A/N: I dedicate this story to Natasha, aka Noona, who gave me the inspiration to write this. Two lines are stolen from Cold Play's The Scientist, which was the entire inspiration for this fic. Yes, it is femme-slash. *points to username* Also, thanks to Lia, for putting it in my head to do femme-slash. Now, here is the story.
I first saw her when I was thirteen at the Quidditch World Cup. Her mannerisms spoke of elegance, luxury, and everything I'd never had. She was beautiful, and her husband liked to show that beauty off. She was more amazing than a trophy. Narcissa Malfoy. The essence of what it meant to be a woman.
After that, I never got her out of my head. She was everything I wanted to be, everything I wanted. So confusing for a thirteen year old to lust after a woman. Though at the time it wasn't lust. It was strong adoration. I would have done anything to speak with her, get to know her. But I knew it would never, could never happen. I was a Weasley, a lower insignificant life form. I was everything she stood against and vice-versa. No one realized that my getting over boy hero was associated with the first time I saw her. No one ever would.
I fantasized about her, but it wasn't until after the war that I talked to her. That gorgeous woman in the Great Hall with her husband and son. I had to say something. Everyone was so busy, no one noticed me go up to her and ask her if she was alright. She looked at me curiously and nodded. That is where it all started.
I'd see her out shopping in Diagon Alley, and we'd stop and exchange pleasantries. Eventually, those became more. She congratulated me on my engagement to Harry and I grimaced. I think even then, she knew. Knew that while I did love Harry-and not in a brotherly way-I was in love with someone else. She was at the wedding looking gorgeous, and when I saw her, tears coursed down my face. She was all I ever wanted, all I could never have.
She was aging, delicately, and my first son was born. She was there, holding my hand, whispering encouraging words as I screamed in pain and my husband drank, oblivious to what I needed from him. But he always was. Hours later, when the baby lay asleep, she was curled up with me on the bed. We lay there together, not two married women, but just two women. I brushed my fingers across her face and kissed her softly. She smiled slightly, pulled me to her, and we fell asleep.
No one thought our bonding weird. Everything had changed after the war, and bonding between classes was more common than ever. It was so easy to get away with. Soft touches and kisses easily turned into love making. So easy was it to become lovers. I never wanted to give her up. When she was in my arms, wrinkles already forming on her face, she was the most beautiful thing in my life. Not even my children could surpass her. Though they were always with their father. I rarely spent alone time with them. It felt as though they weren't mine.
She'd held me as I cried while explaining this to her. She felt so bad for me, I knew it. She had a son whom she loved and loved her in return. She wasn't just a baby making machine for a famous man. My husband didn't mean to do it, but he was always so cut off from me. There was a part of his soul missing. It happens with living Horocruxes. But I never complained to him. I held him, comforted him, let him touch me, the entire time wishing it was her. With her I didn't have to fake. With my husband, I did. We grew less intimate as me and her grew more intimate.
She rarely talked about her husband. I knew she loved him, but she was too beautiful to love only one person. And for some reason, she loved me, though she never said it. And her son, that gorgeous boy, she loved him with every never she had. As we grew close, I began to love him too. I felt there was so much room in my heart. But only one person truly had my heart, and that was her. I think Draco knew much sooner than he let on.
When I was twenty-six, I found out she was dying. It wasn't fair, wasn't right. Wizards easily lived to be 180 years old, sometimes more. Yet here was the love of my life, dying slowly, and no healer could fix it. They threw around scientific terms while I watched through the window of her room in Saint Mungos. She was sleeping, her blonde hair as beautiful as ever. And then her son was there, holding me, telling me I should go in, but I couldn't. I couldn't say goodbye to her.
In the end, he won out, and I went to be with her for her last moments. She smiled at me, her pinched face lighting up as much as it could for a dying woman. I held her hand, and we talked for the last time. That was the only time she ever told me she loved me.
At her funeral, I sat in the back row, hiding from everyone. Harry hadn't been able to come, and I didn't want to be seen by Lucius. After the service, when most had left, I slowly approached the casket. She was still so beautiful, even in death.
"Nobody said it was easy," Draco's voice came from behind me, his arm going around my shoulder to hold me.
"No one ever said it would be this hard," was my only response.
We stood there for a long while helping each other through the grief. Many nights after that I went to him for comfort. He looked so much like her. The way his hair felt, some of his mannerisms. We grieved with each other, both forgetting about our significant others, both of us shrinking from our duties as parents. For a year we lived like that, until we just couldn't anymore. There was too much pain. I longed for his mother, and he longed to hold my heart. There was nothing either one of us could have done.
We both went on with life, aching for different reasons. I quit letting my husband be an excuse and finally grew close to my children. They kept me going through the long nights and even longer days. I became the mother she had wanted me to be. Everything I did, I did in her memory. Imagine my joy when my daughter was put into Slytherin, following after the love of my life. Eight years later I was attending my babygirl's wedding. She was marrying Scorpius, and I couldn't have been prouder. I knew Narcissa was too, I could just feel it.
To this day, I have not stopped loving her. And soon, I will be with her. One last time, I laid with her son, both of us old and wrinkled. That is how they will find us come morning. We are too old to carry on, and we both have only one face we wish to see.
I will see you soon, my love.