Disclaimer: I don't and never will own Harry Potter it is the property of J.K. Rowling and will continue to unless she decides to give it to me. Passionate Trousers belongs to the wonderful Cassandra Claire.

Summary: Just a little oneshot.

Timeline: It is after HBP but no real spoilers only the vaguest of hints.

A/N: This was inspired by a story called the last Supper which you can read at Gaiaonline. It is by Nikkilola. This is also my first attempt in to the HP universe and feedback is welcome.

"Whoever said it's better to have loved

and lost then never loved at all, never

lost"

Edward Devalle

She laid there, crimson liquid spilling out of the wounds scattered on her person. Her blonde hair was stained and matted from the blood and her once immaculate robes were clinging to her beaten frame.

She was in the garden, the smells of flowers all around her. She knew the garden well and there was a fountain only a few feet away. She also knew she couldn't reach it, pulling her head up was hard enough let alone crawling over to the water. Not that it would help anyway.

She was dying, trapped in her own garden, surrounded by such beauty. The flowers around her that she had once enjoyed so much, the sweet smells that she had once spent so much time around. All of it felt strange now, sickly sweet and disgustingly bright. It turned her stomach.

"Why?' She whispered, "I thought you loved me…"

"I did," his voice echoed in her mind, the words spoken quietly as if he didn't wished her to hear it. "I do, I always have, since I first saw you."

The words surprised her; they were like something out of a romance novel. They seemed so out of place coming out of her husband, whose coldness and sarcasm was what drew her to him in the first place.

"You don't," she denied "if you had you wouldn't have done this you, you monster!" She spat the last word out making it sound like a particularly foul curse.

"You were slipping after our master killed him for failing, you were fading I had to do something, and there wasn't any other way."

"God Lucius do you even listen to you're self, you had a choice and you chose wrong it seems. And how can you call that beast out master after what he did. You may continue to kiss the hem of his robes but in death I'll have no part of it."

"Merlin Narcissa," a smirk played on his lips "you're fatally wounded and you're still into over dramatics."

"Best time isn't it?" She laughed mirthlessly.

She lifted her head to meet his eyes and quickly regretted it. His grey eyes, normally so cold and detached were dull and clouded. A single tear made its way down his cheek. After what felt like an eternity but was really only a few seconds she broke the gaze, too tired to keep her head up.

He fell to his knees next to her, flaxen hair falling into his face. Quickly pulling her into his arms, he held her up to face him.

"Forgive me Cissa?" he whispered. He didn't beg although he very much wanted to, Malfoy's didn't beg.

She smiled although it fell a bit short on one side, finally she murmured "I shouldn't you know, but I do, I always do."

He smiled, one of those rare grins in-between the almost constant sneers and smirks. "Thanks."

"I love you," it wasn't like in some novel like Passionate Trousers or Pride and Polyjuice, it was simply something true.

"I know you do," he smirked "you already know how I feel about you."

"I do," she nodded weakly "but humor me and say it anyway."

He rolled his eyes, "bloody demanding women" he brought his lips down on hers softly and when they broke apart he whispered "I love you."

"I know," and with her last breath she kissed him on the forehead.

Cradling her body to him he allowed the tears to fall, for Narcissa, for everything he lost. Then as fast as the tears had formed they stopped, he allowed the body to drop back onto the ground. Standing quickly he walked slowly back into the manor, with one look back at the body of the women he had loved and murdered.

A/N: I am well aware how overdramatic and cliched this is but I am quite fond of the OCC nightmare.