Three days after the ending of the Dark Lord's reign, Narcissa Malfoy was allowed back into her house. The Ministry had been all through it, documenting everything. Anything that was bled on, they took. Anything that was broken, they took. Her steps echoed through the house ominously, making her feel that this wasn't home anymore.
She walked into the Open Room on the second floor and found it completely empty. This was where it happened, and so everything was confiscated. It was called the Open Room for a reason, however; there wasn't much there but a few statues, to begin with.
The light sparkled on the wooden floor, and there was no evidence of what happened, but she could remember it all vividly. She stared at the corner in front of the Flooplace and could picture the Dark Lord standing there tall and evil and Harry Potter just before him on his knees. He was dragged in from the stairs behind her and made to stand before him, but he sank down, shaky and weak. That made Voldemort pleased.
Narcissa's hand clenched now, as it had done on the arm of her husband as they watched from their place by the balcony door. Voldemort circled around Harry, who kept his head down. He'd been crying, but not out of fear as it soon became apparent; her nephew had rescued another person kidnapped with Harry, and Harry wasn't sure if his friend was alive. Voldemort pledged both be found and killed for undermining him.
Narcissa looked around now, and knew there was nothing but the walls that were the same. The warm light coming through did what it could to erase the horror she'd seen on that night, but this room would never be the same.
She walked over to the balcony window and looked out. She remembered from which direction the lights of the Aurors arrived. By then, her husband's and the other's Dark Marks had disappeared. They were free. She'd looked out also as he tortured Harry. His screams echoed through the whole house, but he never begged. She'd never known anyone not to beg. She closed her eyes and saw the wand extend.
"I'll always remember you, Harry. You were a worthy opponent," Voldemort said in her memory.
She was holding in her own tears and holding onto her husband tightly. He was the love of her life and she couldn't protect him from this man who took over their lives; not from the Dark Lord, and not from the Ministry who had him now.
Voldemort walked up to Harry, that large snake wrapped around his shoulders, and knelt to his level to brush his bangs out of Harry's eyes. Harry was bloody on the floor, on his back looking up at the Dark Lord. It was a strange moment when Harry reached up and clasped Voldemort's hand and brought it to his chest, holding it there the same way Lucius was holding her hand to his chest. Harry's lips moved, but she couldn't hear what he said. The Dark Lord nodded and brought his wand to Harry's temple and said, "Goodnight, my special boy…"
Narcissa turned from the sunny balcony now and walked into the room, past the place where Harry had grabbed the head of the massive snake and plunged its venomous fangs into the Dark Lord's neck. She walked to the Flooplace and knelt into the small corner on the right side, where Harry had scampered to avoid the curses of the Death Eaters. The snake had followed him, and this snake had scared them all so much that they set on it as well. About half of its body was left behind when someone finally lit the Flooplace up, and when it was over there was only ashes.
Harry Potter and the snake had been burned into oblivion.
A tear escaped Narcissa as she crouched on all fours. Every speck of soot was packaged and being rifled through by the Ministry as they looked for what was left of that brave boy. Narcissa pounded the bricks, slapped the walls and yelled once in fury and heartbreak; her husband was as of now a prisoner, and she was free only by the grace of the ancient system of law that forbade undue captivity; she had no Dark Mark.
"Why did this happen here?" She asked the walls of the Flooplace. "In my home? To my husband?"
The face of Harry came to her mind. He was a handsome boy…from money and blood like her. She knew Draco's secret; she knew he liked Harry, and she knew having him and her son together – together – might not have been a bad thing. It would have been a scar on the family tree if Draco didn't marry a woman and have children…their bloodline was entirely on his shoulders. But learning her son fancied Harry Potter – well! Remove their alignment with Lord Voldemort and that might have been a good match in terms of what doors it would open for their family.
She sat staring at the deep wall of the Flooplace, contemplating what was left of her family and estate, but inevitably she started thinking about a memory from fifteen years ago, when this room was built. Lucius wanted a large room for them to dance in, and they danced in it even to that week. It was also a room that business could be conducted in…and spied upon. Wizards would do their own examination of the room to make sure it was secure, but they would always miss the sigil on the inner wall here in the Flooplace, that when pressed from the inside or the outside would slightly open a gap in the wall so someone could listen in. Hold that sigil down long enough and the gap would open fully, so someone could walk through into the passages that were between the walls.
Narcissa looked at the sigil on the uppermost brick and hesitated to press it. She hadn't thought about this sigil since she used it herself ten years ago – overhearing a conversation Lucius and his father were having in this room. She reached up and pressed gently against the faded mark. Silently, a gap appeared in the corner, where no one would see.
She held her breath as the gap slowly opened to the halls beyond, and the first thing she saw was dried blood. Lots – and lots – of it.
The Ministry never got here.
Narcissa pushed the stones further away and fit her shoulders into the magicked wizard's space beyond. The blood trail led inwards, down the corridor between the walls; the passageway though the house. Narcissa's heart raced and she hurried in, holding her wand before her for light. She saw bloody handprints on the walls. Footprints, handprints, and the slithering trail of something mutilated – the snake. It took a moment for her to gain the courage to follow it, and when she did, she followed it around many corners.
Then it came to an end by a door, and it was marked by the words Second Courtyard above.
She grew her beautiful flowers in the Second Courtyard, which was an enclosed space accessible only through her powder room in their master bathroom. Lucius made the Second Courtyard for her thirty-fifth birthday all those years ago. She was naked and went to walk into the shower and instead appeared in the garden. It was beautiful. Lucius was waiting with a smile on his face.
She put her hand on the bloody knob now and turned it, pushing inwards slowly, hesitating and afraid of what she'd see.
It was a mess. Flowers were half dead on the floor, pots were broken, and blood was more prominent here than in the hall. She didn't see anything moving. Truthfully, she knew no matter what magic Voldemort had put into that snake that it couldn't have lived three days cut in half like it was. She walked into her garden and shut the door behind her, then opened it again. Outside that door now was her bathroom instead of the corridor. Such was the magic of the passageways between the walls. This was a much more pleasant sight to see, anyway. She left the door wide open.
She walked in slowly to the garden, her heart pounding despite knowing deep down that danger had passed long ago. She walked towards the overturned garden bench and there he was – lain as still as death and tangled in the mangled corpse of the snake. Harry Potter.
So, not burnt to ashes. The Ministry had missed a great deal.
She stepped on the flowers to get around the bench, and she kicked the side of the stump of the snake and it was hard with rigor mortise. She knelt down.
Harry's face was away from her. His legs were splayed about and his arms were over and under his head – covered in blood – all over just covered in it. She reached around and felt his cheek. He wasn't cold at all.