Years ago, she thought she knew what it was like to feel overwhelmed by the despair that comes with great loss. She knew now that she was wrong, at least in some aspect. There are different levels of loss, different levels of grief, and as horrible as it sounds, she was far less distraught by the death of her parents than she was by the death of the man she'd almost taken for granted.
It had been nearly a month and she still cried at least once a day, sometimes when she expected it and other times when she didn't. Usually it was when she was alone, but not always, and it was never any easier to handle.
She wondered, with a glance at the shampoo bottle on the edge of the tub, if it ever got easier. Would there come a time when she could glance into a mirror as she was brushing her teeth and not hope to see him coming toward her? Could she ever walk into the kitchen in the middle of the night without her breath hitching when he wasn't standing there, making some sort of edible creation she was sure to like? If she walked into the manor's library, would she ever not expect him to be sitting in his favorite chair in front of the fire with a book in his lap?
The answer to it all was yes, but as the witch settled back in the hot water, she wasn't so sure of all that.
Draco had tried to convince her to see a therapist on multiple occasions, but the look she gave him the last time was enough to quell the efforts. She almost wished she'd listened to him, but she wasn't sure that talking about a stranger would do much good - and everyone only wanted to talk to her these days because they hoped that it would encourage her to give them some of the money that had been left to her when Lucius passed.
She slid her finger over the bar of soap on the edge of the bathtub before she grabbed it, remembering him in even this mundane task. The last time she had spent time alone together, she asked to visit him at Hogwarts. She stayed for three days, the longest she could get away from the manor. The last morning, they showered together, spending far longer under the water than they ordinarily would have. Two days later he was dead.
The initial days after the war left her reeling, still in denial. She stayed awake from dawn to dusk, trying to create scenarios that could explain what was really going on..He couldn't be dead; they were just lying so that he could stay under the radar. Surely he was going to send her an owl, or send an elf with a message, to let her know that he was actually waiting for her back at Spinner's End.
It made sense to her heart, if not to her mind.
When it did sink in, when she let herself acknowledge that she had seen his body for herself as it was removed from the Shrieking Shack, she wanted to just slip away herself. How many times had she worried about his health? The stress of running a school to the Dark Lord's satisfaction was enough to wear down even the most steadfast, and it had begun to visibly take it's toll on him. She knew as much from his letters - and that was the extent of her knowledge, for the most part. They had rarely been able to see each other that last year, just a few stolen moments from time to time.
His funeral took place nearly a week later. Potter delivered her an announcement personally, the same morning that the obituary was due to run in the Daily Prophet. He'd taken her forlorn expression for puzzlement at seeing him, mumbled an apology and said he thought she would like to see before the paper was out, and then left her alone.
The morning of the funeral was beautiful and warm, but the witch would barely have noticed if it rained. She sat through the obligatory eulogy, tears slipping down her face as she listened to Minerva McGonagall speak. The other professors had politely declined, though the majority of them had plenty of things to say. They all knew that the headmistress would articulate their thoughts the best, and Narcissa was honestly glad that the rest of them wouldn't make an attempt.
She honestly had no idea what happened after that. It was as though she forced herself to skip it, to block everything out.
Everything except the pain.
She rinsed the shampoo from her hair and stood, felt the water sluice down her body, and stepped into her towel. Moments later she was shaking as she stood in front of the mirror, crying yet again. The taste of copper alerted her to the fact that she'd bitten her lip, and slowly she brought herself back under control.
A month later, she still found herself overcome by sorrow frequently. She would think she was fine, and then something would remind her of what she'd lost. Sometimes it was a smell, sometimes a sound, sometimes a sight. It hardly mattered what the cause was, the effect was the same.
She was having trouble keeping food down as well, though she was loathe to admit that to Draco. He worried about her enough.
It was another matter to deny it to herself, however, and she was fidgety as she waited for news from the healer at St. Mungo's. They'd promised to send her an owl this morning with results. Just as she was about to give up on waiting and head out to the gardens, the soft sound of wings told her that her answer was here.
Hesitantly, she took the parchment from the owl and broke the wax seal. Positive.
"Thank you, Severus…" A bittersweet smile tugged the corners of her mouth up. This wouldn't ever completely erase the pain, but it would certainly relieve it somewhat. She had something to look forward to again.
a/n;This was written for Round 4 of the Harry Potter Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition.
I write as Beater 1 for the Montrose Magpies.
Round theme was emotions, with a spin... couldn't use our emotion's actual word/s.
My emotion was sad/sadness.
My prompts were;
- 4 (word); overwhelmed
- 9 (word); skip
- 12 (word); dawn