Her fingers curled into a gentle fist, clutching the silk robe in her shaking hand. Around her, his presence still lingered. She could feel his touch from last night, silky and soft across her skin, his lips leaving whispers and shadows and caresses across her shoulders, her breasts, her neck, and her lips. His cologne still clung to the dark sheets of their large bed and the robe in her hand, but he was gone. The bed had already been cold when she'd stretched her arms toward him this morning; empty for hours before she'd managed to open her eyes and yearn for him. He'd left his teacup, her great grandmother's bone china with emerald trim, half empty on his desk along with a thick piece of parchment with his goodbye and a handful of his favorite snack… almonds. The robe she held in her hand had been thrown over the back of his chair.

Now, she pulled it to her face, burying herself in its soft folds, attempting to muffle her tears as her body shook before the great window in their room looking over the expansive property.

Snow had settled, at some point early in the morning, in great drifts, covering their ever blooming white roses and ivy and effectively freezing the gold fountain that sat in the middle of their drive. They'd planted the roses two summers ago, when they found out that she was expecting, and he'd said something along the lines of only when they withered would he leave; one of his promises he had not been able to keep. The frost that Jack had covered the window with only made her colder.

When the war had ended she had thought this would be the end of it, that he would stop leaving his son and her in the middle of the night with a note scribbled that he had been called and he had to answer, that he would be back as soon as he was able and that he loved her. She had thought the fear that he would not return and she would be left alone would vanish, but its dark, creeping tendrils were still trying to wrap themselves around her resolve and her heart. When they'd drained several of their accounts to pay off the ministry to prove his innocence and endured countless searches and warrants where ministry officials sneered at her as they ripped through her things, she had imagined the secret missions with her sister and his old comrades would be over, and yet here was another one. She had believed that he would be free, but he was as much a prisoner and slave to Him as he had always been.

A small pop announced the presence of Foxy, her personal house elf, and she pulled the fabric of her husband's robe away from her face as she surfaced from her memories, turning sharply and pinning the small creature with a glare that would freeze the sun.

"Leave it."

"But Missus."

"I said leave it," she said, pointing to the elf's hand that was hovering over the cold tea, ready to whisk the last things her husband had touched out of the room and down to the kitchen. "I want them to stay until he returns."

"But." The elf looked longingly at the cup and the pile of almonds, much like a woman neurotic about cleaning.

"I don't want to hear another word about it," she said stiffly. "You may go."

Turning her back on the elf, she shrugged her slim figure into the black robe, fingering the embroidered breast pocket as she turned her nose into her shoulder, inhaling his cologne again before she tied the sash around her slim waist in a tight knot. She moved slowly, away from the window, and toward the brightly painted nursery that was connected to their master suit, her arms crossed protectively over her chest, relishing the feel of her husband's robe against her skin.

Her nineteen-month-old was sitting up in bed, squalling like a newborn, the sight of him causing the first hint of a smile that morning turned up the corners of her pale lips. As the door shut behind her, he promptly silenced, throwing his chubby arms up and making grabbing motions with his small hands, his white blond hair was still standing up on one side from how he had slept, and his round cheeks were flushed from his cry.

"Da. Want Da." His grey eyes flashed stubbornly as he looked at his mother, obviously used to seeing his father first in the morning.

With a sigh, the mother moved to pick up her child, brushing a kiss across his brow. He nuzzled against her neck.

"Daddy won't be back for awhile," she whispered, "but Mummy's here. Mummy's here, dear boy," she rubbed his back as he sat in silence in her arms.

"Where Da?"

"Daddy's working, Draco, darling," Narcissa Malfoy whispered. "He'll be back soon, I'm sure." The little boy sighed, sounding much older than his age, and Narcissa furrowed her brow with worry. "How about some breakfast?" She whispered, pulling back to rub her nose across Draco's, smiling as he reciprocated her eskimo kisses. "And if you're good, maybe I'll even let you open one of your Christmas presents from Daddy, early."

She laughed as his large grey eyes lit up and he clapped his hands excitedly. "Present! Present!"

With a smirk that her son would someday adopt, Narcissa swooped her child up, tossing him into the air while he giggled before walking him down to the kitchen to find him a chocolate biscuit and some fruit for his breakfast. Maybe Lucius not getting to see his son open his first broom would teach him a thing or two about leaving his family in the middle of the night for some dead dark lord.

For:
The Greenhouses Competition - Almond.

I hope you enjoyed, I had too much fun writing it (: