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The Heirloom	By : soldiersgirl0709 Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Lucius/Hermione Views: 18478 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. I do not own anything related to Harry Potter or the Harry Potter Universe. All things recognizable belong to JKR and WB. No money is made from the sharing of this fic, only friends and smiles.

Chapter List
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Chapter Four: Lies

It was late when Lucius Malfoy turned to look out the window. The moon was high and full with a faint orange ring around it. He took a deep breath, rocking back and forth in the large leather desk chair. On the glossy surface of the desk behind him lay scattered letters written in the hand of his great uncle. These were the letters of a young man declaring his undying love to a young witch who had stolen his heart, promising her a future that would never be.

On top of them was the diary of a young woman, its floral cover worn in places. The pages told the story of a whirlwind romance, of a couple tasting the first, sweet fruits of passion and the wrenching pain of shattered dreams. He was oddly moved by the words he read. He wasn’t, in general, a softhearted man. Most people would say that he had ice-water running through his veins and a stone where his heart should be.

Sometimes he wondered if they were right. He had loved his wife, but he had not pined for her as the couple in the letters. He mourned her passing, but he did not long for her return. He did understand love, he loved his son and his grandson, would be pained deeply were he to lose them. What he did not understand was the idea of being consumed by love. To desire another so fiercely that it pained him to be away from her, to feel so over-come by his feelings that he would give up anything and everything to be with her.

“What might that feel like?” he muttered softly to himself.

“Sir, it is after midnight…are you retiring soon?” Lucius, looked back over his shoulder to his valet, Arthur, standing in the doorway. Arthur was a tall man, ridiculously slender with a shocking head of snowy hair. He was nearly a hundred and had served the Malfoy family for generations. He was—in many ways—the voice of his conscience.

“Arthur…you worked for my great-grandfather, didn’t you?” Lucius asked, slowly turning in his chair to face his employee.

“I did—I was just a lad at the time helping in the stables,” Arthur said with a wistful smile. “Why do you ask, sir?”

“Did you know his son, the youngest one, Roman?” Lucius watched as the expression shifted on Arthur’s face. It was brief, a furrowing of the brow and tightening of the mouth before Arthur schooled his expression back into the stoic, professional face of his station. “I can see that you did…tell me what you know.”

“I don’t know much, in all honesty,” Arthur said as he moved further into the room. “Master Roman was already away at school when I came to work for the Malfoy family. I saw him on the occasional weekend or school holiday when he would come to the stable for his mount, other than that I did not have contact with him.”

“I am not a fool, Arthur, I know that servants gossip,” Lucius said without reproach. “What was being said?”

Arthur sighed, his normally stiff shoulders sagging as he searched his memory.

“Master Roman was sneaking off to see a young woman. He was always so happy when he came for his horse, smiling and whistling,” Arthur smiled softly. “He was in love.”

“What else?” Lucius prodded.

“Master Orpheus did not approve,” Arthur shook his head. “We heard him shouting, all the way in the stable, as loud and clear as if we had been in the study with him. My son will NOT marry a muggle! He said vile, foul things about the young lady, he threatened to disown him but Master Roman didn’t back down. I love her, he said over and over again. Then he told his father about the child…I swear that the ground shook with your great-grandfather’s fury. Master Roman came to the stable, a satchel packed with his things—he was going to his lady, to marry her he said,” Arthur ran his fingers through his hair in an unusual gesture of agitation.

“I saddled his horse, was about to help him mount when Master Orpheus came into the stable, he demanded that Master Roman be restrained. The gamekeeper and the horse trainer grabbed him, pinned him to the stable wall, took his wand, and held him there…I could only watch, confused and afraid. He fought, screaming that he would never forgive his father for what he was doing. A doctor—if you can call him that—and two orderlies came…they stupefied the young master and carried him away. From that day on we were told to seal up his room and never again to mention his name. He died a little over a year later…we never knew what happened to the girl and the child.”

“They died,” Lucius said softly, drumming his fingers atop the journal. “When he didn’t show up that night the girl committed suicide.”

“Forgive me, Sir…but how do you know this?” Arthur asked curiously.

“Her great-niece brought me this,” Lucius said, indicating the letters and journal on the desk. “And she returned this,” he said, holding up the ring.

“So much tragedy,” Arthur said softly.

“Where was Roman’s room?” Lucius asked.

“In the North Wing, the room next to Master Draco’s room,” Arthur said.

“What happened to his things? Specifically his personal effects,” Lucius asked.

“I believe they were placed in storage, the attic in the hunting box I believe,” Arthur said.

“Tomorrow I would like for you to arrange to have them brought to me,” Lucius said, rising from his chair.

“Sir?”

“Everything I have been told of Roman Malfoy has been a lie. Suddenly a little muggle witch waltzes into my home and she seems to know more information about my family history than I,” he said, his voice tinged with frustration. “I find myself curious about my ancestor and what would possess him to go so far for the love of a muggle witch.”

“The love of a good woman is worth any price, Sir,” Arthur said quietly. He was fond of his master. He had served Lucius Malfoy since the master was a teenager. He had never agreed with his politics, but he understood him, his fears and his desires. He also understood the master’s desire for acceptance, for the love and approval of his father, something he was never able to attain.

“I wouldn’t know,” Lucius said quietly. “I am ready to retire, Arthur, I am sorry that I kept you up so late.”

“It is nothing to worry about, sir,” Arthur said, suddenly realizing how lonely his master’s life had been. “Let’s get you to bed; things will look better come morning.” He said, following his master up the stairs and praying that he was right.
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The Heirloom