Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter OR anything Batman, sadly!
“You either die a Hero or live long enough to see yourself become a villain” -The Dark Knight
The front landing was the only thing intact. Memories flooded him slowly. Memories of dancing, of her slim waist in his hands, of her long mess of curls tickling his arms and of the striking green of her dress, her hand clutching a fake rose. He remembered his mother's gaze from above, silently judging their every move.
Shaking them, he walked through the mess slowly, head held high. He wasn't exactly responsible for the ruins, but he wasn't above celebrating. None of the architecture mattered to him, nor the intricate designs of the walls. Rather, the destruction caught his eye. He laughed heartily as he passed the ruined staircase, it had made large craters in the once marvelous wooden floors. Clothing was scattered about, shredded, it's beauty and expense now worthless. Most of the lamps were broken and shattered. He promptly knocked over the final lamp intact, never bothered to marvel in the beauty of it, nor the inscription, “Our Loving Son Draco.” If he had seen it, he would have cursed them.
He smiled approaching the ballroom. Bodies lay motionless on the ground, their expensive dress robes and jewelry disheveled and broken. His own friends and relatives were among them, but he'd never give any one of them a second of regret. He thought they'd brought this upon themselves. His father and mother were at the bottom of the staircase. He scoffed at their intertwined hands. Their eyes were dead, and he marveled in that instead. They thought he was heartless; who could blame them?
The grand mirror lay es-cue against the wall. Surprised that it was intact, he gazed at his own reflection. His blonde hair was combed neatly back, his blue eyes held a certain shine he was sure he hadn't seen in a while and his smile was wide, although it didn't quite reach his eyes.
He shrugged and turned from it. What he saw made him gasp. She was slouched against the ruined main stairwell. She gazed into his eyes, she wasn't dead yet. Her gown was green, but it was ruined, stained with red. Blood.
She held a single rose in her hand. Drawing one last breath, she let out his name, “Draco.” With all the strength she could muster, she threw it at his feet. One shaky last breath and he knew she was gone. He picked up the rose. It was a fake rose with a small red ribbon tied around the stem. Embroidered on it; “Until the last rose dies.”
He turned back to the mirror quickly, wanting to shatter it like his heart. It was only then, the instant she let out his name he realized something.
His blue eyes had gone cold and dead. His blonde hair was hanging in a mess around his face and his smile; it was more manic than happy. Of course, looking into that mirror he couldn't see this.
In that instant, he realized the mirror was his portrait.