This was the end. Even as Narcissa stepped forward, she understood this. She was ushered forth with an "Is he dead?" and whatever the answer was would decide everything. Either they would have their perfect pure-blood paradise under the watching eyes of the Dark Lord, or they would be forced, still, to muddle along with the dredges of society as a constant hindrance.
Narcissa squatted over the crumpled boy, but even before her fingers reached his neck she had an answer. Despite trying to hide it with shallow breaths, Harry Potter was still clearly breathing. Voldemort had failed to slay his enemy. But now the cards were in her hand.
Her husband, her parents, even her sister, whose eyes were boring holes in her back, had always expected the same thing from her. They wanted her to share their cause, and, to an extent, she did. But, still...out there somewhere was her own boy. He was the same age as Harry. Was he even still alive?
They were all waiting behind her, like dementors looking to gobble up every last ounce of happiness and destroy her soul. This was not a choice between Harry and Voldemort. It never was. Not for Narcissa. It was a choice between her husband and her son. She loved both with every ounce of her being—but she could only choose to protect one. That's what her life had boiled down to, and something deep within her withered at the realization.
~oOo~
He was one year ahead of her, a Slytherin prefect in his fifth year at Hogwarts, by the time Narcissa took any notice of him. Sure, the other girls in the dorm whispered his name behind stolen glances and flirty eyes, but that was never her style. She was a pure-blood with wealth and upbringing; that fact spoke for itself. There was no man she would make herself a drooling dolt over.
But then there were certain things about Lucius Malfoy that would make any respectable woman go weak in the knees. Like the strong way he carried himself, head up, demanding all the respect that he deserved from the world. It was a no-nonsense, steadfast attitude that Narcissa couldn't help but be drawn to. There was a certain gravitas about him that made her heart flutter like a silly schoolgirl, as infuriating as that was.
And the way he spoke to her, in that cool, drawling tone like a river whispering over the rocks. How could anyone resist that? He was a pure-blood, which made the match acceptable for the Blacks, but that was never why Narcissa agreed to go with him. Her heart was captured by the flash of steel in his eyes, his stoic nobility, and the quiet way in which he dominated the world around him.
~oOo~
The proposal wasn't exactly spectacular, and, if she were honest, Narcissa couldn't say she was surprised. There was no flash or pomp; someone of his social stature needed none. Lucius approached marriage like he did everything else—with a sort of quiet sincerity and strong sense of loyalty.
They were sitting in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor with a fire producing a steady soundtrack of cracks and pops as it gnawed at the wood. It was lovely, the way the light played over Lucius' face as he watched it, drawing sharp contours along his high cheekbones and making his eyes shine with a certain warmth.
He had pulled a velvet box from the pocket of his overcoat, turning it over and over in one hand with his eyes fixed on the flames. He had led by talking about their pure-blood heritages and how they had a duty to keep their lines pure. What followed was a brief summary of the Blacks and Malfoys and their great accomplishments.
Narcissa had tried to keep her face from betraying her amusement the best she could. Lucius was a great and powerful wizard, but a romantic he was not. The word "love" never slipped past his lips. For him, there was no use for such trivial displays of emotion.
Still, Narcissa heard it loud and clear when the tall, dignified man humbled himself before her, dropping to a single knee. He opened the box, revealing a ring with a central emerald stone and smaller diamonds circling it.
"Narcissa Black, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
Steel myself. No outburst of emotion.
Despite her efforts, Narcissa couldn't hold back the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth as she whispered, "Yes."
~oOo~
"Do you have to go?" Narcissa asked, though it was a lost cause. Why did she bother, after all this time? His sense of duty was one of the things she had always loved about him, and there was no sense in pretending she could change that after all these years.
"The Dark Lord has great plans, Narcissa. It is our privilege to see them to fruition. Just imagine a world led by wizards with pure-bloods at the pinnacle, the way it's meant to be. We can finally do away with filthy Mudbloods once and for all and put the Muggles in their place."
Always the same speech, every time Narcissa voiced her doubts about the Death Eaters or his long absences. As his wife, it was her duty to support everything he did, and Narcissa bore the burden with a sense of pride. Until now. Things were about to change.
Lucius moved to go. As far as he was concerned, the conversation was over.
"I'm pregnant," Narcissa called after him. There, she said it. Not the big unveiling she had hoped for, but it would have to do.
He stopped at the doorway and turned to look at her. For once, she couldn't read his expression. Then, he smiled. Slightly, at first, and then the type of heart-felt smile that brought out the lines at the edge of his eyes and drove a paternal light into them. The sort that still made her heart flutter just as much as when they were first together.
"No doubt a strong, strapping boy," he said, taking the few steps to close the distance between them. He grabbed her elbow, firmly but gently pulling her towards him, and planted a kiss on her cheek. His blond hair tickled her face. For a moment, the world lurched under her, moved by even the slightest gesture of affection. Sometimes that's all it took.
"Take care of him while I'm gone," he whispered into her ear. "We'll discuss this when I get back."
~oOo~
Narcissa had taken his words to heart. Always. I will protect him always. For nine months, she nurtured life within her womb, talking to her son during the long, lonely days. He responded with a punch or a kick or the occasional hiccup that caused her stomach to bounce.
Then she held him in her arms for as long as she could, willing him to stay a baby, but all children grow up eventually. There came a day when he no longer wanted hugs or cuddles. Her only son had outgrown his mother's love, but that was no matter. Narcissa was content to be the shadow in the background, as she had always been for his father.
She taught him to walk and talk. Elation bolstered her spirits every time he conquered even the smallest things – feeding himself, dressing himself, tying his shoes. One day he would be a great wizard, but these were the necessary stepping stones along the way.
Narcissa picked him up when he fell, dressed his wounds, reassured him. No house-elf would take the place of a doting mother, not in Malfoy Manor.
By the time Draco was five, there was nary a mention of love in the Malfoy household. He assumed the no-nonsense, proper attitude of his father, which Narcissa had fallen in love with in the man but had not wished for her son.
She sent him to Hogwarts so that he could be close, because the thought of having so much space between them destroyed her. She wanted him close, even as he sought to push her away. That was fine. Unconditional love for him was a burden Narcissa was all too happy to bear.
Then came the Death Eaters, and her shaky paradise had come crashing down. The worst nightmare for any mother became her stark reality—there was no protection she could afford her son. Not anymore. Their choices – her unwavering support of her husband and his unparalleled patriotism to the cause – threatened to destroy everything she held dear.
~oOo~
The boy was still breathing. Narcissa didn't need to take his pulse to know he was alive, but she pretended to anyway, bent low over him. Her husband was trapped in the world he'd made for himself, and her son was caught up in this war they had helped to perpetuate. She could only save one of them.
"Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?" She leaned low to whisper in Harry's ear, using her body to shield him from view.
"Yes."
Narcissa's heart soared. Draco was alive. All the worry that had weighed her down nearly burst forth, and she had to blink back the tears that nipped at her eyes. Her son was alive. She hadn't completely failed him yet.
Forgive me, Lucius, but I can't forsake our son.
Narcissa wanted to imagine that he would understand, that a father's love ran every bit as deep as a mother's. She wasn't willing to sacrifice Draco. Certainly not for this cause, and not for any other. She had to get into the castle. The only way to do that would be as the victors, led by Voldemort to gloat.
"He's dead," Narcissa called out as she straightened up.
It was a little white lie. That was nothing unfamiliar to this group.
I'm coming, Draco. Hold on just a little longer, my son.
Author's Note: Written for the Quidditch League, prompt: Lucissa. Team: Falmouth Falcons.