A/N: Inspired by Godspeed (Sweet Dreams) by the Dixie Chicks. No copyright infringement intended.
Narcissa sat in her window looking up at the moon. It had been a month since the war had ended - a month since she had lost everything. It didn't matter that Lucius was gone - he had made his choice and died defending it - but Draco had never had the chance to make that choice. Her angry, fragile son was locked away in Azkaban, and she was left free.
She felt no bitterness. Draco's trial had been fair, and his crimes had been real. In the eyes of the court, his guilt was as clear as night and day. Her sorrow was rather for what the courts did not see: Draco had never had the innocence that other children had been given. He was born into the destiny that he followed as surely as Harry Potter had been, and he had never had the strength to fight its pull. Most of all, he had craved his father's approval so badly that his own desires were pushed away. Had Lucius ordered him to throw himself off a cliff, he would have done it with a smile. Perhaps in its own way, that was a peculiar kind of innocence. Draco wasn't evil, no matter how hard he tried. He had wept at his trial, and after every Death Eater meeting before that.
Narcissa looked up at the moon and wondered if Draco could see it. She wondered if he remembered the story that she had whispered to him when his father could not hear. "Goodnight room, goodnight moon…" She wondered if he was asleep, the moonlight reflecting softly on his pale hair. She wished she could tell herself that this vision of him was true - the young man sleeping gently in the moonlight, lips curved in a slight smile borne of happy dreams. Instead a more likely picture assaulted her mind - Draco curled in the corner of a dank, dark, underground cell, eyes squeezed shut in horror, the icy chill of Dementors surrounding him.
She pressed her forehead against the window pane, and her tears left silver trails against the glass.
It had been a year since the end of the war - a year since she had lost everything. Narcissa Malfoy sat in her window, looking up at the moon, her pale blond hair silvery in the moonlight. Her blue eyes were dry as she leaned against the glass, crooning a lullaby to the son she knew was irrevocably broken. She sent him comfort the only way she knew how.
God hears amen wherever we are
And I love you.
Godspeed, little man
Sweet dreams, little man
Oh my love will fly to you each night on angel's wings
Godspeed Sweet Dreams
She fell asleep like that, lips still whispering the lullaby, the desperate prayer for her son. In a cell in Azkaban, far away in the midst of a storm-torn ocean, a break in the ever-present clouds allowed the moonlight to break through to shine on the face of a boy through the bars on his cell.
For the first time since he had been imprisoned, Draco Malfoy slept peacefully, lips curved into a slight smile.
At dawn the next morning, he was gone.