frozen fire.
by lena.
standard disclaimers apply.

In this place, in these walls, memories serve as a double-bladed weapon. There is nothing left to do but remember, after the doors clang shut and the lock is snapped into place. The presence of the Dementors, in their ever-hungry wanderings through the hallowed halls of this cursed fortress, see to it that I keep the fondest of my memories tucked safelyin a desolate corner of my mind.

But this one—this one I cannot help but recall. It lingers like a mirage, an oasis located in another universe from this hell. Just beyond my fingertips…

The clouds no longer bless us with their offerings, but I can still hear the faint drip of water from the eaves of this house, remnants of the light sprinkle we received just hours ago. She sleeps beside me now, washed in the dimmed light of candles whose flames have nearly drowned in their wax. It is not hard to recall to my mind, or tomy body, the happenings in this same bed hours ago.

Belying her gilded, ladylike appearance, Narcissa has always been a woman of passion, but throughout our marriage I believe I have never seen her as alive as tonight. Though, I could say the same of myself. The impending enterprise that looms on tomorrow’s horizon sparked something within both of us, I believe—her way of telling me, with touches instead of words, with actions instead of flimsy verbalized promises, that she will remain steadfast in her position at my side until and after our Cause reaches its culmination.

It takes hardly a thought for my fingertips to lift from the silk bed sheets to the silk of her arm, offering a caress to the luminescent flesh of my wife. My skin calls to hers no matter the time, spiting whatever is supposed to be taking my focus at that moment.

Tomorrow is the day—I can feel the blood in my veins coursing just a little faster at that thought. My esteem in the Dark Lord’s serpentine eyes will be made or crushed by the events at the Department of Mysteries. The adrenaline rush I receive from such thoughts, even after the private celebration between my wife and me tonight, is anticipated. Tomorrow, as all of us are painfully aware, will be the beginning of the fulfillment of all we have worked for.

To have this woman by my side, throughout everything that we still have to accomplish to secure our glorious future, is a gift that I admit to doubting I deserve. I attempt to close my eyes, to breathe in the particular scent that is Narcissa, to lull me to much needed slumber that seems suddenly so very elusive. As always, my skin calls to hers; I gather her beautiful sleeping form in my arms, and the night sinks into fitful rest and a full heart.

The memory of the day our perfect, golden life was shattered is somewhat easier to recall, as the Dementors ensure that the most painful memories stay very, very close to the surface. It was laughably easy to keep my head held high the entire time, to stare my accusers in the face. It should not have been that easy.

My attention was on her the entire time, the fibers of my being thrumming with awareness of her though it was the Wizengamot I pinned with a stare of molten silver. The fact that she was there with me to face that mockery of a trial, so coldly elegant in the face of those who would wish her to be more discomposed, gave a warmth to my chilled demeanor that I imagined none but her would find. I remember how my eyes veered from their stare toward my jury, sweeping over those gathered to witness the downfall of the Malfoys, and how they inevitably turned back toward the sapphire chips that are Narcissa’s eyes. I mused that only I could see the faint sheen in her gaze.

It was easy to let my thoughts wander during that trial, as the verdict would be inevitable. I knew where I would end up, what thoughts lay behind the eyes that so mercilessly judged me. When I was called to the stand, though, it proved no problem for me to assume the coldest persona I could, to wrap myself in blankets of ice as the Interrogator lobbed question after question at me. I knew I was to go down, but I would be damned if I wouldn’t go down with an end befitting my illustrious name.

The judgment was what everyone had expected, and the punishment what they thought would fit the crime. I called to mind the fluttering, tattered veil over the archway in the Department of Mysteries, but banished that image as I watched my wife approach. Her nearness kindled the blaze within me and we whispered to one another. My thoughts turned toward my only son, as they do so often these days, and I knew that his mother would protect in my stead. She would have to.

The cold stone beneath my hands right now cannot steal the warmth my fingertips remember as belonging to Narcissa’s own, the moment they pulled me from her and cast me into this tormented cell. There are memories that the Dementors cannot steal, for I won’t permit them to. They are all I have left to cleave to.

A fire that feeds on my impotent rage has built itself within me, tearing at my thoughts in ways that the Dementors would be envious of. I languish in this prison while my family waits outside for the guillotine of the Dark Lord’s vengeance to fall. I have failed my family, my only son. I have failed Narcissa. I cannot protect them now.

I turn my eyes toward the small, high window that is my only source of light in this squalid room. Storm clouds brew ahead, beginning to block the hazy light from the moon, so far from the drizzle that rained lazily over the manor grounds the night before my spectacular defeat. It has been so long, a year perhaps, since then. I haven’t forgotten. Memories are all that have been left to me. They are punishments in themselves. I sigh and stretch my listless form on the filthy floor; as it will forever, my skin calls to hers. I gather thoughts of her to me, and the night sinks into fitful rest and an empty heart.