Disclaimer: I do not own the world of Harry Potter.
She stares at the mark on her arm, wondering what she's doing. Is this what she wants? It's what Lucius wants, she knows — and isn't that the same thing?
She smiles bitterly. She is a pureblood, and her life is dictated by tradition. What her husband wants is what she wants, so far as the rest of the world is concerned. But inside — she wants so much to be more than Mrs. Malfoy. If only she could just be Narcissa Black, just one more time.
Tomorrow, the Mark will beckon to her, and she will apparate at Lucius's side, appearing before the Dark Lord. He will give her an assignment; she does not want to think what he will want her to do. But she will do it, because Lucius wants her to bear the Mark and serve the Dark Lord, and she always obeys Lucius. Tomorrow, Lucius will speak, and she will bow her head and do as he wishes.
But today, she walks out of Lucius's manor, not the enormous double doors in the front, but the side entrance into the garden. She lets herself out the gate, and hurries up the slope, hoping she has not been seen. At last, she is out of sight, and she slows, straightening, and allowing herself to inhale deeply of the early autumn air. For hours, she wanders the lonely moors, lying on her back to watch the clouds, standing waist-deep in the swaying grass, facing into the wind. And as she dances for the last time to the wind's wild rhythm, she manages to forget the Mark that burns on her arm.
Tomorrow, she will be Mrs. Malfoy.
But today, just one last time, she is Narcissa Black.