Chapter Eleven: Loss
Narcissa Amourje was unarguably the prettiest girl in Bauxbattons. As early as third year, Narcissa had captured many of the male population's eyes. She was in the top of her class, and star Chaser of her Quidditch team. Yes, many people thought she had it made. Even her boyfriend, whom she had met in a summer vacation to London, was perfect. He was wealthy, handsome, and wise. Their engagement was of no surprise to anybody who could plainly see the love and devotion she had for her fiance. Though one would have trouble reading his eyes, inscrutable as they were.
But her life was as perfect as it can get. She married Lucius Malfoy, and within a year they had a beautiful baby boy. Life for Narcissa couldn't possibly get any better.
And it never did.
Because before her son could even reach the age of two, the wizarding world was thrown into chaos. Families were ruined, and her's was no exception. Within their second anniversary did Narcissa realize that Lucius was working for the Dark Lord all along — the very demon who caused her wake up late at night, screaming for the life of her. She begged Lucius to cut all ties he had with Voldemort, but he refused. When she threatened to leave him, he bound her. He threatened her back, promising that he'd harm their child if she'd ever step out of line. But it wasn't just out of pure fear did Narcissa comply. Deep down, she still loved her husband, though she did not know which feeling was stronger.
So for years Narcissa had to step back while Lucius corrupted their child, filling his head with all sorts of morals and values that sent a shiver down Narcissa's spine. It only burned her heart more to find her son, fully grown and speaking like his father. She tried her best to keep some humanity in her son, nurturing and loving him when Lucius was not around.
It was most devastating for Narcissa indeed, when word of her husband's death reached her. She did not mourn for her husband, for it had been long since she had stopped loving him. She felt sympathy for her son, who had to go through his own hell by having to kill his own father. But she knew it was for the best, for Lucius had been planning Draco's death as well. And she knew that it was no one's fault but her's. It was because of her constant attempts to salvage her son's conscience, that she had brought on Draco's death sentence. Because, to Lucius, a son with a soul is faulty. And Lucius Malfoy does not own anything faulty. So the planning began, unbeknownst to Draco, who in turn had plans of his own.
It was a few months after Lucius' death, did Narcissa get admitted into St. Mungo's. Rumors circulated the wizarding world, all saying she had been driven mad from grief. Her family, like many others affected by the Dark Lord, was torn to pieces.
Narcissa Malfoy did not mourn for her dead husband — she mourned for her dead family.
* * *
The hallways of St. Mungo's were always cold. The chilling air did nothing to soothe Draco's mood as he continued down the narrow passageway. He'd always had a strong dislike for hospitals, and this one was no exception. His black clad stuck out vividly against the hospital's white walls and tiles, yet he moved as if he belonged there. But St. Mungo's was one place Draco did not want to belong in.
He forced those thoughts to the back of his head, however, when he turned a corner and found himself in a short hallway that held four doors. He stopped in front of the farthest, and unwillingly began to shiver. He clenched his fists and stuffed them in his pockets, allowing himself a few moments to regain his composure.
It never came.
He began to sweat, setting aside the fact that the hallway must've been below 0. His breaths came out in short and shallow gasps, and he suddenly found himself feeling very young and vulnerable. After taking a long, deep breath, he pushed the door open and walked in.
"Hello Mother," he said, feeling the world around him shatter as Narcissa Malfoy gave him a blank look.
* * *
"She's GONE?!"
Dumbledore's office, once calm and tranquil, shook under Ron's bellows.
"Ron, calm down," said Hermione, tugging at his sweater to try and get him to sit back down. But Ron Weasley could not be 'calmed down', not when his little sister was kidnapped. He had been mutilating Hermione's bishop in a game of Wizard's Chess when they receieved an urgent message from Dumbledore. Needless to say, Ron was not happy.
"I don't get it," Ron said, pacing through the room, inadvertently stepping over the other occupants' feet. "Ginny — kidnapped? How?"
Dumbledore only shook his head solemnly.
"Your guess is as good as mine."
But that wasn't good enough for Ron. He rushed to Dumledore's desk, slamming his hands along the edge to hold himself up.
"There must be something!"
Dumbledore, slightly surprised by Ron's determination, blinked. After a few moments, in which Ron realized that he had just yelled at Albus Dumbledore and sat back down, Dumbledore gave Snape a curt nod. Snape stood, and placed an envelope from his pocket down on Dumbledore's desk.
"We received this letter," said Snape, "just moments before you arrived."
Harry, who had been rather quiet throughout the whole meeting, furrowed his brows thoughtfully.
"Did you cast a spell to check who it's from?"
Snape shook his head.
"We haven't even gotten it open yet."
"Why not?" asked Hermione, peering over at the simple white envelope.
"Whoever sent it put some sort of charm on it," Snape explained, frowning. "The only person who can open it is the one it's addressed to."
"And that person is...?" frowned Harry.
Snape glared at him. If Harry was still a student, Snape would've handed him detention right then and there. But instead he answered, a smirk tugging on his lips.
"Draco Malfoy."
* * *
The pain was unlike anything Draco had ever felt before. Not even when he was seven, and he had fallen into a cage of highly fussy hipogriffs in the Hogsmeade Zoo. He felt a lump fall into his throat, and he suddenly wanted to throw it up.
Narcissa Malfoy sat in her cell like a child, with her ler long, pale legs sticking out of the frilly yellow nightgown she wore. Her face was impassive — completely blank. She only blinked at Draco to acknowledge his presence, then continued to stare into space.
The wall Draco had built around his heart crumbled, and it was all he could do to stop from falling apart right then and there. His bottom lip quavered threateningly, and the grip he had on his robes tightened.
"Mother," he tried again. His voice was shaky and rough due to the lump that still occupied his throat.
Narcissa did not even blink. He shut his eyes tightly. Draco Malfoy did not cry. Not once since he had been taught at a young age that crying only showed a sign of weakness. His cheeks remained dry and tearless, though his heart was in pieces.
"I'm sorry it took me so long since my last visit," he croaked out, eyes still shut. "I went out and got myself a flat in London. It's not very big, but cozy enough. There was an offer to be a teacher's assistant for Professor Snape, so I might do that. It's not official yet, though..." he trailed off, not really knowing what to say. He opened his eyes finally, and saw that Narcissa hadn't even moved at all. The overwhelming feeling overcame him again, but he forced his eyes open. He lowered his head and tore his gaze away.
"Bullocks," he muttered to himself. What was the point? Why did he even bother? She wouldn't say anything, just like all his other visits. Narcissa Malfoy was gone. Her body was still very much alive, but her spirit died along with Lucius.
Draco had killed them both.
"Draco?" came a soft and rusty voice, filling the silence that had settled in.
Draco's head shot up, and he stared at his mother. Narcissa had turned her head to him, her face etched with confusion.
"Mother?" he asked, barely believing it. She had never spoken before.
"Who are you?" she said, worry and panic in her voice.
Draco blinked. His mother was looking at him with a bewildered look. "Draco," he answered, unsure if he should be happy or shocked.
"You're not Draco," Narcissa told him, shaking her head and looking at him with utmost fear in her eyes. Draco's brows furrowed. He opened his mouth to speak but found he had nothing to say.
"Get away from me," she hissed, glaring daggers at her son.
Draco shook his head slowly. "Mother, it's me — Draco!"
"No!" Narcissa screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks. "You're not Draco! Stay away from my son!" she screamed, and turned her head to shout at the empty wall beside him. "Run, Draco! Run away!"
Draco didn't know what to do. She had never been like this in his other visits — she never even talked before. She thought he was a completely different person, and spoke to the wall like it was him. He approached her slowly, looking to comfort her, when she screamed again.
"Stay away from me!" she screeched, curling herself into a ball and sobbing madly. "Stay away from my family!"
"Mother, what — "
"Murderer!" she sobbed, pressing herself against the wall in hopes to get as far away from him as possible. Draco stopped almost immediately, and stared.
"Leave us alone!" she screamed. "Leave my family alone!"
Draco couldn't fathom it. Her words cut through him like a freshly-sharpened dagger, and all he wanted to do right then was disappear. His mother, the only person he ever truly loved, believed he was a murderer. True that he did kill his own father, but he had to. There was no other way around it.
"Mother...," Draco tried again, but Narcissa wouldn't hear of it. She looked away and continued her sobs. Draco could only watch on helplessly. Feeling every form of pain, he dashed out of the room and into the hallway. In his haste, he stumbled over himself and fell. Though he still had the strength, he did not bother to lift himself up. He remained on the freezing floor, hoping to drown himself in the tears that finally came.
* * *
In her cell, Narcissa Malfoy shivered.
"Run, Draco," she whispered, allowing her tears to stream down her cheeks silently. She held herself, digging her nails in so hard that she bled.
"He's so close to you..."
----------------------
A/N: Yes, Narcissa is French. At least in this fic, she is. Amourje is a combination of the French words amour and je, which mean love and me. I think it's pretty fitting, considering her first name is from the word narcist or narcissism, which is somebody who is in love with themself. Oh, and I apologize if Draco's a bit of a 'wuss' in this chapter. I wanted to make it a clear point how much Narcissa means to Draco, her being the only loving atmosphere in Draco's troubled childhood. But don't worry, Draco gets pratty in the next chapter.
Very special thanks to Joya, Miss B/Beth, Rym Poe, and Robin Madison for their marvelous reviews. You guys are the driving force behind my determination to finish this fic!
Chapter Twelve; In which Harry swallows his pride, Draco is once again drunk, Ginny wakes up in a bedroom, and Dumbledore makes an enormous request.
Narcissa Amourje was unarguably the prettiest girl in Bauxbattons. As early as third year, Narcissa had captured many of the male population's eyes. She was in the top of her class, and star Chaser of her Quidditch team. Yes, many people thought she had it made. Even her boyfriend, whom she had met in a summer vacation to London, was perfect. He was wealthy, handsome, and wise. Their engagement was of no surprise to anybody who could plainly see the love and devotion she had for her fiance. Though one would have trouble reading his eyes, inscrutable as they were.
But her life was as perfect as it can get. She married Lucius Malfoy, and within a year they had a beautiful baby boy. Life for Narcissa couldn't possibly get any better.
And it never did.
Because before her son could even reach the age of two, the wizarding world was thrown into chaos. Families were ruined, and her's was no exception. Within their second anniversary did Narcissa realize that Lucius was working for the Dark Lord all along — the very demon who caused her wake up late at night, screaming for the life of her. She begged Lucius to cut all ties he had with Voldemort, but he refused. When she threatened to leave him, he bound her. He threatened her back, promising that he'd harm their child if she'd ever step out of line. But it wasn't just out of pure fear did Narcissa comply. Deep down, she still loved her husband, though she did not know which feeling was stronger.
So for years Narcissa had to step back while Lucius corrupted their child, filling his head with all sorts of morals and values that sent a shiver down Narcissa's spine. It only burned her heart more to find her son, fully grown and speaking like his father. She tried her best to keep some humanity in her son, nurturing and loving him when Lucius was not around.
It was most devastating for Narcissa indeed, when word of her husband's death reached her. She did not mourn for her husband, for it had been long since she had stopped loving him. She felt sympathy for her son, who had to go through his own hell by having to kill his own father. But she knew it was for the best, for Lucius had been planning Draco's death as well. And she knew that it was no one's fault but her's. It was because of her constant attempts to salvage her son's conscience, that she had brought on Draco's death sentence. Because, to Lucius, a son with a soul is faulty. And Lucius Malfoy does not own anything faulty. So the planning began, unbeknownst to Draco, who in turn had plans of his own.
It was a few months after Lucius' death, did Narcissa get admitted into St. Mungo's. Rumors circulated the wizarding world, all saying she had been driven mad from grief. Her family, like many others affected by the Dark Lord, was torn to pieces.
Narcissa Malfoy did not mourn for her dead husband — she mourned for her dead family.
The hallways of St. Mungo's were always cold. The chilling air did nothing to soothe Draco's mood as he continued down the narrow passageway. He'd always had a strong dislike for hospitals, and this one was no exception. His black clad stuck out vividly against the hospital's white walls and tiles, yet he moved as if he belonged there. But St. Mungo's was one place Draco did not want to belong in.
He forced those thoughts to the back of his head, however, when he turned a corner and found himself in a short hallway that held four doors. He stopped in front of the farthest, and unwillingly began to shiver. He clenched his fists and stuffed them in his pockets, allowing himself a few moments to regain his composure.
It never came.
He began to sweat, setting aside the fact that the hallway must've been below 0. His breaths came out in short and shallow gasps, and he suddenly found himself feeling very young and vulnerable. After taking a long, deep breath, he pushed the door open and walked in.
"Hello Mother," he said, feeling the world around him shatter as Narcissa Malfoy gave him a blank look.
"She's GONE?!"
Dumbledore's office, once calm and tranquil, shook under Ron's bellows.
"Ron, calm down," said Hermione, tugging at his sweater to try and get him to sit back down. But Ron Weasley could not be 'calmed down', not when his little sister was kidnapped. He had been mutilating Hermione's bishop in a game of Wizard's Chess when they receieved an urgent message from Dumbledore. Needless to say, Ron was not happy.
"I don't get it," Ron said, pacing through the room, inadvertently stepping over the other occupants' feet. "Ginny — kidnapped? How?"
Dumbledore only shook his head solemnly.
"Your guess is as good as mine."
But that wasn't good enough for Ron. He rushed to Dumledore's desk, slamming his hands along the edge to hold himself up.
"There must be something!"
Dumbledore, slightly surprised by Ron's determination, blinked. After a few moments, in which Ron realized that he had just yelled at Albus Dumbledore and sat back down, Dumbledore gave Snape a curt nod. Snape stood, and placed an envelope from his pocket down on Dumbledore's desk.
"We received this letter," said Snape, "just moments before you arrived."
Harry, who had been rather quiet throughout the whole meeting, furrowed his brows thoughtfully.
"Did you cast a spell to check who it's from?"
Snape shook his head.
"We haven't even gotten it open yet."
"Why not?" asked Hermione, peering over at the simple white envelope.
"Whoever sent it put some sort of charm on it," Snape explained, frowning. "The only person who can open it is the one it's addressed to."
"And that person is...?" frowned Harry.
Snape glared at him. If Harry was still a student, Snape would've handed him detention right then and there. But instead he answered, a smirk tugging on his lips.
"Draco Malfoy."
The pain was unlike anything Draco had ever felt before. Not even when he was seven, and he had fallen into a cage of highly fussy hipogriffs in the Hogsmeade Zoo. He felt a lump fall into his throat, and he suddenly wanted to throw it up.
Narcissa Malfoy sat in her cell like a child, with her ler long, pale legs sticking out of the frilly yellow nightgown she wore. Her face was impassive — completely blank. She only blinked at Draco to acknowledge his presence, then continued to stare into space.
The wall Draco had built around his heart crumbled, and it was all he could do to stop from falling apart right then and there. His bottom lip quavered threateningly, and the grip he had on his robes tightened.
"Mother," he tried again. His voice was shaky and rough due to the lump that still occupied his throat.
Narcissa did not even blink. He shut his eyes tightly. Draco Malfoy did not cry. Not once since he had been taught at a young age that crying only showed a sign of weakness. His cheeks remained dry and tearless, though his heart was in pieces.
"I'm sorry it took me so long since my last visit," he croaked out, eyes still shut. "I went out and got myself a flat in London. It's not very big, but cozy enough. There was an offer to be a teacher's assistant for Professor Snape, so I might do that. It's not official yet, though..." he trailed off, not really knowing what to say. He opened his eyes finally, and saw that Narcissa hadn't even moved at all. The overwhelming feeling overcame him again, but he forced his eyes open. He lowered his head and tore his gaze away.
"Bullocks," he muttered to himself. What was the point? Why did he even bother? She wouldn't say anything, just like all his other visits. Narcissa Malfoy was gone. Her body was still very much alive, but her spirit died along with Lucius.
Draco had killed them both.
"Draco?" came a soft and rusty voice, filling the silence that had settled in.
Draco's head shot up, and he stared at his mother. Narcissa had turned her head to him, her face etched with confusion.
"Mother?" he asked, barely believing it. She had never spoken before.
"Who are you?" she said, worry and panic in her voice.
Draco blinked. His mother was looking at him with a bewildered look. "Draco," he answered, unsure if he should be happy or shocked.
"You're not Draco," Narcissa told him, shaking her head and looking at him with utmost fear in her eyes. Draco's brows furrowed. He opened his mouth to speak but found he had nothing to say.
"Get away from me," she hissed, glaring daggers at her son.
Draco shook his head slowly. "Mother, it's me — Draco!"
"No!" Narcissa screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks. "You're not Draco! Stay away from my son!" she screamed, and turned her head to shout at the empty wall beside him. "Run, Draco! Run away!"
Draco didn't know what to do. She had never been like this in his other visits — she never even talked before. She thought he was a completely different person, and spoke to the wall like it was him. He approached her slowly, looking to comfort her, when she screamed again.
"Stay away from me!" she screeched, curling herself into a ball and sobbing madly. "Stay away from my family!"
"Mother, what — "
"Murderer!" she sobbed, pressing herself against the wall in hopes to get as far away from him as possible. Draco stopped almost immediately, and stared.
"Leave us alone!" she screamed. "Leave my family alone!"
Draco couldn't fathom it. Her words cut through him like a freshly-sharpened dagger, and all he wanted to do right then was disappear. His mother, the only person he ever truly loved, believed he was a murderer. True that he did kill his own father, but he had to. There was no other way around it.
"Mother...," Draco tried again, but Narcissa wouldn't hear of it. She looked away and continued her sobs. Draco could only watch on helplessly. Feeling every form of pain, he dashed out of the room and into the hallway. In his haste, he stumbled over himself and fell. Though he still had the strength, he did not bother to lift himself up. He remained on the freezing floor, hoping to drown himself in the tears that finally came.
In her cell, Narcissa Malfoy shivered.
"Run, Draco," she whispered, allowing her tears to stream down her cheeks silently. She held herself, digging her nails in so hard that she bled.
"He's so close to you..."
----------------------
A/N: Yes, Narcissa is French. At least in this fic, she is. Amourje is a combination of the French words amour and je, which mean love and me. I think it's pretty fitting, considering her first name is from the word narcist or narcissism, which is somebody who is in love with themself. Oh, and I apologize if Draco's a bit of a 'wuss' in this chapter. I wanted to make it a clear point how much Narcissa means to Draco, her being the only loving atmosphere in Draco's troubled childhood. But don't worry, Draco gets pratty in the next chapter.
Very special thanks to Joya, Miss B/Beth, Rym Poe, and Robin Madison for their marvelous reviews. You guys are the driving force behind my determination to finish this fic!
Chapter Twelve; In which Harry swallows his pride, Draco is once again drunk, Ginny wakes up in a bedroom, and Dumbledore makes an enormous request.