Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me.
A/N: This is kind of a little character study on Narcissa.
There had always been something like an unwritten rule that stated that proper pureblood mothers were affectionate in public, but never really loved their sons, for lack of a better term. Her own mother had gushed over her 'Cissy darling' whenever company came around, but the moment they left her alcoholic and bitter side came out, in full force.
The moment Narcissa saw her perfect little son, she lost all the will she had had to make that rule a part of her life. She could not help but coo over his tiny toes and marvel at his twinkling gray eyes that she knew would learn to hide emotions all too soon. No matter how many times Lucius pointed out that all babies had ten fingers and toes, and two eyes and most certainly could yawn, she found something new to adore in the little boy who had taken over all of her heart. Anyhow, Lucius couldn't understand.
He just wasn't a mother.
But, then, neither was her dear Draco, so he grew up with a lack of understanding that stabbed her when he pushed away her kisses or hesitated to tell her that he loved her. But she gave all her everything to him anyway, because that was all she could do. And she hoped that he would grow and mature, and realize that love was a good thing, and maybe his heart would feel as full when he saw her as hers did when she glanced at him.
But when she glanced at him again, painfully aware of how his fingers and toes had grown, and how he lazily covered his yawns, so his eyes that were hard and cool now never crinkled like they used to, her eyes fell on the black mark on his arm. And she realized that she had lost her boy forever.
Her throat tightened, and it took all the self-control she had learned at the knee of a drunken, raging mother not to scream, not to dig her nails into her little boys arm so as to rip off the hated black thing that had stolen her child from her.
No. Child no longer.
So when Draco calmly informed her that he had taken on a position that meant certain death, all she could do was embrace him, and whisper that he was her boy forever.
Even in death.
And when she looked at the white, marble stone that stood for ten toes and two eyes, a yawn that brought dimples out into plump cheeks, she thought that perhaps it would have been easier to harden her heart and never let her boy in. Maybe those who had lost before had seen some wisdom.
But she couldn't have done it.
After all, she was a mother.