War is a thing I cannot explain. It's indifferent. Purely and utterly indifferent.
I cannot get the sickening images of the battle out of my head. The screams of agony and grief linger in my mind like a horrible song set on repeat, and the visions of death and despair are just as frequent.
Yet the war was over. And Draco was safe, unscathed and unharmed and to me that was the only thing that mattered, right here, right now.
The great hall was silent. It was an awkward feeling sitting among the mudbloods and blood traitors who had robustly fought against the Dark Lord, when my husband and my sister had been two of his many devoted followers. Somewhere deep in the background of my mind, there was a foreboding sense of guilt. Was it regret? I did not know. At this point in time I did not care.
I was so overwhelmed with relief and shock, that my only child Draco was still here with me…and the Dark Lord was gone. The Dark Lord, who had tried to take my son away from me. Who had unmercifully put Draco in mortal danger just to punish my husband's mistakes at the ministry. Draco was sitting slumped next to me at one of the four tables that occupied the Great Hall, his head resting on his arms. His eyes were closed, but I knew he was not sleeping, he was thinking back on the events that had occurred the last couple of hours. His face was so like his father's, sharp and pointed, and I couldn't stop glancing at him, and caressing his pale blonde hair just to make sure that he was real, and that this was all just not a dream.
I remember all the nights I cried myself to sleep, when Lucius was in Azkaban, and Draco was branded with the Dark mark. Never in a thousand years did I want my son to become a Death Eater, to be an illicit servant to the Dark Lord. When I had heard of the unfathomable mission that was placed into my sons small and tender hands, I couldn't help but cry, because I was so sure that he would die in the attempt.
Yet less then twenty-four hours ago I had experienced similar grief.
Frantically searching for Draco among the waves of unforgivable curses and the wreckage of Hogwarts was an anguish beyond anything. Did I deserve that pain? Was what I did so bad? Although I was never a Death eater, I had been a proud supporter of the dark Lord's aims, which promoted the importance of pure blood through the marginalization of the muggle-born minority.
I know some of you think that I deserved that pain…and that I probably deserved a worse fate. Yet before you start to point you accusing finger, can I ask you a question? Was what I did so bad? So bad that it would seem justified to separate a mother from her child through the horrific nature of war, the walls of Azkaban or even perhaps death?
My future is not set in stone. I may have deserved this. I may have not.
Although Lucius and I might be sentenced to a life-time imprisonment in Azkaban due to our unworthy loyalties, all I can say is that God must have heard my prayers last night, for Draco lives. And to me that means the world.
I felt Lucius's hand lightly brush mine. He is sitting on the other side of me, rigid and impassive. I smile lightly at his touch.
It seemed everyone I loved dearly had survived the greatest wizarding war in a century…everyone except one. My sister Bellatrix Lestrange. That's when it hit me like a thousand stabbing knives. Bella was dead. Bella, my eldest, and as far as I'm concerned, only sister. I knew where her body was before I saw it. At the far end of the Great Hall, where it had fell. For no-one had approached my sister. Or had cried over her body. And no-one except me would grieve over her death.
Abruptly I got out of my seat, and whispered to Lucius: "I'll be right back."
He looked at me questioningly but I brushed off his concern; for this is something I had to do alone.
Slowly, with graceful steps I made my way to the rear of the Great Hall. And there I saw her, still yet broken, like a marionette whose strings had been cut. I've never seen Bella so motionless and placid. Although her heavy lidded eyes were still open with shock and a trace of that fanatical smile still rimmed her colourless lips, she looked partially serene.
It took me a while to realize that silent tears were streaming down my cheeks.
"Don't cry, Cissy." Bella's voice imploded in my mind, and I am swept away into a maelstrom of memories. I am six, and a thunderstorm is raging outside and I am crying, and Bellatrix is holding me. "Don't cry Cissy, it's just a storm. Just a storm."
I am eleven, waving goodbye to my parents on the Hogwarts Express, tears streaming down my face. "Don't cry, Cissy, you're going to Hogwarts now" Bellatrix states as she gives a final wave to our mother and father, before taking my hand, leading me down the train corridor towards an empty compartment. I am fourteen, and crying over the fact that I thought Dennir Felise didn't like me. "Don't cry, Cissy," Bellatrix soothes. "How could anybody not like my darling little sister?" I am sixteen and am crying over the fact that Andromeda has ran away with some filthy mudblood. "Don't cry, Cissy," Bellatrix says, her voice is harsh and I know she is angry. "She has chosen her way, and we have chosen ours." I am seventeen, and I have splinched in the attempt to apparate into the dining room. Tears of pain are streaming down my face and before I know it Bella is there with a bottle of Dittany. "Don't cry, Cissy," she murmurs as she pours a drop of liquid into my burning wound.
I come back down to earth. I am still crying. And I realize that it is okay to cry. Something Bella would have never admitted.
I am crying for all that I have lost. I feel profound and bruised, like theirs a basin inside me that nothing will ever fill. But I am also feeling all that I have in my life, and all that my future holds. And it's all too much…the mixed emotions of grief, relief, despair and hope. It is all too much, and I cannot bear it all.
And then Lucius is here, his hand on my shoulder.
"Narcissa?" His voice was soft with concern.
He knelt down beside me, and I fell into his embrace, burying my face against his chest, letting the tears come fully. I don't know how long he held me, soothing me with gentle words I could not hear. It could have been minutes or hours. I did not know.
Yet after what seems an eternity, I hear his voice. I actually hear his voice from under the heavy blankets of grief.
"Narcissa?" Lucius murmurs in my ear. I try to say something, but I cannot, my mouth and throat are dry, and to make it worse my lips are trembling. Yet I know I cannot stay like this forever, as much as I am contented to. So I muster as much as the strength I can gather, and all the strength and will Bella would have given me and I sit up, and look at my husband. His wan face is broken with such concern and tenderness that it makes me cry out inside. And that's when I realize that I love this man, more then life itself.
Lucius gently cups my face between his hands and brushes away the last remaining tears.
"This is the way Bellatrix would have wanted it you know?" Lucius said after a moment or two. "To die in devotion for the Dark Lord."
"I know," I replied, my voice trembling slightly, "nothing would have pleased her more."