Written for Quidditch League, Round 1

Team: Holyhead Harpies

Position: Beater 1

Main Prompt: Fear - No Power

Optional Prompts: Hopeful / Gold / Blaze

Word Count: 1567

With Magic Or Without (I Will Love You)

He wouldn't survive Azkaban.

That was the consensus of the Wizengamot, and while once that wouldn't have mattered in the slightest, the new world was apparently to be better.

Lucius didn't know what that meant for him, though he was hopeful for house arrest.

It wouldn't be too much of a punishment, if he could only stay with his wife. Potter's involvement had cleared her of all charges before she'd even been put on trial, and Lucius was grateful for that, even if he would never admit it out loud.

Chained to his chair as he was, Lucius could only sit and wait for the axe to fall upon him, whatever it may be.

Nothing could be worse than Azkaban, right?

…

"At least you still have your life," Narcissa said quietly. He knew she was trying to make him feel better, but the blaze of anger in his chest was enough to know that she hadn't succeeded.

"I would have rather been put to death," he snarled, striding away from her towards his library.

The one place in the manor that hadn't been tainted by the Dark Lord's presence in their home.

He slammed the door behind him and held his hand up, silently summoning the decanter of firewhisky from the shelf.

Except it didn't work.

With a frustrated shout, Lucius stomped over to the shelf and picked it up, pouring a large measure into a crystal tumbler.

Knocking it back, Lucius picked the decanter up again and took it with him to the comfortable, high-backed armchair.

The hope he'd had at being placed under house arrest seemed to be mocking him now, and the idiom of be careful what you wish for was practically laughing in his face.

House arrest had been granted, and for a brief moment, Lucius had felt triumph rising inside him.

Until he'd been given the caveat the cruel old crones on the bench had come up with amongst themselves.

Lucius could easily imagine the vicious smirks on their faces as they agreed to it, knowing exactly how badly this would affect him.

What was the point of a wizard without magic?

…

Lucius stood in the doorway of the bedroom he'd long shared with his wife, watching her sleep in their bed.

It had been three days since he'd joined her there, and once again, he was considering the merits of leaving her be.

She'd tried a couple of times to talk to him, and he'd been abhorrent to her; the words spewing from his lips had been no better than those he'd spoken to Mudbloods in the past.

He was ashamed of his behaviour, of course he was. Narcissa had been nothing but supportive for the entirety of their marriage, despite the many irreparable mistakes Lucius had made.

She'd stood by him when he was an idiotic youth, filled with pride and arrogance, as he'd taken the Dark Mark.

She'd stood by him when the Dark Lord had fallen, when he'd claimed himself under the Imperius curse.

She'd stood by him when the Dark Lord returned, when Lucius had been forced to house his master, when their son had been forced to take the Mark.

He didn't deserve her, and he knew it, and yet still now, she stood by him, when he was little more than a Squib, with no power left to him.

Not magical nor political.

She shifted on the bed, her blonde hair sliding across the gold silk pillows, and her eyes opened, zeroing in on him.

"Come to bed, Lucius," she murmured, her voice sleep-filled and yet still beautiful.

He hesitated for a moment, taking in the vision his wife made. Despite their growing years, she was still the most stunning woman he'd ever seen.

She held her hand out to him simply, an invitation that he knew she wouldn't be mad at him for denying.

Lucius took a few steps closer to the bed and took her dainty hand in his larger one, her soft skin soothing against his.

She tugged gently until he folded the gold sheets back and slipped beneath them. Once he was situated, Narcissa rolled closer to him, pillowing her head on his chest.

"You are no less my man because your magic has been bound," she told him softly. "Your magic didn't make you who you are, Lucius. It doesn't define you."

Stroking gentle fingers up her back, Lucius held his tongue. He didn't agree with his wife, but he didn't feel up to an argument.

"Go back to sleep, Darling," he replied eventually.

Sleep was slow in coming, but lying with his wife pressed into his side, Lucius felt just a touch of contentment pushing back at the bitterness and anger inside him.

…

Weeks later, and little things still tripped Lucius up when he least expected it. He'd never really taken into account how many times a day he used his magic to do something simple until he could no longer do so.

He resented having to fasten his own cufflinks, despite realising how ridiculous he was being. He bitterly poured his own coffee from the pot that had been delivered by their sole remaining house elf.

He angrily searched the library for a specific book, after trying three times to summon it.

"You could have just asked," Narcissa said, stepping into the library to see the piles of books that he'd pulled down from the shelves in his search. "What book are you looking for?"

Lucius looked away from her mutinously. She shouldn't have to help him complete such a simple task, and it was galling to have her offer him help that he shouldn't need.

Eventually, she sighed and turned away. "You're being idiotic, Lucius. I've told you time and time again that it wasn't your magic I fell in love with. When will you get that through your unbearably thick skull?"

He watched her walk out and slumped down into the armchair, his head in his hands. He couldn't do this. He wasn't made for a mundane life without magic, had no idea how he was supposed to live his life without the aid of his wand.

From being a young boy of only five, his father had begun teaching him to hone his skill until he could wield his wand to do every task he could possibly need.

There was no need to learn how to be without it.

Death would have been easier.

…

"Did you know this was last night?" Lucius asked, raising his eyebrow at Narcissa.

She glanced at the front page of the Daily Prophet and nodded. "Of course I did. My invitation arrived last month."

Lucius blinked. "You were invited? Why didn't you go?"

Narcissa simply looked at him for a long moment. "Would you have been comfortable around all of the people there?"

"You could have gone without-"

"Do not finish that sentence," she snapped. "I'm getting tired of your self pity, Lucius. Can you not be happy that you have your life?"

"Some life," he replied. "How are we going to rebuild our network if you do not even go to the parties you're invited to?"

"Our time is past," Narcissa replied softly. "When will you realise that a quiet life is what we need now? You don't need political power to be happy, Lucius, or you shouldn't. If you do… perhaps you're not the man I thought I married."

…

Lucius stared at himself in the mirror. There was a small cut on his cheek where he'd nicked the skin while shaving. It was yet another skill he'd never needed before.

He'd found it… soothing, in a way, a surprise to him given he'd never expected to find anything positive in doing things manually that could have been done with magic.

He left the bathroom and padded down the corridor to the conservatory of the manor that looked out on the grounds behind the house. He hadn't often visited the conservatory, but he knew that Narcissa enjoyed the space immensely.

Sure enough, he found her sitting by one of the wide windows, watching the peacocks strut across the grass.

He approached her quietly, and when she didn't turn to look at him, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"You were correct," he said quietly.

"I often am," she replied, and he could hear the smile in her tone. "But what was I right about in particular?"

"A quiet life with you is worth more than a life of power without you," he said. "I'm sorry it took me so long to realise that."

She turned to look at him, and the hope blazing in her eyes hurt his heart. He'd put her through hell for months, and he knew that he would have to work hard to make it up to her.

"I love you," he said, his fingers shifting from her shoulder to her chin, and then trailing up to caress her cheek.

"I love you," she replied in kind. "With magic, or without."

It wasn't perfect, Lucius knew. He'd hurt her, and he was still angry and bitter. A moment of clarity wouldn't fix either of them, but it was a start.

He no longer had the power he'd craved for his whole life, but he had his heart, and slowly, he was realising that that was much more important.