Life's Blood
Terriah
Disclaimer: I solemnly swear that I own nothing! That do ya?
Summary: Right, I got bored and random and wrote the following. If it don't make sense that's up to you!
Basically Ginny commits suicide rather than face the Wizarding world as Voldemort's Queen. Enjoy or dnt. Flame me or dnt. Review please Thu! ; )
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They say blood is thicker than water, yet blood falls just as fast. Blood can be tainted as easily as water can, only with water, you can see the impurity. Water is precious to those who have little, but blood is even more so. If water is lost, then it can rain and be remade. But when blood leaves your body, there is no redemption.
Blood flows away from the body that lies still on the floor at the feet of a hooded figure. A knife glints somewhere in the room, a room empty and cold. Blood mixes with hair with the same wine like colour, twisting and meeting in an array of different shapes and rivers. Blood is life.
The figure pulls of his hood, revealing a cruel mouth, slitted eyes burning with malice. The man bends down, caressing a white cheek, stroking a curl of red. "Oh my Virginia. You would have made a wonderful Queen, but your pride….." the man known as the Dark Lord smirks cruelly, "You couldn't take the shame could you, my dear?" Silence was his answer, but he didn't need one, nor wait for one. The Dark Lord rose, looking down on the lifeless body of the woman he had tormented since she was eleven years old.
Virginia, the Dark Lady, had had nothing left but her pride. Marrying the Dark Lord to spare the Wizarding world, she suffered in silence at his side. She would be no Queen to him, give him no heir. By taking her own life, she had ended it before it had had chance to begin.
The husband glances down at his wife, then at the door where a silver haired man has just arrived. The Dark Lord waves his hand in acknowledgment. "Dispose of her, Malfoy. And do it properly." Draco Malfoy nods his silver head, his steely grey eyes revealing nothing, as his master sweeps out of the room.
He shuts the door behind him, his face still emotionless. Then he turns, his gaze falling on the thing that has been his hope for the last ten years. Draco walks over to the body on the stone floor, her beautiful hair haloed in her own blood. Slowly he kneels down beside her, reaching out a hand to touch her cold lips.
Hesitantly, a tear falling from his grey eyes, he traces the lips, remembering the hurried kisses in corridors, the chaste kisses before she left him in the morning and the passionate ones at late night when she came to him. Her last breath dead upon the lips he knew so well.
Gently, he pulls her towards him, lifting her body into his arms, rocking both of them back and forward, in an effort to comfort himself. But she is cold and white. No red blood runs in her veins. Only the water that rises up when we all die. The Dark Lady is gone.