A/N: Narcissa lays alone in the empty bed she shares with her husband. sad!Lucissa. I do not own Harry Potter.
Submission for:
Greek Mythology Mega Prompt Challenge: Persephone – Write about Narcissa Malfoy.
The "As Many As You Want" Competition: maybe one day, waiting up, smoke, the sun was rising
The Pairing War Competition!: Round 3 - Lucius/Narcissa
It was dark, way past midnight, and her husband was still not home. She lay on her back and stared up at the ceiling, her thoughts floating in the empty space above.
She wondered what he was doing right now. Actually, she could hazard a guess as to what he was doing, but she never wanted to linger on those thoughts for too long. She rather think he was just late from work - working at the Ministry was an important job. It would even have been better if he had a mistress. Then at least she knew he would be safe, if even in someone else's arms.
But her husband was neither at work or with a mistress. Nothing could hold him up at the Ministry that would keep him from her. And he would never have a mistress. Though they rarely voiced it, their love for each other was strong, running deeper that anything she had ever felt.
She closed her eyes and lone tear ran down her face. She knew where he was. Within her mind, she could see the carnage that he and her sister were undoubtedly behind, and the delight evident on her sister's face. She could smell the burning homes and spilt blood. She could hear the screams as many died at their hands.
Her husband was a murderer. He had done things and seen things that no one should see. Sometimes that changed people, and though she tried to ignore it, she felt like he was slowly becoming colder with her.
She took a deep breath and turned onto her side. But she still loved him. No matter what, she loved her husband, whether he worked long hours, had a mistress or was a murderer. So she fell asleep that night in the empty bed, ignoring the cold wind on her exposed back.
He returned to his home in the wee hours of the morning as the sun was rising. His footsteps echoed off the hardwood floor as he exited the fireplace and walked towards his room. So much had happened tonight and Lucius almost retched at the thought. All those houses on fire, the smoke burning his eyes and stinging his lungs. Those muggles, those screams, all that blood. He was a murderer, his hands coated in the blood of innocent women and children. Lucius had signed up for more than he bargained for. He was now regretting his decision whole-heartedly.
He entered his bedroom quietly, the door thankfully not creaking as it opened. He saw his wife, her exposed back, the slight rise and fall of her chest, and the empty space beside her. He could tell she had been waiting up for him, she always did. And that made him feel guilty. While he was out there committing heinous crimes, her heart was breaking as she lay in bed alone.
He walked up to her, leaning over his side of the bed and kissed her cheek. He could taste the saltiness on her skin, more evidence of the pain he has inflicted on her. It was his fault she was in pain, the reason behind her tears. Since the first time he discovered her tears for him, he started to feel unworthy of her love, of her devotion. So subconsciously, he was becoming colder with her and distancing himself from her, but now he realized that just her hurt more.
He heaved a long sigh before he moved to the bathroom in an attempt to scrub away some of the guilt. There was no quick fix for this problem he had gotten them into and it was useless to think that maybe one day, they could overcome this. It was bigger than both of them.
He gave one last look to her body and then turned, hoping he simply imagined the soft sob that reached his ears.