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The summer weather was mocking him. Everything mocked him, since he was a child – teased and bullied on the school playground, sneered at in Diagon Alley on visits there. Always mocking, always judging, always beneath him but not realising it.
And today it was worse. He glanced at the old clock on the wall.
11am.
Lily was probably getting ready now, surrounded by the vapid slags she’d shared a room with at school. Gryffindor had been a waste on her, his perfect Lily in Gryffindor of all places. But then, she was of lower stock… No. She rose above it. Unlike the other filth who wallowed in their inferiority. Lily ascended. Radiant. Pure.
Not for much longer. He grimaced at the thought.
And to Potter. The lowlife. Born with an air of superiority that he didn’t deserve.
He thought of what the Dark Lord would say, Potter might be a blood traitor but his family were of decent stock. Healthy. Magical. As much has he hated it, he accepted it for the cause. It was muggles that ruined it for everyone. If Lily’s parents hadn’t been muggles then she’d have loved him, he was sure of it. But instead the vileness of the non-magical world had seeped its way into her – no doubt encouraged by her half-breed dormmates and the closeness to traitors and werewolves.
Was the mutt there? He must have been. Disgusting and untrustworthy, and probably easy to frame. The seeds of doubt would be being sown there as time ticked by. But who would crack first, Black? It seemed unlikely, he was too far gone to be of use. Potter they could keep with his pure blood, let them capture him and keep him alive for the sake of creating a pure world. But they already had Regulus on their side, there was no need for Black. The werewolf, of course, must be purged. And Pettigrew. He’d switch once they lost. Maybe he’d switch before then, if he thought they were going to…
The clock chimed. 12 o’clock. Midday.
The time Lily always used to fantasise about starting her wedding: ‘twelve until twelve, it’d be great!’ she used to say, admittedly they’d only been 10 at the time, but it stuck. She’d never specified to whom, so he’d inserted himself into the image. Now he could only see flashes of Potter. Smug, arrogant. Once they caught him… well he didn’t need to be pretty to help ensure the wizarding population, just functional.
His Lily would be a sight, he was sure of it. He imagined the scene could be happening with him, rather than the one that must be happening miles away. She would be dressed in pure white, covered up and modest, holding pansies – no, anemones - smiling at him as she walked down the aisle. Her gaze unwavering from him. It would be a small ceremony, of course, because her filthy relatives would be no where in sight and obviously this would be a great reward for his service to the Dark Lord – but not something they’d want to shout about. Perhaps they could have it as a ceremony without the binding spell. He would have her to himself, she’d be untouchable to others, but he wouldn’t be bound to her less favourable blood ties. The Dark Lord would agree to that, surely, his own woman – he could bond to a respectable pure blood as well, to keep society running.
He sighed and moved to carry on with his day, he had people to meet and he needed to keep a close eye on the clock for one of his brews. It was a new one, potent, his Lord requested it specifically, he needed it to be good. The cause was too important. A society without scum like his father, or Lily’s sister, or any of those lower life forms. More importantly, a society where Lily would be his and his alone, and she would come to love it, he was sure. She would see the light, his Lily, she would understand and praise his good deeds to bring them to a new and superior society.
***
He could hear the fireworks from down the road somewhere. Muggles, no doubt, random and thoughtless animals. It was getting late, past 11pm, even for the August night it was finally dark enough for them to be visible.
Lily had always wanted fireworks at their wedding. She’d never said ‘their’ about the two of them, but he knew, he knew at some point, before the creeping infection of the impure others, she’d seen her life with him. She must have.
He wondered vaguely if she had fireworks tonight but pushed it from his mind. He could still hear the damn muggles down the road. He gritted his teeth as he thought over the poor decisions his mother made. Once muggles were in their place, fewer witches would be led astray by the disgusting attraction of muggle men.
Settling back into his bed, the clock downstairs chimes. Midnight. The festivities are probably over, she’ll be going back to her suite. With her new husband.
Again, in his mind’s eye he sees the version as it should be. She’s with him, not the arrogant blood traitor. She smiles shyly at him, a virgin, as she should be. Still pure, still his Lily. Untouched, untainted by the disgustingness of her muggle heritage and by the hands of those less worthy. He is worthy, he was always so good to her, yet she chose others. Proof of how her mind had been turned. They’ll go back to the honeymoon suite and begin to undress.
He reached his hand below the thin layer of his duvet.
He’s lowering her white dress and she’s blushing, perfect and wonderful. He must have her, be the sole person to have her, let his touch be the thing that she clings to.
Slowly he builds his speed, the heat of the night and the rush of blood making sweat begin to form on his forehead and neck.
They’d go slow at first, she’d be timid of course. His Lily was sometimes loud and crass, but he would train her out of that, and in this moment when she bared it all to him she would be delicate and demure. The perfect woman, one to make the Dark Lord understand that despite her origins she could see the error of her ways, she could fit into the right way of doing things. Even if the others didn’t, Lily could.
He became frantic now, imaging pealing of her dress, his hands all over her milky body, her red hair neatly out of the way. There were many primal things he could do to her another time, she could lead him a little astray, let the muggle filth out but only in the bedroom; show her where her place was, but also gain pleasure from her. On this night he would be tender, and she would be thankful that he was giving her a good standing and saving her life by ensuring this union. She would pay him back for all the kindness he’d shown her as they’d grown up together, and the kindness he would show in allowing her a place in the new, better, magical, world he was helping to build.
He was reaching his end, he could feel it, so close. To her, and her perfection despite coming from the dregs of society. So close.
Another firework goes off. He jumps.
The momentary distraction comes at just the wrong time, and he’s done without even really feeling the climax. He considered the household with the fireworks and adds their address to the muggle residences he’ll be handing over as suggestions for the Lestrange’s unhinged nights of terror.
Thoughts of how lowly his behaviour was flit across his mind as he cleans up. It was one thing to want to be with Lily – dear, sweet, perfect, Lily – but he shouldn’t debase himself like that over her. It would do no good to sully his purer blood with lust right now. He would bide his time, and one day he would have her.