"It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right. I hope you had the time of your life."
-Green Day
A/N: I wanted to do a Lucius/Narcissa. So I did! It's depressing, it's really really sad. I'm not sure I like it, but I just felt like writing.
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She's dying.
He has never seen her like this--so human, so real, so fragile. She looks about ready to just die on him.
She almost looks scared.
He stares at her, and she stares back, and he can't stand seeing her like this. It's strange, he has grown up with her--and yet, he doesn't know her any better than anyone. He knows her as 'Narcissa' one of the few people who does not call her "Mrs. Malfoy."
She knows she's dying, there's no question. This feeling--this sensation--this pain, nothing but dying could feel like this. Her husband sits by her bedside and a lot of the time she just wants to cry and do nothing more. But she has to be strong, for him.
He always thought death was short and painful. A quick curse muttered, a quick blow to the head. It would be painful, of course, but quickly--much too quickly, in a lot of cases--the person would die. But Narcissa was dying one-day-at-a-time. She was dying and she was suffering...and he couldn't make it better.
She doesn't love him. She doesn't even really know him. But she feels for him. After all of these years, after all of this time, he's still her one true love. And she has forgotten what that means over the years. She's sure he has forgotten too.
He remembers when he met her. They were young, then. No more than eleven and he met her upon the scarlet train. He said: 'Hello' and she said 'I'm going to sit by you and keep you company, okay?' And he said: 'Okay.'
She doesn't do anything anymore. She stays in bed and reads whatever it is he gives her. She eats crumpets and tea 'round four. Sometimes, she's alone. Sometimes, that's better than seeing him like this. He's a stone, still, of course. She's never expected anything different. But he's a stone that wants to show emotion--she can tell, she knows things like this. He's shivering just looking at her.
He looks haunted. Like a ghost has possessed his once beautiful wife. She doesn't really look beautiful anymore; it's all faded. Like they said it would. The beauty has faded and now it's like old beauty. No shine and sparkle...but beauty, still. Everlasting beauty.
She talks to him when she's tired. And she'll say: 'How many more days, Malfoy?' And he'll smile grimly and say: 'Ah, I think you've got at least eight left in you.' 'I won't give up...' she says, 'there's too much here for me.' 'Good,' he says.
They're counting to eight now.
On the first day, he sits by her. She wants to talk, she says. She wants to feel like he needs her. He is surprised, of course. He doesn't really understand. He says: 'You're going to get through this. Because you're my wife...you're a Malfoy.'
She says: "Sometimes, I don't want to be a Malfoy. I just want to be a person."
On the first day, he eats crumpets with her and they speak quietly in whispers. He says Draco gives his regards and she says: 'why won't he come and see me?' He says: 'I wouldn't see you unless I had to either.'
On the first day, they are more so people than Malfoys'.
On the second day, she puts a check next to her calendar. She's been suffering for so long she can't even see happiness anymore. He points out roses to her, from the bedroom window and she smiles: 'Remember when you gave me eleven? I wanted twelve, Malfoy. Not eleven.' He would feel sorry, but he doesn't. He says: 'I do.'
On the second day, she remembers their wedding. She says the dress was made of fine silk, he says: 'oh was it?' She says she wish she could have that again, that she's never questioned their love. She sleeps a lot, on the second day, and he walks around the gardens by himself. This is painful, he knows, this is something different altogether.
On the second day they fall in love all over again.
On the third day, he's busy. She's alone. The house elves check on her and say: 'Miss, would you like some more tea?' The tea is bitter, she knows. The tea tastes like watered down peppermint. She misses him more than she's ever missed him before. Her head hurts, it's spinning...
On the third day, she's scared.
On the fourth day, he fluffs her pillows and she checks another day off the calendar. It's a Saturday, he thinks. On Saturdays' she says, 'we used to always party, do you remember?' He remembers the parties, of course. The dresses she wore, the way they danced, the wine they sipped, the memories. There is so much she wants him to say to her. There is so much he cannot say. Yet.
On the fourth day, the memories wash across old souls.
On the fifth day, he holds her hand and she leans on him and she's never done this before. Never leaned on him, everything of her depends on his being. Everything of her is him. Not even when they were younger. He is with her...and being scared goes away and everything is left.
On the fifth day, two people...lean on each other.
On the sixth day, she asks how Voldemort is doing and he says: 'Good. And he too sends his regards.' She almost laughs. He reads to her, bits of the newspaper and they laugh at the grammatical errors posted, and of the spelling errors and the stupid viewpoints. They walk about the gardens, and he helps her along and she's doing fine. She almost falls once, but he catches her.
...and never lets go.
On the sixth day, they are strong.
On the seventh day, they dance in the living room. Quietly they sway...her heart is beating so quickly, she's alive. She's living and she's alive and she loves doing this. And she wants to do this for the rest of her life. He's a good dancer, she remembers that from long ago. His lips brush across her cheek and she smiles: 'You're keeping me alive...' she whispers. He's never kept someone alive before, he knows.
On the seventh day they are alive.
On the eighth day she says to him: 'I'm really scared.' She says, 'I didn't want to tell you.' 'It's okay,' he says, 'but you don't have to be scared, you know. I'll be scared for you.' She looks at him and blinks out the tears: 'You mean you're scared too?'
'More than anything,' he says, '...but you don't have to be.'
'You'll keep it for me?' She whispers. 'All the fear?'
'Yes...' he says '...that's what people who love each other do, don't they?'
'Yes.' She says. 'They do that, sometimes.'
And she's not scared anymore. And she can't even remember a time when she was.
He looks her in the eyes and her eyelids flutter. He says: 'I've never loved anyone more...'
'Me either,' she says, 'you're all of me.'
He nods, he understands, he thinks.
On the eighth day, he is her strength. He is her everything.
And on the eve of the ninth day...she dies.
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