A/N – The original inspiration behind Diminished.
Disclaimer – I don't own HP, any of the canon characters, concepts or settings. Don't sue.
Diminished
It was raining at the funeral. The air was thick and heavy, pressing down on her, restricting her breath, until she could no longer bear the sympathy and commiserations. She escaped the crowded church to wander aimlessly through the cemetery, drifting ghostlike in the silent stillness, until a sharp thrill of awareness jolted her, and she turned to see him there in the shadows, watching her.
For a heartbreaking moment, she thought it was Draco again, miraculously come to life – she drew in a shocked, overjoyed breath – but then he moved, and came into the light.
It was not Draco.
It would have been easy – a whispered word, a silent gesture – to divert the rain. But intellect and reason no longer ruled him; he had finally learned humility, and to bow to forces outside his control. So he stood in the cemetery and let it rain, misting his hair, dampening his robes, and he laughed –
Enjoy your last glimpse of the sky, Death Eater!
– because he could.
In the half-light, where phantasms and illusions thrived, Ginny Malfoy – a pale, grieving, dulled wraith – searched for shattered dreams and impossibilities. Deceived, she turned brightening eyes to him; deliberately, he destroyed the illusion.
She could have returned to the Burrow, but it was not home: home had been wordless understanding, soundless laughter, and unspoken connection. She could no longer bear the noise, and fled, seeking a place free of shared memories and fragments of their marriage.
The manor house echoed with Malfoy past and present, and in the emptiness it brooded; a live entity, a symbol of centuries of dominance, intrigue, and ill-gotten influence, now reduced to housing only two. She had borne no children. There was only Lucius, now, and herself; one day, the Malfoy line would finally come to an end.
They said that he forfeited his rights, and so consequently awarded them to her – but she was completely unprepared for such responsibilities. He knew this, was amused by it; it was easy, in the beginning, to remain indifferent.
Eventually his sense of duty reawakened.
There are greater issues here than your self-indulgent grief. Accept your position and take control of the estate.
Why?
Your marriage was extremely convenient for the Ministry – far more so is your widowhood. I refuse to let them control you or – through you – the estate; it has stood independent so long, you must not surrender it.
Her husband was dead. What did she care for investments, or for politics? However, Lucius and Finch – the wizened old man of affairs – urged her to greater interest; finally, she gave in.
If you care so much about the estate, then bloody well look after it yourself!
Unfortunately, given his criminal history, everything had to be done in her name. And when he pointed this out, irony in his voice and the curl of his lip, she realized something very strange: He, of all people, could cause havoc, given free rein once more.
But somehow, she didn't think he would.
So began an arrangement satisfactory to all parties. He regained de facto control, their fortunes increased, and she was left to mourn in peace. However, she began to fade, and had she not been the legal owner of everything he coveted, he might have let her. When she died, twenty-five centuries would end with her. The Ministry would take possession – nothing would stop them this time – and the oldest pureblooded house in Britain would die.
Unless…
It was not, perhaps, the most palatable of concepts. But he, himself, was still capable of producing a Malfoy heir to spite them all…