The Death of a Prince
A week later, Lucius sat in his study, wondering if he would ever be happy again.
He couldn't think of anything except Draco.
From his window, he had a perfect view of the garden that his son used to love so much. The garden that he would never step foot into again.
Some of the flowers had begun to wilt.
To be expected. He thought. No one's there to take care of it.
And no one will be.
Ever again.
He shut the blinds.
The flowers were a lot like him, in a way. Wasting away in his absence. They couldn't live without Draco. And neither could he.
Lucius knew he wouldn't be able to stomach anything, but he figured he might as well prepare some breakfast for his wife. Of course, she could fend for herself, but it would be rude of him to not at least offer it.
She must be in as much pain as him, he figured. If not more.
Perhaps they could cook together.
That's what she needed. To know that someone was on her side.
He made his way down to the sitting room.
Narcissa was on the couch, reading something with a hopeless look on her face.
"What's that?" Lucius whispered. She looked up at him, startled. She hadn't noticed him staring over her shoulder. The newspaper was quickly folded and tucked away.
"It's nothing, sweetheart." If only her shaky voice hadn’t betrayed her desperate attempt to shelter him. Lucius grabbed it off the table and flipped it open. She was looking at the obituaries page. It was completely full, of course, but through all of it, Lucius noticed one name in particular. Severus Snape.
The weight of the world crashed onto him. His best friend, too? It couldn't be real, his eyes had to be playing tricks on him. But no matter how many times he blinked, how long he stared at it, the page still presented the same unaltered letters.
A voice snapped back into his mind. "Go get Severus for me."
When he had gone to beg the Dark Lord to cease the battle. When he was denied his request and told to go get Snape.
He had murdered Severus.
His body began to shake. He threw the paper down on the table as he felt tears well up in his eyes. Lucius quickly spun around and charged back up to his study, not daring to let Narcissa see him cry. As soon as he sat down, the tears bursted out, like rivers of guilt and rage.
"It was all my fault. I killed both of them" He thought. "How many more people are going to die because of me?" "I could have prevented it, I-" His desk became wet with tears. He began to choke on them. "I could have saved both of them…" He thought between sobs.
The door clicked open. Narcissa stepped in. He didn't have time to shoo her away before she had converged on him and grabbed his hand. He raised his shaky head to meet her gaze. "I'm sorry. I know how much he meant to you." She whispered. How could she still pity him after what he had done?
She pulled him for a hug. He didn't have time to protest.
The rest of the evening was a complete blur, Lucius feeling almost as if he wasn't himself, his body completely unattached from his mind. He felt like a stranger in his own home. He'd tense at the sound of his own name, feeling as if it wasn't his. It seemed like it belonged to a strange man he once knew, one that lived here once, one that would wear the clothes he was wearing and do the things he was doing, but that man wasn't him, that man was nothing like him.
When he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he wasn't quite sure who he was looking at. He didn't recognize the face looking back at him.
He touched the mirror. As his fingers falled down it, a trail of blood followed. He didn't question it. Not for a second.
When he decided that he didn't care anymore, that he'd go sit and stare out into the distance, he heard distant sounds in the back of his mind. Pained, agonized, strangled sounds. Demons he could never release.
Suddenly, all the despair in his world melted away. Lucius turned to see his son, Draco was there. He reached out to hug him, to pat him on the back, to ruffle his hair, just like old times. But as soon as he reached for him, he disappeared. A figment of his broken mind.
The warmth melted from his body, plunging him into a world of darkness and pain once again. The voices grew louder. He checked the mirror. It was completely clean.
As he stared into the nothingness and attempted to calm his tormented mind, to no avail as always, he felt a soft touch on him. Rubbing his shoulder. Lucius went still. Was it a hallucination, or was it…
He slowly turned his head to meet the worried gaze of his wife. His beautiful, beautiful wife. She wrapped her arms around him. He flinched at her touch, at the sudden feeling of warmth.
"What…" He whispered, his voice broken.
"What are you doing up here?" He forced himself to speak, choking on his own agony.
She didn't respond, only pulled him closer, hugging him. He trembled, attempting to hold himself back, but he couldn't. He gave in to his sorrow and released his sobs onto the table. She tucked her head into his shoulder. A silent tear wet the fabric of his shirt.
"You should..." He choked, before stopping to sniffle. "You should… get out of here..." He whispered faintly, as if talking was a difficult task.
Narcissa still didn’t move. He knew he didn't deserve her presence in any right, but he sat through it. He couldn't force her out. Not at a time like this.
It crossed his mind to give her a kiss. Be a man. Comfort her. He tried to force some kind of movement out of his wretched body, but couldn't make his weak, crippling muscles move. Instead, he simply sat there, letting the cold tears course down his face and chest.
Although it didn't matter. He couldn't bear to grace her lips anyway, after what he did. It would be cruel of him. It was his fault, after all. Everything. The deaths. The torment. Their son wouldn't have died in front of them if it wasn't for him.
And in that moment he thought of how selfish he was. He didn’t deserve her forgiveness. Yet he allowed himself to sink into her embrace. He savored it, despite how his sins were tainting her.
Words of grief and love filled his mouth and left a bitter taste on his tongue. None of them crossed his lips.
They stayed there holding each other until Narcissa coaxed him to bed. He followed her and for the first time in days, let himself rest.
His sleep was fitful, plagued by the recurring images of Draco’s pale and unmoving body. Lucius tossed and turned, trying to get out of his tortuous nightmare to no avail. The faint gasps and choke of Narcissa brought him back. She was weeping, crying silently, somehow still managing to do it with the most grace that one could have. He really didn’t deserve her.
Looking at her, Lucius thought that maybe it would be best to distance himself from her. He could see how he was affecting her, how he was corrupting her. She didn't deserve to share the weight of the wrongs that he had committed.
He had to push her away. It would be for her own good.