The Contract
Lucius sat in stunned silence as he stared at the paper. On the front of it was his daughter, the daughter he hadn't had anything to do with for years. She had been the first female Malfoy born in centuries and while he had always known he'd need an heir, he’d never regretted her. How could he? She'd utterly stolen his heart. And when Draco arrived nine months later, well, he believed life was as perfect as it was going to get. And as she grew, his opinionated, headstrong daughter had been everything he could have hoped for. He should have known it would never be allowed to stand.
Girls were to be seen and not heard. They were to look pretty, not act like they knew more than their male counterparts, not behave as if they had a right to an opinion and so a contract had been written. A contract to punish him for refusing to allow his father to take over her discipline. A contract selling his child the moment she was of age, to a man old enough to be her grandfather, who would teach her the correct way to behave where he had failed. And she had heard them. All of ten years old she knew exactly what that meant for her and so she’d begged him to step in. Begged her mother not to make her do this. And neither of them had been able. Her grandfather was head of the family and if he decided that Bartholemew Nott was to be her husband, there was nothing he could do.
So he had watched as his child, the little girl who had idolised him from the moment she drew breath had shut down, employing the occulmency shields that they’d instilled in her since toddlerhood. “I understand, Father.” she had whispered, spinning on her heel, not noticing the devastation on his face. He had never been father. Not to her. He had almost sobbed at his own impotence. He should be able to help his child, he should be able to prevent this travesty from happening. And yet he could not.
It had taken them two hours to realise she was missing. Draco having grown bored of playing with Theo and seeking his sister. The sister they had thought was with him all along. And they had hunted for her, turned the manor and their world upside down looking for her but she was nowhere to be found.
He knew now, of course, that she had gone to her Aunt. The one they didn't discuss and begged for her help. In a horrific twist of irony, Andromeda was all too aware of what it was like to run to avoid Bartholemew Nott, having escaped her own betrothal to the man just over a decade previously. And so she had helped, of course, she had, settling his Princess in with cousins of the squib line of the Blacks, helping them blood adopt her so as to sever her link to him.
The day she had disappeared from the tapestry, he felt his heart break. He had never spoken to his father again, and while he couldn't move against the patriarch of the family, no one was in any doubt of his joy when he finally died. Not that it brought her back. Nothing brought her back.
And over the years, her brother taunted her for reasons he didn't understand and he had threatened her, tried to murder her more than once, sat with her and acted disgusted she was there, had her within arms reach without ever knowing who she was and when he should have been welcoming her with open arms, when he should have been begging for forgiveness, instead, he had suggested she be handed over to the Dark Lord and murdered. He hadn't understood the look on her face when she saw them at the time, but he did now. He might not have known who she was, but she knew them. And she saw how far they'd fallen. It was a bitter pill to swallow.
Of course, it had all come out after the war when she had berated the Ministry and the Wizengamot over their barbaric betrothal practices and lack of protections for those involved. She had won of course, she was a war hero but she was also a pureblood forced to run at ten so as not to be handed over to a brutal, ageing wizard over sixty years her senior with no say in the matter. Many had daughters and enough imagination to see his life played out in their own.
Narcissa had wept when she read the news. The picture of their daughter in all her blazing glory, scolding what was left of the Ancient Houses, had been her undoing. She looked magnificent, fierce, strong and powerful. Everything he had ever wished for for her.
The line that had torn his heart though, was when asked if she intended to reconcile with her family she had sneered, informing the reporter that her family were two muggle dentists and her Aunt Andromeda. And he knew then she’d never forgive them.
“She got married,” Draco whispered, taking the paper from him, gazing down at his sister beaming out at him from the page on the arm of her new husband. She looked beautiful, and so unbelievably happy.
“Yes.” he agreed, trying to swallow down how much it hurt that he hadn't been there to see it. “We have to hide this from your mother, it will destroy her Draco.”
Draco gave a hollow laugh, “Lyra just married Harry Potter, Father. I suggest you tell her before someone else does. There's no hiding this”
And so he had, he had watched as his wife had sobbed and raged before screaming at him that he had ruined her life. And he had taken it, because what else was he meant to do? It might not have been his fault, he had thought his hands had been tied as surely as hers were. It hadn't occurred to him to ask someone else at the time, his mind too clouded by rage, revulsion and self-disgust. It should have had though, coded conversations were a Slytherins speciality after all, and truly, all he would have needed to do was show Severus the contract. He’d have taken care of the rest without him needing to say a word. But he hadn't considered that at the time, and he'd never forgive himself for it.
And as the years passed, she grew, her life documented on the front pages of the newspaper. Grandchildren he'd never meet, a family he’d never be part of, a career he hadn't helped her build and little by little it destroyed him until he felt hollowed out. Empty. And as he started at his daughter, his beautiful daughter, captured cradling her first grandchild, he felt the weight of all the ways he had failed her steal the breath from his lungs. For the first time, he gave in to it. Wholly embracing the feeling and welcoming the encroaching darkness and the peace it brought.
My darling Lyra,
There have never been any words to express how much I let you down, how I kept letting you down. I do not deserve your forgiveness but I wish to express something I should have done years ago. I am so very sorry, my darling girl. I have never stopped being sorry and if I could do it all over again and change everything, I would.
With all my love,
Daddy.
Hermione froze as a picture of a little girl with blonde curls beamed out at her, at her side stood a man who was looking at her like she had hung the moon. In front of her was the Prophet announcing Lucius Malfoy's death, and for the first time, she let herself grieve for what could have been.
So you can stop here or....
Lucius awoke with a start, his heart hammering before bolting from his bed, startling his wife.
“Lucius!” she hissed once she had caught up with him, finding him clutching the door surround of their daughter's room, tears streaming down his face as he watched his little girl, his princess, breathing deeply, peacefully, as she slept.
“It was just a nightmare,” he gasped, turning with wide eyes towards Narcissa, “It was just a nightmare.”
“Alright,” Narcissa murmured, the concern clear on her face. “Let's go back to bed.”
“In a minute,” he begged, moving further into the room, needing to touch her, needing to ensure she was real.
“Daddy?” Lyra murmured, when he moved his hand to stroke down her curls, “What's wrong?”
“Nothing Princess,” he replied gently, trying not to sob, “It's alright, go back to sleep.”
She made a low noise of agreement, snuggling back into her covers and he allowed Narcissa to help him back to their room.
His blood turned cold the next morning when he was summoned to his father's study, a betrothal contract on his desk.
“She needs someone who will take her in hand, Lucius,” Abraxas had hissed, “You might have invoked old magic to stop me doing it but that doesn't mean it can be allowed to continue. Barty will be the perfect man for the job.”
“He's the same age as you!”
“All the more experience of handling wilful young Misses,” Abraxas had dismissed.
“Do you hear yourself!" Lucius had shouted, surprising them both with his loss of composure, "That's your granddaughter you're talking about! He has a dubious track record with his wives and you want to hand him my child!”
Abraxas had shrugged, “We have an heir. Lyra will forge stronger links between our Houses, as is her duty. Do not fight me on this Lucius, I will not be swayed.”
He had heard his daughter's sharp intake of breath, seen her wide eyes in the gap left by the slightly open door and a feeling of overwhelming nausea swept through him as his nightmare came back to him with startling clarity.
“At least allow me to look over the contract,” he had bit out.
“Very well.” his father had agreed. “I am…glad you are taking a sensible approach to this Lucius.”
He'd gone immediately to Severus, not saying a word, just setting the contract down on the table as they talked around other subjects. He had seen the moment Severus understood, the barely concealed rage infusing his face that he'd quickly masked. He had nodded once and allowed the conversation to flow.
On returning he had found his daughter and his wife in the sunroom, Lyra almost hysterical as Narcissa tried valiantly to calm her down.
“Daddy you can't let him do this,” she begged, whirling to face him.
He paused, choosing his words carefully lest he trigger the magic protecting the patriarch. “Uncle Severus is looking over your contract.” he had informed her.
She had frozen, her eyes widening as she read between the lines. “I trust he will ensure it is favourable,” she murmured before hugging him tightly.
Two weeks later, both Abraxas Malfoy and Bartholemew Nott were dead. No foul play was suspected. And his little girl was at home. Exactly where she should be.