The floor was cold beneath her aching body, but the halls were comfortably silent. Corpses of death eaters were scattered lazily throughout the corridor, the only thing she felt resembling sadness was the reasonable assumption an onlooker might have made that she was one of them. Lying alongside them, black robes and her matted, but instantly recognisable hair - she wouldn't even blame a muggleborn for making such an assumption.

Narcissa was not a death eater, refused to be. Why she was allowed to be part of the inner circle without the dark mark, why she hadn't been shot with the killing curse at her refusal - of that she could not be sure. She assumed Lord Voldemort hadn't minded keeping her aside from the dirty work, not when it meant she was a pawn, free to be used to keep Lucius and Draco in line.

Lord Voldemort had never hesitated in using her to punish Lucius. He had made a very graphic threat to Draco, detailing the exact consequences of what would happen if he failed to kill Albus Dumbledore. Lord Voldemort didn't mess around when it came to loyalty and she was powerless to even put up a fight most of the time.

Her head pounded with the pain of colliding with the floor, worsened as the echo of heeled footsteps sounded throughout the corridor. Bracing herself for the imminent pain, Narcissa attempted to push herself up from the floor and fought against the sudden nausea to bring herself into a seated position. Her hand felt for the dragon heartstring wand she had recently turned her nose up at, none of that mattering if the figure approaching her was Bellatrix - come to kill her sister for her disloyalty to the Dark Lord. Although the figure was also enclosed in black, it was slimmer than her sister and slightly shorter. Its hair was lighter and healthier than Bellatrix's, falling in disheveled curls at the side of a softer face.

When the scene came back into focus, Narcissa slumped onto her back with confidence the other woman would make her death quick and relatively painless. Bellatrix would torture her into insanity and only laugh at her in response.

Merlin, she came from one fucked up family.

"Stay where you are for a second," said a soft, Scottish voice. "I think you've got a concussion judging by all that blood. You're bound to feel a wee bit wobbly."

Narcissa nodded, never happier to see a half-blood in her life. The older witch's eyes were surrounded by dark circles and a puffiness to them like she'd been crying. Wasn't very Gryffindor of her, was it?

Telling her inner monologue to shut up, for this was no time to be childish, she pushed herself up slowly. Her vision blurred, but the nausea was nowhere near as bad as last time. Muttering a word of thanks, she placed her head on her knees and waited for the pain in her head to dull for only a moment.

A slender hand rested on her arm, "Once you're a little more steady, I need you to come with me. Lucius is waiting for you?"

"Is he okay?"

Minerva nodded.

"And Draco? Where is he?"

Her light grey eyes looked away from her uncomfortably and Narcissa only looked at her more pointedly. The older witch stood up, extending a hand to help her up. But Narcissa didn't move.

"Lucius is going to explain, but let me help you up. We'll need to get you a potion for that head and see if Madame Pomfrey can-"

But Narcissa wasn't listening, only walking numbly beside Minerva with the brief awareness that the older witch was keeping her steady with a hand on the small of her back. Any other time, she was sure Minerva would have killed her on the spot because she was exactly like those death eaters on the ground behind her. Harry Potter must have spoken up for her, why else would she have been treating Narcissa with such kindness?

Tears nearly fell from her eyes, the feeling of dread she had become so accustomed to filling her entire being once more. It had started the year Lucius had went to Azkaban, her gut telling her something had to go wrong during her husband's mission. Potter was too well protected by Dumbledore, Voldemort was not yet strong enough and things had just been going too well for the family of late. Lucius had asked her what she meant, but she hadn't really known. She just felt something was going to go wrong, that something was in the air. Lucius had laughed, telling her she was much too intelligent to be so superstitious.

Then Lucius had been arrested and imprisoned, and Bellatrix had killed Sirius (while that was partly of her own doing, Narcissa was just trying to protect her husband).

"Your sister is here," Minerva said suddenly, halting outside of a large wooden door. A cruel, thick lump took up residence in her throat, and her head still pounding, she looked at Minerva with uncharacteristic confusion.

"Andromeda," she clarified, before adding "Her daughter and son in-law were killed. Bellatrix is dead."

Narcissa merely nodded, suspecting this might have been the end of her erratic older sister. She was surprised at her own acceptance of the situation - Bellatrix was almost 50, there was no redemption for her years of madness.

"Voldemort?"

Minerva flinched at the sound of the Dark Lord's avoided name but said, "Mr Potter saw to that."

Narcissa needed no more explanation, simply reached to push open the door before her. Deep down, she couldn't have cared less who won the war. She had long since been a less than loyal servant of the Dark Lord - both Lucius and Bellatrix had noticed her wavering commitment of late. She believed firmly in blood purity, but wasn't overly concerned whether the muggles and muggleborns lived or died.

To anyone else, such a view was just as dangerous as actually killing the muggles herself. Andromeda had told her as much when they ran into each other in Diagon Alley about 18 years ago, citing some muggle quote or another about silence in the face of oppression. She had offered to introduce her to The Order of the Phoenix, take her to a safe house until Voldemort was defeated. Indicating at her protruding pregnancy bump, Andromeda asked if she really wanted her child to come into a world without love and with his/her parents prominent supporters of such a man as Voldemort. Narcissa merely scoffed at her sister and raised her head high before leaving her behind, defeated.

In the present day, Andromeda was sat by the Weasleys with puffy red eyes and her body in a tired slump. She spoke occasionally to a tall, red-headed boy - equally as fatigued in appearance, but able to muster the odd sad smile. Narcissa had understood one of the Weasley boys had died earlier - further adding to the curiosity growing inside her. Why had Arthur Weasley spared her?

Minerva moved her on, past tired and grieving families. A student's hand was being healed by a mediwitch on her left, and a body was being covered up with cloth on her right. Seeing corpses was no longer an upsetting event to Narcissa Malfoy. What was wrong with her?

Lucius was stood by Horace Slughorn, speaking words far too quiet for her to hear. At the sight of Narcissa, however, they ceased conversation.

"Narcissa," he breathed, moving towards her. She looked around, still no sight of Draco.

"Where's Draco? Did you send him home?"

He ignored her question, hand reaching for the bloody wound on her head and turning to Minerva, "Is there someone who can look at her head? We can go to St Mungo's if-"

"Lucius," Narcissa said sharply, not giving Minerva a moment to answer. "Where is Draco?"

He sighed with a shake of his head, "'Cissa, he- Draco is dead. One of ours did it, apparently."

It took Narcissa a moment to process his words, but when she was finally about to argue with him that Draco couldn't possibly be dead, she saw his eyes pool with uncharacteristic emotion. He wasn't lying, he wasn't mistaken - their son was dead.

Her knees gave way as though her body was too heavy to be carried, her chest constricting painfully as her body was shutting down. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks, but her mind went completely blank. Narcissa could cope with this physical discomfort, always focusing on it for what was the point in dwelling on the most horrible of situations she could not change?

But why couldn't she just breathe?

"Narcissa, I need you to try to take a deep breath for me," said a voice which felt so far away from her. She felt her hands tingle in her lap, and then rough, comforting hands took her hands in their own.

"Can you look at me?" it said, speaking in an abnormally gentle tone. Lucius.

"I can't," she managed, eyes pleading with him to take the pain away. His thumbs drew circles on her hand, an action she had long since found soothing. If Lucius was mortified by her displays of intense and irrational emotion, he did not say so.

"You can," he replied kindly. "Darling, you'll be alright. Just try and take a breath for me."

It took a few minutes, but her breathing eventually slowed down enough for her to speak. Her heart was still hammering against her chest and an overwhelming feeling of nausea gnawed at her stomach, but she finally managed to look at Lucius who had been crying silently. He had always found it difficult to witness such displays, which Draco had informed her were called 'panic attacks', though he always managed not to become too upset himself.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, swiping away her tears. Looking around, she saw Poppy Pomfrey standing by Minerva and Slughorn. Wand and a little bag in both hands, she assumed the mediwitch had been summoned to heal the wound on her head.

He shook his head, helping her to her feet. He wasn't angry at her for being so quick to dissolve into panic and upset, for now when she really looked into his eyes, she saw the same exhaustion everyone else in the room wore. There was something else in his eyes, though - guilt?

"Mrs Malfoy," came a voice from behind her. Poppy Pomfrey, now closer and eager to fix her head wound spoke once more, "Can I heal your wound?"

"Can't you just give me a potion? I'd really like to go home?"

She looked personally offended, "A head wound with so much blood? Concussion? Just a potion!? Mrs Malfoy, no. Sit! Sit! Minerva, find me something with sugar in it for the girl."

As she was rushed to sit, walking on legs so shaky she thought they might snap, she found a familiar numbness settle over her, not before the flash of dread crossed her mind. Terrible things were afoot. Even though her son was dead and she was in a room with the corpses of children, she had a gut feeling things were bound to get worse. She automatically accepted the potions thrusted into her hand, tipping them down her throat and let their effects take over. Lucius was at her side and the mediwitch working on her head was being far more kind than either of them deserved, but Narcissa stayed quiet. Her sister was in her peripheral vision, stealing the occasional glance at the couple before focusing on the Weasleys once more.

She wondered where they might have been if Narcissa had taken Andromeda up on her offer for protection all those years ago. Though she could never imagine herself accepting her sister's offer, she couldn't help but wonder if such a decision might have saved her son.

"Not a pleasant healing spell, is it?" Madame Pomfrey asked, handing her the last potion which she recognised as a Calming Draught. Severus had brewed her an entire supply of the potions the week before Lucius went to Azkaban and every time she asked. Merlin, Severus was dead too.

"Are you in pain, dear?" she asked, indicating the tears streaming down her cheeks.

Narcissa shook her head, not particularly concerned with the dull pain in her head in light of the news of the death of her son. For it was pain that reminds us that we are alive, and it was love that reminds us of the reasons why.

Would love some feedback if you have time to give it - CW