Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling
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**WIFE**
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Lucius is pale and drawn. He has been, ever since the Dark Lord broke him out of Azkaban. Dementors or not, he'd had an unpleasant stay.
We sit in our bedroom, the one room in the house that the Dark Lord had not yet infiltrated. A house elf had delivered a tea tray, and it slowly grew cold, sitting untouched on the side table. Lucius sits in his great wingback chair; the one I had chosen so long ago.
He looks small.
I had always thought of my husband as invincible. He always seemed so tall, so strong, his shoulders held back and coiled power just waiting to be released at a flick of his wand.
I remembered my youth - young, yet never innocent, youth. Andromeda had just run off with a muggle-born. Bellatrix was already half-mad. My parents paraded me, their only perfect, biddable daughter, in front of the Malfoys. I took one look at Lucius, as he stood by his father; I took one look at him and I thought, Yes. He's the one. This one can protect me from the incoming storm.
Two wars and Azkaban changed him. Somewhere along the way, that power just drained out of him.
I stand, finally making my way towards the tea service, just to have something to do. The terrible waiting is too much.
Lucius' hand shakes, clattering the teacup in its saucer as I hand it to him. I avert my eyes from my frail husband.
"It'll be over soon," he says hoarsely.
My lips tighten into a flat line. It takes all my strength to smooth my face back out into its neutral mask. He has said that before, almost eighteen years ago…October 31, 1981.
Draco wailed in my arms. I rocked back and forth, humming softly to him.
"Shhh, shhh…" I breathed. There was a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach.
The door to the nursery opened without warning, and I spun around, my wand aimed at the intruder. Lucius' grey eyes flashed at me, but I was frozen, my baby held to my side. He greeted me with a smirk, casually sauntering up to me and pushing my wand down, winding his arm around my waist. He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, and rested his chin on my shoulder, looking down at our son. Draco's cries faded to a gurgle as he watched his father.
"It's all right, my love," Lucius said, swaying gently with me. "The Dark Lord is on his way to the Potters' now. It'll all be over soon. And then," he stepped back, spinning me into the pristine rocking chair, kneeling before me with one hand on our son's head, "then you will be safe, forever. We will all be safe."
My hands spasm, grasping for a child no longer within my reach.
"Don't worry, my love." Lucius leans forward, places a hand on my knee. He wets his lips, his eyes darting between the floor and the fire. "Potter doesn't stand a chance. This time, the Dark Lord will win."
He says that before every battle.
I sit straight, bringing my teacup to my lips. My gaze moves from his hand to his face with indolent ease. "Of course."
The silence of the room is overbearing, suffocating. I cannot stay here any longer. Standing, I place my teacup on the tray. I can take it down to the kitchens, and escape this infernal wait for a few minutes.
"Narcissa, wait," Lucius says. I sink back into my chair. He reaches out, his thin hand grasping.
I don't move.
"Stay," he begs, holding my hand.
"Stay," I begged, holding Lucius' hand.
"I can't," he said, already pulling away. "The Dark Lord…" He trails off, looking at me as though expecting me to understand.
It was the fifth baby I've lost in the past six months alone. I didn't want to be alone.
He walked to the door. At the last minute, he turned back. "I'll be home soon," he said. "Will you wait up?"
"Yes," I whispered.
He offered me a small smile, then he left. He always leaves.
"Mistress needs rest," my house elf said softly.
I shook my head. "My husband needs me more."
The house-elf didn't meet my eyes, instead maneuvering around me to clean up the mess.
I grimaced, knocking my head back against the headboard. Tears leaked out of my shut eyes as the house elves continued to clean.
Lucius would be back later, with traumatized eyes, wanting my comfort. And I would be there to hold him up when he inevitably broke, there to take his burdens and make them my own.
I was his wife. I was whatever he needed. And he was…
I heard the sharp crack of apparation. He was gone.
I am silent.
Lucius grips my hand, leaning back and rubbing the bridge of his nose, his face turned away.
"It will be over soon," he mutters again. I don't respond.
Suddenly, he winces. His hand yanks out of mine, and he doubles over, clutching his left forearm to his chest. He stares up at me, his eyes wide.
"The Dark Lord," he gasps. "He is calling."
He stands, jerking me to my feet.
"Come with me," he orders. I balk. He pulls me to him. "Narcissa, I need you to stand by me, my wife. His voice is low, his mouth right next to my ear. "We can spin this," he says, his words tripping over each other. "We can spin this, when the Dark Lord wins, we can -"
"Find a place by the Dark Lord's side," I say. Our son is out of our reach, and the Dark Lord is fighting the same battle he lost all those years ago - yet all my husband can think of is our future prestige.
"Stand by me," he says. "Please."
I smile, the serene, closed smile I learned from my mother.
"Of course."
My wedding night was better than I had imagined it would be. Lucius smiled, pressing a kiss to my forehead. He climbed out of bed, throwing on a robe.
"Have I pleased you?" My voice was soft, not as husky as I had meant for it to be. Lucius grinned, tying his robe in front. He leaned back over the bed and pressed a kiss to my lips.
"You are beautiful," he said, "and everything I could have imagined. My wife."
I was fairly certain the second part was a lie, but it didn't stop me from smiling as he pulled back, taking a step towards the bathroom. I watched as he went.
Suddenly, he winced, doubling over and cradling his left arm. A zap of fear ran through me. He had made no secret of his tattoo. I knew what this meant.
It ended quickly. He stood again, glancing at me with his perfect, pureblood mask in place. I slipped off the bed, walking to where he stood. My spine was straight, my head held high.
"Do you need to leave?" I asked, coolly meeting his gaze and taking his hands within my own. They dwarfed mine, my pale fingers obscured completely by his.
"Yes," he said warily, as though he were expecting a trap. He paused, a pause that seemed to crackle with things unsaid.
I took a step back, withdrawing my hands from his and nodding.
His lips flattened. "When I return, I will sleep in the dressing room," he said shortly.
"No." The finality of my tone startled me. "You will return to our bed," I said, softer this time. I trailed a finger up my own left forearm.
His shoulders sagged, but only for a moment. "I can't ask you to-"
"I am your wife," I said. "I will be what you need me to be."
Lucius follows the Dark Lord's call, apparating us into the middle of the Forbidden Forest. We walk through a crowd of acolytes, Lucius dragging me toward the Dark Lord.
The other Death Eaters look rumpled, some bearing small scratches, marks of recent duels.
My stomach clenches.
"Why haven't you been summoned before now?" I ask Lucius. He holds my hand in a vice-like grip. It's clear that his brethren have been through a battle - a battle he was not invited to.
"I don't know," he mutters under his breath, guiding me through the milling Death Eaters. Most don't spare a glance for us. Some sneer, curling their lip at us like we're the lowliest mudbloods.
"Where is Draco?" I breathe. "Do you see him?"
Lucius doesn't respond. We approach the Dark Lord far too quickly.
He sneers, red eyes glint as he stares us down. "Lucius," he hisses, "and your lovely wife. I'm glad you could join us for the finale." He raises his voice, directing his next words to the entire clearing. "Harry Potter is on his way."
The words are a signal. Death Eaters flow into formation, a river of dark cloaks and shining masks. Lucius pulls me to the side, a few people away from the Dark Lord.
We wait. I scan the ranks, searching for my son.
He is not here. Lucius grows antsy, beside me. Bellatrix speaks. "My lord -"
I do not want to be here, for Potter's death, or for Bella's torture.
I am no ally of Lord Voldemort.
The Dark Lord had drawn out the Dark Mark ceremony for far too long.
"It hurts, Mama," Draco sobbed, his entire body shaking from the aftershocks. I held him in my arms, his head on my shoulder, rocking back and forth. "I didn't want - I have to help father, I have to, I have to…"
"Shh, shhh," I hushed him. "I know, my love." His impossible task crossed my mind as he fell away from me, fumbling towards the toilet. After he emptied his stomach, he collapsed, sliding down to the floor. His cheek hit the cold tile, his arm falling out to the side. The Dark Mark was stark against his pale skin.
My son's sobs slowed and quieted. Tears still trickled down his cheeks. He stared blankly ahead. I watched, uncertain if I should reach out for him.
"I am going to die, aren't I?" he said, his voice dead. His words wrapped around my heart and my lungs, squeezing me to death.
I inhaled sharply. "No. You are not going to die."
He didn't respond. I finally reached out, pulling his head into my lap and stroking his hair. Lucius expected me to do whatever it took to get him out of prison; that expectation should not have extended to Draco.
"I will not let that happen," I promised my only son. "I swear it."
"You." Voldemort's voice cuts through my memory, tearing it to shreds. I start, afraid to look at him. "Examine him. Tell me whether he is dead."
Harry Potter lays crumpled in the center of the clearing.
I move towards him, sneak a hand against his chest and lower my head to his heart.
He is alive.
This is my chance – my opportunity to spin. This is how I earn Lucius' place back at the Dark Lord's side – I reveal Potter's trick.
But Draco is not here.
It's a gamble. Potter vs. Lord Voldemort – who will let my son live?
"Is Draco alive?" I breathe, the words barely audible even to my ear. "Is he in the castle?"
Potter doesn't answer for a full second. Enough time for me to slowly die, imagining my son broken and bloodied, deathly still amongst his enemies.
"Yes."
I inhale, the air rushing to my lungs. Just like that, I know what I need to do.
I stand, brushing off my skirts and meeting Lucius' eye. I turn my gaze away from him, and face Voldemort.
"He is dead!"
a/n: review :)