Author's Note: None of it is mine, once again.
She was required to help with the patrols.
She knew why this was. The Dark Lord had doubts in her faith to him. He believed that one day, she would betray him.
He needn't have worried. As long as the life of her husband and her son, her little innocent baby boy, was in his hands, she would do whatever he said.
The patrols were generally very dull. As almost all the Muggle-borns (Mudbloods, she reminded herself), had either fled altogether or were hidden, captured or dead, not much was going on, so instead, she listened to all those bratty men talk about all the innocent lives they had taken with brutal force. She tried to channel them out, but it didn't work. At least not tonight.
She wondered about her son. Was he safe? Probably. So far they had not disappointed.
She shivered. It was cold, this night.
"Cissy!" Someone yelled for her from the fire. "Cissy, won't you get closer?"
It had taken a lot of spell work to make the fire and noises undetectable, more than it was worth, but she couldn't blame them. It was boring, after all, just sitting here.
She inched closer, a tiny bit, as a sign of peace. The person in question, her sister's husband Rodolphus, gave her a nasty smirk. It had once been a charming smile, but years in Azkaban had changed that.
"Quiet!" One of the guards, the only people who were actually paying attention, listened up. "There is something there!"
"Mudbloods?" A couple of people licked their lips.
"Maybe." The guard in question had his brow furrowed in concentration.
The careful rustling that Narcissa had blamed on the wind had grown louder and louder. Everyone was listening now.
Suddenly something, no, someone, came darting out of the cover of the trees. Several Death Eaters grabbed their wands and were on immediate alert, generally those who had been to Azkaban. Those who hadn't took a bit longer.
Several bodies were running now, in the opposite direction. Someone raised their wand with the Crucio command, but whoever it was missed any living target. A spell fired from the prey took care of him with a simple Expelliarmus.
Several people were now throwing spells. The people running had stopped trying to stop them, instead depending on their luck not to get hit. It wouldn't last long, that Narcissa was sure of.
The distance between the two parties was getting less and less. She ran with all her might, until she heard a horrible crack.
"My leg!" The shout came from one of the three runners, followed by a horrible scream. A shiver ran all over her. It was a boy, probably not much older than Draco.
And he was going to die now.
One of the others pulled out a wand, stopping entirely. He cast a quick spell that caused a flash to lighten up the dark circle of trees they were now surrounded by. Then he helped the boy back onto his legs.
Why didn't he just run? Narcissa wondered. He would've lived. The Death Eaters would have been momentarily confused with the boy. Instead, he had stopped and helped. Now all of them would die.
They were so much closer now than before when suddenly the helper fell back. Instead of running at full pace, he slowed down into a jog.
Rabastan Lestrange reached him first, tearing him to the ground and lightening up his face with his wand. To her horror, Narcissa recognized him.
It was Ted Tonks, the Mudblood her sister had run away with.
Rabastan recognized him, too. He had hoped to marry Andromeda himself before she had been burned off the family tree, and he had not quite gotten over the shame it had brought him. Being outranked by a Mudblood.
"Well, well, well." He smirked. "Look who we have here. The disgusting Mudblood who thought he could make a fool out of me." He bent forward to whisper in Ted's ear, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Too bad the tables have turned, right?"
Everyone laughed, except Narcissa.
And Ted, he raised his head. Despite his inevitable fate, his eyes were calm and there was a soft smile on his face.
"Go to hell, Lestrange," he said like he was speaking to a very small, very dumb child.
Then he leaned forward and spat into his face.
Rabastan roared, a great, terrible roar, as he pulled out his wand and in the same movement, killed and discarded Ted Tonks' lifeless body.
There was a soft smile on his face, which would now stay there for all eternity.
Maybe, Narcissa decided, he was laughing at them. Laughing at them for not finding his companions, for not noticing that he had been a distraction.
Maybe he was just glad that he had had the last word.