Title: My Narcissa
Characters/Pairings: Lucius/Narcissa
Forum/Challenge: The Golden Snitch's 'Tiggerific Times' (Mahoutokoro, House Mizu) / The Golden Snitch's Prompt of the Day (Mahoutokoro, House Mizu) / HPFC Friends Competition
Prompt: (pairing) Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy / (action) a loved one leaving / Write about the Malfoys.
World: Post-Hogwarts
Word Count: 773
Other: 5 points (Mahoutokoro, House Mizu) each for Tiggerific Times and Prompt of the Day

She watched, devastated, as he was led out of the Ministry courtroom in chains. At the beckoning of their lawyer, she raced after him with as much grace and poise as she could muster.

"You have five minutes to say your goodbyes," the lawyer offered.

"I love you," he whispered in her hair. "I'm so sorry for everything."

"Hush, my sweet." Her lips ghosted over his. "Let's make the most of our time."

When, at the end of five minutes, the Aurors had pulled him away, her hand finally losing contact with his, she felt her heart break.

"I'll be here when you get out," she called. She allowed a hint of a smile when she saw him hold his head high, straighten his back, and walk with the Aurors to the Floo. He would refuse to show weakness to the masses; no pictures of him looking beaten and defeated would be featured in The Daily Prophet.

She took a moment to gather herself. She wiped away her tears, shook loose the tension she felt, and smoothed her robes.

If he could be strong, so could she.

My Dearest Lucius,

I received a letter from Draco. His studies are going well. He feels that he will perform admirably on his NEWTS. His new friendship with Miss Granger has been of particular help on that front, as she is even more studious than he is.

The roses have all bloomed; house arrest is not so lonely with the flowers for company. I only with I could send you some, so that you might have something beautiful in that horrid place.

Stay strong my love. I will see you soon.

Your Narcissa

My Dearest Lucius,

The wedding was quite the success. We have not moved past old divides completely—I hexed that horrid Pansy Parkinson for calling Hermione a mudblood under her breath—but your son has now secured himself quite the wife. I'm pleased to say that she is as well-bred as she is intelligent, and magically powerful to boot.

I only wish you could have been there. That I could have danced with you at our son's wedding. He watched her walk down the aisle with that same look you had in your eye almost twenty-five years ago.

You had my heart that day, and my love for you has only grown since.

Your Narcissa

My Dearest Lucius,

Not long now—I am counting the days until your release. Has it already been ten years?

Scorpius continues to grow like a weed. He's slowly learning to control his magic, though Hermione has said he's not quite ready for the Muggle world yet. I'm inclined to agree.

The newest news—scandal, really—is that Theodore Nott has taken up with the Longbottom heir. Theo was always such a sweet boy, and I'm glad he's found love, though Thoros is probably turning over in his grave.

I was also quite gratified when Augusta Longbottom made quite the scene over the matter at the Ministry Samhain Ball. That woman is as mean as the day is long, though you'd never know it the way she acts holier-than-thou in public.

We may have our faults, but we've paid our penance, as have Draco, Theo, and the rest of the children.

I look forward to seeing you soon, my love. Just a month now, and I'll be in your arms again.

Your Narcissa

When he walked out of the DMLE office, his eyes were on the floor. She took in his gaunt frame, his lackluster hair, the years of dirt caked under his nails. She was frozen, worried she'd find a ghost of the man she'd loved for so long.

But then he looked up, straight at her, and she could see the twinkle of love and joy and relief in his eyes. She said a silent prayer that the Dementors no longer ran Azkaban, and then, with no regard for grace and poise, ran to her husband.

He smelled like the gutters of Knockturn Alley, and she could feel the grime on his skin, but she didn't care. He was here, in front of her. She could reach out and touch him, hold him, kiss him.

And she did.

He gathered her in his arms, weak from his years of imprisonment, and breathed deeply. Neither cried—Malfoys did not allow such weakness in public—but she could feel his heart race as it matched hers beat for beat.

And, after ten years of hearing nothing from him—for prisoners could only receive, not send, mail—he broke his prison-mandated silence.

"My Narcissa."