PF20 of 20

Part the Twentieth—
If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber’d here, While these visions did appear.
—A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act V, scene ii

Lucius Malfoy sat in his cell, contemplating a night so many years before that still remained vivid in his memory.  A beautiful witch, young, sweet, with the world at her feet happily wove her way through the revelers in the lantern-light.  Her expensive robes flattered her slim form and her eyes were bright with happiness and mischief.

She was vital and free, the angular features of her face becoming enchanting in the November air as fireflies danced around her petticoats as retainers would bow before princes.

The witch was so different when compared to his bride Narcissa, whom he loved dearly, and she somehow managed to capture his attention.  In another life, he might have pursued her, but in that moment, he was content just to see her happiness, despite the death of his lord.

She was the future of purebloods: aristocratic, well bred, handsome, refined, and yet full of life.  She and hers would keep the traditions alive, infusing new life into their culture.

A smile played on his lips before everything became a dreamland, safe and comfortable—before nothing.

Now, years later, he still remembered that witch whom he had broken so completely, and the child they had created.

Octavian Nür Prince, now husband to the Lord Black.

He smiled. 

Harry Potter would keep his youngest child safe, he assured himself as he glanced down at the letter in his hand.  Potter had promised such on his very magic.

He was content. 

When the Dark Lord broke into Azkaban a few hours later, it was to see that Lord Malfoy had a smile on his face, body relaxed despite the grime that covered it. 

All was right with the world, Lucius thought, although the war was far from won.  As he stepped from his cell, he wondered briefly which side he wished to win, and found that he really did not care.

The End.