Screen Name : motorcyclemomma
Title : The Living Dead
Rating : PG (Response to a FFC# 6)
Type : Short Fic
Genre : Drama
Main Character : Lucius Malfoy
Summary : Lucius faces the destructive end of all he'd been working for.
All but one dropped dead before me. The horror of seeing our plan fail before my very eyes had me freezing in place – shocked to stone. My mouth hung open as we were encircled. My eyes lifted of their own volition to the face of my master; The Dark Lord’s red eyes were imbued with hatred and rage. He held himself proud, refusing to give in, unwilling to see his dream die at the hands of Harry Potter.
The Boy Who Lived stepped forward wand raised and ready for the coming confrontation. No one bothered to look my way since the sound of my wand clattering to the floor had stopped echoing. It had just slipped though my fingers, my grip loosening as the reality of the situation hit me. Losing had never crossed my mind but here it was happening.
As Potter approached the Dark Lord my eyes drifted to my fellow Death Eathers dead on the ground before me. Bellatrix’s whose bitterness turned her once beautiful face ashen and ugly – lifeless I could not find a hint of girl she had once been. Beside her was Narcissa. Seeing my wife, the mother of my child, cold and unmoving did nothing. In life we’d been polite strangers with only a son in common. Her death moved me not at all.
“It’s over Voldemort,” I heard Potter state. He sounded formidable. A true hero. My heart shuddered at it, knowing that my life’s work was coming in an unsuccessful end. Everything I strived for was for not. It was like have a sword thrust into my heart and twisted for the sick and twisted pleasure of it.
“Never,” the Dark Lord hissed striking out at Potter. I think I scream then. I can’t be sure. There was a painful howl as the Dark Lord fell. Dead … I was the only one standing. I hadn’t moved. I stood in the same spot as I had moments before when my Lord had been alive, when there was still hope. Left with nothing I could do naught but collapse.
I was on my knees before Harry Potter. The disgust ate away at what was left of my soul. Grabbing for my wand I swore, “I will never bow down before the likes of you,” and pounced.
There was another voice, familiar and hated, Dumbledore disarming me. “Noo!” This time I recognized that the wounded sound indeed came from my lips.
“For your crimes you shall be punished,” Dumbledore informed me, coming to claim my wand.
I had been punished, though. I watched all my hope for the future die before my eyes. There is no greater anguish in the world. “Kill me,” I implored, my eyes blazing, daring them. “You killed the others,” I said with more passion then I thought was possible at the moment. “What is one more body? One more death in the name of your righteous cause?”
“That is a question to be placed before you,” Potter stated coming to stand beside Dumbledore as his equal.
I laughed then. It was so bitter, so harsh that it caused them to take a step back. I was dead then too … not physically. I am the living dead, hollow and hopeless. I have breath in my lungs but no life.
Though I stood trial for my crimes, I rot like my Lord and my fellow Death Eaters. I do not rot in the ground as they do but in prison. I know that we all died that day even though I sit huddled in this cell.