Silently she is standing there, not sure if she should laugh or cry.
Bellatrix is dead.
She's standing there, numb, paralyzed with pain, and simply stares at the white wall ahead.
Bellatrix' laughter was like a chainsaw, bright and piercing – screeching. Sometimes her laughter follows Narcissa into sleep where there's no one to offer her solace. There's only the laughter, reechoing from the walls which confine Narcissa alone with her and make her deaf.
In the past she was scared of her insane laughter, a lot more than of the eerie shapes that wandered around at night and haunted her in her dreams. The laughter has burnt itself forever in her brain and was irrevocably linked to Bellatrix. It was a terrible witness of yet a good deal terrible human and it told of murder on innocents upon which stuck senseless shed blood and whose screams reflected the cruelty of Bellatrix. It told of a sister who remained as such never in Narcissa's memory.
Only the dead laughter clung to her as if Bellatrix wanted that she would never forget it.
Cautiously, Lucius lays a hand on her shoulder, but she feels nothing. Only pain, all-consuming pain. And sorrow. A single teardrop sneaks its way down her pale cheek. Nobody should see it. She's ashamed of crying for her big sister Bellatrix. Sad, because she's no longer at her side. And yet she should be glad, so glad. Glad that Bellatrix can't manipulate her any longer and can't dissuade her from keeping in touch with Andromeda, glad that she doesn't have to hear her twisted, dark fantasies anymore. And above all so glad not to be remembered of her naivity and cowardice whenever she hears Bellatrix' manical laughter.
.
One night, in which she tosses and turns in her bed, wet traces of tears on her cheeks and memories with sharp claws that reach for her, she feels a young, warm body against hers. Arms embrace her and press her tight against that body; her fingers get pryed from her pillow in which she's dug them.
„Everything's fine, mum. I'm here", says Draco with an elusive sheen in his eyes and infinite care in his voice. It hurts him to see his mother so helpless. But she was always a very delicate personality, was always considerate towards Draco, never spoiled nor disregared him. And she detained Lucius from hitting him with the cane. She's strong, yet still so easily to shatter. One wrong word and you must be careful not to cut yourself for shards.
„It's just a dream." Only slowly the words seep into Narcissas subconscious. For a moment everything's silent, no noise of laughter that clashes against the walls. Only a light, hope, so pure and clear that her body loosens and Draco buries his face in her hair, feeling that he's needed. And Narcissa senses that she's not alone anymore and that the laughter quietens down with every stroke of Dracos hand.
And maybe, only maybe, one day it will die down completely.