Clean

The Fallen

Chapter 30: The Fallen

The Dark Lord eyed Narcissa Malfoy coldly as she sat quietly in the drawing room of her home, her heart visibly racing. Her pale blue eyes repeatedly slipped to the clock on the mantle, which was ticking so slowly that for a moment Voldemort, too, wondered if time had stopped.

"You seem nervous, Narcissa," he said coolly, stroking Nagini's head slowly. "No faith in your son?"

She swallowed uncomfortably, shaking her head. "I have faith in Draco, my Lord," she said emphatically. She grimaced. "I am merely anxious for his return."

He almost laughed at her, the foolish woman. As though he, Lord Voldemort, could not feel, even now, the images flooding her brain; fears of her son, broken and bleeding, of flashes of green light - the foolish witch had thought of perhaps thirty different ways in only the past few minutes, he noted, that her son might be suffering.

This was the concept of love that Dumbledore always defended - and it was no more than another form of weakness, he thought, eyeing the woman's colorless face. She was paralyzed with fear, fear out of love - and it had made her weak.

There was a series of loud cracks that could be heard from outside and Narcissa stood abruptly, her silk robes rustling as she rushed thoughtlessly through the front door. For his part, the Dark Lord stood slowly, calmly stretching his limbs and letting his long stride carry him purposefully in her wake, still entertained by her obvious inability to contain her absurdly emotional state. At least Lucius, imbecile though he was, had the grace to maintain his composure. Voldemort made a tiny gesture, calling him, and Lucius demurely stepped forward to join him.

His Death Eaters were arriving one by one at the entrance to the manor, each one panting as they apparated in.

"My Lord," Yaxley said, stumbling forward. "My Lord - "

"Dumbledore," Voldemort said simply, cutting him off with a questioning glance. "Is it done?"

"Yes."

Bellatrix stepped forward, falling to her knees before him. "It's done, my Lord," she said passionately, bowing her head.

Voldemort reached down, caressing her cheek. It had surprised even him, to find that his most useful lieutenant was a woman. "Excellent," he whispered soothingly, turning to reenter the home.

"Wait," Narcissa called. Voldemort winced at the sound of her shrill concern. "Where's Draco?" she croaked weakly.

"Ah, yes," Voldemort uttered quickly, having forgotten about the rest of his troops. He cared little about the answer, but considered for a moment that it would be unseemly not to at least provide some semblance of remorse, particularly if the young Malfoy heir had fallen. "Where is Draco?"

"Where is my son, Bella?" Narcissa cried, rushing forward and clinging to her sister. "Where is he? Where is Severus - "

"Draco is gone," Bellatrix responded flatly, her eyes expressionless. "And Severus remains at Hogwarts, making arrangements," she added, her lips curling up as she glanced lasciviously at Voldemort. "Preparing to bring about a new age of magical education, one without such slavish dedication to Dumbledore's weak-hearted morals - "

"Gone?" Narcissa slipped slowly to her knees, still clutching Bella's robes. "What do you mean he's gone?"

"Dead," Bella pronounced vacuously. She reached into her robes and removed the young Malfoy's wand, pressing it carelessly into her sister's hands. "But you should be proud, Cissy, that his last act was one of triumph - "

Narcissa fell the remaining distance to the ground, clutching her son's wand and collapsing forward. Beside him, Voldemort felt Lucius go rigid, and he glanced sharply at the blond man's sallow appearance.