The blood on his tongue was disgusting and metallic, like suckling on a battery. The sting on his cheek was intense and throbbing. His head was dizzy, vision blurred, and tiny, anguished groans escaped his lips as he desperately strained to stay upright, though he was already balanced precariously on his elbows and knees.
Lucius stared down at Gideon, now so beaten and bloodied that it was nearly miraculous he was still conscious. He heard the sounds of Dolohov, Avery, and Mulciber taking care of Fabian in the next room. Rosier, ever the last to fight, was standing still, his face oddly empty and far-away. Lucius sank to his knee beside Gideon, who tried to reach the sword of Gryffindor only to have his bloodied face hit the floor. Lucius swallowed. He knew this man. He'd gone to school with this man. He knew his laugh, his smile, his sense of humor, the exact style he used in Quidditch.
Lucius gripped his wand. He'd never killed before. He'd never thought he'd have a hard time with it. He'd fought, of course, and there had always been the threat of the death of himself or his allies looming over his head, and of course others had died- allies and enemies. But this, a strong and valiant man who fought like the devil, shaking and gasping up blood on the cold floor, cornered and separated from his brother… It shook him. For a moment, Lucius thought he wouldn't be able to do it.
But then, Voldemort's cruel voice sounded in his head. The thought of the Dark Lord torturing him, Lucius, probably would have been enough to urge Lucius to finish it- but Lucius knew it wouldn't be just him suffering the consequences of Lucius' inaction- Narcissa. His beautiful, soft, wickedly wonderful wife, with her shimmering smile and dazzling eyes and hearty laugh. Draco. The small, giggling babe in the crib, pale and fragile. Lucius' blood ran cold and he found himself easily flick his wand, the thought of sweet little Draco and his small, precious smile fresh in his head.
"Avada Kedavra," Lucius said easily, and a flash of green quickly severed Gideon's life from his body, and the beaten shell of him fell limp. Lucius stood, cold. Was… He close to crying? Sharply, he exhaled, brushing it off. The door creaked open to reveal a bloodied, wild-eyed Dolohov, going on about the thrill of the kill, or something. For the first time, Lucius seriously regretted the Mark that burned his wrist.