Wizard's Cup Interview: Lucius Malfoy

The young Slytherin boys were heatedly brainstorming ideas to prank some first-year Gryffindors. This was one of their favorite topics of discussion, and one they re-visited frequently, but not excluding the day to day vexations of beautiful but clingy girls, the lack of reputable information regarding Necromancy, and the merits of pursuing a career as a vampire hunter. Trying to mask a familiar feeling of desperation, Lucius Malfoy reminded himself to think optimistically. Assuming the git ahead of him didn't prattle for more than an hour, the interview would be done and over with and he could return to the quiet of the common room. He could ignore the scathing letter from his father that was sitting on his bureau and feel satisfied that he had at least tried.

Including himself, there were four other Slytherins, incidentally only boys, and they were the last batch of interviewees for the day, until the process started all over again bright and early tomorrow. Lucius was looking in a compact mirror he had nicked from a Hufflepuff girl in the library, silently adjusting his hair while listening to the conversation of his fellow classmates.

“I’d go with a Tarantallegra jinx. Turns the oaf’s head into a tentacle!” sputtered Quentin, an oafish fifth year with more brawn than brains.

"Rubbish,” spat Lucius, betraying his earlier promise to himself to remain silent. The boys’ glances snapped toward him, and Quentin appeared particularly offended.

Realizing he would have to explain himself, Lucius straightened and replied dryly, "I think you mean Tentaclifors. The other causes the victim to dance uncontrollably. And it’s a charm, not a jinx.”

"Wait just a—” Quentin began indignantly.

"A jinx or charm is for spineless prats, anyway. If you want to do some real damage, curse an object with a spell like Conjunctivitis. If you aren’t a complete thick-head and do it right, they shouldn’t be able to trace the object back to you.” Colin, another fifth year sitting in the middle smirked with admiration and punched Quentin playfully on the shoulder.

Darren, a fellow seventh year sitting on the farthest side was less impressed. “That’s some big talk coming from a sniveling ninny who spends most of his time moping in the library. I can’t even remember the last time you joined us in a prank against Potter and his friends. Can you explain that to me, Malfoy?”

Sighing, Lucius regarded the other boy coolly. “I don’t know why’re under the delusion that I would ever willingly spend a moment with you, anyway, Darren. Because every time you open your mouth, all I hear is ‘PunchmePunchmePunchmePunchme,’”

He was sure Darren had some terribly clever thing to say to that, but he wasn’t listening anymore. He happily dropped the threads of this conversation and was back to appraising his appearance in the miniature mirror. Darren could think he’d won that little battle, for all he cared.

He needed this championship, more than the others. His father’s letter, which he’d memorized to the point of a personal anthem, had shown him that.

Unacceptable… it had said.

Muggles believed that the earth was upheld by a great, powerful deity named Atlas - it wasn’t clear to Lucius if Muggles still believed in this mythology, but he’d made a mental note to research further. It was a punishment inflicted on Atlas by Zeus, the Father of Gods, that he carry this burden for eternity. When Atlas met Hercules, he tried to trick the hero into taking the burden from him, but failed, and was left to continue to carry the weight of the world. These Muggles had a lot of storytelling rubbish that Lucius didn’t fully understand. He found it completely ridiculous that anyone with a brain would believe this nonsense. But the story of Atlas had struck a chord with him.

Lucius was a Malfoy. He was a pure-blood, a perfect seam on the blanket of wizardry. All witches and wizards of every race, and wealth, and creed envied him and his family. Their power. Their caliber. Outwardly, he was everything his family had raised him to be. On the inside, he was suffocating.

He was Atlas with the world on his shoulders, had been since the day he’d left his mother’s womb.

He could forget about the world, though, couldn't he? Let it roll off his shoulders. But whenever he came close to it, there was always someone to remind him…

”Lucius.”

Lucius hesitated, refusing to look up. He was frozen. He recognized that voice, and it terrified him.

Please, not here. Not in front of all these people.

The voice repeated his name, and reluctantly, Lucius looked up. “Father,” forgetting himself for a moment, Lucius stood from his seat, thinking how his father really was Zeus. “Forgive me, but what are you doing here?”

Abraxas’s voice was grave. “You never responded to the letter I sent you. I was worried."

“Worried?” Lucius echoed dubiously.

“This Cup is crucial to the family name, Lucius. Your great-grandfather was its recipient of his sixth year in the late 19th century, I’ve told you. People will always envy us. We are everything they want to be. But having yet another Malfoy win the Wizard’s Cup? Now, that is something to respect. I was worried that you were ignoring your family responsibilities. I was worried that you’d throw the interview or not show up at all.”

Suddenly, Abraxas pressed his hand to Lucius’s shoulder. Lucius looked down at it in surprise.

“You could be great, my son.”

My son…

“But you are a coward,” Abraxas pulled away and turned abruptly on his heel. As he left, his back to Lucius, he called, “Don’t disappoint me.” As quickly as he’d appeared, he was gone.

Lucius couldn’t even hear his fellow Slytherins jeering behind him. The thudding of his heart overpowered their cackles. Then the doors of the Great Hall swung open in one loud swoosh and he heard the voice of the Headmaster calling his name.

Wordlessly, he entered the Great Hall, and suddenly the world felt a lot heavier.

Tobias Nathaniel Malfoy. That had been the name of his great-grandfather, one of the few winners of the Wizard’s Cup. And a right git he had been, at least according to his grandfather, Ezra. From an early age, and mostly because of the 'trash-talk,' Lucius considered himself lucky to having never met the man. Family loyalty was practically the personal slogan of the Malfoys; if maintaining the family name wasn’t at the top of your agenda , then you desperately needed to sort out your priorities. Tobias Malfoy, however, could be considered an exception to this rule.

In spite of all the glory he had reaped as a youth, there was little praise to be sung in his name by the rest of the family. The Malfoys were more than happy to name-drop Tobias and bring up his success in the Wizard Cup at every available moment - “you of course remember the late Tobias Malfoy, the winner of the prestigious Wizard’s Cup,” or “there just aren’t wizards of quality pedigree, anymore. If only they could all be like the Wizard Cup winner and our relative Tobias,” et cetera – but they frankly regarded Tobias with hostility. This wasn’t always the case, but when it became clear that none of the other relatives wouldn’t become Wizard Cup champions, – both Ezra and Abraxas had competed in the Wizard Cup, but lost - their attitudes changed. They were jealous; it couldn’t be said more simply than that. They all resented Tobias, began to see him as a self-entitled prat who didn’t deserve the title. They would never admit this publically, course. As far as outsiders knew, the Malfoys absolutely worshipped their famous relative.

Truthfully, no one in the Malfoy was particularly ‘pleasant’ in the traditional sense of the word. Of course though, the Malfoys prized qualities ‘normal’ people didn’t. Abraxas was aloof. Lucius’s mother Lilith was shallow. Lucius had no siblings to mention, but his grandfather Ezra had been ambitious, and his grandmother manipulative. All of these characteristics could be tolerated, even praised. All in all, it was a unique family tree.

Now that Lucius was reflecting on it all now, – and probably at the most inopportune time – he wondered how his family hadn’t all just killed one another.

He was pulled from his thoughts, abruptly. Locking eyes with Professor Sprout, Lucius paused. It was a good question, and he found himself momentarily surprised by the professor’s keenness. Frankly, he had never thought much of her, just a bumbling, happy-go-lucky idiot. Clearly he’d underestimated her.

A stream of words spilled out of his mouth then, and he was pretty should it wasn’t English. Lucius backtracked. What was happening? Maybe Barty was right. He was falling apart. Why in Merlin’s name did Sprout have to ask him about his god-awful family?

Am I angry with them? Lucius pondered to himself. He respected his father and his mother. He loved them, really, and he had no shame in admitting it. His parents and grandparents had made him the man he was today. Even still, he couldn’t help resenting the worst parts of them. His father weighed him down with his worst expectations, as if he were trying to re-live his glory days through his son. He was ashamed of his mother and her superficial nature. But the worst part, was that he frequently found himself wondering whether if they even loved him the way parents should. Or if they just saw him as an investment.

He could only guess what the Heads and Headmaster were thinking of him now. Any assurances they might previously had had in his ability to win this Cup had no doubt just gone out the window.

Meeting the eyes of all of them, lingering on Riddle ‘s judgmental stare, Lucius cleared his throat. “It’s obvious you’re not a Malfoy, Professor Sprout. Not because you don’t have our signature white-blonde hair or because you’re a Hufflepuff, but because you asked that question.”

People will always envy us his father had said, we are everything they want to be.

“It might be easy to think that having such an esteemed great-grandfather would make me feel under-qualified, or nervous, or pressured. You’re not entirely wrong. I do want to honor my family and I want to honor the memory of my great-grandfather. But I have no doubts. Tobias Malfoy’s achievements will not undermine or diminish my own. Do you know what having a previous winner of the Wizard’s Cup as a grandfather tells me? It tells me that my family is strong. That there isn’t a bloodline or a family quite like mine. This relation to a famous doesn’t hinder me. It empowers me.”

As he stood there in the overwhelming quiet, the eyes of the Heads and Headmaster upon him, the memory of his father’s voice in his ear, he realized he had been wrong in his previous assessment. He couldn’t be satisfied with just trying. Trying wouldn’t be enough. For his father or even for himself. He had to win.

Lucius had to admit, the professors seemed to be pulling out all the stops. He had initially thought that being one of the last interviewees for the day, that the Heads might be exhausted, resorting to standard, predictable questions. But here they were, sharp as ever, provoking thought and consideration from the young Malfoy. He glanced over the four professors and the Headmaster, lingering particularly on Professor Riddle. The man certainly lived up to his name. Lucius couldn't figure him out, couldn't solve the puzzle that was Riddle's expressionless stare and stony demeanor. He hadn't been particularly curious before, but now he found himself wondering what it was exactly that Riddle did in those private tutoring sessions. Knowing that Riddle had had close relations with his father Abraxas, Lucius knew the Slytherin Head was the one to impress above all the others.

Fixing his gaze on Professor Vector, Lucius nodded thoughtfully. He wasn't an idiot. He had seen the line-up of applicants and while many of them were stupid gits, some could prove to be quite formidable opponents. Jacen Frost. Bellatrix Black. Remus Lupin. Just to name a few. He cared little for any of them, but he didn't doubt their capabilities. But he didn't doubt himself, either. Not anymore, anyway.

"Throughout my years here, you've made your opinions of me - whatever they are - and have no doubt stuck by them. I'm not here to tell you that I'm the greatest sodding thing since Merlin or to boast about my various academic and extracurricular achievements. The largest part of judging character is knowing yourself, and I know this: I can do this job. I can't draw you a diagram, or a chart, or explain step-by-step how I will win or what lengths I will go to. All I know is that I have in me, a drive and self-awareness that makes me who I am. I'm Lucius Malfoy. It's as simple as that."

He nodded his head, his hands folded behind his back and replied evenly, "Thank you for the consideration Professors, Headmaster. I look forward to the Wizard's Tournament, regardless of whether I am competing in it or viewing it from the stands."