A/N: Hey, guys! I've been gone for a while now and I have norood reason. . I'm sorry. But I decided to write a fic to make up for it and stuff and this is a really deep one. I'm personally proud of this one but I would love to know what you guys think. Reviews! Yay.
She dragged her fingers along the smooth wood of her dresser. It used to be her mother's. She had fond memories with this piece of furniture. Remembering playing dress up with her mother's robes and putting on heavy pieces of jewelry. She almost smiled.
Almost.
Smiles have no place with her tonight. Her fingers halted as they came in contact with the cool surface of a mask. She knew that mask. She's seen it several times before... Worn it several times before. Time and time again, it's been tainted with red. Red, red!
It used to be her favorite color. But she's seen it too much. Like a favorite song that you listen to over and over... You just get sick of it. And she's sick of it. She lifted the mask off of the desk and put it on. She once asked her husband about the masks.
She asked him why they were necessary. Not that she had anything against them.
"They're for protection. So that the ministry wouldn't know who you are." He answered, explaining it to her as if he would explain it to his child. He sometimes treated her that way... Like a child.
She fixed it on her face and tucked her hair behind her ears. In a way, she sort of loved this mask. Not for its purpose, no. But for the good it did for her.
They were expected to do things. Horrible things. And they were expected not to care. Not to show emotion. Encouraged, even to enjoy what they were doing. But this mask hid her distress. Her sympathy. And, on occasion, her tears. She lifted her hood up and headed for the door.
She wished this would end, she didn't want to see red. She didn't want to clean it off her mask. She felt the cool metal in her hand as she turned the knob on the door and was taken by surprise as cold gray eyes met her blue ones. The gray orbs instantly melted when they saw her. He offered her his hand.
"Come, Narcissa, we wouldn't want to keep the Dark Lord waiting."
Under her mask, she cringed. Under her mask, she expressed her distaste. Under her mask, she was secretly rooting for Harry Potter to put this all to an end. Her fingers reached for her husband's and he squeezed her hand. Sometimes she wonders what he feels under his mask.