
In the end, the common room allowed to the prisoners not seen as a threat to themselves or others was absolutely festooned with holiday decor, handmade by the prisoners themselves. There were strands of popcorn and cranberries, the ceiling had been charmed to keep the hundreds of paper snowflakes afloat, and colorful paper chains made from scraps of recycled prophets and witch weekly were strung from one side of the room to the other. The smell of gingerbread wafted through the halls as the members of the group engaged in a decorating contest on several premade gingerbread houses, all of them having magically found their way, along with their prospective trimmings, to the room earlier in the day.
Lucius, having imagined himself a much more prolific gingerbread house decorator than he actually was, sat in a chair with a handful of peppermints and skulked… if skulking was something Lucius Malfoy would do, which is certainly not likely. Obviously. He was great at all things, of course.
“Where do you suppose all of these lovely things came from Lucius?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean?”
“Oh, but you doooooo…”
Lucius simply popped a peppermint into his mouth and turned his nose up at the ghost.
“Are you humming…? Good man, I think you are! Is Lucy in the Christmas spirit after all? It only took until the day was nearly upon us after all…”
Lucius made a lewd gesture at the ghost and kept on humming, a notion that was contagious because before long everyone was singing along to Carol of the Bells, with Lucius, unable to help himself, it was the polite thing to do really, was supplying the tenor part with gusto.
It was, after all, nearly Christmas.
As he lay in his bed that evening he felt what could only be described as something akin to contentment for the first time in… well, he didn’t know how long. Certainly, it had been since Draco was small.
“Tell me Lucy, what is your best Christmas memory?”
And maybe it was the Christmas joy currently filling his body, and maybe it was that Lucius finally had someone to talk to for the first time in so many years, but he sighed and decided to answer. “My son, Draco, was born in June and so his first Christmas at the manor he was old enough to not necessarily understand what the fuss was about, but old enough to thoroughly enjoy the revelry of the season.” A wistful look overcame Lucius’s face as he lay there, staring at the cold gray stone of his cell but imagining the enchanted ceiling of the manor all those years ago. Bartholomew was seated so that he hovered slightly above the floor and rested his elbows on the mattress with his head in his hands, enraptured by this treat of a story.
“Draco enjoyed everything about this season. He loved the lights as they sparkled. I remember the way he would chortle when we charmed the tree to light up. He would clap his chubby baby hands together.” Lucius rolled on his side then to speak to the ghost directly, “you know he said his first word during the holidays,” he nodded as if to reiterate what he was saying, “he clapped his hands as Narcissa held him and he looked over at me and reached and said ‘Dada!’” he definitely was not wiping away an errant tear just then. Lucius didn’t weep. His breath did not catch when he began speaking again, “I know people think that is a baby’s first word often because it is simple but I believe he meant it. He reached for me and he said it. He had such a look of determination when he said it and he was obviously so proud of himself.”
“How very loved he was, is,” Bartholomew said then, allowing Lucius the time to collect himself. “I am sure you spoiled him, I imagine that tree was full to bursting!”
Lucius laughed, “yes, you are right about that. Cissy would tell me ‘Lucius dear, you’ll spoil him. Whatever could he possibly do with that broom?’ and she was right of course. The boy could barely sit up on his own without his big head causing him to topple over… oh but watching him rip apart all of those parcels on Christmas morning? Oh it was magical. It took hours,” he laughed, “He tried to eat the wrapping paper! Kept shoving it in his mouth and screaming when we’d take it away and redirect him to new and different shinier packaging. Not a damn was given to any of the actual contents of the gifts.”
“It sounds lovely…”
Lucius rolled once again onto his back, “it really was… but the part I loved so much, my favorite part was that night. When dinner was over, Draco was in his bed, and I had made love to my wife, she just laid in my arms and we watched the fire. We talked about the gifts our boy didn’t care about, and we laughed at how maybe we had gone overboard… and then we just were. We didn’t always need to fill the space with words, she was and is the best piece of me.” He took a breath in, shuddering, “The decisions I made… the things I’ve done… I don’t know that she will ever forgive me, and I don’t think I deserve it anyway. I tore us apart. How many Christmases have I missed? I can never get them back. I can never give them back,” he got up then, in one fluid and graceful motion and walked over to the wall under the small cutout meant to be a window of his cell and he pressed his head against the stone, palms flat on the wall on either side.
Bartholomew watched on as Lucius worked himself through what he had learned in the multiple group therapy sessions he got to take in, was a panic attack. He clicked through his own memories of what he could do to maybe help his pasty friend. “Lucy, do you hear me?” no response. “Lucius, if you can hear me, please nod.” and slowly he saw the slightest hint of movement from the blonde head currently trying to will itself into the stone wall. “Okay Lucy, you need to breathe. Big breath innnnn….” he heard a shuddering inhale, “okay now hold in, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, now slowly exhale through the nose… 5, 4, 3, 2, 1,” and on they went like that for a couple of minutes until Lucius turned around and slid down the wall.
“Ermm.. well, thank you for that,” Lucius said, slowly rubbing his cheeks. “I don’t know what got into me.”
“I think, chap, you miss your family…”
Lucius nodded but swiftly decided to get up, dusting off his pants as he spoke, “What about you Bartie? And tell no one I called you something so informal… but do you miss anyone?”
“As a matter of fact, I do and that is why I am here actually. My love, well…” the ghost’s cheeks visibly darkened, “he was a guard here. I wanted to surprise him, to give him a proper Christmas celebration since he couldn’t manage to get the day off. I was working in the guard’s common room and hanging up some decor and you know the magic is limited here and I didn’t have the proper privileges…” he was beginning to ramble.
“Breathe man, I don’t know what to do if a ghost has a panic attack… terribly uncivilized,” Lucius admonished him but then waved his hand to continue the story.
Bartholomew giggled and took a deep unnecessary breath to continue on, “Well I decided to stack some furniture and attempted to climb up and hang some garland. After a couple of hundred years, I can see now how that was a bad idea, but the next thing I knew, here I was, all grey and ghostie and my love, he was so torn from the way I perished that he quit and I never saw him again,” little silver mercurial drops were running down the ghost’s cheeks as he told the story. “You are the first person actually that has ever been able to see me.”
“Well Bartie, I must say it has been… an experience. But… thank you, for, well… reminding me of better times.”
“You know Lucy, there may still be good times ahead. I mean… we cannot change the past but we can certainly make a brighter future.”
“How many of those sessions have you been a part of?”
“Every single one-on-one and group session for very many years… you wouldn’t believe the gossip I have!”
And Lucius, definitely not a teenage girl in his need for salacious gossip, practically levitated to his bed, “ohhh, do tell!”
The next morning, Lucius woke up to relative silence. No Christmas carols, no smell of Christmas spice, no incessant jolliness. Just the sound of the sea as it splashed against the rocks outside of his small window. Lucius didn’t realize he was capable of missing it until suddenly, and without warning, it was gone. And on Christmas morning to boot. Well, that certainly would not do.
He got up to make his way out for inquiries. He had no earthly idea who he would inquire to about the presence of a ghost of Christmas incessant but he would figure that out along the way. Just as he was about to fling open the door with as much drama as he could muster, it opened of its own volition and a guard stood on the other side.
“Lucius Malfoy, you are hereby released. Please gather your…” the guard looked around the room, “erm… things, and follow me.”
Lucius stared at the guard and stuttered, “wha–what? Released? but..bu–how?!”
“Listen you mangy death eater, if I had it my way you would rot here in this cell for all of eternity and then some for what you and your lot did but apparently,” he had grabbed up Lucius by the scruff of his collar, “you have been a good boy this year so you are being released.”
Lucius would not acknowledge the vague pang that being called a good boy caused within him, and as soon as he was released he gathered his things which amounted to his small stack of letters. He left the quill hidden in the mattress, hoping perhaps the next tenant of this holiday suite would find use of it. He decided any of the clothing items from the prison could stay and rot. They ushered him into a small room where he found means to bathe and redress in the clothes he had come in with.
For the first time in longer than he could remember, the water was hot. It actually shocked him and he cried out before eventually succumbing to the pleasure of the warmth he hadn’t felt in so long. He scrubbed his skin raw of the grime he was coated with and when he was shiny and pink and almost new again he stepped out and dressed in his robes.
He would never again have his wand, a penance for his misdeeds, but he could learn to live with what he had been given: freedom. His life back. A chance to go on.
As soon as he was dressed, there was a rap on the door and a witch entered dressed smartly in muggle clothing. “Mr. Malfoy? I am Enid, the transition liaison here at Azkaban. In accordance with the parameters of your release, you are being permitted to leave with all you came in with, with the exception of your wand which you will remember was snapped upon your arrival in accordance with procedure,” she looked to Lucius who stood staring at her. “Do you understand Mr. Malfoy?”
He started, “Yes, yes. Apologies, this is all… sudden.”
“Hmm, quite. Well, in any case, as soon as your wife arrives to collect you, you are free to leave.”
“My wife?”
“Yes, she was contacted this morning by an official owl and was made aware of your imminent release. She responded that she would be available to collect you.”
Lucius gulped, mentally pressing the panic attack down. He repeated the ministrations of Bartholomew last night to himself as he struggled to contain his growing anxiety. “Narcissa is coming then.”
Enid nodded and then simply walked out of the door and shut it, the faint clicks of her heels disappearing down the hall. Lucius sank into a chair and attempted to reach out with his mind to Bartholomew, but was not met with a single tinkle of a bell. Where was he?
A better question, why did he care? This is a ghost, after all, perhaps he has other ghostie bits of business. It was Christmas and wasn’t that his whole schtick? The little imp lived, well–something like that– for the holiday.
Then he heard it, the clicks of multiple sets of heels. Lucius fought the urge to vomit. Malfoys certainly did not empty their stomachs in public.
Before she set foot in the room, he could sense her, Narcissa. His heart called to her with such ferocity that it might beat out of his chest. He placed his hand against his breastbone, a physical reminder to his heart that there was no escaping. And the clicks that drowned out the everpresent beating of his heart and the sound of blood rushing in his ears stopped suddenly and there was the door opening… and there she was.
Narcissa, a paragon of what it meant to be a Malfoy would never be sitting in such a place, it pained him to see her here now. This was no place for his wife. None. He would take her anywhere.
“Lucius…” Gods, she was speaking to him.
He had done it, he had died. He knew it, this was all too good to be true. He had died in his cell, on the floor, having been driven mad by a Christmas ghost. Fuck.
“Lucius, dear, snap out of it. It is time to go… I apologize for my husband, the Malfoy men, well… they have a flare for the dramatic you see…” She was talking to that awful liaison woman… Envy? Ennui? No… Eden? Bollocks. Death it seemed was making him profoundly dumber by the minute. Anytime now he would suddenly become a Weasley. He touched his hair, pulling a lock in front of his eyeballs to ascertain that it was indeed still white-blonde and had not gone the red color of poverty.
“LUCIUS.” he snapped his head up to look at his darling wife, who was right in front of him. “Ahhh, there he is,” she was reaching out to touch him, and Lucius, had he not already been dead as he had only recently established, would likely have died right then, right at the moment her hand softly cupped his cheek and he slammed into the reality that it was the first touch he had had in kindness in over a decade. He reached up to touch the outside of her hand and looked up into her eyes.
“We are really going home?”
“Yes, darling. We are really going home.”
And then Lucius Malfoy ended his seaside holiday. He stood next to his wife in the small office of whatever her name was and stepped into a fireplace wherein his wife called out to Malfoy Manor, home.
What Lucius was not prepared for was the overwhelming size of his home. Even after growing up in it, of raising his son here, of experiencing the thrill of running the halls and roaming the gardens, he felt almost crushed in the emptiness, of the distance between himself and the nearest wall. Narcissa stepped out of the fireplace and with a last look at him she took off with a flurry of clicks and commands. It was Christmas after all. Lucius stood for a moment in the receiving room of the manor, and, clutching at the suddenly tight collar of his shirt, he stumbled into the back of the nearest chair, holding onto the edge of it, leaning over to breathe into the green velvet…”5…4…3…2…1, and outttttt….” he was repeating through the small chant and a small pop sounded.
“Master Lucius, good afternoon! I is to fetch you to your chambers so you may be getting ready for Christmas supper. The young Master Draco will be here with his love soon, oh she is so lovely, you will like her, yes you will! But first, you is needing to clean up Master. Please, come along,” Tobey had arrived and was talking faster than a golden snitch flew, it was frankly nauseating and before he knew what was happening, he found himself back in his own chambers with a pop.
Really, Lucius should be lauded for his ability to only throw up once after his first apparition in well over a decade. Quite a strong constitution really.
After rising from the bath of his life, he dressed in the robes laid out, he assumed, by Tobey and he began to make his way to the dining room for supper. He shuddered remembering the last time he had been in that room, and the meal times the manor had seen in his last year.
“Breathe man…” he chanted to himself as he walked what felt like miles through the manor, only minutely noticing the redecoration. The manor certainly seemed lighter.
He opened the doors to the dining room and was accosted by Christmas. Lights were blinking. They were rainbow, he thought they were muggle. There was a pair of muggle toys skating across the table. He heard a whistle and looked up to see a train track lining the ceiling with a miniature of the Hogwarts Express chugging along. In short, he had walked into hell. “So I am dead and have, in fact, gone to some type of afterlife wherein I am punished for all eternity.”
Just then Narcissa appeared behind him and directed him to his seat, “Not dead dear, it is just Christmas. We thought it would be fun to incorporate some muggle things to make Hermione feel… more at home I suppose…”
“Cissy, dear…”
“Cissy is a privilege dear, you do not yet have privileges…”
“Narcissa…” he was only slightly crestfallen, “it is just a bit…loud.” Lucius tried to focus on a spot on the marble of the table. He honed in on it.
“Lucius, I understand but…”
*pop* and suddenly Tobey was talking, “the young Master is here! And Miss Hermione!” and then the doors were flung open and the animated chatting occurring between his suddenly sun-kissed son and the formerly dead but also now sun-kissed but very much alive future daughter in law ceased as they took in the unexpected dinner guest.
“Father?”
“Tis’ I, yes.” Lucius said, taking in the pair of them in their garish sweaters. “Are you wearing bells?”
“Lucy?! Oh goodness! I didn’t know if I would get to see you in person again,” and suddenly he found himself standing as he was thrust into the arms of a small woman prattling on while he was being stared down by his own son as if to warn him that he had better not even think of pulling away from that hug. When she finally did pull away from him, she had the audacity to tap his nose.
Lucius had no words.
So few words did he have in fact that he sat in total silence and awe as course after course was brought in and set in front of him. He smiled and nodded where appropriate but he could not possibly process this onslaught, a fact that was visible on his tightly stretched face.
“Isn’t that lovely, Lucius?”
Narcissa was speaking to him.
“Hmm?”
“A private ceremony in the spring between these two in the gardens?”
“Yes, yes. Lovely.”
And the meal continued, and the conversation continued, and then there were things called crackers and the noise was abrupt and he wanted very much to crawl under the table. And then everyone was standing to open gifts.
“Father?”
“Yes, Draco?”
“Happy Christmas.”
That evening as he lay in bed, alone, he stared into the fireplace and reflected on the day. He took a moment to really feel it all. He was free. He was in the manor with his wife in the adjoining chamber, his son and the the menacing stardust were in another wing, happy. He had helped to make that happiness possible, somehow. They would be married soon, and Lucius was somehow going to get to see it because, and this is the big one, he was no longer in Azkaban.
A tapping on his door sounded and the door creaked open and if you had told Lucius that on the other side would have been a boggart taking the form of the lead singer of a muggle rock band he had seen one time in the 60s, he would have been less surprised than seeing Narcissa as she crept on tiptoe to his bed. She climbed onto the bed, shimmied under the blankets, and nestling onto his chest she looked up to him and while she seemed to have so many things she wanted to say, she simply said “Happy Christmas Lucius.”
“Happy Christmas Narciss–”
“You may call me Cissy.”
Lucius smiled, “Happy Christmas, Cissy.”
And then they looked at each other a moment, before settling into comfortable silence and drifting off while the fire crackled on in the background and Lucius thought perhaps Bartholomew had been right after all, maybe he could make a brighter future.