When the news of Lucius Malfoy's death reached her, Blaise felt an unexpected wave of emotions. Relief came first, washing over her in a way that unsettled her, though she couldn't deny its presence. Lucius had been a looming figure, not only in Draco's life but in the entire wizarding world—a man whose influence was as vast as it was insidious. For as long as she had known Draco, Lucius had cast a dark, suffocating shadow over him, shaping him into a version of himself that was never truly his own. The relief, Blaise realized, was born from the knowledge that Draco could finally break free from the chains of his father's legacy. No longer would he have to shoulder the unbearable weight of Lucius' expectations, the constant struggle to be someone he had never wanted to become.
But the relief was soon followed by guilt, creeping in like an unwelcome guest. It wasn't as if Lucius had been a good man—far from it. His cruelty, manipulations, and relentless pursuit of power had left scars on more than just Draco. Yet, for all his faults, Lucius Malfoy had been a force to be reckoned with, a man who had shaped the very fabric of the wizarding world, for better or worse. His death marked the end of an era—one filled with darkness, fear, and secrets buried so deep they might never fully see the light.
He thought about Draco, how he must have felt when he heard the news. He knew him too well to think he'd be mourning like any other son would. His relationship with his father had been a battlefield, one where Draco had fought to carve out his own identity in the face of Lucius' ever-tightening grip. Blaise had seen the toll it had taken on him—how Draco had grown up balancing the delicate act of appeasing his father while quietly rebelling against everything Lucius stood for. The strain had been palpable, weighing heavily on Draco's shoulders, and Blaise had always admired his resilience in the face of it all.
But now, with Lucius gone, there would be no more battles to fight. The war was over. Draco was free—truly free for the first time in his life. And yet, Blaise wondered, would he know what to do with that freedom?
As he sat alone with his thoughts, she couldn't help but reflect on the man Lucius had been—charismatic, commanding, and undeniably powerful. Lucius Malfoy had a way of drawing people in, wielding his silver tongue to sway opinions and manipulate even the most steadfast individuals. He had been a master of subtlety and deception, his every word calculated, every action precise. In many ways, Lucius had been the embodiment of old pureblood ideals: tradition, power, and a cold, almost unfeeling pursuit of dominance in the wizarding world. But beneath that veneer of elegance and control lay a man driven by fear and obsession, his ruthless ambition leaving a trail of shattered lives in its wake.
In his mind, he replayed the interactions he'd had with Lucius over the years—the cool, detached smiles that never quite reached his eyes, the thinly veiled disdain that lingered just beneath the surface. Lucius had always looked at him like he was something to be measured and evaluated, his gaze lingering a fraction too long as if weighing his worth against some invisible scale. To Lucius, everyone was a pawn, a piece to be moved on the grand chessboard of his life, and Blaise had been no exception.
Despite the coldness he felt toward Lucius, there was an unsettling realization gnawing at the edges of his thoughts: Lucius had been a father, in some capacity, to Draco. And now, with his death, there would be a void—a gaping hole where the man's presence, however toxic, had once been. It was easy to forget that even the most complicated relationships carried a weight of their own, and as much as Draco had suffered under his father's shadow, that shadow had also been a constant. A force Draco had grown up pushing against, struggling to free himself from, and yet a part of his life so ingrained that its absence would undoubtedly leave Draco adrift.
Blaise knew Draco well enough to understand that his grief would be complicated. It wouldn't be the simple mourning of a loved one but something far messier, darker, and more twisted. Lucius' death wouldn't just be the loss of a father—it would be the loss of a man whose expectations had shaped Draco's entire existence. A man who had dictated every choice Draco had made, consciously or unconsciously, whether to defy or please him. And now, with Lucius gone, Draco would be left to navigate the aftermath, to sift through the wreckage of a relationship built on fear, control, and obligation.
He couldn't help but wonder what Draco was thinking at that moment—whether he felt relief, anger, sorrow, or some combination of all three. Would he feel lighter, as if a burden had been lifted, or would the weight of Lucius' legacy press down on him even more now, without the man's physical presence? Blaise suspected it would be the latter. Lucius Malfoy had never been a man who let go easily, and even in death, his influence would continue to linger, haunting Draco like a ghost that refused to be exercised.
There was a certain tragedy in it all, he mused. Lucius had been many things—a tyrant, a master manipulator, a man who used fear as a tool—but he had also been a constant in Draco's life. A figure who, no matter how dark and overbearing, had shaped Draco into the man he was today. With Lucius gone, Draco would have to confront the legacy he had inherited, a legacy tainted by the sins of his father and the expectations of a society that revered the Malfoy name. But Draco was not his father, and Blaise hoped that, in time, he would come to understand that.
Perhaps, in the long run, Lucius' death could be a strange form of freedom for Draco—freedom from the chains of a man who had never truly seen him for who he was, only for what he could become. But Blaise knew that journey would not be easy. It would be fraught with pain, confusion, and the ghosts of a relationship that had never been allowed to flourish in the way a father-son bond should.
For now, he could only wait, knowing that when Draco finally surfaced from the storm of emotions raging inside him, he would be there. To offer whatever support he could, to help Draco navigate the murky waters of grief and the tangled threads of a life lived in the shadow of Lucius Malfoy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Twenty-eight hours later, Draco stood beside Hermione at the gravesite, their hands clasped tightly together, each gripping the other as if drawing strength from their connection. Their gazes were fixed on the open grave of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, the ground freshly disturbed and waiting to receive the man who had once commanded both fear and respect. The still morning air hung heavy with the weight of the past, a tangible silence pressing down upon them, amplifying the gravity of the moment.
Neither of them felt sorrow. There was no overwhelming grief or loss that engulfed their hearts; instead, a profound sense of detachment washed over them. It was as if they were observing the end of a chapter they had long since stopped reading—an emotionless witness to the burial of a man who had shaped their lives in ways they had both struggled to articulate. A cold, clinical peace had settled in, a tranquil calm that followed the storm of their shared histories.
The others stood nearby, each lost in their thoughts. Theo, Pansy, and Blaise formed a quiet trio, their expressions mirroring the sense of closure that lingered in the air. They, too, were grappling with the implications of this moment. In their own ways, they had all been touched by Lucius Malfoy's influence, but today was a farewell to the dark legacy he had left behind.
As the first shovelfuls of soil began to cover the coffin, Draco's heart felt oddly light. The man being lowered into the earth had once been a towering figure in their lives, a symbol of power, darkness, and a cruel legacy. But now, stripped of his influence and grandeur, he was merely a ghost of the past, a relic of a world they had both fought so hard to escape. The rhythmic sound of the earth being cast down felt almost like a lullaby, soothing in its finality.
Nearby, Narcissa stood composed and solemn, her elegant figure framed against the gray sky. To anyone else, she appeared the very picture of grief, but her eyes betrayed a sense of relief rather than sorrow. Years of heavy burdens seemed to lift from her shoulders as she watched the coffin being lowered into the ground. The oppressive weight of her husband's expectations and the shadows of his darker deeds were now being buried alongside him. A single tear escaped Narcissa's eye as the coffin disappeared from sight, falling like a silent acknowledgement ofa life lived, a chapter finally closed.
Blaise glanced at Draco and Hermione, a small nod of acknowledgment passing between them. In that moment, unspoken understanding flowed between the three of them. They had shared the burden of Lucius Malfoy's oppressive legacy, and now they were free to redefine their lives without his looming presence.
No one spoke during the service. The sky above was overcast, matching the somber mood of those gathered. The minister's voice, steady yet hollow, recited the words of the ceremony, but they felt like echoes of a distant past, lost in the weight of their own reflections. As he concluded the final prayers, the gathered crowd began to disperse slowly, a muted procession of figures lost in their own thoughts.
Draco and Hermione remained behind for a moment longer, their thoughts intertwined yet separate. Draco's mind was a whirlwind of memories—both cherished and haunting—flashes of his childhood, the suffocating expectations, and the moments of clarity he had found amidst the chaos. He felt Hermione's presence beside him, her strength a comforting anchor in the sea of uncertainty swirling within him.
Pansy settled into her seat beside the boys, her expression a mix of relief and defiance. She surveyed their faces, each marked with a blend of camaraderie and understanding that only those who had endured similar hardships could share.
"Good riddance," she declared, the words spilling from her lips with a fierce conviction.
In unison, the boys echoed back, "Amen." The sound reverberated through the room, a chorus of agreement that hung in the air like a spell cast to ward off old memories.
Blaise leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head as a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. "None of us cried when our parents died or went to Azkaban," he remarked, his tone light yet laced with an underlying seriousness.
Theo chuckled, nodding in agreement. "Why would we? I was quite happy, actually." His eyes twinkled with mischief, recalling the burdens they had all shed over the years.
Pansy leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table as she chimed in, "Me too. It's like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders." The truth of her words resonated within her, a liberating sensation that she hadn't fully grasped until now.
The conversation flowed easily among them, the shared understanding of their past binding them together. They began reminiscing about their childhoods—fragments of memories both painful and absurd.
"Remember when we tried to sneak into the Forbidden Forest?" Blaise began, laughter dancing in his eyes. "We thought we were so clever until Hagrid found us and dragged us back like a couple of lost puppies."
"Oh, please," Pansy scoffed, shaking her head, but her smile betrayed her amusement. "You were the one who nearly fell into that boggart! I thought I was going to die from laughter."
Theo chimed in, "I still can't believe you thought it was a giant snake, Pansy. You nearly gave Hagrid a heart attack!"
They shared hearty laughter, the kind that echoed off the walls and seemed to fill the space with warmth. It felt good to lighten the atmosphere, to banish the heaviness of the funeral from their minds, even if just for a moment.
"But really," Blaise said, his expression shifting slightly, "this is a new beginning for us. We can finally break free from the shadows our families cast over us. No more guilt, no more expectations."
Pansy's heart swelled at the thought. "Yes! We can define our own lives now. This is our chance to build something that's truly ours."
Theo grinned, leaning back with a confident flair. "We should throw a party—celebrate our newfound freedom! Invite everyone who's ever felt trapped by their family's expectations."
Blaise raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "I like that idea. A real bash to kick off our rebellion against the past!"
"Count me in," Pansy added enthusiastically, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "We could make it a theme—something extravagant, something that would make our families turn in their graves."
They began tossing ideas around, the atmosphere buzzing with energy as they envisioned a night filled with laughter, music, and the sweet taste of freedom.
As the conversation flowed, Pansy felt a sense of belonging that warmed her from the inside out. She realized that this bond with the boys was something she had craved all along—a family forged not by blood, but by shared experiences and mutual understanding.
"Here's to new beginnings," Pansy raised an imaginary glass, her voice bright and full of hope.
"To new beginnings!" they echoed back, their spirits lifted, united in the promise of what was to come.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Blaise stepped through the front door of their home, the late afternoon sunlight casting long shadows across the floor. The weight of the day clung to him like a heavy cloak. Lucius Malfoy's funeral had been as cold and formal as expected, filled with hollow condolences and tense silences. It was a relief to leave that dark atmosphere behind, but his mind still buzzed with the remnants of the day.
Ginny stood in the kitchen, her eyes lighting up as she saw him walk in. She approached him, her expression soft with concern, and wrapped her arms around his waist.
"Blaise," she murmured, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. "I know today must've been hard. I thought I'd make you something comforting. I made carbonara, your favorite, to try and cheer you up."
Blaise's lips curled into a tired smile as he cupped her cheek. "Thank you, tesoro. You always know exactly what I need." He kissed her forehead, the gesture full of gratitude for the quiet sanctuary she provided.
They sat down at the table, the rich aroma of the meal filling the space between them. Neither spoke for a long while, but it wasn't uncomfortable—just a quiet understanding shared between them. The only sounds were the clinking of forks and the occasional soft exhale from Blaise as he tried to unwind from the emotional strain of the day.
Ginny didn't push him to talk. She understood the kind of day he'd had—the heavy, unspoken truths that weighed on him. Blaise appreciated that about her; she always seemed to know when he needed space to process things. Still, her presence soothed him in ways words never could.
As they ate in silence, his mind flickered back to the funeral. The somber faces, the whispered conversations, Draco's hardened expression as he stood beside his father's grave. Blaise had seen death up close before, but there was something about today—maybe the finality of Lucius's passing, or perhaps the memory of the tortured relationship between Draco and his father—that left a bitter taste in his mouth.
She watched him quietly, her eyes filled with concern. After a few more minutes, she broke the silence, her voice gentle. "Do you want to talk about it?"
He paused, setting his fork down and leaning back in his chair. His gaze drifted over the table, as if searching for the right words. "It wasn't just the funeral," he finally said, his voice low. "It was watching Draco. It reminded me of a lot of things. Of how complicated family can be… how much weight we carry because of the ones we're tied to." His eyes flicked up to meet hers, a brief flicker of vulnerability crossing his features.
She nodded, understanding more than she could articulate. She had her own family complications. The Weasleys had their share of pain and loss, and lately, her relationship with Ron had become something difficult to even think about.
"I know," she said softly, reaching out to take his hand in hers. "You don't have to carry all that alone, Blaise."
Blaise squeezed her hand gently, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "I know, baby girl," he murmured, his voice softer now. "It's just... there's so much to think about.
The evening stretched on in that quiet space of shared emotions, the food slowly disappearing from their plates. He found himself relaxing in her presence, the weight of the day lifting just a little. As the sun began to set outside, casting a soft glow through the windows, Ginny leaned back in her chair, her gaze still fixed on him.
"Why don't we go sit in the living room?" she suggested. "We don't have to talk if you don't want to, but I think you need to rest."
He nodded, feeling the exhaustion seep into his bones. Together, they moved to the sofa, Ginny settling beside him and tucking herself under his arm. The warmth of her body against his was a comfort he hadn't realized he needed until that moment.
For a while, they just sat there, the rhythmic ticking of the clock the only sound in the room. Blaise closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the cushions, and allowed himself to just be. For the first time all day, he felt like he could breathe again.
"Thank you," he whispered, barely audible, but Ginny heard him.
"For what?"
"For being here. For knowing when to push and when to just... be here with me."
Ginny smiled softly, resting her head on his shoulder. "That's what I'm here for. You don't have to face everything alone, Blaise. I've got you."
Her words, simple but full of meaning, wrapped around him like a balm. In her arms, in this quiet space they shared, Blaise could finally let go of the day's heaviness. He could let himself feel the weight of his emotions, knowing that with her by his side, he wouldn't have to carry it all on his own.
And for tonight, that was enough.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He was never sorry when his parents were sent to Azkaban. Why would he be? Even as a child, Blaise had been thrust into a world no child should ever have to endure—marked not by love or care, but by fear and violence. Branded like an animal by a madman, the Dark Mark etched on his arm became a symbol of his enslavement, not just to Voldemort, but to the entire world he had been born into.
When they came for his father, Blaise felt nothing but a cold, hollow relief. It was as though the walls of the manor itself breathed easier in the man's absence. His father's voice, once booming with threats and demands, was finally silenced. No more screaming. No more fists slamming down on tables, the sharp cracks echoing through the halls. No more sneering glares or unpredictable rage. It was gone. The weight of his father's cruelty, the stifling air of expectation and fear that had filled every room of the house, lifted like a veil.
The punishment, the suffering that had been such a constant in his life, was finally over. Blaise had been too young to understand it all back then, but he understood one thing: he was free. The relief was intoxicating. It was as if he could finally breathe, no longer living in the shadow of a man who had cared more about power than his own son. In those early days, when he wandered through the silent halls of his home, he realized that he didn't feel the loss that others seemed to expect. He felt lighter, like he had been released from chains he hadn't even realized were dragging him down.
Then there was his mother. She was a different kind of absence—an absence that had always been there, even when she was around. His birth giver had never been a mother in the way other boys might have experienced. She was distant, cold, preoccupied with her own desires and concerns. To her, Blaise had been a mere afterthought, a piece on a chessboard that only mattered when it served her larger game. He remembered her always being too busy, too distracted, too focused on other things, her attentions constantly drifting away from him. Love had never been a part of their relationship. Perhaps, on some level, he had hoped for it at one point, but that hope had died long before the Ministry took her away.
When they finally came for her, he wasn't angry. He wasn't sad. He simply watched as they led her away, her once proud demeanor crumbling as the reality of her fate set in. She had sacrificed so much for the Dark Lord, for her twisted ideals, and in the end, it had cost her everything. But it wasn't his loss. It wasn't his burden. He didn't miss her, not really. She had never been the kind of mother who would have left a hole in his heart.
In Azkaban, she couldn't escape her own regrets. She was stuck, just as his father was, locked in her own misery, haunted by her choices. Blaise often wondered if she even thought of him, or if she was still too wrapped up in her own world to realize what she had lost. It didn't matter anymore. He had never known real love from either of them. All he had ever known was neglect, abuse, and duty to a family name that meant nothing to him.
And now, with both of them gone, he was finally free. Free from the expectations of his bloodline. Free from the oppressive weight of their influence. Free to live his life on his own terms, without the shadow of his parents looming over him. There was no mourning for them in his heart. Only the knowledge that their absence had given him something they never could—freedom.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
How had his life come to this point?
Blaise stood there, his mind curiously blank as he stared down at the lifeless body before him. Blood soaked into the ground beneath his feet, the crimson pool reflecting the pale moonlight. The decapitated figure lay motionless, as if the weight of its existence had finally been lifted. And yet, Blaise felt nothing. Not fear, not disgust, not even satisfaction. It was as if he wasn't truly present—just going through the motions, his body acting on autopilot while his mind drifted somewhere far away, detached from the gruesome reality of what he had just done.
He had killed before. Many times, in fact. In his line of work, death was as routine as breathing. But tonight, something about it felt... hollow. The man he had just decapitated wasn't anyone special. Just another mark, another target assigned by the people who paid him well to do their dirty work. Another name on a long list of people who needed to be silenced, disposed of. It was all part of the job. But as Blaise wiped the blood from his blade and watched the body grow cold, he couldn't help but wonder how he had ended up here—standing in the shadows, drenched in blood, a silent executor of death.
Once, his life had seemed full of possibilities. He could have done anything. His mind, sharp as a blade itself, could have led him down a path that was more fulfilling, more... human. He could have chosen a different career. He could have pursued something that didn't involve killing and deception. Maybe he could have used his intelligence to build something, to create rather than destroy. But no. He had chosen this life, or rather, this life had been chosen for him long before he even realized it.
The truth was, he had never stood a chance. His father's legacy was always looming over him, a dark cloud that blocked out any light, any potential for something different. His father had been a master of manipulation, a man whose hands were forever stained with the blood of others, and from the moment Blaise had come of age, the expectation had been clear: he would follow in those footsteps. He would inherit not just the family name, but the family business. The legacy of death and deception.
Lovely.
Blaise had been trained for this life from a young age, groomed to be the perfect assassin. He had learned early on how to detach himself, how to silence any part of him that might feel remorse, guilt, or fear. Emotions were weaknesses in this world, and weakness would get him killed. So he buried it all. The anger, the sadness, the loneliness—all of it was locked away, hidden beneath layers of indifference. He became what his father had wanted him to be: efficient, unfeeling, and deadly.
But now, standing there with the weight of his latest kill settling around him, Blaise couldn't shake the sense of emptiness that gnawed at his insides. It wasn't the killing itself that bothered him. He had long since stopped caring about the morality of it. In his world, people lived or died based on who held the power, and Blaise held a great deal of it. No, what troubled him was the growing realization that this was all there was. This was his life—an endless cycle of death, betrayal, and lies. And it was starting to wear on him in ways he hadn't anticipated.
Where had his mind been tonight, as he carried out the kill? Not here, certainly. His body had moved with precision, his blade had cut through flesh as smoothly as always, but his mind... his mind had wandered. It was strange, this feeling of disconnection, as though he were a spectator watching his own life unfold from a distance. He thought of Ginny, of the home they were building together, of the life they were trying to carve out despite the darkness that surrounded them. Was that what had distracted him tonight? The thought of something better, something more?
A part of him longed for it—an escape from this bloody world, a chance at something real, something that didn't involve looking over his shoulder every day, wondering when his time would come. But another part of him knew that was a fantasy. He had been born into this world, raised in its shadows, and there was no leaving it. Not really. Not for someone like him. He could never truly walk away from the blood on his hands. It was in his veins, part of his very being. His father had made sure of that.
And so, Blaise resigned himself to the life he had been given. He would continue to kill, continue to deceive, because that was what he knew. It was what he was good at. But as he turned away from the lifeless body and disappeared into the night, he couldn't help but wonder—how much longer could he keep going? How much longer could he pretend that this was enough? How much longer before the emptiness consumed him entirely?
He didn't have an answer. All he knew was that the life of an assassin was a lonely one, and for all the power and money it brought, it was a life that came with a heavy cost. A cost that, slowly but surely, was eroding what little humanity he had left.
But for now, there was no time for self-reflection. There was always another job, another name on the list, another life to take. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the numbness wash over him once again. Then, with practiced ease, he slipped back into the shadows, where he belonged.