The days since Narcissa's visit to Hogwarts passed interminably. She was trapped in her home, in the darkness of her son's depression, the spiral of her husband's descent, the terror of her sister's madness, and the simple presence of the Dark Lord. The vile wizard had grown more and more unhinged of late, and Cissa could hardly speculate why.
She hid – like a coward – and encouraged her son to join her. He did not resist, having been violently grilled by his aunt and master for any possible Potter hideouts. He'd known of none, of course, and was deemed useless again. So he nested with his mother; read, ate, played wizard's chess with her. They slept in the same bed often – just slept, and listened for each others' breathing in the night if nightmares woke one or the other.
They grew insular and ever-wary. Their wide eyes were prone to darting into shadowed corners, and their ears were keen to any sound that could be approaching footsteps. Sometimes, they heard shouting from below; Lucius, Bella, the Dark Lord or all three.
Prisoners arrived. The wand maker. Lovegood. Temporary faces that Draco didn't recognize. Their screams would echo off the stone walls when they cried out for food or attention. Bellatrix would often demand Draco tend to them, but Narcissa insisted on taking his turns herself. She refused to have her son exposed to situations he was powerless to control.
She knew her boy was torn – knew it with certainty when his eyes had briefly met the Lovegood girl's eyes. Narcissa recognized the desperation there, the struggle. Nights now she'd lain awake, hearing Draco's breath and thinking, If I had a chance…what would I do?
She thought of Severus' bravery, his boldness and fearlessness. She often just thought of Severus. She knew Draco could tell when her thoughts turned because he would invent some distraction for them. "Let's have a constitutional, mum. It's sunny."
"Yes, darling…" But walking rarely distracted her. And at Beltane, when Potter slipped through their fingers like so much sand, she ached for an ounce of Severus' strength and his arms around her for a perfect moment. I should have told him I loved him. Why didn't I tell him I loved him?
It was a question that daunted her frequently, confronted her in every quiet moment. In the solace of an evening bath (her son on watch detail outside), she could close her eyes and remember the words with the clarity of a pensieve memory; his lips near hers, his hands caressing her hip and back, his cock like salvation inside her and his words - so close to her own mouth she could taste them – breathing, "I love you."
And in hindsight, she could enumerate the fears which at that moment had stopped her tongue. How she'd never known love, disbelieved in it, refuted it. How she'd seen sex as both a shield and a crutch – a convenient and (if one was lucky – pleasurable) way to achieve an end and had never known touch to be such an intensive conduit for emotion. How she'd never shared her magic in such an ephemeral way, and how that meant some great mystery had presented its solution to her.
Then she remembered other words he'd said to her. About not living through this war.
I need to tell him. She wrapped her towel around her, dripping head to toe. It's simply imperative I get to Hogwarts and tell him. But how?
She cast a drying charm and shimmied impatiently into her camisole and knickers. Perhaps Draco will cover for me. Tell them I've…tell them I'm ill. I'll only need a moment, after all. Only a few seconds for a few words. I can ask him.
She gasped in hot startlement when she reached for the lavatory door handle only to have the door violently wrenched open for her.
Her husband stood before her on the other side of a dim threshold, and behind his leather bedecked form, her son. "Lucius!"
His eyes roved her form perfunctorily, but not in desire. "Dress," his hoarse voice commanded. "It's time."
And he swept away with a semblance of the importance she'd once seen in him every day.
"Time?" Her eyes drifted to her son.
"We're going to Hogwarts, mother." He approached her, holding dark, thick attire over to her.
"Hogwarts?" Her fingers were numb on the fabric.
Draco nodded solemnly.
"Why?"
Leaving, he paused in her doorway and looked back. "To fight, mother." And then he was gone.
A heavy thing hurt in her stomach. She closed a fist over the offending stone. "No," she whispered. "Not yet…"
Things were not any easier for Severus. Days on end would pass with him receiving little to no sleep, trapped in a school that was flooded with memories both good and bad. As of late the memories were bad, with Death Eaters tearing students to shreds, students completely disappearing, and Dumbledore chewing him out through his portrait. The current headmaster sat in front of his desk right now, where he once sat while in the office, so that he could look at the deceased wizard. Minerva McGonagall sat to Severus' right, perched at the edge of her seat with her back as stiff as a board and her lips pursed.
Severus snuck a look at the witch from the corner of his eye. Her face, though so very familiar, was different. She looked like she had aged several years in the last few months alone, and she had been losing weight. There was a stab of something that he thought might be guilt, since he knew that he was probably more than partly responsible. After all, it was his actions that had been driving her to this….though they were actions that had been brought around by her beloved Albus.
When Minerva snuck a glance over at Severus she saw a man who was very different from the one she thought she knew. He still sat straight and proud, but he was tired. She could see that in the lines of his face. They were all tired. She had seen that in everyone besides him, had assumed that he was – while not all fine and dandy – faring better because of his position. He was allowing and instigating most of what everyone had to endure, after all. But there was something else there in his face, something she wasn't sure she was seeing: worry. There was something or someone he was concerned for. It didn't take much effort to guess that it was Narcissa Malfoy – and that just made Minerva stiffen more.
The clearing of a throat made the pair look up at the portrait. Dumbledore sat there, arms folded casually before him and resting on the desk. He looked pleased to see the current lack of arguing. "Severus, Minerva." He nodded to each as he spoke their name. "I trust you're enjoying your evening."
Minerva's eyes cut to her left and she gave a terse nod. Severus gave a slight shrug. "It is the same as nearly every other, Dumbledore. Spent doing the things you have asked."
The witch snorted. "Doing things that Albus has asked? I hardly consider letting the Carrows run rampant in the school and kissing the hem of his robes to be behavior he approves of!"
Severus felt himself stiffen. This argument again? "Minerva, why do you insist on joining in on meetings with us if we must go through this every time?"
"Someone should know what you're doing. You aren't playing both sides anymore, Severus, not to me."
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
"I know you're really loyal to a vile beast. You would do anything to make Albus think otherwise, but the truth is that it was you who killed him and the faith of most of the wizarding world. This is all your fault, Severus."
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Minerva, please. We have gone over this before. These meetings are not to determine who is at fault but rather to talk about the progress of the education at the school."
Her nostrils flared. "I don't see how you can handle it so calmly, Albus. This man killed you and yet you sit there as if nothing is wrong and talk about education!"
"You speak as if you know everything, Minerva, when the truth is that you know hardly any of what really happened or is happening." There was a touch of anger to Snape's tone.
"Then enlighten me!"
Neither noticed Dumbledore slip out of his portrait.
Severus didn't speak, but watched her, and so he saw when she realized.
"This has something to do with the Malfoy witch, doesn't it?" The only response she got was his fingers tapping his right leg. She scowled, her eyes hardening. "I never thought a man like you would be ruled by some woman you're only using, Severus. Of course, there are several things about you that are different from what I once believed." She stood and hurried from his office, leaving him to his thoughts.
He knew she was right, in a way. He was a different person than the one she believed him to be, in more ways than one. But it wasn't that that he dwelled on. No, his thoughts were concentrated all on Narcissa. Moments like this, he longed to feel her, to hold her against him. He wanted to listen to her breathing, to taste her lips. He thought about their last night, about how he had finally confessed his feelings for her and how she hadn't returned the three words. He knew how she felt, having overheard her telling her son, but that wasn't the same…and she didn't know that he had been there to hear.
There was a slight pang in his chest as he rose from his chair and looked toward the stairs that led to his chambers. It had been torture these last few months, having to sleep there without her. He sighed heavily, and then settled by the fireplace with parchment and a quill. Dipping its tip in ink he began to write a letter that he wouldn't send.
A knock on his door, hours later, jerked him from his work. Already he had filled up several rolls of parchment and then burned most of them, keeping only a couple on a small table beside him. "What?" His tone was sharp and short.
A seventh year Slytherin opened the door almost shyly, and then she gave the headmaster a look. "Potter has been spotted, Professor Snape. You asked that we let you know."
His quill froze, a drop of black falling to splatter on the parchment. "Potter? You're sure?"
She nodded. "Yes, sir. Granger and Weasley are with him."
'As always.' He stared into the flames for a moment, then looked over at the girl and gave her a dismissive nod. A stone settled heavily in his stomach. He hadn't seen his lover since she had come to him so long ago…and he didn't expect to live through the night.
She'd cowered ashamedly throughout most of the night's battle, avoiding the fighting, hiding in the forest. She grasped at passing Death Eaters with clutching fingers, begging for news of her son. She kept her worries for Severus to herself, and never once thought to ask after her husband. And when Potter was finally felled, all she could think was, "Please, goddess. Let this be over…"
But the end brought with it a new level of panic. The witch tried to keep her head about her just the same. She kept up an internal monologue. Keep breathing. Keep looking. Find your son. Find Severus. Get the hell out.
She'd lied to the Dark Lord. Potter was alive and breathing and who knew what the devil would happen when this fact came to light. Narcissa was terrified to find out, and terrified to think she might not see her son alive again – or the man she'd come to love. She bit her lip as the victorious throng approached Hogwarts and began scanning the gathering crowd with a mother's desperate eye.
She was deaf to Voldemort's ramblings and numb to Lucius' tightening grip on her arm until she heard her husband hiss, "There." She followed his abbreviated gesture to a cluster of students spreading into the dessimated courtyard. "Draco!" Lucius demanded. "Come here."
She tensed and watched her son hesitate. She wondered… "Draco." He turned to her gentler tone. She hoped her eyes conveyed her fear. Her shaking hands opened toward him. "Come." She cringed to see the Dark Lord's arms around her son. How dare he hold my boy before I do?
But then Draco was near her. He smelled like fire, and as she shrugged away Lucius' possessive hand, she shuddered to imagine what her son had endured.
And then Longbottom was talking. And then a sword was drawn. And then all hell broke loose, and self-preservation became paramount in her mind. She took her son's hand in hers, and sought refuge amidst the maelstrom, vaguely aware that her husband cowered in her wake. The battle wasn't won just yet, but she had a fair idea the light would be victorious, and felt an odd relief in that knowledge.
The Great Hall smelled of smoke, magic, fire and blood. The Malfoys huddled together beneath a torn Gryffindor blanket. Lucius seemed frozen, empty of even the ability to react. Nothing seemed to reach him.
Draco shook uncontrollably, probably from shock. Narcissa stroked his head and he made no attempt to pull away. She knew he was in a pitiful state and whispered soothing words to him. Aurors mingled in the crowd, taking Death Eaters into custody. "Don't worry, Draco," she murmured. "When they come for you, go peacefully. I promise you there will be a time to prove –"
"They won't take him."
She looked up at the softly spoken words. Draco followed her startled gaze. "Mr. Potter," she breathed.
"I believe I owe you that much, Mrs. Malfoy. And I believe I owe you as well, Draco." Potter's intense green eyes settled on Lucius and the curl of his lip couldn't be missed. "I don't know what I can do for him, though."
Fuck him, Narcissa thought. "Mr. Potter?"
"Yes?"
"Have you any word about…Severus Snape?" She felt Draco's eyes on her for a fleeting second and hardly cared.
Harry may have been curious as to her question, but he didn't voice it. "He's dead," he answered. Something in his tone made him seem sad, somehow. "I'm going to retrieve his body now. He's a hero."
She heard the ocean. It was peace in her ears. Her brain and mouth were not communicating with each other. "That's not possible," she whispered. Potter blinked at her. "Take me to him!"
Harry backed away slowly, nodding as she rose unsteadily to her feet. Draco held to her hand even as she stepped away. "Mother…"
She looked back at her son, eyes misting with tears. "I have to go," she choked. "Watch your father."
Granger and Weasley intercepted them, but Harry waved them away with a few gentle words. They seemed to understand, and hung back. On the way to the shrieking shack, her boots seemed muffled in the soft charred ground. "Um…do you know about your sister?" Potter asked hesitantly.
"Is she dead?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
"Molly Weasley."
Narcissa let out a rueful laugh. "Perfect."
"Mrs. Malfoy." The Whomping Willow barely trembled. It had been injured in battle, and Potter briefly stroked its trunk as they entered the secret passage.
"Yes, Mr. Potter?"
She seemed remarkably intent on reaching their goal. Harry helped her over the gnarled roots and scattered detritus in the passageway. "Why did you do it?" He asked.
"Do what?" Her hair snagged on a protruding root and she tugged it free impatiently.
He stopped, forcing her to pause as well. "Why did you lie? About me being dead? If you just wanted to find your son, you could have just as easily told the truth. It was pretty risky for you to tell him I was –"
"Mr. Potter."
"Yes?"
"Are we alive right now?"
"Yes."
"Then you have your answer. Now, let's go."
Walking, he addressed her again. "I didn't know Snape meant anything to you." They'd reached the ladder that would take them to the dusty shrieking shack.
"No one knew," she answered absently. Even him.
Harry climbed and pushed open the creaky door in the floor. "I should warn you," he said. "It was quite…bloody." The witch made no response – just held out her arms and let him pull her up.
A crack in shack's walls allowed a sliver of silver morning light to bisect the room. Dust motes swirled and danced within it, but couldn't distract the eye from the body in the light's final arch.
A sprawl of black like spilled ink – a raven battered by a storm. Severus was as white as parchment, his robes as black as pitch, his once white cravat scarlet with blood. The darkening pool surrounding him completed the tragically beautiful painting.
Narcissa felt her knees go weak. She lurched toward him with the last of her strength and crumpled, oblivious to his blood beneath her knees.
Potter watched the witch with growing wonder. Awe clenched in his chest like a fist as realization dawned. This wizard no one had known or loved had indeed been quite loved – and by the most unlikely of witches. The young man suddenly felt he should look away, or even leave, but he simply couldn't.
For a few seconds, her elegant hands hovered over Snape's prone form. Then, strangely, she tore her thick, quilted frock coat from her body, leaving behind a thin, linen tunic. Perhaps she'd needed to feel closer to her lover, because once the constricting layer was removed, she flung herself upon his body. Harry winced at her sobs, thought of all those who'd been lost…
"Severus," she gasped. "Severus! Don't do this. Don't leave me!" She held him tighter and Harry heard the professor's body shift in the slight witch's arms. She was stronger than she looked, apparently. "I should have told you," she continued. "I meant to! I was going to but I was so bloody scared! And now…" Still mindless of the plentiful blood, she pressed her lips to Snape's. "Now it's too late." She kissed his sticky red jaw. "I loved you, Severus." She rocked him back to the floor, lay her head against his chest. "I love you."
The room grew quiet save for her sobs and the shaking of her shoulders. Harry maintained a respectful distance, and kept his eyes to the floor. It seemed some reverence was required in this moment, and his mind was working, too.
Obviously, Snape had not known of Narcissa's feelings. She'd admitted that much to his corpse. But Harry wondered if the emotion was returned – if the enigmatic man on the floor had ever truly moved beyond his binding love for Lily Evans and managed to embrace another. I hope so, Harry thought, looking back to the drama unfolding before him. I hope he loved again.
Narcissa had grown unnaturally still. Harry experienced a brief worry that perhaps a grieving witch would be more than he could handle. His forehead creased and he shifted uncomfortably. The thought seemed terribly ironic considering he'd just brought down Voldemort, but still…
"Mr. Potter?"
Her voice was surprising after so much silence. "Hm?"
She shifted and her wide, pretty eyes met his. "Harry…he's alive!"
Harry's eyes widened at her words, and he turned his head to the side slightly to look at her with an expression that clearly said he wasn't sure that he believed her. "Mrs. Malfoy, I was here when…when it happened. There's no way that he could have lived." The flash in those blue eyes scared him.
"I thought I was imagining it, but his lips were warm – barely. I can hear his heart beating. He is alive!"
Still unconvinced, the teenager moved to Snape's other side and placed his hand on the man's chest after the witch moved. He could feel nothing. For a brief second he was tempted to try to bind Narcissa with magic so he could get her out of here, but then he realized that if it were him lying on the ground Snape would do all he could to ensure that he would live. Awkwardly, Harry lowered his head to the man's chest and his eyes widened.
"Mrs. Malfoy?" Now it was he who shifted, and she who met his eyes. "I think we better get him to St. Mungo's immediately."
The faintest smile settled on her lips. "I'm inclined to agree with you."
Getting him out required both of their magic. Narcissa walked slightly ahead, clearing things from the path that would make it hard to maneuver Snape. Harry walked behind her, Snape floating ahead of him. The boy found it slightly odd that he was once again in the 'secret' passage with the man being floated out. This time Sirius wasn't the one in control of getting him out, wasn't bashing his head against everything that he could. This time, Harry actually cared about the man.
Everything after they climbed out of the passage happened so quickly that it was a blur. Neither Harry nor Narcissa could have identified anyone who helped them get to St. Mungo's or anyone who tried to stop them. At the hospital Harry did some explaining to make the staff understand that Snape was really on the 'good' side but Narcissa had no idea what he said. Narcissa was allowed to go with Snape while the medi-wizards worked, but she had no idea what Harry said to get them to allow it. And to be honest, she didn't care.
Two hours passed in complete silence for Harry, alone in the waiting area of whatever floor they were on; he hadn't bothered to look. And then company arrived in the forms of Draco, Ron, and Hermione. The couple hung back and sat in chairs closer to the door they had just come through while Draco glanced around, obviously looking for his mother as he approached the boy-who-lived. He sat down next to Harry. "Where is she?"
"With him. She didn't want to leave his side for a single second." Looking at the young Malfoy, he observed that he had already recovered quite a bit. Madam Pomfrey's doing, he had no doubt.
"She never does."
Harry's eyebrow shot up. "She said no one knew he meant anything to her."
Draco gave a very slight chuckle. "Means, Potter. Not meant." He looked down at his shoes. "I knew."
That surprised Harry too. "How could you? Even he didn't."
"Actually, I think he did."
"But I heard her, when we were in the shack and we thought he was gone. She said she should have told him."
"You don't always have to say it for someone else to know."
They were silent for a few minutes, then: "Does she mean anything to him?" Harry kept his head ducked, looking at Draco sideways.
The blond nodded.
"Does he love her?"
Another nod. "Immensely."
"I hope he makes it."
Draco's expression was one of confusion and surprise. "Yet you hated him."
"I hated the man I saw. It was…an act. All of it."
"Him being a double agent?"
Harry nodded. "Yes. He was a damned good one, wasn't he?"
"Obviously, Potter. He made the entire wizarding world think he was working for the Dark Lord." The familiar Malfoy drawl was back, somewhat.
A quip formed on Harry's tongue, but he bit it back. This was not the time. A glance up showed Narcissa walking toward them, and he gave her a slight nod. "I'll let you two talk alone."
He had only taken a couple steps when Narcissa called out for him to stop. "Mr. Potter, do you have his wand?" At his nod she held out her hand, watched him withdraw it from his coat and then he gave it to her. "Thank you." She turned around and hurried back the way she had come, leaving the audience waiting yet again.
They didn't deserve to be with him, not yet. The healers had finished with him a little while ago, had finally decided to leave her alone. She sat down in the chair next to the bed, put his wand on the little table close to it, took his hand in hers. He was paler than usual, but his skin was warmer now. Quickly she grew tired of sitting there. A glance around showed no staff nearby, so she slipped onto the bed next to him and curled into his side. Her head rested on his chest. The rhythm of his heart gradually lulled her into sleep.
Draco slipped into the room about an hour later, when the rest of the group meandered off in search of food. How they had an appetite he wasn't sure, but he didn't mention his disbelief to them. And he figured that they all needed to eat, anyway, even if it was just to keep up their strength – his mother especially.
As he closed the door behind him, he started to speak, but cut himself off at the sight before him. Narcissa lay with Severus, grasping his hand in her sleep. Exhaustion was plain on her face, even now; he was glad she was resting. And so, not wishing to disturb her, he sat down in the chair she had vacated previously. In moments, he was asleep to the sound of his mother's deep, even breathing…
Narcissa woke to the sound of gentle knocking. A nurse. She rose gingerly, wiping at her eyes and touching her hair into place. Draco snored softly in a chair near the bed and she smoothed his brow. He snorted, smacked his lips and snored a little louder. She smiled and opened the door.
But it was no nurse standing on the other side. It was Minerva McGonagall – looking straight as ever, but slightly less proud. In fact, if Narcissa had to name the expression on the older witch's face, she would call it tortured. "Professor." Cissa dipped her head in respect.
McGonagall tisked. "I believe we've reached the level of acquaintance wherein we can use first names, don't you, Narcissa?"
"Very well…Minerva."
"May I come in?"
"He's still unconscious."
"But he's alive."
"Yes."
"Then I must see him. There are things…I need to say." She sniffed. "Please."
And Narcissa drew up a little straighter herself, recognizing the writ of witches: He's yours, and I'm asking for your permission to involve myself with him in some way. Well played, Gryffindor. She stepped aside gracefully. "By all means, Minerva."
"McGonagall's coming!" Draco jolted from sleep on this blustered exclamation, nearly toppling from his chair.
Minerva's lips pursed at the boy. "You're not at Hogwarts right now, Mr. Malfoy." She patted his shoulder as she moved to Severus' bedside. "Relax."
Narcissa, hiding a smile behind her hand, murmured to her son. "Draco. Would you kindly fetch some tea for us?"
Draco, still flustered from sleep and his embarrassing alarm, took the hint. "Yes, mother. I'll just…find some tea…somewhere…far away."
"Not too far, son."
"Right." He was out the door nearly tripping.
Minerva wasted no time. She knew it was pointless to ask the Malfoy witch to leave, and had no shame in her shame, anyway. She addressed Severus as though he was sitting at the dining table in the Great Hall. "Severus. I'm afraid I've made your last weeks on this Earth quite difficult – a living hell, even. I owe you an apology and I'm giving it now. And don't bother feigning this sleep. I know you can hear me. You were always a cheeky snake, but you bloody well paid attention. You could have told me, dammit! You and Albus and your scheming… I wanted to trust you! I would have done anything in my power to help you!" She took a deep breath. Narcissa stepped to the window, looking out into the charmed mists surrounding St. Mungo's.
"But it's over now." Minerva continued calmly. "And we've won. Thanks to you. So when you're done healing up and being a lazy sod, come back to Hogwarts. There's work to do there, and it needs a proper Head."
Her piece said to Snape, she turned briskly to the other witch in the room. "Now. Narcissa."
Cissa's eyes widened. "Yes?"
"I won't pretend. Potter's told everything. What you did in the forest…it was incredibly brave. You took an enormous risk. We owe our victory to you, as well."
"The victory is owed to many, Minerva. Including yourself."
She looked to Severus. "I could have done more."
"He would never have told you." Narcissa assured. "Just as he never told me. It would have endangered us, in his eyes. And Severus only protected the people he cared for."
"Will he forgive me?"
"Oh, goddess bless…Yes." She moved toward Minerva, stopped just short of reaching out to her. "He forgives when it is deserved. But Minerva…you owe no apologies. You did just as you were meant to do! Just what he would have expected."
"I tried to kill him!"
Narcissa smirked. "Just as he would have expected."
Seeing she would get no further, Minerva hmphed and turned to the door. "You will please keep me appraised of his condition, Narcissa?"
"I will. Minerva?" McGonagall turned in the doorframe. "Thank you. For caring for him. I know it's…hard for a lion to wrap arms round a snake."
The matron's eyes misted. "But not so hard for another snake, eh?" Narcissa blushed, and Minerva left with a satisfied smile.
Alone again, Cissa perched at Severus' bedside and took his cool hand. "It must be flattering to discover so many people cared about you, love. Surely you won't keep them all waiting?"
Then Draco stepped into the room, precariously levitating a laden silver tea tray and three cups and saucers. Narcissa watched him bite his lip in concentration, focused entirely on his delicate task. He lowered the load onto a rolling table before smiling up proudly from his work.
His smile fell when he glanced around the room to find their visitor gone. "Oh, you're joking?"
Narcissa couldn't withhold a laugh at his frustration over wasted work, but strangely the laughter turned to tears, and her son wrapped arms around her. "There, there, mum." He murmured. "The tea's not that bad."
She snorted in his embrace and Draco kissed the top of her head. "He'll wake up soon. In fact, it'd be nice if he'd wake up and have that third cuppa…"
Cissa snorted again. It felt damn good to laugh. She smiled up at her son – the young man who meant as much to her as the man in the bed beside her. They were alive, breathing near her, holding her, promised to her forever. She leaned her head against Draco's chest, heard his heart beating strongly. Her fingers curled around Severus' wrist, felt his pulse pumping surely.
And that felt damn good, too.