He had a long life. A life of only the best. The best clothes, the best house, the best opportunities, and later the best wife. The only thing he didn't have the best of was choice.

Lucius was bribed by glory, like many others, and the seemingly just purification of his kind. There was blood and glory; but it was not the best. A life of posing between the deemed best and right.

That was along time ago; a lifetime ago.

It was rainy that day. Lucius was in his bed, his dear wife sitting beside him gripping his hands in hers. He was no longer white blonde with cold grey eyes, but rather pale with grayed hair and dull grey eyes. Narcissa was silently shedding tears beside him, struggling to watch his breathing was shallow.

"Narcissa…?"
"Y-Yes, Lucius?"

Lucius locked eyes with his wife and gave a gentle smile I had not seen in a long time.

"It's alright. Everything is alright," he said.

Narcissa bit her lip and eyes filled with tears.

"Draco? My boy?"

I walked over and sat on the other side of the bed and looked at the man in the bed. No longer did he look like the product of all but the best, but the result of real life. Narcissa still gripped his hands and now shifted herself to lay next to her husband and kisses his cheek. Her crying was more audible and it was before and one could make out her mumbling what sounded like wedding vows.

Lucius gave a weak kiss to his wife and turned his only son; the son that looked so much like him and that wanted so much to be like him. The eldest Malfoy opened weak eyes and looked straight into mine. It felt so foreign to me.

This isn't supposed to happen. Lucius Malfoy should not be this way. He should be strutting about his home and chatting up other pure blood royalty at fancy parties and social events. He shouldn't be in ruins.

"Father?" I asked quietly.

~~

He had long denounced his Death Eater ways. After being to prison, disgraced by both normal wizaring wold society and even among his Death Eater peers; he saw that it wasn't worth it. When he saw his family after that long battle, alive, he knew that it wasn't worth it. His heart had been broken when he thought his son was dead, when he saw just what the Dark Lords power really was. The pain surprised him.

The man stood too close to the fire. Those years. Too deep in the dark.

I do think my father made peace with himself. While some people could never forgive him; to me and my mother there was nothing to forgive. He followed what he thought was right and managed to convert. He went on with his life, with the family he had. Just, I could tell that something was dead inside him. That even though he was living free with wife and son, something was dead. Maybe, just maybe he was sad that the ideal world he was temped by couldn't happen and it shouldn't have.

He lived and let who and what needed to die just die. He wouldn't have another chance, all he could do was let go. For a while, he was a strange cross between dismal and thankful. He was depressed that he was tarnished, but thankful everyone he truly cared for was alive. So there he was, a murderer looking for forgiveness in himself. But did it matter if he could forgive himself? Would it matter in the end?

~~

My mother was sobbing now. She was crying into me and all I could do was hold her, right there, in the hallway outside of the master bedroom. I did my best to console her like she did for me when I was a heartbroken boy.

"Don't cry, Mum," I said with as much strength as I could muster.

She continued. Never had I ever seen, nor would I ever in my deepest nightmare, my mother like that. For as long as I could remember she was poise and calm under near any situation like the perfect pure blood wife. Not anymore. I rubbed her back and tried to stand tall and strong for my mother. What else could I do?

"He'd want us to be alright, Mum…. We can be alright… We can be alright…"