After a long break, this is my first foray back into the world of fanfiction in about 3 years. I have posted multiple stories previously under a different name, but I won't be telling you it, cuz, frankly, the work is crap. I may take one half finished story down from that profile and repost it, completed, here.
This is just a brief oneshot to ease myself back in. Please let me know if you like it.
She wrinkled her nose slightly as the pungent smell of stale urine and cigarettes sharpened as she shuffled passed one of the few room still in use.
For the fifth time that day she considered cleaning the room and changing the cats tray. A vision of her wand flickered at the edge of her memory, but she couldn't summon the effort to pull it fully into her consciousness. Her eyes fell to the carpet beneath her feet as she wandered past the open doorway, mind falling blank again. Her eyes closed against the headache brought about by hours of the thick stench clinging to her. Reaching the dimness of the corridor she leaned against the heavy door until it opened far enough for her to slip into the dusty room and slump onto her bed.
She smiled dully as her two boys leapt up nextto her, purring and butting their heads against her cheek. Her fingers twitched toward the cigarette packet that wasn't by her bed before falling back to the mattress, the mild craving unable to outweigh the energy required to find them.
Turning her face away from the half open door, she buried her face in her pillow and breathed in the musty but mercifully unstagnant air, The empty potion bottle sat at her bedside and she wondered if she'd manage to make it out of her room tomorrow before the apocathary closed. Owling for it to be delievered was not an option. It was unthinkable that anyone see the squallerous conditions of her living space. And even if she did not still feel the brief spark of protection of the family name against the gossip of others, the thought of having to search the grounds for an owl wearied her.
She stroked the scars of her forearm and closed her eyes against the thoughts that family awakened. The vision of a laughing blonde child sitting upon his fathers shoulders still brought a dull ache, even if her tears had long since dried.
No, she didn't want more potion, she didn't want to clean, she didn't want to read her letters or see her friends or sit in the sun; or do anything, except lie in the smell of decay and filth until she rotted.
And, 'though she had lost everything else, Narcissa Malfoy still had the power to grant herself this one last desire.
So, there it is. Short but sweet. What do you think? Should I continue writng?
