Nothing Left to Live For

by Princess Angelita

J.K. Rowling owns all Harry Potter characters. I'm just borrowing them.

Nothing Left to Live For

When I first saw her, she was standing by the lake at Hogwarts. At first, all I saw was her long, pale blonde hair swirling around her slim figure, like a white-gold cloud. I was struck by her figure, standing there in front of the water; she drew me to her like a siren calling out for unsuspecting sailors. I stepped towards her and she turned to see who had intruded on her thoughts.

She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Her face was heart shaped, with a pointed chin, full lips, a classic nose, high cheekbones, and the most amazing blue eyes. But I knew something was the matter with her. Her eyes were cold, her lips and cheeks were pale. She stared at me for a moment, and then walked into the castle.

I fell in love with her that very moment. There was nothing I wanted more than to find out what had hurt her and destroy it . . . painfully.

The months wore on and gently I wore down her resistance. She became my girlfriend. I wanted to touch her gorgeous body, but she would not allow even a peek at the flesh of her arm. She wasn't like other girls, who gave their favors freely. She never argued with me, never asked if I loved her, never showed me any affection. But I still wanted her. The only retaliation I took against her was that I never told her how much I loved and adored her.

We were the 'it' couple at school for three years. At the end of our seventh year, I asked her to marry me. She looked up at me with pain in her eyes . . . the only emotion I had ever seen her show . . . and told me she could not. I was devastated.

I found out why soon enough.

My family and I were invited to Regulus Black's birthday party, only a month after my graduation from Hogwarts. I hadn't seen her during that time. In the middle of the party, I caught a flash of white-gold hair slipping away up the stairs. I followed her, down a corridor and into a bathroom. I wanted to beg her to marry me.

I hid behind a statue as I noticed there was another woman in the bathroom. I recognized my love's sister. The two women embraced. I heard sobbing. My love was crying, and the sound drove me into a fury. I would kill whoever had made her cry. "He did it again?" her sister asked. My love nodded. Her sister reached over to her and pulled her robes up.

I almost vomited.

My love's white skin was an ugly mixture of black, blue, purple, and yellowish bruises. Some were fresh, some were almost healed, and some had barely started to heal. I could tell someone had beaten her with their bare fists, and all over her body. Her legs, arms, and back were covered.

"What did he say you did this time?" her sister asked. "I . . . I brought him lukewarm coffee," my love answered. "I wish I could heal you," her sister said angrily. "Don't. Remember how bad he beat you when you healed the others?" my love asked. Her sister's black eyes narrowed. "I wish we could kill him," she said. "I wish he was dead." My love nodded. "One day our father will get what's coming to him."

That was all I needed to hear. Quietly I slipped out of the bathroom back down to the party. I saw her father. I asked him to take a quick walk with me. We went into the vast Black gardens, made small talk. We came to a secluded area, far from the house. I rolled up the sleeves of my robes, drew my wand.

I Silenced him. I used every painful curse I could imagine, watching the older man's mouth open in silent screams, his face contorting with the pain. When I could think of no more curses, I took up a heavy branch from an oak tree and beat him with it until the blood ran. Leaning in close, I whispered in his ear. "This is for your daughter." His face contorted with fury before I brought the branch down on his head.

I Transfigured him into a chipmunk. A dead, bloody chipmunk whose body I threw into a rubbish heap on the way back to the house. I smoothed my robes and hair. I went looking for my love.

She was standing next to a window. I came up behind her and put my arms around her waist. "Marry me," I whispered. "I can't," she answered. I whispered what I had done in her ear.

My love flipped around to me and her lips on mine were like the sweetest honey.

We were married the following week.

I think of all this and wonder . . . should I have simply killed her father and then left her alone?

I thought I could give her the best life possible. Instead I have given her a different sort of hell.

We had good years, yes. Our marriage, our home, our son. I taught her the pleasures of lovemaking. I thawed her icy exterior and she became warm and happy. The face she showed the world was the one I had first seen on her face, the day I had first met her. It made me happy that she was so different with me alone. Me . . . and our son.

She was a wonderful mother. We would have liked more children, but our son's birth was difficult. We were told she would not be able to conceive again. But we didn't mind.

And then . . . I chose my path. I thought it would be good for us when I joined him. I thought I was protecting my family by choosing the winning side at the beginning. And my wife . . . my lovely golden goddess . . . she was behind me all the way. She never once complained of the dangers, the long absences, and the fact that I had to obey. She trusted my decision.

And look where it led us.

The day of my sentence, my love was there in the front row of the courtroom. Her face was pale and terrified. She kept mouthing 'I love you' to me. My son, our beautiful son, sat holding her hand, his face set with fury as he glared at the Wizengamot. The evidence was presented, and I was condemned.

As my sentence was read, my beautiful one lost all composure. She leaped up from her seat and grabbed my hands through my cage. "I love you, I love you . . . please don't leave me!" she screamed. I held her hands as long as I could, kissed her through the bars of the cage, tasted those sweet lips again and again until she was torn from me and I was sent to Hell.

For three long years, I heard no news of her or my son. No one was allowed to speak to me, I was allowed no information.

Then came the day my son and other Death Eaters broke into Azkaban and rescued me and the others. They told me that Lord Voldemort was dead. Harry Potter was dead. Severus Snape was the new Dark Lord.

I didn't care. I asked only for my love.

My son, my beautiful son Draco, told me she was ill.

I am sitting with her, my goddess, my love, my Narcissa. She lies on a bed draped all in green. Her pale lips are white; her face is devoid of all color. Her once magnificent body is as thin as a skeleton. I stroke her dry, papery hand; tell her I am come back to her. She will not awaken. Her breath comes in shallow gasps. I know what is happening.

She is to be taken from me.

I apologize to her for not giving her the life I had promised. I kiss her; I draw her into my lap. Her eyes flutter open.

"Lucius . . . my love."

She smiles. Her eyes close.

I hold her hand until it is cold.

I kiss her cold, unyielding lips. I place my hand on the breast that rises and falls no more.

'My love', she said.

I walk over to a drawer; pull out a silver serpent-handled knife.

I smile.

There is nothing more to live for. My love is gone.

My goddess, my Narcissa, my beautiful narcissus. I take one of the flowers from the vase beside the bed, place it in her hands.

Only seconds later, my life blood spatters over the budding bloom.

There is nothing more to live for. My love is gone.

End.