Log in

Bitter Memory - PG-13 - Gilderoy/Lucius - papers and pens and teastains [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]
papers and pens and teastains

memory | fiction vault
info | i am
table of | contents
post-it-notes | tags

[journal| this is me ]
[skyehawke.com| the hall of fame ]

Bitter Memory - PG-13 - Gilderoy/Lucius [story time | 10:14 am]
papers and pens and teastains
[Tags|, , ]

Title: Bitter Memory
Author: sympathetic_ink
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Gilderoy has a memory escaping him.
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and other trademarks are © by JK Rowling, Little Literacy Agency, Scholastic, Bloomsbury, Arthur A. Levine, & Warner Brothers. No profit is being made, it's all good clean fun. Really.

Bitter Memory

- for loftily, because i've done some weird things in my time and because she asked -

It was most likely the bitter smile that gave him away first. Straight teeth and a scowl; matched with once elegant and well-fitting robes, now work: dark patches on the elbows.

Old memories stirred un-logically in his head, fragments of a past life that would steal up on him as if in a dream, and then dart away again before he could sink his nails into them. It was as if his entire past were some made-up childs fantasy: filled with dastardly deeds and a bewitching smile.

His curls had lost their curliness: he scowled into his reflection, and felt more tired than he'd ever been in his whole life. The door creaked open behind him, but he ignored it.

He didn't, however, ignore the well-dressed man that leaned on the door frame with a glow of indifference about him.

Lucius smiled blandly, dangerously.

If he could hiss, he would have.

But then hissing would have reminded him of that blasted Potter, who seemed to slither out of whatever devious and cunning plans Lucius thought out over long afternoons in his immaculate office, donating monies to whatever charities came a-knocking and drink double-malt whisky. Only the best for the Malfoy's.

He strode with purpose into the room, the blonde man watching his progress in the mirror like he was the answer to all the thousands of unanswered fragments that rattled around in his mind, waiting to be picked and explained our to him in careful and attentive detail.

He was not silly enough to expect this for Lucius.

"How are you today, Gilderoy?"

The question, made up of words that might have sounded more caring from a warmed personality: Severus Snape for instance, or perhaps the Abdominal Snowman - sounded forced and hard from Lucius Malfoy.

"Confused." Came the reply, confusedly.

A sharp nod. "To be expected."

Gilderoy nodded nervously. "The doctor said it might take some time, and the first flashbacks are becoming much more frequent now, although if only I could understand them..."

He trailed off.

Lucius was looking dangerous again.

"I'll be quiet now," Gilderoy squeaked, turning to face him, eyes downcast, trying to remember what is seemed that he could not. There was cotton wool filling his head and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get a solid grip on whatever-that-was niggling at him.

Lucius stood, coming to stand behind Gilderoy with an air of official reprimand.

Suddenly, he bent at the knees, brushing his mouth roughly against Gilderoy's temple with a blatant nip of finality.

Gilderoy's eyes closed as the mouth worked from temple to cheekbone, where it bit and worked until a bruise blossomed on still golden skin; from cheekbone to chin; chin to neck.

Hands delved into robes and Gilderoy's breathe escaped him with the art of a cat-burglar from your roof-top, just after he's stolen the family silver and your television.

His eyes leapt open.


Lucius looked affronted, before continuing his efforts away from the gaze of the mirror, downwards, down, down, down, until...

"And red hair."

Lucius smiled against the pulse on Gilderoy's thigh, before drawing his wand from his robe pocket.

Gilderoy sat up straighter than an arrow. "Mister Weasley!" He had remembered too late.


A bitter smile, a knowing gaze.

"Who am I?" Baffled.

"Gilderoy." Mock patience.

"Who are you?" Muddled.

"Lucius." Stern lipped.

"Are you..." Confused.

"Yes." Definite.

"Oh," A heavy knife-edge. "That's nice." Hurried.

A long drawn pause, a dangerous smile and a faint gasp.

He had remembered too late.

- finished -