School: Beauxbatons

Theme: Voldemort Wins AU

Prompts: Domineering [Character Trait/Behaviour] (Main prompt), A Teacup [Object], Red [Colour]

Year: 6

Word count: 3,277

Author's note: Special shout out to Havelocked, a wonderful beta!

"Don't you see? Voldemort himself created his worst enemy, just as tyrants everywhere do! Have you any idea how much tyrants fear the people they oppress? All of them realize that, one day, amongst their many victims, there is sure to be one who rises against them and strikes back!" - Albus Dumbledore, HBP

/

"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted. The spell he cast met Voldemort's death curse. They stood in the Hogwarts courtyard, interlocked in their final battle, the eyes of students, professors, and Death Eaters alike upon them.

Lucius was among the many who looked on in fear. He, however, did not share the sentiments of those around him. Most wanted Voldemort dead. The rest only wanted this long war to be finished, not caring who won as long as the winner was merciful. It was clear now that Voldemort was weak, and that he would not last much longer. It was almost unbearable to watch.

Lucius shook his head, his insides roiling, knowing that this was a pivotal moment. There were only seconds to decide and to act, but he knew that he could not allow this. After all that he had sacrificed - his home, his wand, his dignity - Harry Potter could not be allowed to win.

Lucius wavered for a moment before decisively drawing out his newly mastered wand and stepping out from beside his wife. "Avada Kedavra!" he cried, his mouth open in near astonishment as the wand obeyed. The curse struck the boy and he fell, the connection between him and the Dark Lord abruptly breaking. Voldemort fell backward at the same moment, quickly getting to his feet, fury written in his features.

"He was mine," Voldemort hissed venomously, watching Lucius cower. "He was mine and mine alone!" The Dark Lord, enraged, pointed his wand at Harry and sent one more green curse. Harry did not move. He was already dead.

Voldemort's blood-red eyes were hard as he sent curse after curse into the crowd, his anger and cruel joy spurring him. Although the glory of killing Potter had been stolen from him, his ultimate victory was now complete. He listened as witches and wizards screamed, running for cover in terror and disbelief. Those Voldemort struck fell to the ground one by one, wasted fatalities in a battle that had already been so costly.

With a casual twist of his wrist, the Dark Lord pointed his wand at a figure who stood between him and the fleeing chaos. It was the figure of a young man who did not know whether to run or to rejoin his family. But before the blond-haired boy could decide, he too was struck down carelessly, with no more thought than had been afforded anyone else he now lay beside.

"Draco!" Narcissa shrieked, watching with horror before running to his side and falling to her knees. "Draco!" she shrieked again, her hands grabbing the black fabric of his robes and shaking him. But the boy lay flat on his back, his glassy eyes open and unseeing. She began to weep into his chest, not caring if Voldemort killed her too. Dying would have been less painful than this shock of grief, her heart feeling as though it would wrench itself apart. Draco, her son, dead...

"Lucius," Voldemort whispered, unmoved by the outpouring of grief in front of him. He observed the blank face of his servant who stood rooted to the spot, watching his wife's body shake with wracking sobs. The remaining Death Eaters stood around them like statues, none betraying any emotion they might have felt. "Let us go. Now," he ordered quietly.

Voldemort twirled his wand casually between his fingers, not caring that he had inadvertently struck Draco. It almost felt like a fitting end, for Lucius had deprived him of his right to kill Potter, a task he had waited nearly seventeen years to complete. He had simply taken a boy for a boy. Regardless, Voldemort's ego was bruised. He had never managed to kill Potter himself.

"Now," Voldemort insisted.

Lucius stepped towards him and, looking away from his wife and son, held out his arm for the Dark Lord to take. They Disapparated together, Lucius realizing that although Voldemort was alive, he was weak - and entirely mortal once more.

Narcissa cried until it was too painful to continue, listening to the quiet cracks of the Death Eaters around her Disapparating. After some time, she sat up on her heels and rubbed her red hot eyes. She looked down at her son's pale face, still unable to comprehend what had happened. She closed his unseeing eyes, and the pain in her heart surged anew. She had tried so hard to protect him. She had given him everything, even her own wand, although it seems he had lost it in the battle. If only she hadn't lied to the Dark Lord in the forest - had told him Harry was still alive - her son might have been spared. Oh, how she rued her own mercy. After all this time, she should have learned how to be cruel.

With a final gasp of despair, she got to her shaky feet. A few others had returned to the courtyard to collect the dead, but they worked in silence. Narcissa cast glances towards them, unsurprised to see that no Death Eaters had remained. She had not expected any to stay, nor expected her husband to return. As always, she and Draco mattered so little compared to the Dark Lord's wishes.

Morbid curiosity caused her to cross the small distance between her son and the black-haired boy. Harry's eyes were closed, his expression peaceful, as though he might have been asleep. Narcissa looked down at him with a mixture of sadness, pity, and anger. He had been the hope for so many, including her, the wife of a man who had done everything he could to support Voldemort… the man who had ultimately killed Harry. Her life now was unthinkable, her future uncertain, because of Lucius's decision. How could he?

Narcissa suddenly noticed that Harry's fist was clenched around a wand familiar to her. She knelt beside him and carefully edged it out of his grasp, taking it into her own hand. It was Draco's, stolen from him when the Snatchers had captured Harry. It was strange and terrible how intertwined Harry and Draco's fates had been, and how it hadn't even mattered which side either had taken. The end - for them - had been just the same.

"Get away from him!" shouted a voice. Narcissa looked up and saw Ginny standing at the edge of the courtyard, her wand pointed at her. Hermione and Ron stood behind Ginny, their faces grief-stricken and pale. They had come to retrieve Harry.

Startled out of her thoughts, Narcissa backed away towards her son, took Draco's hand in her own, and Disapparated.

/

Narcissa and Lucius stood in an alcove, looking out from the drawing room of Malfoy Manor onto the manicured lawn. Her eyes were dark and heavy in the dim light which came through the window, her arms crossed as she studied her husband. He looked uncared for, his face unshorn, his hair one shade more gray than blond. Despite these things, it was the fact that his trademark arrogance still remained that she could feel no respect for him. He should have looked and felt like she did - broken.

"I don't want him here anymore," Narcissa whispered angrily. "I want him gone." Their eyes both went to the windows of the room in the East Wing which the Dark Lord occupied. It was their best room and had been her and Lucius's bedroom before the war. She did not think she would ever want to sleep there again.

"It's not within my power to ask him to leave," Lucius drawled, his fingers tightening upon the head of his cane.

"Not within your power? It's our home!"

His eyes narrowed. "You know that I cannot ask him. There is too much at stake."

"And yet nothing left worth having." Narcissa looked away, then spat, "You aren't half the man I thought you were."

"Ciss-"

"Don't try to placate me," she countered harshly. She was livid now, her hand going to the handle of her wand unconsciously. "You would kiss his feet if he asked you to, even after…" Her eyes welled up with tears, but she did not allow them to fall. "And it's always been that way - anything he wanted - even our son," she choked.

"Don't," he clipped. He, too, seemed struggling to speak.

"Would you prefer not to be reminded that you so blithely offered up Draco to become a Death Eater? To be the one to kill Dumbledore?"

"It was for honor!" he snapped, leaning over her. She did not relent.

"Honor?" she mocked. "Whose honor, Lucius? Your son's, or your own? Certainly not mine, as I had to crawl to Severus Snape and beg him for help - to protect our son when his own father wouldn't-"

Lucius's nostrils flared. "Draco was more than capable-"

"And you would let him tear his own soul to pieces?" she cried wretchedly. "You know what killing does, Lucius. You know what it does to your soul." She paused, disgust written across her face. "Or do you not know? Have you never-"

"You couldn't bear to know half the things I've done," he seethed. He looked away and out towards the grounds once more, his jaw clenched in anger. His voice was now dangerously tight. "We must make the best of the circumstances. In any case, what does it matter now? Draco's gone. There's nothing left to lose."

"I'm left," she said, her hand over her heart. "But you never really cared about us, did you? I was a pretty face from a pure-blood family, and Draco was only ever a means to an end."

"How dare you say that!"

"How dare I say it? You don't refute it, then?" Before he could respond, she lamented, "I'm a prisoner in my home, and for what? To what end? What do you think is going to happen? I cannot see this ending well for either of us. We must be the most hated family in all of Britain." She had said the word 'family' out of reflex, but she realized it was a lie. They weren't a family anymore. "You've allowed him to use our home as headquarters. You've fought for him, gone to Azkaban for him. I've stood by all the while." Her final question nearly stuck in her throat. "But how could you possibly still support him after… after…" She let out a small sob of grief before turning away.

He became very still as he stared down at her. "Narcissa, you know how he spoke of that wand - the Elder Wand. He's the master now; he's invincible. It's only a matter of time before-"

"No, he's not," she interrupted, staring out the tall window. She thought for a moment, before saying, "You were the one to kill Harry. Its allegiance would have shifted to you. And if he were in a fit state of mind, he would realize it too." She lowered her voice, as though speaking to herself. "It's only a matter of time before he does realize it. In which case..." She deftly pulled out her wand, spun around, and pointed it at him.

Instinctively, he withdrew his own, before feeling it fly out from his grasp. "What-"

She quickly cast Obliviate upon him, watching his face become slack as she removed the latter part of the conversation from his memory. He could not be allowed to remember what she had realized, or what had just happened.

She cast a spell to return his wand to his hand, then halted the memory charm. He appeared confused, and Narcissa, hoping to distract him, said the one thing that had been on her mind the most in the weeks since the battle.

"Are you never going to apologize for the fact that if you hadn't killed Harry, Draco would still be alive?"

He looked as though she had slapped him, his face going red and then quite pale. He spoke with venom in his voice. "If you aren't careful, you'll be the one leaving this house."

He straightened himself, stowed his wand, and left the room, the tapping of his cane upon the floor growing quieter as he strode away.

Narcissa stared after him. At least now she knew which side he had taken.

/

Narcissa tied her black travelling cloak over her robes. As her fingers twisted the strings her eyes drifted over Draco's wand, which sat proudly in a glass case on the mantel over the fireplace. When she had finished tying her cloak she readjusted it upon her shoulders, then reached towards the case. Narcissa lifted the glass lid, took the wand out, and slipped it into her pocket beside her own. She could not bear to leave it behind.

She took out her wand and twisted it towards a teapot, directing it to rise into the air and pour equal amounts of liquid into two porcelain teacups. Steam began to rise in tendrils from them as the pot lowered itself back down upon the table.

Narcissa flicked her wand once more, watching the teacups and saucers hover in the air. She took a deep breath and walked down the large hallway, the white pieces of china following in mid-air several paces behind her. The only sound was the tapping of her feet upon the marble floors, a sound which ceased as she stopped to stand outside a great wooden door. She raised her fist in the air.

The Dark Lord sat in a leather wingback chair near a grand hearth, his hands resting upon his thighs and his eyes staring into the fire. When he heard Narcissa's knock upon the door, he shifted the position of his head, following her unwaveringly as she entered the room unbidden. He was as pale and unmoving as an invalid, and the sight of him caused her to feel sick.

"Tea?" she offered. His teacup and saucer floated down to rest upon the table near his chair. They sat just inches from his wand. "Careful - it's hot," she instructed, the mother within her unable to stop herself from saying the words. The fact that she could caution him not to burn his mouth made her feel even more ill.

Narcissa stood beside the fire and looked down at him, her own cup and saucer gliding into her hands. He narrowed his eyes, as though he was suspicious of her. "Where is Lucius?" he asked.

"He's been called to the ministry." She could tell that he did not believe her, for she instantly felt his mind upon hers as he attempted Legilimency. But he was still weak, and she easily brushed him away. She supposed a man could only have so much strength when he was struggling to cling to the remaining fragments of his soul.

Voldemort seemed aggrieved by his own weakness, and it further irritated him. "Where are you going?" he demanded, noticing the cloak upon her shoulders.

"Travelling," she answered simply.

"Without Lucius?" It was as though the thought of the Malfoys acting independently from each other was absurd to him.

"He will be joining me. We won't be gone long, and will have left our best staff to take care of you." She did not know whether it was because he didn't care, or because he couldn't control the wanderings of his mind any longer, but Narcissa could tell he had stopped paying attention soon after she had begun speaking.

"I should have liked to have seen Lucius before he left. Upon your return, he will come to speak to me. There is much to do."

"To do, my Lord?" she asked. The teacup was heavy in her hand as he looked maliciously at her.

"Yes. You should know, as the wife of my most trusted servant, that I now control the ministry. There is nothing I cannot do." His voice was low and controlled as he slipped into a sort of reverie. "I have more power - more people beneath me - than ever before. It will not be long before we begin."

"Begin?"

He gingerly turned and reached for his own teacup, picking it up before slowly moving to face her. He cradled the cup in his hands. "The destruction."

"Destruction?" she repeated quietly.

"Yes. Mud-bloods. Half-bloods. Muggles. And anyone who stands in the way," he explained, his red eyes searching hers.

With a surprising shock of pain, she wondered if he was alluding to Draco. It was all she could do not to allow her wrath to show upon her face as he continued.

"The Blacks and the Malfoys have always been among my most loyal supporters, your dedication to my cause well known. My successes have been inextricably linked to yours. And of course, I intend on rewarding you greatly, in time."

"There is no need," Narcissa insisted quietly.

"No need?" he asked, his confusion apparent. His supporters were hardly known for their altruism. He slowly brought the cup to his lips, drinking from it before setting it down once more. She watched him swallow.

"I already had everything I ever wanted," she murmured, setting her cup upon the mantel, "before you destroyed it."

His red eyes stared at hers, then flew open. He dropped his cup, the liquid spilling over him, the vessel falling to the wooden floor with a sharp crack. His hands were at his throat as he screamed, but he could do nothing to stop the spread of the poison within him.

His hand found his wand, but his reactions were no match for Narcissa's. In any case, the wand's allegiance was lost. It sensed more power lay within the woman across the room than within its feeble master.

The wand flew from his hand and into hers. Narcissa watched as the Dark Lord slumped over in his chair, his eyes still fixed upon her as he made a horrific choking noise.

She quickly took the Elder Wand by the handle with her right hand and found the tip with her left. It took all of her strength before she felt it begin to weaken, and as she bore down once more she heard a sickening crack echo throughout the room. She looked at the shattered pieces in wonder, spying the fabled Thestral tail-hair core poking out from either half. She had done it. She had destroyed the Deathstick, the wand that had taken Draco from her.

She turned toward the fire and threw the pieces of the wand into it, listening as they hissed and crackled. With a final piercing scream Voldemort fell to the floor, landing hard upon his front. Narcissa watched without emotion as he twitched his last and then lay still, the poison having made short work of him.

She tugged her travelling cloak around her shoulders, taking one last glance at the manor that had been her home for nearly twenty years. Narcissa then looked once more at the still figure upon the ground, at a man who had so very wrongly thought himself invincible. He had been too arrogant in his victory to realize the mistake he had made during the battle, too foolish to have understood the love a mother felt for her son - and not for the first time. He had never learned his lesson, and never would have thought her capable of this. All the better for her.

There was nothing he could do to save himself anymore.