Lucius/Lily ficlet for Kurla
He watched her when she was sorted, his lips curling into a sneer at the Mudblood depths to which his once-proud school had sunk.
He watched her in her first year when Avery cast a trip jinx on her on his orders, his grey eyes dead to any and all emotion.
He watched her when he returned to Hogwarts on Ministry business. She was now a prefect in her fifth year. He watched as she proudly displayed her potion to Slughorn, turning away and snorting at her inability to realise that the best marks in the world would not take away the innate worthlessness of her filthy blood.
He watched her, now officially of age, during her first trip to the Ministry. She was accompanied by that doddery old Potter and his spoilt brat. It was Christmastime and the place was deserted. He had been hoping to have a deserted building in which he could carry out his…tasks in peace. He stopped short as she passed him, lips unable to form their customary sneer.
He watched her, his eyes blazing with some unknown emotion, as he cornered her in a deserted corridor.
He cut her off, crushing her against the wall and pressing his lips to her desperately.
The first time Lucius Malfoy had lost control of himself since his fifth birthday.
He watched her smudged red lips as he drew away from her abruptly, breathing heavily as the consequence of his loss of control dawned on him cold and heavy.
He watched her as the same realisation appeared on her face, his eyes widening in shock as she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him close to her again, returning his kiss, drawing them both into a shared madness.
He watched her the very first time she met him in secret, eyes tracing a path down her milky-white body while his mind refused to share in his body's insanity.
He watched her afterwards as she put on her robes, his traitorous mind beginning to think that, if there was something in her blood that made it muddy, perhaps it was so imperceptible as to be unimportant.
He watched her, disbelieving, as she defiantly faced him down and told him the news, her green eyes blazing and her back rigidly straight.
He watched her, cries of pain escaping from her bruised lips as he drew his hands down her back, his nails and teeth digging into her skin, trying to release her muddy blood from the pale, smooth skin that held it back.
He could not watch her as she kissed his shaking body and left their hotel room for the last time.
He forced himself to imagine her at her wedding, his lips once again able to curl into a sneer at the hypocrisy of her virginal white gown. The more he pictured it, the quicker he was able to retrieve the pieces of his heart and bind them together again with ice.
Concrit always appreciated :)