Dear Reader, the day when the true seeds of doubt were sown was the day Harry Potter stepped out to face a Hungarian Horntail Dragon during the Triwizard Tournament. Suddenly I understood that this wasn't a game anymore. And I understood that I didn't actually want to see Harry die.
Only days previously I had climbed a tree, mostly out of wanting to be reminded of my childhood, it was something, I don't know, familiar in a turbulent world. It was also exactly where I knew Harry would be passing and I could use my position of superior levitation to look down my nose at him and tease him about how my father and I had placed bets on how long he would survive the tournament.
Then I saw the dragon.
And my heart pounded in my chest.
And my palms began to actually sweat.
And I was utterly relieved when the dragon was re-captured and Harry survived the ordeal.
And I was rather in awe of him, again.
My father had confided that it must have been powerful Dark Magic that got Harry's name into the Goblet of Fire, but he also let slip that he knew nothing about it. I was starting to pick up signs that he was rather jittery after the Dark Mark had been conjured at the Quidditch World Cup. Rumours were circling that Voldemort was ready to rise again, things were moving behind the scenes and Lucius was not included in the inner circle of knowledge.
I was starting to feel uneasy. However, I didn't dare question my father. When things were not going my father's way, or when he was experiencing ambiguity, he got rather free and easy with the Cruciatus Curse, especially if I failed to please. It was a year when I seemed to fail to please a lot. Not for want of trying, but just because Lucius was on edge.
He was waiting. He knew something was about to happen imminently.
It was the year when Barty Couch Jnr, disguised as Mad-Eye Moody, put his fourth year Defence against the Dark Arts class under the Imperius Curse so we could all experience it and I watched Harry shrug it off like it was no more than a blanket thrown around his shoulders. The boy never failed to leave me in surprise of his power. My father had been telling me I needed to master overcoming Unforgiveable Curses for years. Alongside the Occlumency lessons, he began practicing Unforgiveables on me at times when I was least expecting it. Suddenly I would find myself crippled in agony as the Cruciatus buried itself into the very core of my bones, throbbing through my bone marrow, numbing my legs and my back until I could no longer stand and would be writhing on the ground in pain unable to find release from the sharpness that pained me. The onslaught wasn't just on my body, it was on my senses too, I would get a low persistent whining in my ears, my mouth would dry out and there was a tangy metallic smell to the spell. It was overwhelming and confusing.
'Fight it!' he would shout.
'Overcome it!' he would yell as he stood over me.
'You have to beat it,' he would scream into my tear-streaked face.
I never could.
For the first time in my life, I began to truly fear my father. Although he had beaten or cursed me previously, I saw, in a childish way, a logic to it all. Now, it didn't make sense, now he was irrational, now he was cruel. I began to hate my father because I feared him. But still I loved him too. It was confusing, I wanted him to protect us, I still sought out his love and approval. He was my father. I so desperately wanted to be loved by him.
As I found out later, Lucius was waiting to be summoned. The Dark Mark on his arm was becoming stronger again, his master was returning to strength. Lucius was a man living on his nerves and taking it out on his wife or son when he couldn't take the strain anymore.
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