A/N: A short fic to celebrate Valentine's Day! I don't own anything; please leave a review if you enjoyed it ^^ Roses are red
The sun was shining and she couldn't remember the garden ever looking so beautiful, objectively speaking. If she looked a bit closer, she could find a dreary meaning in every dead leaf and every hanging flower, but that had nothing to do with the weather. It was nice, especially for February. The December snow had long melted away and the sun had been gaining some ground all January, but now seemed to have reached its peak. It stood fiercely in the morning sky, warming the house through the windows; a weak attempt to take away some of the cold air that lingered there. She opened the curtains a bit further and let a sliver of light fall into the bedroom. Her husband hadn't been there when she woke up; that had happened more often in the last few months, but every morning she didn't find him next to her, she was disappointed. She worried about him; she'd never tell him, because she knew he wouldn't like it, and that he would brush it off. Yet she saw in his face – in his eyes, every time she crossed them – that she had cause to worry. He hardly ate and hardly slept. Her son hadn't been doing that much better when he had been home for the holidays. For the first time she had seen him almost glad to return to Hogwarts. She smiled sadly while she thought of Draco. He will be alright while Severus guards the school, she told herself. He will protect him. She wasn't even sure if it was true, or merely wishful thinking. She was never sure where Severus's loyalties lay; of course, she hadn't forgotten that he had been there for her family when no one else was, but she didn't know if he would do it again. The Dark Lord favoured him over her husband, and she knew very well that he might endanger his own life by helping them in any way. She pushed the curtains open completely when her eye fell on something unusual. It looked as if someone had walked on the damp grass, leaving hardly recognisable footprints in the green. Normally, she wouldn't have noticed, but she had learned to be alert. Something was off. No one ever entered or left through the garden; it simply led to nowhere and people usually deemed the amount of space between the gates and the door to large anyway, so why would they take a detour? Panic shot through her body as she quickly closed the curtains again.
She made her way downstairs, not even caring to dress. She was afraid, but not too afraid to chase an intruder from her estate; she had seen worse. She ran over the grass, her bare feet getting cold because of the dew, and screamed: "Who is there?" Much to her dismay, she couldn't filter all the panic out of her voice. No one answered her question. Had she become paranoid? Was she seeing ghosts – just like her husband when he woke at night, hearing the strangest things that always ended up to be nothing but his own imagination. She was about to turn away when she heard a muffled sound from behind the bushes. Suspiciously, she tread towards the big oak. "Who is there?" she repeated her question, this time without wavering. "Make yourself known," she insisted, raising her hands as an instinct to defend herself if necessary. Slowly, she made her way to the rose bed, readying herself for an attack.
"Narcissa," a voice said, slightly surprised, and he made her jump.
"Lucius?" her own surprise was bigger than her husband's. He was holding bright red roses in both of his dirty hands. There was dust on his normally black suit, and she could even distinguish some grass in his long hair.
For a moment she lost her cool stance and a giggle escaped from her throat when she realised how she must probably look. Merely dressed in her nightgown, with her bared feet on the wet grass.
"I…" her husband started to explain, but he could not repress a small smile either. It was reserved, but it was more than she had seen him show in weeks. He still looked tired and grey – they both did –, but in that moment, part of it seemed to slip away. The colour of the roses seemed to seep into their lives. "I picked these for you," he said, handing her the roses, as he had done every Valentine's Day ever since they were married. "I couldn't get them delivered," he said painfully, "but I hope these will suffice." She could see the shame on his face. Handpicking flowers was something any Malfoy would shun, and it only added to his humiliation of the last months, but he had done it for her. Tears reached her eyes. She had never essentially doubted her husband's loyalty for her, but sometimes she had wondered if he was too lost in himself to even see her anymore. She took the roses from him and kissed him softly. "I love you," she said, meaning every bit of it.
He took her face into his hands and she felt his forehead press against hers. He didn't say it, but she could read the words in his touch. I love you too.