blood like champagne (фемслэш)

Narcissa sneers. “I don’t think. I know you’re going to lose.”
And then Lily grins, and it’s credits rolling, it’s a cachet of fireworks going off, it’s the conclusion of a year coming in three forms, once bloody, twice breathtaking, three times the end; it’s life and death and creation and destruction, and it’s a mouth quirked up a little too high for Narcissa to ignore. “Wanna bet?”