Epilogue

It was twirling again. The blasted figurine. He had not been able to shut the box, despite its torment. Not without his wand. He had learnt to stop trying, before the ice came to his cell, even before the warmth had been there. It had been there for one period of heat, and now there was cold. Eyeing it uncomfortably, he noted that the figurine was spinning faster now, and with it came the dread. Dread of learning what further mess his son had made of the Malfoy name. He didn't have to wait long to find out.

Tinkling Christmas music played softly in the background, the wireless chiming out the song Draco had come to know all too well as he sang, much to Teddy's amusement who cheered and joined in as best he could while Draco ungainly danced with him held in his arms.

"We hear the Christmas angels, the great glad tidings tell; O come to us, abide with us, Our Lord Emmanuel!" Draco finished, trying to remember what Hermione had explained about precisely who this unknown aristocrat was. The door squeaked open, and he turned to see who had finally emerged at what was apparently the perfectly acceptable time to start Christmas with a toddler: five in the morning.

"Well… I love your singing in the morning, it makes me so happy! Merry Christmas Teddy, you too Draco," grinned the boy, voice thick with tiredness. "'Mione is just finishing off the cinnamon rolls in the oven, under Kreacher's supervision of course. I don't think he's very impressed with her kitchen takeover."

Draco laughed, and passed the wriggling boy to Harry for a cuddle. "I'm sure Teddy will enjoy sprinkling pastry everywhere, and we'll get to hear Kreacher complain about our messy little half 'bee' 'arr' 'e' 'e' 'dee' well into the New Year."

The door squeaked again, and Teddy made a break for it. Hermione only just managed to pass the platter across to Harry before she was tackled to the ground. Laughing, she scooped him up and sat him on her lap by the tree. "Teddy! You can't still be this excited to see me? You climbed into our bed hours ago." Nevertheless, she hummed contentedly as he wriggled into her lap and Draco sat behind her, peppering kisses across the back of her neck.

Draco turned to Harry, yawning as the man laughed, "Hours ago means before midnight. He climbed in between us and insisted we both cuddle him. Every time I tried to turn around, he managed to pull me back, and he practically crushed this sleepy little witch." It had become a frequent habit, since the boy had transitioned out of his cot, to climb in bed with them. If his Dada had been away for a few days, he wanted Hermione and Harry; if not, Draco and Hermione. There had even been several occasions where the lot of them had fallen asleep in a tangled mess as they acquiesced to Teddy's wishes.

As the betraying crunching of crispy pastry began, there was a rustling as Harry began to gather Teddy's gifts ready for when he had finished his breakfast. "Granny Andy is coming for lunch, and Uncle Neville too. Kreacher declined your invitation to join, I'm afraid, 'Mione!"

As the group laughed, it was clear that Teddy had begun approaching his gifts. There was the tear of paper, rapid scrunching, as he unveiled a huge wooden playset: "Yay! Ows!"

"Owls, Teddy, yes! Father Christmas has brought you an Owl Post Office set. Here, let me and Draco help you build it. It has nice owls, just like Hedwig in the stories Dada tells you." The room descended into raucous confusion, a real tale of too many elves in the kitchen, as some of the brightest minds of the Wizarding World came together to set up a wooden toy. It was taking some time, and Teddy had already discovered an embroidered stuffy Hedwig that he was carting around amongst everyone's feet.

The first time he had heard the chirping of the child, Lucius had imagined it to be the bastard spawn of Potter and Granger. The boy was precisely the type to allow her to carry to term after a convenient fuck in their little tent, and think nothing of further polluting the world with half-bloods. Yet, they had persevered with being Uncle and Auntie for months prior to accepting their simpering 'Dada' and 'Mama' titles from the boy. He had never allowed Draco to call him such things, of course, and he knew a good thrashing would have won them the argument. They were weak, too pathetic to discipline the boy. Hardly surprising from Potter, barely strong enough to cast an unforgivable. Yet her? She had dominated the courtroom on their last meeting. She was admittedly powerful, tough too, but unwilling to hold the child to account. A Mudblood through and through.

Things had become yet more confusing when he heard his own progeny referred to as 'Uncle Draco;' though a poorly pronounced rendition of it. Indeed, the relationship between the two was something to which he was frequently subjected. Draco, when not in work, had apparently become some sort of House Elf enslaved to the child and the Mudblood. He was forever carrying the child, feeding it, even coaxing the child through multiple sicknesses. It was an impossible state of affairs, and yet it was so. With the girl, he was no different. He attended events on her arm, not the other way around. He was complimenting her, encouraging her to eat more like some sort of fetishist, rubbing her back when she had a 'long day.' He behaved like a lovesick puppy, not a Malfoy. The constant stream of adoration, the affection, his outspoken desire to put a baby in her, to have her bound to him. Not that he phrased it like that, no, the idiot used flowery language and courted her with respect, told her how lucky he was. A Malfoy! Lucky to be intimately entwined with a Mudblood? The vilest one of all, too. It should have passed by now, and yet it hadn't. He seemed worse, if anything, and he had considered whether he had been subject to an Unforgivable. Yet he had seen him, heard him defend her, his 'love' for her right there in his cell when the boy had left behind the infernal box. How a Malfoy could fall so low as to be the subservient man in a strange little threesome, he didn't know, and yet his son had achieved it. Had it not been for the extensive charms he had cast on Narcissa while she was pregnant, he would have questioned his position as heir.

It was symptomatic of what was happening in society, it seemed. They had lost all progress in the Wizarding World. They had turned their backs on the advancements made under the Dark Lord. It was not that he couldn't see the damage that had occurred, but surely, surely the progression toward the ideal had been worthwhile? He had given his dignity, his wife's blood, his son's life, to the cause. A cause which had been overcome by a motley crew of lowlife traitors, somehow. It was relatively successful too, by their own measures. He had been subjected to so many of her victories. The changes to the Wizengamot, that his treacherous son now sat on to the exclusion of almost every family he respected, the failure of the Lestrange Appeal that she thwarted at every turn. The purge of the last remaining Death Eater sympathisers from the Ministry, who would now languish in Azkaban after her coup. The changes at Hogwarts, the school at which he had so dominated the board, with the mandatory study of Muggles as a 'culture'. His own money funding the program. He should have killed the little bitch while he'd had the chance. The situation the world now found itself in was precisely why women were not suited to politics. They were vindictive with power.

The chaotic noise continued to echo around the otherwise empty cell, invading his sanctuary. He had thought prison torturous, but found that once the memories began, he had failed to completely comprehend quite how bad things could be. It had started slowly, months after his so-called son had visited. It had started with the day the three graduated, with enough soppy remarks of love to thoroughly confuse him. She was a whore, that was for sure, for her heart seemed to bleed for more than one man. After a few months, he could tell that the memories didn't all belong to her. His son and Potter had apparently engaged in the effort to irritate him, with their ridiculous Quidditch game trips and Draco's breakthrough with Bella's playthings at St. Mungo's. Never before, however, had such blatant white noise continued for so long as the figurine continued to spin, without another memory returning to replay. He had little choice but to settle into the stone alcove he preferred, not that there were many options, and wait to hear what else they had in store for him. As the noise calmed, and the toy seemed as assembled as it was going to be without someone more practical to help, Teddy's soft voice filtered through.

"Uncle Draco! Send a letter with Hedwig… PLEEEASE," he added as a grinned afterthought. He was practicing his manners of late, and was very enthusiastic about it. A garbled game began, with the three ordering various items, sending letters and enquiring about international mailing charges at Teddy's new shop. Once had had settled into the processes of running his new capitalist empire, the adults turned to their own gifts.

"So, Severus, how are you finding the armchair in your portrait? Is it comfortable? We can always have any improvements you want made in the New Year." Hermione's voice rang out sweetly.

A familiar baritone replied, "It's perfectly comfortable, and entirely accurate to the armchair you have stolen from my house for your nursery. You always did have to overachieve, didn't you?"

"Think of it as your official contribution to the 'convince Granger to marry me and have our babies' campaign. You're a permanent part of our family now, Uncle Sev." smiled Draco.

"Lucky me, to belong to such a selcouth ménage," the man snarked, though there was no doubt that he really thought himself as such.

It was Severus. Severus. His Severus. He had known the man had been a double agent, had learnt enough for him to feel the harsh sting of betrayal when he had been arrested after the Final Battle. Yet, who hadn't thought the Dark Lord was going too far, at times? He certainly had. When Narcissa was left to die, if no one had intervened, to help the snake. His wife, bleeding worthless on the filthy ground like a common Mudblood. It had been enough to make him consider that perhaps the man had lost his mind. Yet he had remained devoted, dedicated to his values certainly. So now, to hear Severus – of all people – cavorting with Saint Potter and the Mudblood whore and his own blood traitor of a son, and a half breed child over Christmas; to hear Severus on friendly, first name, gift giving terms with the girl in particular? It was too much. The dark magic of her heart had ensnared too many of those close to him, those he had served alongside, those he had fought with, those he had cared for. It was enough.

Severus, being bewitched even in death by that girl, was surely unendurable. What was it with her? It was unbearable. The box seemed to be replaying Snape's words, over and over and over again. In their house. With his portrait. Celebrating, happy with them. He wasn't sure he'd ever heard the man sound so relaxed before. He hadn't been convinced it was him for several seconds; his voice was richer, warmer than he'd ever known. The man seemed to truly believe he had found a family with them, with that collection of repulsive misfits. It had been bad enough when his own son had turned to them, but Severus? The man had always been content in his solitude. Death should have posed no qualms. What would have caused him to choose them? What was her magic? The noise. It wouldn't stop. The figurine had stopped turning, but the buzz of his voice, her voice, Draco's voice, their discussion remained in the cell. Why wouldn't it stop? Louder and louder. He crushed his skeletal hands over his ears, anything to stop listening, and yet the voices stayed just as loud as they had been. His body burned with anger, fury that was hot and white pain. His limbs felt as though they were being pulled from his body, and his gums ached as though they might bleed. The worst, however, was the crushing vice around his skull. The noise. It had to be stopped. Why wouldn't it stop? The stillness of the figurine had always brought silence. No more.

Feebly, Lucius Malfoy fell to his hands and knees, a shadow of the man he had once been. He reduced himself to crawling, pulling himself across the icy stone floor toward the box. His eyes closed, he sucked his breath in with each inch he moved, the pain was dark and all consuming. The noise continued. He knew he was screaming, yelling, but he heard nothing but Severus, that Mudblood bitch and the boy. Again and again. It was unstoppable, louder and louder. He tried to wriggle forward, as best he could, falling flat to the floor as his arms kept giving way. It felt as though the girl herself was reaching into him and pulling his guts out. Ripping them. It was a brutal, lancing agony, and the box seemed to remain far from him. Still, he continued. He would shut the box. He would stop the noise.

Finally, he was at the wall, and he gracelessly pulled himself up. He grabbed at the box, the thin skin of his arms exposing every sinew of bone and muscle as he reached forward, bracing himself. It shocked him, as always, the burning sparks flooding through him but he didn't let go. He gritted his teeth, and kept going. He would shut the box. He would stop the noise. He pulled it with him as he collapsed to the floor, writhing in pain. The intensity of the burning only increased as he continued to wrestle with it. He was on fire, and the noise remained deafening. It was incessant. The burning, it was in his chest now, as he continued to fight weakly against the magic. Every fibre of his being was raw and throbbing, almost as if every nerve was exposed to a fire. He had known nothing like it, and as the room faded, the voices only intensified. As he managed to wrap his hands over the lid, pushing it shut, all he could see was black. Yet the voices remained loud, even with the enchanted chest now shut, they were still there. He knew then that they would never go, that they would haunt him, even in death. His last breath was a tormenting rattle, stinging to its last moment.

Lucius Malfoy was dead. Electric Perfection.

A/N: And we're done. I'd like to thank all of you, for coming along on this story. It was extremely therapeutic for me to write, and I hope you've enjoyed it. While I had planned the plot in advance, I wrote every chapter as I posted, so getting almost 150k words out in two months is quite an achievement for me in my spare time! It took a lot of nerve to post some chapters, but those are also the parts that I think I like the most. I want to take a moment to thank all of my reviewers. Every time I've posted, I've refreshed my statistics for hours afterwards, desperate to hear what you thought. You have no idea what a huge impact a review has, how widely you've made me smile.

To CatPeach, whose darker tendencies make me smile, and reassure me that I'm not losing my mind when I post a chapter that's a little more cunning, a little scarier, than the last. Thank you.

To ChelseaAlways, who empathised with Hermione right alongside me. Thank you.

To DangerouslyComplexMind, who seems to always review at the perfect time of writer's block, when I can't bare another second of thinking and typing and proofreading. Thank you.

To DragonLady37, who stood with me at the very beginning when I wasn't sure I could even do this, or if anyone would even want to read this. Thank you.

To ForsakenKalika, who held my hand with their review when I wasn't sure I handled difficult topics well enough. You put so much feeling in your feedback, you made me excited to write. My first ever review! Thank you.

To Grovek26, whose reassuringly quick reviews allow me to go to sleep without worrying every night I post. Thank you.

To IanAlphaAxel, who made me smile as they read so many chapters so quickly. You made me pleased I'm not the only one who stumbles on a story and can't look away. Thank you.

To Jacpin2002, who always puts detail in their reviews that reassures me that every silly plot point, every joke is actually getting read – and the growing read count is not a figment of my imagination. Thank you.

To Lun27, who gave me the most detailed feedback on what turns them on and off a story, feedback I'll be taking for my future planned fics. Thank you.

To Sammyleighlee, who absolutely smashed a review out every chapter, and blew my mind during the most stressful time of my summer, waiting for a delayed visa to process. You made a huge difference to my life beyond Fanfiction without even knowing. Thank you.