Narcissa awoke in fear, her dreams disrupted by the warning whisper of a visitor. She unconsciously held her breath, her lungs and lips unmoving in the dark. It was a game she used to play as a child, a ritual of sorts. Narcissa would hold her breath for what felt like centuries, hoping to stay still long enough to vanish into thin air. No matter how hard she tried, she was always caught, gasping for air, as Bellatrix slipped into her bed.
She flinched as a knock rang out, the sound bouncing obnoxiously throughout the Manor's cavernous halls. She finally took a deep breath and rose from the comfort of her bed.
"Your sister is in Azkaban, Narcissa," she whispered to herself, trying to slow the blood coursing through her veins. "It's just a messenger." Hearing her voice fill the empty manor, she closed her mouth and regained her composure. She slipped on her silk robe, removing her wand from the pocket and lighting it before exiting slowly into the hall.
"Narcissa Malfoy?" The messenger called through the door, but Narcissa could not recognize the muffled voice.
"Homenum Revelio," Narcissa whispered, barely audible even in the quiet of the Manor. She heard a shuffle outside, a body bumping against the door.
"Mum, stop it with the spells, it's me," Relief flooded her mind as she recognized Draco's voice, the revealing spell's results suddenly unimportant. She rushed to the door, lifting its protective charms and hastily swinging it open.
She thinks back on that moment now, and wishes she had never opened the door.
Now it is her son who ceases to breathe throughout the night, his lips tinting blue as his body forgets to function. She finds him thrashing in his bed, sheets pooled like blood on the floor, as he claws at his neck, desperately seeking oxygen. The Mark on his arm swirls and swells in the dark, and Narcissa doesn't know whether to stroke her fingertips over it or run for her life. She chooses the former and crawls into bed next to her boy, barely seventeen but already so far gone.
His sudden, steady breath on her neck is the most beautiful thing she has ever felt.
"Why do you hold your breath, Cissy?" Narcissa shifted away from her sister, farther into the covers, and began counting in her head. If she made it to one hundred, perhaps Bellatrix would leave her alone.
"I know you're not sleeping. You're doing it again aren't you?" Bellatrix thrust a hand in front of Narcissa's parted lips, feeling nothing but a slow, continuous exhale. Narcissa gripped her sister's wrist tightly and flung the hand away from her mouth.
"Get out of my bed."
"Narcissa, please just talk to me, would you?" Her sister's exasperated tone intrigued Narcissa; it wasn't something she'd heard often. She felt her sister's hand rest gently on her shoulder blade. "I wouldn't have to be here if you would just stop it already. You're not dying on my watch. Merlin, I thought you would've grown out of this stupid habit by this age."
"Sorry, I suppose I missed the memo about thirteen being my lucky number." Narcissa grumbled, burying her face in her pillow.
"Narcissa! What on earth has gotten into you?" The hand on her back tensed, nails scraped her back. Narcissa twisted around to face her sister, the indignant expression on Bellatrix's face giving her a jolt of excitement. Bellatrix was clamoring for control, but Narcissa had the upper hand for once in her life. She decided to take advantage of it.
"Bellatrix, where do you go every Thursday night? Or, should I say, every Friday morning?" Narcissa looked down her nose at her sister, smirking at Bellatrix's blackened, panicked eyes.
"I have no idea what you mean, Cissy. I'm here every single night next to you to make sure you breathe!" Narcissa couldn't help but laugh, a sharp giggle that made Bellatrix flinch.
"Don't play with me, Bella; I already know," she nonchalantly traced a finger down Bellatrix's thigh, a gesture that never failed to unnerve her sister. Narcissa knew she was pushing it. "You know, with a bit of persuasion, Lucius can be quite the informant."
"You bitch!" The slap genuinely took her by surprise, something Narcissa was not happy about. Her teeth clanked together as her face rattled with the force of her sister's hand. "How dare you go behind my back!" Narcissa screamed as Bellatrix dug her fingernails into Narcissa's back, a series of deep half-moon cuts that would take weeks to heal without magic. She realized she had been holding her breath until Bellatrix's outburst and now exhaled in time with the throbbing pain in her shoulder.
"You want to know why I hold my breath?" It was Bellatrix's turn to laugh. She pressed her nails back into the half-moon openings, drawing more blood from under the skin.
"Was I unclear, my darling?" Another dig into her back.
"I do it because-FUCK, Bellatrix, calm down!" Bellatrix slowly removed her hand from Narcissa's shoulder, purposefully dragging it across Narcissa's slip, a series of striking red slashes erupting upon the silk garment. Narcissa grabbed her sister's wandering, bloody hand, clasping it tightly.
"I don't want Him to take my soul like He took yours."
She's long since stopped that habit, aside from the night of her family's return, of course. It is foolish, a simple attempt at controlling something so much more powerful than herself. She cannot stop Him, cannot rewrite the past, but she can wipe up the blood left behind.
Narcissa slides into Draco's bed with an ease that shouldn't be there. Lucius has missed her, yearns for the comfort of her body next to his. She knows this, but it's her husband or her son, and damn it if she won't choose her son every time. Lucius can survive without her; Draco, however, cannot.
They sleep like they did when he was a child, his head tucked into her delicate neck, her hands pressing soothingly into his back. It reminds her of her son ten years back, her son who was still innocent enough to be frightened by a simple rainstorm. Now, he is frightened by magic more powerful than Nature Herself.
She can feel his heart race and slow against her own, knows when he's about to slip away from their world.
That's when she digs her nails into his pale shoulder blades.
Lucius has noticed the half-moons upon Draco's back, the blood that seeps through his expensive white button-downs as they sit in the drawing room. Narcissa sees him looking, meets his eyes behind Draco's back. The husband looks at his wife's long nails, painted crimson, and quickly turns away. She doesn't want to know what he must think.
She measures the happiness in her days by her son's breath on her collarbone at night. It's been a relatively pleasant day when Draco stills four times or less. It's been awful when he reaches ten. She should ask, should encourage him to talk to her, but she knows how it feels. After all, their fears are one in the same.
Sometimes, she's the one who is awakened by nails digging into her back.
Her sister witnesses it one night late in July, walks by just as Narcissa draws blood from her withering son. It is then that Narcissa pleads for help, begs her sister to come back to her, to save her family.
The slap tingles with familiarity. She doesn't speak to Bellatrix for weeks.
The night the screaming starts is the beginning of the end. It is just three hours after the death of Charity Burbage, and Narcissa has not let go of her son. Tonight they are in her spacious bed, all three of them. Narcissa and Draco lay curled together, the mother's hand stroking her son's hair, his expression peaceful against her chest. Lucius lies next to her, facing away from the scene. Guilt radiates from him; in a sick way, she's glad. She watches as her husband slowly softens, rolls to reach a hand over her body, his fingers rubbing down Draco's shoulder soothingly. For a second, she smiles.
It is then that Draco screams, emitting an unfathomable sound. His mother and father quickly press their pale hands over his cracked lips, an attempt to muffle the sound from the woman in the next room, but Narcissa knows it's too late. Bellatrix bursts through the door, wearing only her thin excuse for a nightgown. The three blondes lock eyes with her, their expressions fearful in the moonlight. She's caught them in an intimate position, knows by Narcissa's expression that this is as private as the moments she frequently interrupted in their youth. There is a sense of deja vu and she giggles, the sound bubbling from her lungs.
"Oh, look what we have here! A little family reunion. I must have missed the invite." She tightens her grip on the wand in her right hand as she approaches their bedside. "Finally letting Lucius join in the fun, hmm, Narcissa?" Bellatrix delights in the confusion that spreads across Lucius' face, at the fear that lies beneath it.
"What, have you not seen the marks on your boy's back? Or, for that matter, on your wife's?"
Narcissa finally removes her hand from Draco's mouth, turning to reach toward Lucius' face. She strokes her husband's cheek and almost loses it as he flinches in horror. She whispers, "Lucius, don't listen to her, you know it's not true. I would never-"
"Oh, my darling sister, you've always been such a fantastic liar." Bellatrix climbs, cat-like, onto the foot of the oversized bed, causing both Lucius and Draco to shrink closer to the oak headboard. Narcissa closes her eyes, furrowing her brow as Bellatrix drags the tip of her wand up her thigh.
"Haven't you ever told your precious little family about your weakness?" Narcissa's eyes shoot open as her sister crawls on top of her, her son shrinking miles away from her body. Bellatrix's palms press against her shoulders, fingertips reaching around to rest gently on her back.
"Haven't you ever told them about how much you like it when long, sharp nails dig into your back? How the night we first fought about our Lord, I made you bleed...and the next night, you asked me to do it again?" Bellatrix's fingers tense, claws at the ready. "How, after that night, I would bring you back from that breathless nonsense by ripping your skin open, and then we would..." Narcissa's eyes roll back; she lets out an involuntary moan as her sister's long nails rip open week-old cuts from her son. She hears Bellatrix's aroused giggle somewhere in the distance of her clouded mind and thinks, for a split second, that they are back in her bed in the Slytherin dungeons.
"Oops, was that a secret just for me?" Her sister's voice dances into her ear, and she's back in her own bed. "Does that mean you haven't told them of your other weakness?" Narcissa bites her lip, hard. She shakes her head with futility, her hands tangling in Bellatrix's hair as she whispers her nonsensical pleas over and over. Her sister cackles again, and she begins to thrash and scream underneath her.
"Haven't you told them of your sick, twisted need to fuck your own kin?" Narcissa opens her eyes and sees Bellatrix smiling down at her as her nails fill with blood. Narcissa turns and reaches to her left, prays her son will take her hand. He's frozen, breathless again, as terrified of her as he is of Lord Voldemort himself. She feels her sister's bloody hand scrape down her body, sees Draco begin to cry at the sight of her blood. Bellatrix leans down to press her lips agains her sister's, but Narcissa flips her head toward Lucius, meeting his glassy eyes at the last second. She feels her sister move toward her neck instead, her bloody hand pushing up Narcissa's nightgown, and a tear slips down her cheek as she moans.
"I'm sorry."
The next day, the last of July, she goes to Severus and begs one last time.
He tells her everything, and suddenly she make a pact, renewing the scars of their now-void vow, and Narcissa is given her task. Her son is not fond of the Potter boy, but his life is far more important than a schoolyard rivalry, and Narcissa must protect them both.
Reassembling her family will not be easy, but she will do anything for her boys.
They will come back to her, they will obey, and she will save their lives.