House: Gryffindor
Position: HoH
Category: Drabble
Prompt: Crimson
Word Count (excluding header and AN): 494
Betas: Aurora and Tigger
AN- 'Dead soldier' is a term for an empty alcohol bottle; a wounded soldier is a bottle with only a little left in it.
Narcissa poured herself another glass of Bordeaux. Sighing, she cast the empty bottle aside to join the others. Eleven dead soldiers lined the wall; she reminded herself to order more soon.
Swirling the crimson liquid in her crystal goblet, she leaned back on the chaise lounge. Like every night, a fire crackled softly in the corner of the drawing room.
The near silence was almost deafening.
Malfoy Manor was vacant. The Dark Lord was dead and the Death Eaters who had filled the halls were gone. The constant screams from the cellars no longer echoed off the cold stone walls. The bodies stacked along the wall were replaced by empty wine bottles, both having fallen for their cause.
Even Lucius and Draco were gone. Lucius was still awaiting trial for his war crimes. She hoped that he'd be granted some leniency; despite all of the terrible things he'd done, she still loved him.
While both she and Draco had been cleared of charges and allowed to return home, Draco opted for a self-imposed exile in France. He couldn't stand to return to the Manor and was plagued by the sounds, smells, and sights that he had been forced to witness.
Narcissa wondered if he'd ever be able to return. She would understand if he couldn't.
She took a sip of the wine and allowed the flavor to bloom on her tongue. Despite the fine vintage, it tasted like acid to her.
She drank anyway.
When her goblet was empty, she summoned a new bottle of wine and poured another glass. Her shaky hands caused a single drop of the wine to fall onto the hardwood floor.
She watched the drop follow the woodgrain, twisting at all of the knots. The dark red wine looked just like the blood that had been spilled in this very room.
Narcissa's eyes darted to the place where the girl had lain. Her memory conjured up images that were both too horrible to remember and too terrible to forget. In her mind's eye, she could see the blood spilling out onto the floor, winding its way along the woodgrain.
The muddy blood had looked just like her red wine.
Startled by her thoughts, Narcissa dropped her wine glass. The crystal shattered and a small sliver imbedded itself in her hand.
Fascinated, Narcissa watched her own blood bubble to the surface. A single drop fell to the floor, mingling with the spilled wine.
Her memory added the girl's blood to the mix.
In the fading light of the crackling fire with her memories soaked in wine, Narcissa could finally see that there was no difference. There hadn't been a reason to fight to preserve blood purity. Soldiers on both sides had died needlessly. Draco was unable to return home. Lucius might spend the rest of his life in prison.
And she was alone in the too quiet Manor with blood and wind spilt on the floor.
It was all crimson.