Narcissa Post-war Ficlet
Feb. 23rd, 2005 01:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
valis2Character: Narcissa, Lucius, Draco Malfoy
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Effects of violence
Het, Slash or Gen: Gen
Description: Narcissa muses, post-War.
There is nothing anyone can say to her now. It's over.
The Dark Lord is gone. He is dust. No more does he draw Lucius to himself like some twisted, bloody lodestone.
No. Lucius will never heed the Mark's call; Lucius will never leave her again, in the middle of the night, to fulfill some nefarious purpose deep within the Ministry of Magic.
She will not have to worry for Draco any longer. He will not be murdered by a vengeful Auror. He will not be perverted, bit by bit, into the serpent's grasp. He will not delve any further into the Dark Arts. She will not fret that he might run into the night, only to appear again with that black, blasted thing on his arm.
To be a Pureblood is to be proud, and pure. Narcissa is both of these things. But she would not join him. Bellatrix taunted her, screamed at her, finally broke down and begged.
Narcissa would not. She had a feeling that nagged at her mind. Lucius had laughed at her, but in the end, it was true. The Dark Lord was as much a Mudblood as the boy he was obsessed with destroying.
Bellatrix is being dragged away by Aurors, shrieking, hurling obscenities, blind and bereft.
Voldemort is dead. He will never slip into her dreams, warping them into nightmares. He will not drag her son or her husband from her again. She will not be frightened that the Manor will be stripped from her, that she will be thrown into the gutter, penniless.
Lucius is splayed out on the bloody snow, his impeccable robes ripped and scorched. Draco is a few feet away. The Aurors could not remember who died for whom, though they are adament that it was somehow noble.
They are wrong. She already knows the tale. She can feel it crawling in the back of her mind.
She can feel their last breaths, drawn for a monster who did not deserve them.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Effects of violence
Het, Slash or Gen: Gen
Description: Narcissa muses, post-War.
There is nothing anyone can say to her now. It's over.
The Dark Lord is gone. He is dust. No more does he draw Lucius to himself like some twisted, bloody lodestone.
No. Lucius will never heed the Mark's call; Lucius will never leave her again, in the middle of the night, to fulfill some nefarious purpose deep within the Ministry of Magic.
She will not have to worry for Draco any longer. He will not be murdered by a vengeful Auror. He will not be perverted, bit by bit, into the serpent's grasp. He will not delve any further into the Dark Arts. She will not fret that he might run into the night, only to appear again with that black, blasted thing on his arm.
To be a Pureblood is to be proud, and pure. Narcissa is both of these things. But she would not join him. Bellatrix taunted her, screamed at her, finally broke down and begged.
Narcissa would not. She had a feeling that nagged at her mind. Lucius had laughed at her, but in the end, it was true. The Dark Lord was as much a Mudblood as the boy he was obsessed with destroying.
Bellatrix is being dragged away by Aurors, shrieking, hurling obscenities, blind and bereft.
Voldemort is dead. He will never slip into her dreams, warping them into nightmares. He will not drag her son or her husband from her again. She will not be frightened that the Manor will be stripped from her, that she will be thrown into the gutter, penniless.
Lucius is splayed out on the bloody snow, his impeccable robes ripped and scorched. Draco is a few feet away. The Aurors could not remember who died for whom, though they are adament that it was somehow noble.
They are wrong. She already knows the tale. She can feel it crawling in the back of her mind.
She can feel their last breaths, drawn for a monster who did not deserve them.
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Date: 2007-06-24 09:44 pm (UTC)