Full Of Grace
by Liz Barr

Personally, I'd have killed her slowly. I'd have dragged every second into eternity, and laughed as I watched her suffer.

I don't know how my Lord killed her, but I cannot imagine him savouring her death the way I would have. She was nothing to him.

She was nothing to me, really.


But I'd have enjoyed watching her die. I had thought about taking her child, raising him as my own. A brother for Zachary. A little piece of her that I could have all to myself.

I thought about it, about showing up on her doorstep, killing her husband and then killing her, but slowly, slowly, slowly. And taking the boy.

The boy.

Whom everyone credits with destroying Our Lord.

It cannot possibly be true. He's out there, surely, he was too powerful to be destroyed utterly. Let alone by a child.

Even her child.

Oh, she was powerful. Muggle-born bitch. More powerful than me, even, and she was completely unaware of it. She could have had ... many things. Anything. Everything.

Now she's dead, and legendary.

Now they look back, and everyone was in love with her, even my husband, even my lover. The legend eats away at the reality, like an acid eating away at her skin. (I wonder, I wonder, perhaps if I'd asked nicely, I wonder if Severus might have given me an acidic potion for her face. Or would he have betrayed me, and himself, and refused?)

The legend.

That she was perfect. A goddess among witches.


Untouchable, virginal Lily.

They'll remember her name long after mine is forgotten.

They'd remember me if I'd killed her. It would all be the same in the end, except that the Dark Lord would still be among us. She'd still be dead. Her child would still live, except that he'd be mine, now. We could leave, my husband, my children and I, or perhaps I'd abandon my husband and go with Severus, or perhaps I'd be alone. But we could leave, change our names, change our faces, have a new life.

Except that I could not abandon my Lord, or my name. He'd never allow us to leave, and truly, I could never escape him. Or myself. We are bound, he and I, by the Mark and the Darkness.

I was to sit at his left hand.

Now her child has destroyed him.

Perhaps she intended it. Perhaps they planned it: Lily, Potter and Dumbledore.

Perhaps she was a willing sacrifice.

Perhaps she was happy to die, accepting, content.

She should have died screaming. Suffering agonies. Malfoy uses Cruciatus like a club, but I can manipulate it until it becomes a constant, unbearable needle-prick, an ever-present ache that eventually drives my victim insane.

She could have died like that.

Should have died like that.

Because she was beautiful. Though never graceful, whatever the propaganda claims now. She was tall and skinny, and by the time she'd learnt to manage her height, she was already pregnant with that bloody child.

She was never graceful, but I watched her at meetings, while the other prefects squabbled. Her power was tangible, even when she was a coltish fifteen year old.

I could have had that power. There are spells ... I could have swallowed her alive, every memory, every skill, all of her incandescent magic. I could have made her part of me.

And then I'd have killed her.


I could have.

But my Lord killed her.

Her child destroyed Him.

Now ... well, they say the Aurors know where He is. What He is. How to bring Him back.

We'll save Him. We will return the Dark Lord to power, and He will know that we were faithful, while Malfoy cringed in his mansion.

He'll be grateful.

He'll offer us rewards.

He'll teach me the Forbidden Spells, the ones that not even Dark wizards will use.


I'll bring him back, and then I'll bring her back. I'll swallow her alive, and then I'll kill her slowly, until she's a graceless sack of meat.

And after that, they'll remember my name.

My name. Lilith.

Yes, they'll remember me. Forever.


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