He sat by the window in silence, so still. Not moving, unmoved. His eyes not knowing, or knowing the unknown. Hard to tell. So much trouble to the family he brought; will he bring even more? His faults be forgotten, until in turn he is forgotten. The man in the high-backed chair by the window sat perfectly still, but he wasn't there.
The first time she saw him, she'd looked up to him. She was going to marry a man of power, someone who would do everything to achieve that ideal of purebloods ruling the world. The lesser beings would serve the masters, as they ought to, like she'd been taught all her life. But as she began to think, and slowly got a mind of her own, not only this perfect picture began to shatter, but the perfect picture of her husband himself. He was a coward choosing the easy way out. He didn't want his wife to have a free will and her own opinion. He wanted a mother for his heir who played her part well. And she wasn't to choose that part herself.
She must show the pride of carrying the family name. She must show to be devoted to her husband. She must support him through rough times he'd gotten himself into. She must show to love the Dark Lord himself. She mustn't want to break free. But she did.
She must bring her son up to be that perfect picture. She taught him to survive, to keep up the pretence but never get in too deep. To love their friends, but keep them at bay. To bow low, but hold his head high. To be fake. Then Lucius made it real.
She tried to change the fate of her little boy. Her fate. She tried a thousand times, willing even to save the man she thought she loved, the man who broke their lives. He shattered every hope she had.
Time and time again he ruined everything. He wasn't willing to escape when they could. Then it was too late. He wasn't willing to save her only joy; their son. Another man was, while for Snape there was so much more at stake. And still it wasn't enough. He failed them again: the Dark Lord took his wand, and he wasn't able to protect his own family. Like always.
Even after the war he continued spoiling everything. He bribed and manipulated until the engagement between her sweet Draco and Daphne Greengrass was settled. Narcissa didn't agree with the new protocol where Dementors weren't allowed to guard the prison; her husband's power should've been broken. But it was broken enough to let Draco run away with Daphnes sister, so she let it be.
Lucius didn't have to do anything to keep destructing. It was all drilled too deep into Draco. He wanted to raise his own son as he was raised, though his wife tried to change him. Astoria was good for him, and she and Narcissa raised Scorpius as they would've wanted to be raised. But Lucius was released, and he shot Draco back into the darkness, pulling Scorpius with him.
She'd looked up to him. Now there wasn't much to look up to.
This time, she wouldn't sit at the sideline and watch. He'd had his chance, now he couldn't be saved. He wouldn't be saved. She didn't do it in a moment of blind rage. He was about to break all she'd built up, ruin Draco and damage Scorpius for life. She'd stop him this time. It'd look like suicide. The perfect cover: life without magic wasn't an option for her husband, and would never be. It was only fitting that magic should be his downfall.
That he hadn't caused that downfall himself, no one needed to know. And in a way he had; he brought Narcissa to do what she did. One spell, one flash of light... Lucius didn't even seem surprised as the spell hit him. Like he'd been waiting for death to come, but didn't dare face his fate. So when his wife finally ended his life, he faced away. To the moon, to the freedom he'd never had and would never get.
Narcissa hoped that at last she would be free. She and so many others who suffered from him, the pawn in the bigger game, the black robed villain in the black night that was his life. Narcissa hoped to see the light, to feel it on her skin, to breathe in the clean air, cleared of his presence.
Everything reminded her of him, so she cut herself out of his life, even as his lifeless form stayed. She left the place that had been her house, but never her home. She left the wand that had been hers, but that she'd never had the power over. The wand that had just fired its last dark spell, left with the last victim of it. Villains are victims, and Narcissa was tired of being either.
He sat by the window in silence, so still. Not moving, unmoved. His eyes not knowing, or knowing the unknown. Hard to tell. So much trouble to the family he brought; will he bring even more? His faults be forgotten, until in turn he is forgotten. The man in the high-backed chair by the window sat perfectly still, but he wasn't there.
