A/N: So, I've been drenched rather deeply in excellent Harry Potter fics about the Black Family lately, and was suddenly inspired to do this little oneshot concerning Narcissa. I took the time to go hunting around and pull up facts, so the dates are correct. The only estimate would be the year of Andromeda's elopement with Ted; I've taken the liberty of assuming it was 1971, when Andromeda was eighteen. It was a tight window, but I think the story fit in nicely.
I figured I might as well drop the fic as a holiday gift to the readers, so... enjoy.
Just This Once
It is night, and the mansion is cold.
The frigid air seeps through the windowsill and pools itself in the silky black sheets of the bed. The high posters are drawn closed, and the sheets are pulled up to the satin white pillows. Despite this, there is a restlessness dwelling within the fabrics of the bed.
Narcissa Malfoy cannot sleep.
She sighs, allowing a small wisp of warm air to escape her, before curling up more securely within the blankets.
Tonight, her husband shall not return home, this she knows; the Dark Lord fell mere hours ago, and already his most 'loyal' and 'faithful' followers are squandering about like owls in a blizzard, lying through their teeth and protesting their innocence to anyone with ears who is willing to hear them. She is sickened by them, by their weakness and cowardice.
But she does not fault Lucius. More than anything, she silently begs and prays that he is the one who gets away, even if he is the only one who gets away. (Secretly, a portion of her already knows that Bella doesn't want to get away.)
She will not have Draco without him, without his father. She will not be the mother who must stand aside, tight-lipped and frail, as her husband is pulled away in shackles, or, worse yet, killed without her knowledge–
She throws the sheets off of the bed and swings her legs over the edge, desperate to escape the thoughts that run rampant though her mind in the deafening silence. Quickly, she slips on a night robe and exits her chamber.
The halls are silent. Draco is asleep in his crib, and Dobby is off doing... (Narcissa grimaces before realizing that she can't bring herself to care.) Her eyes flicker to the tall, imposing window on her left: the snow outside has imparted the manor grounds with a thick blanket of snow, and the moon shines feebly behind a thicket of grey clouds.
She tears her eyes away from the scene and continues down the hall, finally reaching her desired destination; the great oak door is left slightly ajar. Hesitantly, she pushes it open.
She takes no notice of the glamorous trinkets littering the room, meant to capture the attention of a child. She hears only the steady, slow breathing of an infant, furled comfortably under emerald blankets.
"Draco," she whispers gently. She smiles affectionately when his brow stirs, but he does not awake. Her throat dries when the dreaded thought of her son, her Draco, growing up without his father crosses her mind again. She knows not a soul to confide this fear in, not a single person who would not scorn or mock her trepidation as weakness. There is no one who would understand the fear, the hesitancy, no one who could possibly–
A thought flashes across her mind like a soaring phoenix in the night.
(It is absurd, wild even, but she is suddenly possessed by the urge to act on impulse. If not, she is rather certain that the apprehension will drive her mad.)
Without another thought, she departs back up the hall to her chamber, returning only once she has donned warmer robes and a traveling cloak. Silently, she takes Draco up and bundles him warmly, before trudging to the great front doors and slipping out into the cold night air.
She casts one look back at the manor from beyond the gates, gazes down at Draco's peaceful face, and disapparates.
-
Immediately, Narcissa regrets her choice.
She is standing on a muggle street whose name she does not know, surrounded by muggle homes. The road is illuminated by yellow street lights, each seeming like a tiny golden sun in the night. There is but one home that she recognizes, and she is hesitant beyond belief to approach it.
The lights are on, evident from the glow of warm yellow through the windows. Narcissa squints, and is able to make out the form of a young child giggling and laughing as she frolics in the flurry of white.
Her face twists on impulse as she realizes what the child is: a forbidden spawn, no more worthy of having any relation to the Blacks than her filthy father. She has no right to be at all–
"She's an eight year-old, not a monster, you know."
She whips around and comes face to face with her converser; she suddenly realizes that there is a wand pressed firmly into her side. Their eyes lock, blue upon grey, and there is an intense moment of silence, interrupted only by the soft pitter-patter of snowflakes as they delicately land. Finally, her attacker sighs and stows her wand.
"Narcissa," Andromeda offers, steely eyes turning soft and warm. "You'll have to forgive me. I thought you were a Death Eater." Narcissa stares, momentarily shocked into silence. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"
Nine years, Narcissa thinks. Nine years since she and Andromeda last spoke, since they've seen each other at all, and far longer since they've truly been sisters.
"This was a mistake," Narcissa croaks, voice hoarse. "I shouldn't have come here." She turns from her to go.
"Hey, wait!" Andromeda calls after her. "Cissy, wait–!"
"Don't."
Andromeda stares back at her, surprised. "Fine, Narcissa." She tries again. "There's obviously something wrong, or you wouldn't have come. Do you want to talk?" She motions towards the door, and, with a stiff, hesitant nod, Narcissa agrees.
They trudge past the girl playing cheerfully in the snow, who pauses once to catch a look at Narcissa's face before resuming her antics, before they stop at the porch and sit upon it. For a time, there is nothing, nothing but the silent heaving of their chests and the whiffing of airy puffs of frozen breath as they escape their lips.
Draco stirs in her arms and yawns up at her. He utters a gurgled phrase, takes a look about him, and attempts to free himself from her grasp; Narcissa resists.
"Draco, right?" Andromeda says. "He's cute, and he has your eyes."
"No, his eyes are grey," Narcissa says curtly.
"I know. I meant your warmth." Andromeda lets another puff of cold escape her before wrapping her arms about herself. "He's one, and he wants to go play. You should let him."
Narcissa considers this as she stares down at the boy wriggling in her arms, fighting his hardest to slip away from his mother. Reluctantly, she loosens her grip, sets him down, and watches as he struts curiously into the snow. He tumbles once, before struggling to his feet and wobbling his way toward the snow's other occupant.
And then, Narcissa asks.
"Why did you do it, Andy?" she whispers softly. "Why would you put yourself under the constant fear, for every moment of your life, that someone will come for them, will take both of them away from you and leave you with nothing?" Narcissa pauses before adding, "Why would you choose him over us?" She says it quietly, softly, a pleading note in her voice, and Andromeda knows that, just this once, Narcissa wishes she could understand.
(Truthfully, Andy wishes Cissy could understand, too.)
"Love."
And that is all she says, but an affectionate smile plays on her lips. Narcissa furrows her brow, lost, because she cannot understand how Andromeda Black, how Andy, could have gone so terribly astray. She is confused and nonplused that 'love' could be found with someone as low as Ted Tonks, confused as to how Andy could bring herself to care for a worthless, undeserving–
"Are you happy?"
The treacherous words are out of her mouth before she can hold them, bursting from her lips in a sort of desperate plea to know. She regrets it as she turns her blue eyes, stunning against her pale face and the pristine snow, to Andromeda.
"Cissy," Andromeda breathes, "more that you can imagine."
"So you 'love' him, then? Even though he's a mud–?" She stops short at the pained look on her sister's elegant face. "Even though he's a muggle-born?"
"Yes, I do."
"But why? Andy, you could have so much more, you could–"
"Would you still love Lucius if he were a half-blood?"
Narcissa freezes at this, taken by surprise. "Would I still love Lucius?" she murmurs, the thought dancing through her mind. A blanket of quiet settles on them as heavily as the snow as Narcissa ponders.
She thinks of Lucius, the Death Eater, who is cool, detached, and cruel, and for a moment has nothing to say. But then she remembers, remembers Lucius, who she has known and admired since she was a little girl dreaming of castles. Lucius, who is cunning and strong and bold. Lucius, who, despite what others may think or believe, loves her with all of his being. She thinks of Draco–chubby, cooing, laughing Draco, who is no more than a few feet away–and decides.
"Yes."
She is instantly mortified. The weight of the blasphemous word horrifies and frightens her, and she wishes desperately for a Time Turner so that she can expunge it from existence. It has no right in her mouth, no right to be said. It has no grounds to dwell in her thoughts at all....And yet–
She is not sorry. It is wrong of her, she knows; to think such thoughts is no different from having a sordid affair with a mudblood–she pauses to stifle the fluttering of her heart–and yet still she cannot help but feel slightly liberated. At last, even if it is for just this night, just this once, she understands.
She rises from her perch on the doorstep and tightens her cloak about her, a sign that she is departing.
"Andy, I...I won't–can't–be visiting you anymore." She is sorry for the wince of anguish that crosses her sister's face. "If Lucius or Bella knew... you know they wouldn't approve... you'd be in danger..." She falters. "I'm sorry, I–"
"I know," she says simply. "We'll put up a Fidelius Charm, just in case."
Narcissa breathes a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Andy. For understanding."
Andromeda smiles. "I should say the same to you," she chuckles, chilled breath wafting upon the air.
For a moment, Narcissa considers hugging her, but settles for clasping Andromeda's hand in both of hers. "You won't tell anyone, will you?" Andromeda pulls her into a hug, and for one, breathless moment, Narcissa is taken unawares; it is only Andy, only her sister, who can do this to her.
Andromeda releases her, and she slides out of the embrace. She turns, feet padding softly in the snow, to her precious son, her precious Draco, and gathers him up in her arms. Hesitantly, she teeters there and spares Andromeda's daughter–her niece–a glance. She realizes, then, how stunningly gorgeous she will grow up to become. She leans in, pale lips sparsely a breadth away from the girl's ears, and whispers,
"Did you know? You're as beautiful as your mother and Aunt Bella."
She feels lighter, somewhat, as tiny Nymphadora smiles appreciatively and hugs her leg.
There is no fear, no quivering uncertainty, as she slips into the snowy night and disappears.
(Because tonight, just this once, Narcissa understands.)
A/N: And that is all he wrote. Hope you liked the oneshot, and don't forget to leave a review and some concrit on your way out.
(Oh, and Happy Holidays. :3)