I DO NOT OWN THE FANDOM KNOWN AS HARRY POTTER, NOR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS!

An Angel Without Wings

For many years the Malfoy family had served him, starting with Abraxas and ending with Draco. Three generations—yet all but one were failures. Abraxas had been the epitome of what was expected from the Malfoy family, while his son fell just a little…short.

Draco was a whiny, snotty little boy that desperately needed to grow up. It wasn't entirely his mother's fault, for she did her job as expected. No, Lucius failed to discipline his son but instead spoiled Draco just to end his complaining.

Stroking the cool ebony arm of his throne, Voldemort regarded the two blonds kneeling before him. Draco Malfoy could not hide his tremors and was trembling so violently that Voldemort could almost hear the boy's teeth rattle.

Smiling with sickly sweetness, scarlet eyes moved to the other figure. Narcissa was cool as a cucumber, struggling to breathe evenly and keep her calm.

"I am most…" Voldemort's grip tightened on his wand, before he forced himself to relax, "displeased!"

"My Lord, I—"

"Crucio!"

Narcissa flinched at her son's screams, but didn't dare to look up. She bit her lip and glanced out of the corner of her eye at the looming skull white masks hovering in the shadows beyond. Bellatrix nodded at her, eyes glinting with glee and subtle disappointment as she turned her gaze upon her nephew.

"Draco." The curse was lifted.

"Draco," Voldemort repeated, sighing his own disappointment.

"You failed, and yet you were saved. Your task was completed, but by someone other than yourself. For that, you will be punished. Not by death and not by me. However, only if your mother and I can come to an agreement." Scarlet eyes gleamed with a vicious emotion called smugness as he peered down at the woman in question.

"Dismissed!"

A Death Eater quietly floated Draco out as the boy kicked and screamed in anger at the lack of respect he was receiving. The Death Eater followed the other Death Eaters into the corridor. Large, oak doors closed behind them and Narcissa felt her palms begin to sweat. Disgusted, she pried her gloves off and awkwardly wiped it on her dress. She did not think the Dark Lord would allow her to draw her wand for such a foolish thing as cleaning her hands.

Heavy black boots came into her range of view and long, bony fingers tilted her chin until she was staring into the serpentine eyes of the Dark Lord. Offering her a hand, Voldemort helped her up but kept his amusement to himself as he saw turquoise eyes flash with fear and confusion.

"You will divorce your husband and start planning your marriage to me. In return, your son will be given to Rabastan to be turned into a proper man and Death Eater. Marry me and I spare his life."

Lord Voldemort could not love, but he was obsessed with the woman standing in front of him. He had always known there would be a time when it came to think of the future--once Dumbledore was out of the way.

When he was struggling to make himself known, the Blacks had been funding his research and travels for many years. When both Bellatrix and Narcissa had been developing girls, yet attending Hogwarts, he had been invited to many Yule Balls hosted by the Blacks.

Bellatrix had been a sultry young woman, cunning, but rash and violent. Even before her stay at Azkaban she could not control her urges. Not like he was any better, but he would work on it after the war.

Andromeda was thoughtless, bold, and loud. Out of the three of them, Narcissa would have made the best wife with her charming mannerisms and calm demeanor. Like her sister, she would do anything to get what she wanted—even if she had to cry.

Narcissa had been promised to the Malfoys since birth and thus he waited until the perfect moment. Voldemort had hoped that Narcissa may try to seduce him like her older sister, but she remained a faithful wife.

He could have ordered her or even curse Narcissa, but what fun would that be?

His patience had finally paid off for Dumbledore was dead and Lucius was disposed of until he was needed.

Giving a chilling smile when Narcissa only lowered her eyes, Voldemort dragged a jagged nail down her lily soft cheek. One bony arm snaked around her waist, pulling her close and hard against his chest.

"Do you hear me?" Voldemort hissed, dipping his head to hiss into her ear.

"Yes," she whispered, pressing a hand softly against his chest as if thinking about pushing him away but not daring to.

Now, it was time to think of his image. A family man appealed to everyone in the Wizarding world; to the purebloods it would appear that he valued family and tradition. To those he allowed to stay alive, a family would make him look softer, kinder, if not merciful and easier to approach

Pure genius.

"I apologize, Narcissa, I couldn't hear you," Voldemort mocked, eyes gleaming in the semidarkness as he roughly twirled a fine strand of flaxen hair around a spidery finger. Relishing in Narcissa's wince, he waited for her response.

"Yes, My Lord," Narcissa said clearly, uncomfortable with his proximity and mocking affection.

"Good."