'I'll never see my son again...my heart stands buried in this place...' The Trojan Women, 1971 version.
Lucius Malfoy was dying. In his chest, his heart had burst, and yet he lived, he breathed, he could stand before this monster he had served since he was seventeen and feel almost normal, if his heart had not stopped under the onslaught.
Beside him, his tiny sister in law fell to her knees. He watched her as though he'd never seen Bellatrix before, never fought beside her, never hated her and admired her at the same time. Now he could feel nothing of any of that; it was just that she, like him, was the walking dead.
'My Lord, please!'
Lucius almost didn't hear the reply. He hadn't been drunk since he was nineteen, but now he felt like he had then, the world gone strange and wrong about him, the need to put one foot in front of another and pretend that everything was all right.
He half -dragged her at their lord's command. He was a full foot taller. Did he open his arms to her then, or did she press herself to his chest? Did it matter? They stood in the conference room, locked in one another's arms and in their sorrow, too great for words, and as he wept into Trixie's hair, he thought this is how the world ends, with a word and sigh and then nothing, like death has come at last.