Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Written for the prompt 'photographs' and the pairing 'Lucius/Narcissa', given by Slytherin Head.
Moments in Time
In the Malfoy manor, there are no photographs.
Photos are moments in time perfectly captured, preserved forever. Their glossy colours never fade; every pristine detail on show. A hidden half-smile, the mischievous sparkle in the grey of his eyes, the droplets of rain on silver-blonde hair are all frozen on their smooth surfaces. But that is precisely why Lucius dislikes them.
Photographs are too revealing, too exposing, particularly the wizarding ones. So the Malfoy family sticks to their grim, sombre oil-painted portraits and their woven tapestries bedecked with silver and green, and the photos of freer, happier days are sealed away forever, in a small wooden chest, a delicate, long-fingered hand locking it with the small silver key that hangs around her neck.
She looks at them every day. When her husband is asleep beside her, a frown creasing his forehead even in sleep, she waits until she hears the slow, deep breathing that indicates that Lucius has fallen asleep. Then she quietly gets out of bed, and walks out to garden shed where she finds the wooden chest. Taking out the forbidden photos, Narcissa presses her fingertips to them, as if wishing to fall straight into their fixed world. In the box there are almost an infinite number of pictures. There are photos of Lucius, his sardonic smirk and eyes the colour of rain, and even more photos of Draco as a baby, as a toddler, as a bright-eyed ten-year-old, before her dear son had stopped smiling for her eager camera. There was a snapshot of her wedding, taken by her reluctant, eye-rolling sister, of Lucius standing solemnly in black while she grinned happily beside him, unable to contain her joy. There are photos of everything, every important moment in their lives, right up until the day Lucius came home clutching his tattooed left forearm.
She stopped taking photos then. He didn't like them, he had said. They revealed too much, and from now on there were going to be plenty of people in the manor whom they didn't trust. And she still remembers their first serious argument, the rage and the sinking hopelessness she felt, the way Lucius avoided her gaze and just clutched his forearm, saying that he was making the right decision and only ensuring their survival. He ordered her to destroy the photos, and for the first time, she didn't obey him.
Tears slipping down her cheeks, Narcissa suddenly drops the cherished photos. She clenches her fists angrily, thinking of how the people had celebrated when the war ended, and how they had grieved for their loved ones that had been lost. But she isn't allowed to grieve, no, she can't grieve for her family that was torn apart, and her son whose life was ruined in the war. She doesn't have the right to grieve, because her loved ones made horrible mistakes that led to horrible consequences, and lost themselves in the process. Draco's smile is now lost forever, but she can't grieve for him.
Back in the house, her loved ones are sleeping deeply. One of them is dreaming, one who does not notice the absence of his wife. He dreams of Narcissa, her own lost smile, and a silver camera wrapped in green paper, waiting to be opened.