Never before had Narcissa felt so grateful for her pureblood upbringing. Her face was a mask of indifference as she watched him appear out of thin air. Her heart betrayed her with each beat, its pounding seeming to echo her unending thoughts.
He was just a boy. A boy her son's age. Draco.
But they were no longer innocents. His silent staring match with the Dark Lord proved that.
This action was something that only a child of war could contemplate – the bravery of a man irrevocably tangled with the idealism of a child. In that moment, she was overwhelmingly aware of their relation. His grandmother was a Black. They were distant cousins of a sort.
This war was a farce. This was not a fight for family. Nor was it a fight for honour, tradition, or any of the other things the Dark Lord had led them to believe. This was about power and greed and Narcissa wished fervently that her father-in-law had never set Lucius on the path that had led them here. The toll it had taken on them all was almost too much to bear, and at times she felt like porcelain just beginning to shatter – delicate cracks taking her over only to destroy her all at once.
It had led them here. To her son's greying skin and the screams of children in her parlour. To bloodshed and the tainting of the traditions she held dear. To her husband's waning sanity and her sister's complete madness.
And finally, to death.
She watched as the half-giant screamed at the boy in desperation, watched as the Dark Lord tilted his head in a sick parody of a curious child.
The green bolt that was the killing curse shot towards Potter, and upon impact, Narcissa could not hold in her slight gasp as the Dark Lord collapsed with him.
The Death Eaters in the clearing were in shock, and for a moment she wondered if this was finally the end of her long nightmare. She had never been Marked, but she was captive in the thrall of darkness just as surely as her husband.
As they rushed towards him en-masse, Narcissa followed – hoping beyond hope that the boy had somehow killed him. Then Bella called his name and he proved to be very much alive.
Narcissa's icy heart shattered just a little more. But there was still a chance…
They seemed to share an undeniable connection far exceeding that of brother wands, if Lucius' shattered wand was any indication. Thus, when the Dark Lord asked for verification of Potter's death, Narcissa stepped forward, unable to hold in a slight shriek as his stinging spell hit her midsection.
If by some twist of fate he was still alive, there was a chance that their lives could be saved – that her son could be saved from the growing darkness that was consuming all that lay before it.
She leaned over his body, her long blonde hair curtaining them from sight. Her hand gently brushed his cheek, and she knelt perfectly still as she registered his slight breathing and barely flickering eyelids. She made a show of pulling back an eyelid and resting her hand over his still-beating heart.
"Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?"
Her question was as soft as the fluttering of a butterfly's wings, setting off a chain of events that would lead to the downfall of the Dark Lord.
"Yes."
Yes. He was alive. Her son was alive.
She felt her heart beat a little faster as hope surged through her. This was no longer about winning a war. This was about ridding the world of a dangerous liability; a madman who was inhuman both in heart and body. She had no doubt that he would callously dispose of her son without a care in the world.
She sat up and called to all assembled:
"He is dead!"