is his heart still beating? [ lucius ]

Unacceptable,

Lucius’s father was an enigma. Every month Lucius received a letter from home, and it was always as routine and familiar as the distance he and his family kept from one another. Arms-length. The letter itself was always punctual, arriving in its usual ebony envelope, sealed with the family crest, and weighed down by the family expectations. It was the Malfoy way. The letters were always scrawled in his mother’s hand and it was her voice that always spoke to him. His father’s name was attached at the bottom, of course, but it was just a formality. The topics his mother usually recycled through were about the same and didn’t particularly differ from one another in their monotony: his grades, his relationship status, his mother’s need to arrange every aspect of his life, her recent dinner at the Carrow place, and so on and so forth. He loved his mother, he respected his father. But he tired of them.

This month was different however. No trivial dribble off his mother’s quill. No delicate script of his mother's hand, but stern, capital letters instead. His stomach had twisted into knots at the sight.

Unacceptable that I have to get owls from your school about your apparently troubling behavior. Detention, Lucius? Falling grades and insolence? I don’t think I have to tell you how much weight the Malfoy name carries, how imperative it is to uphold it. Though perhaps I do, if you’re going to continue soiling it with your childish vexations. You are a man now, yet you still act like a stupid boy. Grow up. I can’t tolerate you, otherwise.

It was scathing, to an impossible degree. But Lucius's couldn't deny his father's rightness. Everything he said had been true. He was acting out. He was soiling the family name. And he wasn't worthy to carry it. Something had to be done.

When he passed through the threshold of the Slytherin common room, surly and exhausted, he sighed when he saw what awaited him there. What another perfect thing to ruin his already rubbish day.

“Barty,” he stated curtly, hands tucked in the pocket of his trousers while fingering the roll of parchment folded inside.

Unacceptable. Something had to be done.

Lucius was not in the habit of willingly exchanging conversation with Barty Crouch, Jr. Did the two associate with one another? Of course. They were both distinguished Slytherins from respected, pure-blooded families. It was no question from their very first year at Hogwarts that they would become cohorts, of sorts. However, he knew Barty in the way he knew a tsunami; a distant and somewhat terrifying aberration of nature. Frankly, Lucius generally avoided in-depth chatter with the strange boy altogether. While he could forgive and even tolerate some of Barty’s more unique qualities – the twitching, the habitual licking, his tendency to speak in incoherent riddles – there was something just naturally off-putting about him that put Lucius on edge. Barty unnerved him, which was not something most could lay claim to.

Lucius was composed, and introspective, and appreciated the sanctity of stillness, something most of his fellow schoolmates did not. While Lucius could normally handle himself in some of the most chaotic situations, he always preferred his quiet time. A prefect and practically sodding wizard royalty, Lucius had always craved power and order – particularly, being the one to administer it. What other people called ‘adrenaline highs’ from sports, and competition, and so forth, Lucius got from being on top of everyone else. He needed stability, and control, and peace of mind.

These parts of Lucius were so prominent, to the point that he didn’t even like Quidditch. In fact, he hated it. While the other students absolutely obsessed over the scores, the rankings, team paraphernalia, et cetera, etcetera, Lucius could scarcely deign to follow it. The stands were crowded and uncomfortable, unbearable with its ruckus and mind-numbing vociferousness. Why anyone would enjoy the sport was completely beyond him. Most matches he didn’t even attend unless he was wrangled otherwise by one of his more persistent Slytherins. As a prefect, Lucius often felt some kind of obligation to go, but this mild feeling of guilt immediately dissipated the moment he was in the peace and quiet of the library, away from the bedlam.

As everyone knew, however, Barty was the complete opposite. He was a ceaseless hive of energy, constantly moving, constantly talking, constantly doing everything, constantly, constantly, constantly. Unlike Lucius, Barty played for the Slytherin Quidditch team, and was a fair keeper by anyone’s judgment. But the boy had no understanding of boundaries, or timing, or much of anything, in Lucius's opinion. Barty infuriated Lucius to no end and Lucius didn’t foresee the conditions of their relationship changing anytime soon.

When Lucius entered the Slytherin Common Room, he became acutely aware of this. There was Barty, standing in front of the fireplace, wild-eyed and raving, his wand pointed vehemently in Lucius’s direction. Lucius halted immediately, thinking he shouldn’t be appalled by Barty’s mental behavior. It was so customary that most Slytherins hardly paid Barty any mind. Oh, it’s just Barty.

At Barty’s unexpected accusation, however, Lucius had to admit he was quite startled. He couldn’t deny that Barty was right. He had changed. He had fallen apart, and it had happened the moment he’d picked up that first used copy of Picture of Dorian Gray. He just hadn’t thought that anyone else had noticed. Clearly, he was an idiot.

Lucius cleared his throat, hoping he could dissuade the loony boy, somehow. “I think someone’s been tampering with your meds, Barty. Better get that fixed or you’ll wake up tomorrow thinking you’re a brain in a vat.”

It was safe to say that Slytherins didn't generally play well with others. While they had their gangs and cliques, they frequently preferred to operate alone. Perhaps it was the over-abundance of ambition, or arrogance, or hair gel, one couldn't be entirely sure. Regardless, Lucius and Barty were just a textbook example of what happened with Slytherins clashed swords. Or wands, as it were.

Whether Barty had been genuinely concerned about Lucius's present state of mind, it was hard to say. The less... stable of the two generally went through social exchanges with a certain amount of tactlessness. Frankly, he had never seemed particularly lucid to Lucius and consequently, often regarded him with a certain mixture of uncertainty and exasperation. Today was no exception. While he generally knew better than to get on Barty's bad side, Lucius's temper and general attitude couldn't be helped. It was hard to imagine that Barty was actually sincere in his concern, and Lucius simply had no time nor patience to deal with such inconveniences like Barty.

Clearly though, Barty was past being civil. In a matter of moments, and to Lucius's surprise, the younger boy had taken out his wand and cast a spell on him. Suddenly, Lucius couldn't move, no matter how hard he tried. Lucius had to admit that he was a bit embarrassed - and annoyed! - to have been undertaken by a fifth-year and with a spell right out of Standard Book of Spells, Grade Two, no less! It went without saying that Malfoy was the more composed of the two boys. Releasing a soft sigh, Lucius calmly replied, "Ok, while you have me... resigned, how about you explain to me how my behavior has changed." Lucius would be able to move soon enough. He could already wiggle his fingers and speak without much difficulty. He was still debating as to whether he'd curse Barty right back or be the bigger person.

Dammit, why couldn't he have just played nice?