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NORTH
ft. Narcissa Malfoy
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Not for the first time, Narcissa was awake long after Lucius fell asleep next to her, rolling her wand in one hand as she looked assessingly at her husband's sleeping face. He was so quiet in his sleep. Not nearly as pushy and demanding as he was during the day, commanding her to quiet Draco 'lest he do it himself.
Narcissa often wondered at how easy it would be to kill him.
Asleep as he was, Narcissa knew a hundred different spells that could kill him, both simple —a cutting curse she'd first learned when she was seven— and complex —the blood boiling curse Aunt Walburga taught her when she was fifteen.
She'd get away with it, too. Aunt Walburga had taught her to always have an escape plan; there were a few estranged Black cousins living up North that would take her in if she asked. It was far enough that Narcissa would be able to disappear, change her name and let the dye run out until her hair was the properly curly Black hair her sisters had so loved.
But every time Narcissa thought about running North, she saw her son. Draco, with his tiny little hands and handsome gray eyes and toothy little smile he always had when he toddled around a room. But Lucius loved Draco — Narcissa knew that very well — and she never felt quite right about taking such a loving parent away from her son.
She would, though, if it ever looked like Draco was becoming just a little too much like his father. Narcissa didn't want her darling to grow up a Malfoy. He'd be much better off a Black… but with the way her family disappeared through the war, Narcissa knew she wouldn't be able to scrounge up the proper Black family welcome.
Malfoy it was, then.
"Next Halloween," Narcissa told the cool air, setting her wand aside and laying down, squeezing her eyes closed. "I'll think about it again next Halloween."