Little Runaway
Narcissa Malfoy wasn't just a wife with no voice. She was a teenager with dreams, passions, and hopes. And she's a fool in love. (Narcissa Malfoy/James Potter) (slight Narcissa Malfoy/Harry Potter)
"Narcissa, fetch me my slippers." Her husband barked coldly from the study. She sighs deeply as she sets her book and finds his slippers and rushes up the steps to give them. Lucius takes them without so much as a hello and waves her off, much to Narcissa's annoyance. She shuffles back to her room, and reads her book in peace. The house-elf crawls out of his hiding place and stares at her.
"Mistress need assistance?"
"No, though, would you like to sit with me? I would love someone to play cards with," Narcissa offers, holding out her hand for him to take.
"I don't know how to play cards, Mistress. I shall instead tend to your garden as you requested." In a pop, he vanishes.
Narcissa sighs, and begins a game of solitaire.
It's been years since Voldemort has died and peace is restored among the Wizarding World. Years since the Death Eaters either died out or went into hiding. Years since death and misery are nothing more than a distant memory. Years had passed, and time has been none too kind to Narcissa; stress from the madness of Voldemort's reign had sped the aging process more than what she liked to admit. She runs a finger through her hair in afterthought.
Draco should be coming home soon; he promised he come down for the holidays from New York tonight. She had to get started on the feast soon.
She grabs slippers of her own and rushes to the kitchen. Seven elves stand at attention, ready for orders.
"Ella, season and prepare the pot roast. Bartholomew, fetch me the vegetables from the garden. Montague, chop the vegetables. Mitzy, clean the kitchen and polish the counters. Darien, wash the windows and wipe the walls down. Not an inch of dust should plague these walls. Harriet, clean all of the rooms down to the last speck of dirt. And Anthony," she kneels to the tiniest elf, "I want you in my sights when I'm cooking. This is going to be a special night and I don't want you getting hurt. Again."
Anthony nods his head and stands up straight like the dutiful elf he is. It almost makes Narcissa chuckle. Almost. She had to cook dinner by eight o'clock: Draco would fly in by eight-thirty. She checked her watch. Six fifty-one; shit. She has to start now.
She always wondered why her life has been so humdrum and repetitive and she chalks it up to marriage. She remembers the days where the highlight of her life didn't involve being a domesticated lapdog. The days where people like Lucius wouldn't dare test her notorious temper. Days where where her soul wasn't stripped away, where her fire was evident and burning. Days, where she and James knew each other and fell in love.