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theiceroyals2018-11-01 10:48 pm
smirkingcat) wrote in theiceroyals2018-11-01 10:48 pm
Entry tags:
[Fest-Fic:]Taphonomy
Title: Taphonomy
Author: :lower_east_side
Prompt: Nr 12 byarticcat621
Rating: T
Era: canon, AU (20 year timespan)
Word Count : 3k
Summary: It’s a slow process, turning into stone.
Author's Note: The first three sections of this fic take place during canon; the fourth is a companion piece to my H/D Big Bang, but can absolutely be read as a stand alone. Thanks to randoyoyo for the beta!
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Spandrels
May, 1980
She’s holding another person in her body, and yet she’s never felt more alone.
The fire kicks up, and for a moment Narcissa thinks it’s Lucius returning through the Floo. It’s only the wood crackling. Malfoy Manor is temperamental without its master.
All the bonding rituals are complete, and Malfoy blood stirs in her womb, but Narcissa still isn’t sure the house has accepted her. It’s uncomfortably spacious, the pop of the house-elves echoing as they work to fulfill her increasingly strange requests: marmalade at dinner, roasted quail at dawn. A sudden and desperate need for sugar quills, no she doesn’t know where to purchase them, she’s never set foot in a low candy shop, but you’d better find me some, Holkey, now!
It’s nearly enough to drive her mad.
Narcissa would not be the first Black to go around the twist. Already she sees the stirrings of insanity in Bella’s face as she traipses after Voldemort - The Dark Lord he calls himself now - and Andromeda was obviously touched. Her cousins, too: Regulus with his darting eyes, twitching this way and that, and Sirius - well. Best not to speak of Sirius.
Does Lucius ever see him, she wonders, on these strange little missions Voldemort leads? Does her new husband come face to face with her estranged blood? Do they hold each other at wandpoint, Sirius laughing in that madcap way of his, dark hair falling in his face, while Lucius sneers at him, blond and bright?
Sometimes she wonders if he chose her for her hair. Pale Narcissa, the flower among stars.
This child will be fair as they are. A blond little boy, the weight of centuries on his shoulders. She’d doubted her suitability for motherhood, even as she fell pregnant not a month after the wedding. They’ve performed all the proper rituals: she knows he is a boy, knows he has magic, all the requirements of a Malfoy heir. This unfamiliar home will go to him if Lucius dies, the enormous fortune with it. Narcissa is nothing more than a caretaker. Some days she feels like a glorified house elf herself, set up at her husband’s beck and call.
This is Pure-blood marriage, she reminds herself. This is her duty. But Lucius has a duty to her as well, to not risk her comfort, or even her life. No matter how much she agrees with his ideals, she didn’t expect him to be… well, idealistic. Didn’t expect him to go wage a war.
He says he fights to honour their heritage, their blood. To increase their prestige and power. But if Lucius is wrong and all Voldemort’s plans go awry, it is Narcissa who will suffer. She knows only this fate, to be a wife. Should the worst happen, she once could have remarried. But the moment her baby quickened, her fate was sealed. No man wants to marry a woman who already bears the heir of another great house, and the responsibility of raising him.
They should have waited to have children. She knows that Lucius praises her, speaks of her in nothing but affectionate terms. He kisses her hand at dinner parties and allows his eyes to linger longer than required for any show. But Bellatrix is the one beside him at night, masked and robed, dancing in the firelight. It’s too great a risk for Narcissa to join them. She wouldn’t, most likely. She’d still like the option.
Yet she holds both her hands over her middle protectively. An unexpected emotion, this need to defend, this love. Lucius should be here for this.
He should be here for her.
She’s a Black, and a prize. Being thus, being something to be won, never bothered Narcissa like it did Andromeda, who pulled at the reins of her obligations until she threw them off, galloping away full speed with that Mudblood, never looking back. But a prize is a treasure. Not an accessory, trotted out at convenient times.
Narcissa Black will not be an afterthought.
Voyage of The Beagle
December, 1981
A ship in port is more beautiful than at sea, because on the open water there is no one to view it.
By now the meeting must be wrapping up. Lucius has the best solicitor, far more expensive than any of the other Death Eaters could afford. Alleged, she reminds herself. Mustn't get in the habit of naming Lucius as what he really was. More importantly, a not so insignificant portion of their vault has been seeded through the Ministry itself. Bribes, someone with stronger moral fortitude might call it. Narcissa calls it insurance.
Draco sleeps on the settee beside her, worn out after a day of ‘supervising’ the holiday decorations. Christmas isn’t for another few weeks, but Narcissa wanted to indulge him. The ever so slight chance lingers that she could be arrested for conspiracy, and until Lucius comes home she refuses to breathe a sigh of relief. She instead fills her days by spoiling Draco, keeping him close, causing Holkey to wring her ears at feeling useless.
An owl beats its wings against the icy windowpane of the blue parlour and Narcissa retrieves the letter, shooing the animal away from the Italian silk draperies. It’s from Lucius. Ministry parchment - is it bad news? Is he still detained?
My Love,
I know that you await me at this late hour. I felt I should send word ahead of my return so that your worry will not increase.
The Ministry has seen the truth, and in their wisdom cleared me. There are several papers to sign, none of which you need concern yourself with, and then I shall be released. Floo travel is restricted from the Ministry in these trying times, and I will need to Apparate from Diagon Alley to the Manor.
My only wish now is to put this matter behind us, to live with you and our Draco in the peace that has been hard-won.
Yours,
Lucius
Narcissa immediately reads between the lines. Lucius is free of charges; her name was not brought up; the Ministry is under tightened security and therefore likely screening letters, accounting for the drivel about peace and wisdom.
He’s done it. He’s free.
She smooths her hand across the sleek platinum hair of her beloved child. “My dragon,” she whispers. “You will never want for anything.” They have won. Sided with the worst Dark Wizard in years, and come out unscathed. What could defeat them now?
She finds that she is hungry for Lucius. For the wicked curve of his smile, his sharp grey eyes. His hands on her body, pushing the velvet robe from her shoulders, falling into their enormous bed. Flushed, she calls for Holkey and tells her to take Draco to his room, finding her way down to the entrance hall to wait alone.
What kind of man her husband must be, to extricate himself from such a situation. Narcissa is impressed: like any good Slytherin, Lucius has revealed his ambitions and his cleverness to her. But when he stood at the Dark Lord’s side, he seemed dimmer somehow. Less remarkable. Now he walks unfettered, no master to answer to, no Ministry charges. Such power. Narcissa finds it intoxicating.
There is a crack of Apparition outside, and then the smooth feel of the wards parting. Lucius is home. She loosens the delicate buttons at her throat and wrists, and brazenly lets down her hair.
When he comes through the door of the Manor, the candles light beside him as he walks. The house is glorying in his return, and Narcissa does as well.
Punctuated Equilibrium
June 18, 1996
She isn’t supposed to know.
The first time all of this happened, Narcissa sat on a mountain of plausible deniability. Lucius had kept her in the dark, for her protection, even if it made her sit up every night with worry. Now she realises that the unknown is not nearly as bad as being informed.
The past few years have been… unfortunate.. First Lucius’ humiliation in the incident with the house-elf, and then that entire scene in the graveyard. Narcissa has never approved of theatrics. The Dark Lord seems to relish them, however. He certainly plans a show tonight.
Lucius has left the Manor in a rush, leaving behind whatever documents he’s been sorting through in the library, throwing on his robes and hastening to the Floo. “Cissa,” he’d said, a desperation in his voice that’s never appeared before. It made her cringe. “I have a task. You know that I cannot fail him, not after how… disappointed he has been with me. Myself and your sister, and many of the others, we are going to the Department of Mysteries. The Potter boy is sure to be there as well.” He’d looked at her intently, as if it were his last, both regret and pride and a bit of excitement on his face, before stepping into the fire to meet the Dark Lord.
It’s not like before. She watches him go now with her heart in her throat. She loves him, her Lucius. They have built something together, learned each other’s ways and mapped one another’s bodies. They are partners in every sense of the word. Her love has built up, brick by brick, year by year, into a solid foundation of pride and desire. And now she is entangled with the perhaps foolish pledge he made all those years ago.
No longer is she a simple bystander, the ignorant housewife. Narcissa has passed on all the information she has, both on the Potter boy and her fugitive cousin. Her aunts’ disgusting house-elf has been as forthcoming as he is able. Yet again it seems that Malfoy will battle Black, with Narcissa on the sidelines.
But why should she stay behind? She knows where the action is tonight. It would take her no time at all to Floo to the Ministry. Another wand may be of assistance, especially with the Order never far behind. Abruptly, she stands up, the jar of Floo powder in her line of sight. One toss, one step -
No. She cannot. Someone has to be here for Draco.
Barely a week over sixteen, her son will be in the Dark Lord’s sights next. Lucius has failed him so many times - though how, exactly, Narcissa isn’t sure; apparently it is more impressive to spend years in Azkaban, slowly going mad, rather than slither out of consequences and continue to shore up your power. Regardless, Lucius has been very clear: if he fails again, Draco will be expected to replace him. The thought of her only child being branded like a possession turns her stomach, and she sits down heavily upon the settee.
As the night wears on, her mind conjures visions of every possible outcome. The Order arriving, routing the Death Eaters, preventing them from acquiring whatever it is they seek. Bella returned to prison, Lucius joining her, both in cell and in madness. Or the Dark Lord victorious, standing over the bodies of Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter, red eyes gleaming. That scenario doesn’t make her feel as pleased as one might expect. He’s a brat, and has caused innumerable troubles for her son, but he’s the same age, just a child. Still only fifteen, in fact, too young to fight a war for any cause.
If this drags on, it could just as easily be Draco’s body under the boot of an Auror.
The thought makes her ill, as does her wild imagination, ripe with images of Lucius, bedraggled and insane, cowering before Dementors. Narcissa thinks she would rather die than be sent to Azkaban. Bella would call her a coward. Bella can barely stand without trembling these days.
The night wears on and the Floo stays cold. Holkey tries to offer tea, but Narcissa waves her away and continues to stare at the fireplace. Eventually the sun rises and she knows she must prepare for the worst.
She only finds out what has happened when the Prophet arrives.
Lagerstätten
April, 1999
The sunlight is peeking in past the rough linen curtains of her window. Narcissa supposes she should be grateful she has a window at all. Not every room in the criminal ward at St. Mungo’s is so well appointed.
It's a single suite; no shrieking inmates brought from Azkaban here, no recently injured Auror captures, waiting for their sentence. A single table, a single bed. A single novel she's read five times already. A single apple for dessert each day.
Bored, she lifts a hand and waves it through the streams of light, casting shadows on the wall. Her hand is even paler than usual, the faint sheen of monitoring spells glistening over her skin. It won't be long now before they begin to shrill loudly, summoning the Healers. Any day now, in fact. She wiggles her fingers, dark lines scattering around the room like fleeing creatures, then rests the hand on her belly, large again.
Lucius is missing this important moment, just like last time. It's he that awaits her now, wherever people go… after. Concerned with duty and sacrifice right until the end. She cannot meet him, her own duty not yet completed; Lucius will have to wait a little longer, while Narcissa whiles away her days in this stark white room. Once again she takes stock of her meager possessions, sitting on the table.
Draco has brought her a sugar quill. It’s a tiny expense, but one he must feel keenly as he’s had to find menial work on his own. Narcissa twirls the sweet gently between her fingers, watching the sunlight glitter on its crystallized plumes, remembering that summer long ago when she delivered her son.
She hopes this next one has better fortune.
It’s their fault, her and Lucius, that Draco is now forced to work as a common labourer. It would be easy to throw the blame at her husband's feet alone, but Narcissa made her choice long ago, standing by the fire anxious for his return. Draco himself holds her far more innocent than she is, choosing to hold his resentment for the parent he has lost rather than the parent he still clings to, but he may change his mind in the end, when he discovers what she has done. What she is about to do.
Giving life to this child will take her own, there was never any doubt about that - the ritual demanded the lives of both father and mother to ensure conception . Another sweet blond baby, a perfect mix of Lucius and herself. Nearly nine months on and she misses him so much. Is she really so terrible for anticipating the moment she sees him again? Neither of them will haunt the Manor; the time for regrets had long since passed for both by the time they decided to leave one more Malfoy in the world. That last night, before the moment of reckoning, was bittersweet and glorious. She’d never come so hard, even with the knowledge of their impending doom.
Because there is a satisfaction, isn’t there, in winning by losing. This child will inherit the Malfoy estate, snatching it from greedy Ministry fingers. Neither she nor Lucius will suffer Azkaban or the Kiss. Instead they leave this world at the moment of their choosing, in the manner they deem fit for a Malfoy. Draco may not understand at first, but he will, someday. And he will be alright in the end. For all the times they failed him, they did not raise a stupid son.
Just before the Dark Lord returned, before their fortunes spiraled out of their own control, the three of them had posed for a new portrait. This will be how she is remembered, her final appearance in the world. Not this slowly fading shell. When her two sons visit her, she will be dressed in her finest, hale and beautiful, joined (as she will soon be in all eternity) by her beloved husband. The two of them preserved forever as flowers pressed in a book.
The only thing left to do, then, is to use her very last bargaining chip to ensure this child lives to visit that portrait. This is one detail Lucius did not know - her plans would have appalled him, as he truly hates the boy. But she did not save him from death only to let that favour go unrepaid. Draco has also bought her small stationary set; she takes it from the table and wills her hand to stop shaking. There is no need to be nervous. Lucius is waiting.
She presses quill to paper and begins her last defiant act.
Dear Mr. Potter…
Author: :
lower_east_sidePrompt: Nr 12 by
articcat621Rating: T
Era: canon, AU (20 year timespan)
Word Count : 3k
Summary: It’s a slow process, turning into stone.
Author's Note: The first three sections of this fic take place during canon; the fourth is a companion piece to my H/D Big Bang, but can absolutely be read as a stand alone. Thanks to randoyoyo for the beta!
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Spandrels
May, 1980
She’s holding another person in her body, and yet she’s never felt more alone.
The fire kicks up, and for a moment Narcissa thinks it’s Lucius returning through the Floo. It’s only the wood crackling. Malfoy Manor is temperamental without its master.
All the bonding rituals are complete, and Malfoy blood stirs in her womb, but Narcissa still isn’t sure the house has accepted her. It’s uncomfortably spacious, the pop of the house-elves echoing as they work to fulfill her increasingly strange requests: marmalade at dinner, roasted quail at dawn. A sudden and desperate need for sugar quills, no she doesn’t know where to purchase them, she’s never set foot in a low candy shop, but you’d better find me some, Holkey, now!
It’s nearly enough to drive her mad.
Narcissa would not be the first Black to go around the twist. Already she sees the stirrings of insanity in Bella’s face as she traipses after Voldemort - The Dark Lord he calls himself now - and Andromeda was obviously touched. Her cousins, too: Regulus with his darting eyes, twitching this way and that, and Sirius - well. Best not to speak of Sirius.
Does Lucius ever see him, she wonders, on these strange little missions Voldemort leads? Does her new husband come face to face with her estranged blood? Do they hold each other at wandpoint, Sirius laughing in that madcap way of his, dark hair falling in his face, while Lucius sneers at him, blond and bright?
Sometimes she wonders if he chose her for her hair. Pale Narcissa, the flower among stars.
This child will be fair as they are. A blond little boy, the weight of centuries on his shoulders. She’d doubted her suitability for motherhood, even as she fell pregnant not a month after the wedding. They’ve performed all the proper rituals: she knows he is a boy, knows he has magic, all the requirements of a Malfoy heir. This unfamiliar home will go to him if Lucius dies, the enormous fortune with it. Narcissa is nothing more than a caretaker. Some days she feels like a glorified house elf herself, set up at her husband’s beck and call.
This is Pure-blood marriage, she reminds herself. This is her duty. But Lucius has a duty to her as well, to not risk her comfort, or even her life. No matter how much she agrees with his ideals, she didn’t expect him to be… well, idealistic. Didn’t expect him to go wage a war.
He says he fights to honour their heritage, their blood. To increase their prestige and power. But if Lucius is wrong and all Voldemort’s plans go awry, it is Narcissa who will suffer. She knows only this fate, to be a wife. Should the worst happen, she once could have remarried. But the moment her baby quickened, her fate was sealed. No man wants to marry a woman who already bears the heir of another great house, and the responsibility of raising him.
They should have waited to have children. She knows that Lucius praises her, speaks of her in nothing but affectionate terms. He kisses her hand at dinner parties and allows his eyes to linger longer than required for any show. But Bellatrix is the one beside him at night, masked and robed, dancing in the firelight. It’s too great a risk for Narcissa to join them. She wouldn’t, most likely. She’d still like the option.
Yet she holds both her hands over her middle protectively. An unexpected emotion, this need to defend, this love. Lucius should be here for this.
He should be here for her.
She’s a Black, and a prize. Being thus, being something to be won, never bothered Narcissa like it did Andromeda, who pulled at the reins of her obligations until she threw them off, galloping away full speed with that Mudblood, never looking back. But a prize is a treasure. Not an accessory, trotted out at convenient times.
Narcissa Black will not be an afterthought.
Voyage of The Beagle
December, 1981
A ship in port is more beautiful than at sea, because on the open water there is no one to view it.
By now the meeting must be wrapping up. Lucius has the best solicitor, far more expensive than any of the other Death Eaters could afford. Alleged, she reminds herself. Mustn't get in the habit of naming Lucius as what he really was. More importantly, a not so insignificant portion of their vault has been seeded through the Ministry itself. Bribes, someone with stronger moral fortitude might call it. Narcissa calls it insurance.
Draco sleeps on the settee beside her, worn out after a day of ‘supervising’ the holiday decorations. Christmas isn’t for another few weeks, but Narcissa wanted to indulge him. The ever so slight chance lingers that she could be arrested for conspiracy, and until Lucius comes home she refuses to breathe a sigh of relief. She instead fills her days by spoiling Draco, keeping him close, causing Holkey to wring her ears at feeling useless.
An owl beats its wings against the icy windowpane of the blue parlour and Narcissa retrieves the letter, shooing the animal away from the Italian silk draperies. It’s from Lucius. Ministry parchment - is it bad news? Is he still detained?
My Love,
I know that you await me at this late hour. I felt I should send word ahead of my return so that your worry will not increase.
The Ministry has seen the truth, and in their wisdom cleared me. There are several papers to sign, none of which you need concern yourself with, and then I shall be released. Floo travel is restricted from the Ministry in these trying times, and I will need to Apparate from Diagon Alley to the Manor.
My only wish now is to put this matter behind us, to live with you and our Draco in the peace that has been hard-won.
Yours,
Lucius
Narcissa immediately reads between the lines. Lucius is free of charges; her name was not brought up; the Ministry is under tightened security and therefore likely screening letters, accounting for the drivel about peace and wisdom.
He’s done it. He’s free.
She smooths her hand across the sleek platinum hair of her beloved child. “My dragon,” she whispers. “You will never want for anything.” They have won. Sided with the worst Dark Wizard in years, and come out unscathed. What could defeat them now?
She finds that she is hungry for Lucius. For the wicked curve of his smile, his sharp grey eyes. His hands on her body, pushing the velvet robe from her shoulders, falling into their enormous bed. Flushed, she calls for Holkey and tells her to take Draco to his room, finding her way down to the entrance hall to wait alone.
What kind of man her husband must be, to extricate himself from such a situation. Narcissa is impressed: like any good Slytherin, Lucius has revealed his ambitions and his cleverness to her. But when he stood at the Dark Lord’s side, he seemed dimmer somehow. Less remarkable. Now he walks unfettered, no master to answer to, no Ministry charges. Such power. Narcissa finds it intoxicating.
There is a crack of Apparition outside, and then the smooth feel of the wards parting. Lucius is home. She loosens the delicate buttons at her throat and wrists, and brazenly lets down her hair.
When he comes through the door of the Manor, the candles light beside him as he walks. The house is glorying in his return, and Narcissa does as well.
Punctuated Equilibrium
June 18, 1996
She isn’t supposed to know.
The first time all of this happened, Narcissa sat on a mountain of plausible deniability. Lucius had kept her in the dark, for her protection, even if it made her sit up every night with worry. Now she realises that the unknown is not nearly as bad as being informed.
The past few years have been… unfortunate.. First Lucius’ humiliation in the incident with the house-elf, and then that entire scene in the graveyard. Narcissa has never approved of theatrics. The Dark Lord seems to relish them, however. He certainly plans a show tonight.
Lucius has left the Manor in a rush, leaving behind whatever documents he’s been sorting through in the library, throwing on his robes and hastening to the Floo. “Cissa,” he’d said, a desperation in his voice that’s never appeared before. It made her cringe. “I have a task. You know that I cannot fail him, not after how… disappointed he has been with me. Myself and your sister, and many of the others, we are going to the Department of Mysteries. The Potter boy is sure to be there as well.” He’d looked at her intently, as if it were his last, both regret and pride and a bit of excitement on his face, before stepping into the fire to meet the Dark Lord.
It’s not like before. She watches him go now with her heart in her throat. She loves him, her Lucius. They have built something together, learned each other’s ways and mapped one another’s bodies. They are partners in every sense of the word. Her love has built up, brick by brick, year by year, into a solid foundation of pride and desire. And now she is entangled with the perhaps foolish pledge he made all those years ago.
No longer is she a simple bystander, the ignorant housewife. Narcissa has passed on all the information she has, both on the Potter boy and her fugitive cousin. Her aunts’ disgusting house-elf has been as forthcoming as he is able. Yet again it seems that Malfoy will battle Black, with Narcissa on the sidelines.
But why should she stay behind? She knows where the action is tonight. It would take her no time at all to Floo to the Ministry. Another wand may be of assistance, especially with the Order never far behind. Abruptly, she stands up, the jar of Floo powder in her line of sight. One toss, one step -
No. She cannot. Someone has to be here for Draco.
Barely a week over sixteen, her son will be in the Dark Lord’s sights next. Lucius has failed him so many times - though how, exactly, Narcissa isn’t sure; apparently it is more impressive to spend years in Azkaban, slowly going mad, rather than slither out of consequences and continue to shore up your power. Regardless, Lucius has been very clear: if he fails again, Draco will be expected to replace him. The thought of her only child being branded like a possession turns her stomach, and she sits down heavily upon the settee.
As the night wears on, her mind conjures visions of every possible outcome. The Order arriving, routing the Death Eaters, preventing them from acquiring whatever it is they seek. Bella returned to prison, Lucius joining her, both in cell and in madness. Or the Dark Lord victorious, standing over the bodies of Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter, red eyes gleaming. That scenario doesn’t make her feel as pleased as one might expect. He’s a brat, and has caused innumerable troubles for her son, but he’s the same age, just a child. Still only fifteen, in fact, too young to fight a war for any cause.
If this drags on, it could just as easily be Draco’s body under the boot of an Auror.
The thought makes her ill, as does her wild imagination, ripe with images of Lucius, bedraggled and insane, cowering before Dementors. Narcissa thinks she would rather die than be sent to Azkaban. Bella would call her a coward. Bella can barely stand without trembling these days.
The night wears on and the Floo stays cold. Holkey tries to offer tea, but Narcissa waves her away and continues to stare at the fireplace. Eventually the sun rises and she knows she must prepare for the worst.
She only finds out what has happened when the Prophet arrives.
Lagerstätten
April, 1999
The sunlight is peeking in past the rough linen curtains of her window. Narcissa supposes she should be grateful she has a window at all. Not every room in the criminal ward at St. Mungo’s is so well appointed.
It's a single suite; no shrieking inmates brought from Azkaban here, no recently injured Auror captures, waiting for their sentence. A single table, a single bed. A single novel she's read five times already. A single apple for dessert each day.
Bored, she lifts a hand and waves it through the streams of light, casting shadows on the wall. Her hand is even paler than usual, the faint sheen of monitoring spells glistening over her skin. It won't be long now before they begin to shrill loudly, summoning the Healers. Any day now, in fact. She wiggles her fingers, dark lines scattering around the room like fleeing creatures, then rests the hand on her belly, large again.
Lucius is missing this important moment, just like last time. It's he that awaits her now, wherever people go… after. Concerned with duty and sacrifice right until the end. She cannot meet him, her own duty not yet completed; Lucius will have to wait a little longer, while Narcissa whiles away her days in this stark white room. Once again she takes stock of her meager possessions, sitting on the table.
Draco has brought her a sugar quill. It’s a tiny expense, but one he must feel keenly as he’s had to find menial work on his own. Narcissa twirls the sweet gently between her fingers, watching the sunlight glitter on its crystallized plumes, remembering that summer long ago when she delivered her son.
She hopes this next one has better fortune.
It’s their fault, her and Lucius, that Draco is now forced to work as a common labourer. It would be easy to throw the blame at her husband's feet alone, but Narcissa made her choice long ago, standing by the fire anxious for his return. Draco himself holds her far more innocent than she is, choosing to hold his resentment for the parent he has lost rather than the parent he still clings to, but he may change his mind in the end, when he discovers what she has done. What she is about to do.
Giving life to this child will take her own, there was never any doubt about that - the ritual demanded the lives of both father and mother to ensure conception . Another sweet blond baby, a perfect mix of Lucius and herself. Nearly nine months on and she misses him so much. Is she really so terrible for anticipating the moment she sees him again? Neither of them will haunt the Manor; the time for regrets had long since passed for both by the time they decided to leave one more Malfoy in the world. That last night, before the moment of reckoning, was bittersweet and glorious. She’d never come so hard, even with the knowledge of their impending doom.
Because there is a satisfaction, isn’t there, in winning by losing. This child will inherit the Malfoy estate, snatching it from greedy Ministry fingers. Neither she nor Lucius will suffer Azkaban or the Kiss. Instead they leave this world at the moment of their choosing, in the manner they deem fit for a Malfoy. Draco may not understand at first, but he will, someday. And he will be alright in the end. For all the times they failed him, they did not raise a stupid son.
Just before the Dark Lord returned, before their fortunes spiraled out of their own control, the three of them had posed for a new portrait. This will be how she is remembered, her final appearance in the world. Not this slowly fading shell. When her two sons visit her, she will be dressed in her finest, hale and beautiful, joined (as she will soon be in all eternity) by her beloved husband. The two of them preserved forever as flowers pressed in a book.
The only thing left to do, then, is to use her very last bargaining chip to ensure this child lives to visit that portrait. This is one detail Lucius did not know - her plans would have appalled him, as he truly hates the boy. But she did not save him from death only to let that favour go unrepaid. Draco has also bought her small stationary set; she takes it from the table and wills her hand to stop shaking. There is no need to be nervous. Lucius is waiting.
She presses quill to paper and begins her last defiant act.
Dear Mr. Potter…
no subject
this story has such a punch to the gutt but it is soooo good!
in the end i had tears in my eyes, but it was so glorious and truly they make such an end, and awww for her falling slowly for him
but also for him trying so hard
and my heart also goes out to draco... this is SUCH an amazing story
just WOW
the whole story touched me - so beautiful
well done MA well done!