Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series is not my original work; thus, I profit from nothing. The following is strictly for entertainment purposes.


Lucius was dying.

Here he lies, in St. Mungo's, an institution famous for piercing white walls, sheets and pillows if nothing else.

Healers passed his bedside (they always gave more care to the half-bloods and mudbloods, the bleeding hearts) and gathered in a far corner. Every now and then, an anxious whisper would defect from the fold when one of them chanced a nervous, over-shoulder glance.

And, every now and then, he risked a shift in position. Futile. It was all futile, at this point. Sweat combed its way through his blonde mane, boils left nary an unaffected spot on his flawless skin and the rashes were doing their best to render him identical to a Leprechaun.

Surely, the hour drew nigh. He would die soon, away from his Manor and his peacocks … dead at 25, from the same disease that took so many Malfoys before him….

"Lucius."

A cold voice emerged from the shadows as the group's circle parted, soon engulfed by the hard clicking of heels against the tiled floor.

"Narcissa?"

Lucius' fever may have made him delirious but this was no mirage for even a mirage could not replicate the angelic smile looking down upon him … the sickly, angelic smile.

Narcissa visited for nothing more than to taunt and punish. .

"The Healers say you aren't strong enough to return to Wiltshire, my love. Maybe in a week's time, if you're lucky." The sneer she wore betrayed the unmistakable conviction in her voice. She hummed cheerfully, as if all was well and they shared scones and tea over breakfast. Narcissa was positively thrilled and refused to rest until he knew what great joy his sorrow brought into her life.

Of course, Lucius deserved to suffer. His brother-in-law may have been thick as molasses but the great oaf somehow managed to beat Narcissa to the hospital to alert Lucius that his numbskull of a house elf was smart enough to hold a soiled pair of knickers before its Mistress and ask if it should wash those too.

Too, when it knew quite well the degree to which she despised red.

"I'll be back soon, dear. I've a couple errands to run."

Errands - in her best heels, robes and perfume?

Lucius was thankful that her footsteps had long faded away before his sob erupted.

If death was merciful, the dragon pox would kill him before his wife could.

Fin.