Author's Note: Recently, I re-read and re-watched Harry Potter after many years and am currently taken with the Lucius/Hermione pairing, so this came out. ;) It's my first HP fic and the first fic I've written after a 6-year writing hiatus due to university stuff. As I'm still getting back in the hang of things, I've been very self-conscious about publishing this and have re-read it to no end to polish it up. ;) It's still in progress and I'd love to hear your feedback! Hope you enjoy reading, stay safe and healthy!

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters.

Sadness and Pain

It was the late evening of July 20th, 1998, and Lucius Malfoy was standing in the large bedroom at Malfoy Manor, fastening the pearl buttons at the back of his wife's nightgown. The balcony door was wide open, as the summer night was warm, and on the balmy breeze wafted the delicate scent of roses from the garden. Narcissa's white, Egyptian cotton-and-lace nightgown was billowing slightly and softly about her; she had lost much weight after the war and she was paler than usual, with hints of dark shadows below her blue eyes. Lucius had gently swept her blonde hair over one of her small, bony shoulders to be able to reach all the buttons. She was looking out the window and despite the warmth of the summer night, she shivered occasionally. She was in pain; he could feel it, and after having done those pearl buttons and watching her closely every single evening since they'd come back home, he knew the pain was worsening. But time after time, she refused to tell him what was wrong. Once he was done with the buttons, he pressed a gentle kiss to the nape of her neck and stood back, taking in her far too slender figure. She turned and looked at him, trying her best to smile; yet he could see that her blue eyes were glistening with tears. "Thank you, Lucius," she told him in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

"Narcissa," he began, but she only started moving away from him. She was speaking less and less by the day, too, as if the act of speech was robbing her of increasingly great strength. With a sigh, he started unfastening the buttons of his own white shirt; but he turned around immediately when he first heard a loud wince of pain, the loudest there had ever come from his wife, and then a thud that sickened his worried heart. Narcissa had stumbled on the Persian carpet and was lying on the fishbone parquet flooring; now, she was clearly crying. In a split second, Lucius was kneeling down next to her, murmuring words of comfort. He took both of her hands in his and was startled to find how cold they were to the touch. "Cissy … let me help you … we will get you up …" She nodded, breathing deeply and raggedly. She was no longer trying to hide the tears that were now trickling down her pale, colourless cheeks. First, Lucius was thinking of pulling her up and supporting her until they got to the bed – on second thoughts, he gathered her up and carried her there, gently putting her down and covering her up to her collarbone with the linen bedsheets. Her chest was heaving and her eyes were closed. Sobs kept escaping her parted lips and beads of sweat were forming on her forehead. She grabbed his right hand with her left; the golden wedding ring she wore was now too big for her bony finger. And, by god, her hands were cold, so cold. They had never been this cold before. She didn't speak; he pressed his left hand to her cheek. It was cold too, and so was her clammy forehead. She was so frail – and the stumble had somehow caused her to give in fully to what she'd been hiding from him since May.

Lucius Malfoy knew enough of magic to understand fully and finally that Narcissa was suffering of something dark, something so vile than he had never seen the like of it before, despite the fact that he'd devoted significant time to studying the Dark Arts. He knew only two men who were significantly superior in dark magic to him, and both were dead. What was this? Who or what had done this to her? Why was she, time after time, refusing to confide in him? He felt helpless, desperate and angry; seeing Narcissa in so much pain was hurting his heart, yet he could think of no more ways to help her. Over the course of the past months, he'd tried seemingly everything. After the Battle at Hogwarts, they had been at home for a week before she started complaining of feeling weak and tired. She stopped tending to the garden, which used to be her favourite pastime, ate less and less and spent much time resting in the bedroom. She kept losing weight and her cheeks were slowly drained of all colour. Lucius tried spells, the dark ones too, potions, ointments, all sorts of rare ingredients, both nothing could stop his wife's decline. Then came the pain; she never spoke of it, but he could see it in her eyes, in her slow movements, in the way she was biting her lip more and more often. Often, cups of tea or plates would slip from her grasp. She was doing less and less magic, too – and the spells she did never seemed to work properly anymore.

He had known and loved her for long enough to realise she knew what this was. She knew, yet she refused to answer his questions and grant his pleas; she chose to suffer in silence instead. This hurt him – his family had lost much after the war, the respect of the Wizarding World most of all, and it pained him to consider that his wife, too, may have lost trust in him. Many times, she tried to smile and reassured him that she just needed more time. He didn't believe a word of it. He had spoken to Draco, as well, and both used all the friendships and connections they still had, albeit their friends were now few. Lucius never thought twice when it came to paying considerable sums of money for potions and powders and poultices; nothing worked. They went to St. Mungo's several times, sometimes with Narcissa, sometimes on their own, and when every magical solution had been tried and proclaimed a failure, they turned to the Muggle world. Narcissa was first given painkillers of increasing strength, then patches, then drops; those seemed to alleviate her pain at least somehow, but she became increasingly drowsy, spoke less and spent entire days in their bedroom, no longer moving downstairs or to the garden. She had stopped eating nearly everything a few days before the 20th; all her house-elf could make her eat were soups, blended fruit and lemon water. Both Lucius and Draco were becoming increasingly desperate.

Tonight, Draco was out with Astoria Greengrass; he'd been reluctant to go, but over the course of a long conversation in the study, Lucius persuaded him to do so. "Your mother would want you to go," he had told his son, "She would want you to get to know this girl, to fall in love with her and marry her and be happy. She doesn't want you to grieve. I suspect this is why she keeps refusing to talk to us." Draco had nodded with tears in his eyes. "But it's not working, father," he had whispered while reaching for the floo powder. So now, Lucius and Narcissa were alone in the Manor. As Lucius was standing by the bed and holding Narcissa's hand, tears came to his own eyes. Narcissa's breathing had quietened, but she was still crying, and her grip on his hand was weak. The intimate connection between them was trembling with strong emotions; pain, fear, suffering, helplessness. This was dark magic, darker than everything he knew. He had had his own suspicions for a while, and they had been confirmed by a healer in St. Mungo's when Draco had been out of earshot.

Narcissa's life was leaving her. There was no cure. And now, at her bedside, he finally came face-to-face with this endlessly painful fact.

He couldn't help her; there was no way to do so. This tugged at his heartstrings so painfully he'd have chosen submitting himself to the Cruciatus Curse sooner than enduring it; physical pain was nothing compared to the emotional pain and helplessness he was now feeling at his wife's side. There had been a man, once, who might have been able to help her – but Severus Snape was dead. He stroked the back of her hand gently. "Cissy," he whispered, "my darling." His voice broke. "If only I could help you … if only I could take this pain from you and suffer it myself …"

Her eyes opened, she took a ragged breath and tried to smile through her pain. "Oh, Lucius," she whispered as tears kept streaming down her cheeks, "I had hoped it would be different … quicker … painless … that you and Draco would not have to see this …" Immediately, Lucius was alarmed, so much that he raised his voice. "You know what this is! Narcissa! Tell me! Tell me now! Tell me what this is!" Immediately, he was sorry for nearly shouting at her. "I'm sorry, my dear," he whispered to her, "I'm so, so sorry. But your pain is mine and I can barely bear to see you like this. Please … Cissa, please … if you know what this is … tell me, please …" He gazed upon her with his grey eyes and didn't bother wiping away a couple of tears that were slowly sliding down his stubbled cheek.

She was still lying down, but she kept her eyes opened and her grip on his hand had become a little stronger. He raised his other hand to cup her cheek, gently brushing away the tears. "When you were away in Azkaban," she finally began, and Lucius immediately felt a hot rage flaming up in his chest. So it was that. He had feared something like this. He tried to keep his face even, still gently stroking her cheek. Slowly, she went on. Every word she spoke seemed to tire her greatly. "The Dark Lord summoned me to him. We were alone … even Bella was not there … he spoke of punishing you … of taking something you held dear … he said I could choose. Between Draco …" She took a deep breath and shivered. "And myself. He would murder Draco or kill me. I told him to kill me … and spare our son." Her entire face was covered in sweat now and strands of her blonde hair were stuck to her cheeks. Her voice was a whisper so faint he now had to lean down and let her speak into his ear.

"He gave me a cup filled with some potion … I drank … he promised it would weaken me slowly … so slowly you would suffer as well … there is no cure, Lucius. But you know that. I had hoped that his death would lift the curse … but it went on … I thought of leaving you and dying alone … but I couldn't leave you … I love you both so … Lucius, my love … I feel it … life is leaving me."

Narcissa closed her eyes and Lucius felt his knees give in. He sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the warm breeze from the garden on his skin yet feeling as cold as he'd never felt before. He lifted Narcissa's hand to his lips, tears now streaming freely from his grey eyes, spattering his trousers and the linen bedsheets. Never in his life had he felt this helpless. Never had he felt such pain, such heartbreak, such sadness and such anger. His voice was now a whisper too. "Narcissa … Cissa … don't leave me … please, don't leave me …"

"You were always different from them, Lucius," she whispered, "You always had the gift of love. My dear … promise me … promise me that you and our son will seize this chance at life. My love … promise me … promise me that you will live … don't linger, my love … don't linger on me." Both husband and wife were crying. Gently, Lucius gathered her up in his hands, hugging her tiny body close to his chest. "No, Cissa, no," he told her in a hoarse whisper, "I will always be with you." Again, she tried to smile through her tears of pain, "No, my love … promise me … promise me to live …" She indicated feebly and Lucius understood her wish. He sank his head to meet her lips with his and he kissed her softly, slowly. Her lips tasted of salty tears.

"Yes, my darling," he told her in a voice so full of pain that words could barely be heard, "I promise you. I promise you to live. Draco and I will live."

She leaned back and he gently lowered her into his lap. "Where is Draco?" Lucius leaned down and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead. "He is visiting Astoria Greengrass. He did not wish to go, but I told him you would like that." She smiled, content. "Yes. You were right, my love. That is how it should be." When she fell asleep in his arms, she was smiling. Hours passed with Lucius cradling her like this, brooding and crying. From time to time, he caressed her cheek or planted a kiss on her forehead. In the middle of the night, she woke up with a cry of pain and started writhing in his arms, helplessly clutching at his clothes and his hair. She was no longer whispering; now, she was crying out in pain. "Lucius, Lucius, please … it hurts so much … this is too much." He pressed her to his chest again, murmuring and caressing her and crying into her blonde hair. His chest was filled in equal parts with sadness and anger; Voldemort had always known his family was his weakness. Lucius had never been a good occlumens, so it was easy to see how much he loved his wife and son. And Voldemort, even now, in death, was taking her from him … taking Narcissa, the love of his life.

The next time Narcissa cried out, the words made him shiver. "Lucius! Use the Curse on me … I can't take this any longer! Use the Unforgivable! Save me!" She sank into his lap, burying her face in his shirt. "It's as though he was breaking my bones … Lucius! LUCIUS!" He made his decision in a split second; despite her cries, he laid her onto the mattress gently and stood up; he had not changed his clothes and was still wearing a white shirt, albeit it was now wet and crumpled, and black trousers. He slipped on a pair of black patent leather shoes, the first pair he noticed, and fastened a black travelling cloak around his shoulders with trembling fingers. Then, he strode back to the bed and gathered Narcissa up in his arms, whispering words of comfort. The pain was now so strong she no longer seemed to be aware of what was going on, nor of his presence. She kept crying out his name. He chose to travel by Apparition, and after another loud cry of pain and a quiet popping sound, both were gone from the bedroom.

The rest was a flurry; he carried a crying Narcissa inside St. Mungo's and was soon surrounded by a small cluster of healers. He laid his wife onto a bed they provided; by now, it seemed she had spent the last ounces of her strength. She was no longer writhing and no longer crying out, only whimpering quietly. Again, tears came to his eyes. He hugged her, whispering into her ear in a hoarse voice. "I'm here, Cissa. I love you. Stay with me. Stay with me." Soon, some of the healers were rushing him out of the room while others were congregating around the bed. After resisting them loudly for a few moments, he gave in and let an elderly woman guide him out of the room, towards a worn armchair by a large window. He sat down heavily, exhausted from all the grief and pain. His long, light hair was matted and dishevelled. For a moment, he looked out at the bright lights of London, then buried his face in his hands and cried. He cried for a long time. At some point in the early hours, he fell into a troubled sleep.

He woke to find sunlight bathing his face. He felt fuzzy and he knew from the way his eyes stung when he blinked that they were all puffy. When he moved, his limbs and back hurt; the armchair was old and worn and not exactly comfortable. His clothes were creased and his long blonde hair was unkempt. He had slept in his travelling cloak and was a far cry away from his characteristic aristocratic appearance. After an initial moment of confusion, he realised with a jolt why he had slept in an armchair; he got up immediately and set off to seek out a healer, without doing anything about his appearance. By recalling wisps of memory of the night, he found the room he'd carried Narcissa into. The curtains around her bed were drawn and two healers were standing in the room, apparently deep in conversation. Lucius entered without knocking and if the two healers were shocked by his appearance, they didn't show it. Instead, one of them, a silver-haired man in dark green robes, sent the other man, who was younger and clad in robes of light green, away. Then, he turned to Lucius and cleared his throat. "Mr. Malfoy … I regret to tell you that nothing could ease your wife's pain. This is most vile magic – I have never treated anything like this. The pain has exhausted her. She is sleeping now, but leaving us still. I believe … she will not have to suffer another night." The old healer reached out to touch Lucius' shoulder. "I am so very sorry." He moved towards the door, turning back again as reached for the door handle. "Sleep is the only escape she has left. Once she wakes, she will surely take comfort in your presence." Lucius nodded and did not speak. He was unable to think, unable to speak, unable to act. He could only feel the pain of loss, entwined with blazing anger. He collapsed into a chair by the bedside, only to get up a few moments later. Draco. Draco has to know.

Taking one more lingering look at his sleeping wife, he strode out of the room and navigated some corridors and staircases to reach the hospital exit. He paid no attention to the people he was passing. Once outside and in a narrow, deserted side street, he Disapparated back to Malfoy Manor. There, he found a worried Draco pacing up and down his study. At the faint popping sound caused by Lucius' Apparition, he looked around and instantly voiced his concern. "What happened? No one was here when I got home last night. What's wrong?" Lucius wanted nothing more than collapse into the nearest armchair, but he struggled to remain standing. He knew everything about his unkempt appearance screamed that something had happened to Narcissa. "Draco," he began, holding his son's gaze; their grey eyes were so alike. "Your mother was in great pain last night. It hurt so much that she begged me to kill her. I took her to St. Mungo's. We should go back there now." He paused and noticed that Draco's jaw was quivering. His son knew what was coming next. When Lucius spoke again, his voice was hoarse and barely more than a whisper. "She is dying."

They spent most of the day in Narcissa's room at St. Mungo's, sitting by her bedside on rough, wooden chairs. Quietly, Lucius recounted to Draco what Narcissa had told him the previous night. Draco buried his face in his hands and set that way, unflinching, for the better part of an hour before looking up again and gazing at his father with puffy eyes. Lucius had never seen his son so hurt, so lost, so sad. There was a window; occasionally, one of them got up to pace the length of the room and look down at the bustling city. Both had dark shadows under their grey eyes and the lack of sleep was getting to them. However, they kept to their silent vigil. The sun had set behind the buildings of London and the room was awash in an orange glow before Narcissa woke from her sleep. Her husband and her son had both been holding one of her hands and she now squeezed each of their hands with a small, grateful smile. "Draco," she whispered, "My dear Draco." Draco moved closer to her, tears filling his eyes. "Mother." He inhaled raggedly before he spoke on. "Mother … please stay. I need you. We need you." She smiled again. "I will always be with you, my dear. I will be here," she reached out with a bony hand and touched the part of his chest where his heart was. Lucius noticed she was no longer wearing the golden wedding ring.

"My son," Narcissa went on, "my beautiful boy. Keep this. It will remind you of me when your times are dark." She reached out with her other hand, opened Draco's palm and dropped something into it, closing his fingers around the object. Slowly, Draco opened his hand and there, on pale skin, rested a glinting, golden ring. Lucius watched as their son picked the ring up, turning it and examining the delicate engraving on the inside. Lucius knew what it said, he'd done it himself. I Will Love You Always. He could feel a lump forming in his throat as he continued watching Draco, who was now crying openly at his mother's bedside. "Draco," Narcissa spoke softly, cupping his cheek with her right hand. "Promise me … go back to Hogwarts … treat people well … all of them … may you be happy … be happy in life, my son." Draco closed his hand around the ring Narcissa had given to him and nodded, his face a grimace of pain and grief. He couldn't speak. It seemed that speaking had tired Narcissa; her voice was quieter when she turned to her husband.

"Lucius … my love. Take care of yourself. Help Draco. Live on, my love. I love you. I love you both." With tears in his eyes, Lucius leaned down and gently touched his lips to Narcissa's. He felt her hands in his long hair, then on his cheeks. He kept his eyes closed. It was the last time. It was the last time he would ever feel this touch. When he broke the kiss, after what felt like an eternity, a vacuum in time, his tears were glistening on Narcissa's face. "There is no more pain," she told him in a whisper. "Cissa …" he began, but she shook her head faintly. "I know, Lucius. I know." She was slowly beginning to drift back into sleep. Her husband and her son leaned back slightly, still holding her hands. They remained that way, in silence, until night fell and moonlight bathed Narcissa's pale face. Neither chose to turn on the lights, even though they could have done it by magic. Narcissa sighed, and again, and again. She gave their hands a final squeeze. Lucius kissed her forehead one last time. Draco reached out to touch her cheek.

Shortly before midnight, she was gone.

They did not contact The Daily Prophet for an obituary and they only notified a handful of people of Narcissa's death. On a grey, blustery morning, they buried her in the Malfoy family grave and Lucius, using his new wand, engraved her name into the white marble tombstone. Astoria Greengrass came, laying a wreath of white lilies and hugging Draco for a drawn-out while before she left, and Andromeda Tonks, who had suffered the deaths of her husband and daughter before her sister now lay dead as well. Some others came, offered their condolences, and left again. Lucius and Draco remained behind, cloaks flapping and hair ruffled by the wind. Lucius waved his wand and laid down a wreath of red roses. Draco was wearing his mother's ring on a silver chain around his neck, touching it as he looked down on the grave. "I will be a healer, father," he spoke after a few minutes' silence, his voice hoarse. "No one should have to suffer like mother." Lucius laid a hand on Draco's shoulder. "I am proud of you, my son. And I know your mother would be proud as well."

Again, they stood in silence for some time before Lucius turned to Draco. "I am to be tried in front of the Wizengamot again tomorrow afternoon. Will you come with me?"

Draco nodded and the two men embraced beside Narcissa's grave.