The morning he dreaded had finally arrived. Lucius woke, and Narcissa…
She was already cold.
As the shock settled in and his mind struggled to comprehend this loss, a deep, agonizing pain ripped through the very core of his being. His heart felt like it had been violently torn from his chest, leaving an ever-widening hole that could never be filled. Even the boyhood loss of his mother hadn't completely decimated his world the way this did.
He had barely shed a tear at his mother's funeral, and had only cried a little when he learned that his father, the Great Abraxas Malfoy, had several illegitimate children with Muggle women. But now Lucius, a proud Malfoy, wept openly and uncontrollably.
Never again would she smile at him. Never again would he hear her beautiful laugh. Never again would she take his hand or offer her silent comfort and support. Never again… never… never! It was incomprehensible, unfathomable.
Time, which meant nothing after all these years, turned into a strange slush. Days passed in a matter of minutes, while each second without Narcissa stretched into eternity.
At some point, the guards came and took her body, Stunning Lucius when he tried to cling to the only piece of his wife that he had left. And then he was alone, truly alone, wretchedly alone. It hurt so much; he wasn't sure if he could continue on. He no longer had anyone to live for.
He wished he was dead.
When Draco crept into the cell, Lucius didn't move, lost in the haze of grief. He didn't react when his son did his best to straighten up the older wizard's appearance. It didn't register with him when Draco led him to freedom, first from the cell, and then from Azkaban.
And then Lucius was surrounded by witches and wizards in mourning black, awkwardly offering their condolences to a former Death Eater. Each pitying smile nettled him. He just wanted to get away, but he couldn't escape. Finally, he saw a gap in the crowd and broke free—
Only to come face-to-face with Narcissa.
She was laying on a bed of satin, dressed in silky black robes that were finer than anything she had been able to access in decades. Her hair had been artfully styled in a braided crown that was interwoven with silver ribbon and decorated with small emeralds. White daffodils surrounded her with a halo of perfume.
Lucius fell to his knees and sobbed.
Hands grabbed him and tried to drag him away, but he fought something furious, snatching a wand from one of them and threatening to kill them. As they backed up, coaxing him to be calm and reasonable, he turned the wand on himself. The Dark Lord had taught his followers a spell to prevent their being taken alive and tortured for information, and that spell was the only way that Lucius saw out of this pain.
It didn't work.