A/N: Please forgive me for the long delay between chapters! Life got hectic, and as you can probably tell from my story count, my update list is growing rapidly. Many thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter!
Unfortunately for Narcissa, the first person she happened to see was Harry Potter. Dark-haired and – as her critical mind decided – rather unclean looking, he stood just to the right of where she apparated.
Her pale eyes found a spot on the grass, her feet veering to the left. She found a chair in the back row before he had time to register her presence. She caught her breath, neck stiff and lips pursed. Once a few seconds had fallen by, she gathered enough courage to survey the attendance.
Not many people had come, it seemed. Two of the rotten Weasley children were there – the youngest two, she thought. And their horrible, muggle-loving father. And the mudblood too, of course, gripping the Weasley boy's hand so visibly that she could see his bones twitching. Even in her aversion to these people, she couldn't help but notice the obvious. The Weasley family hadn't come in its entirety. She knew that they'd lost a son – one of the twins, she was pretty sure – but hadn't heard much else. For a revolting second she felt some sympathy for their family, too sodden with grief to even leave the house, but then she remembered that Molly Weasley was the one who killed her sister. Bellatrix. And the sympathy vanished.
Deep, slow breaths passed through her squeezed lips, and she absent-mindedly counted the people around her. Five adults other than Arthur Weasley, namely assorted Order members. A stout little wizard, standing beside a podium. Two open caskets… she could only thank Salazar that she was sitting in the back. Swallowing the liquid in the back of her throat, she spotted her sister in the front. A baby in her arms, Harry and his friends sitting by her side. She was pale and trembling, but still as stubborn as ever. Narcissa could even see it from where she was. The taught lines in Dromeda's mouth, the determined fold to her eyebrows. For a moment, Narcissa had the fervent impulse to run and comfort her, but it passed. She was here for herself. For her family. In her rather blustered state, she didn't let herself remember that Andromeda was family too.
"Today, we are here to remember…" And the rest of the wizard's words slipped right by her ears, even as the entire world seemed to grow silent. She couldn't listen, she found it unbearable. Instead, she watched.
The mudblood was sobbing. Entangled in the Weasley's arms, she shook with sadness. He was hardly hearing her, Narcissa could tell. She could see from the way he stroked her hair, loving but oblivious, that his mind was miles away. His sister's too, she noticed. The girl's eyes were glazed, her freckled complexion almost waxy. She looked numb, clay-like. No sadness passed her blank face. They didn't want to be here, the blood traitors. They were in no position to feel sadness for anyone besides their brother.
In a strange, self-reproachful way, Narcissa felt for them. And their blood wasn't as filthy as some others, she admitted with resentment, so she allowed the sentiment to pass through her
The wizard's voice rose, perhaps saying something powerful, and Narcissa locked her eardrums far inside her skull. She looked to Harry Potter now, and realized that his free hand – the other was resting numbly inside the Weasley girl's - was going almost unconsciously to his own ear. With a start, she realized he was trying not to listen as well. It was too hard, maybe, to hear a stranger talk about these things as if it mattered to them.
Pointedly, she did not look at the other adults. Especially her sister. She had a longer history with them, even the ones she hated, and it was harder for her to see what they were going to.
There was a dull dent in the wizard's speech then, and Narcissa came alert. Harry was making his way up in front of the crowd, she realized. Swallowing, biting her pink lips, she realized that Andromeda would probably speak as well.
His words were very moving. He paid tribute to the werewolf as teacher, and a mentor. He paid tribute to her niece as a wonderful person. He said that he cared about them both very much, being inches too shy from saying "love". With tears on his face, he stumbled back down to his friends.
Andromeda rose, her expression bland. She was as white as humanly possible though, and her trembling body said everything. Again, Narcissa felt the urge to connect to her, but she resisted.
It started out amiably enough. Andromeda was steady, first talking about how she'd grown to accept Remus in the end. How they'd made up their differences, and she was proud to have him as a son-in-law. At this, Narcissa stiffened. It was one thing she would never fully approve of.
But then, with a heaving sigh, Andromeda's words moved to her daughter. The hopes she'd had for her. How much she loved her. How much she missed her. Only then did her voice lose its quiet evenness, wobbling as she said how grateful she was for her grandson, Teddy. As if on cue, the baby began to cry.
Whether it was from the words (unlikely) or some other factor of being a baby (more probable), it certainly had enormous effect on the room. More tears ran down cheeks, more people moving around in a hopeless attempt of doing something. Andromeda was done, anyway, so it wasn't as if they had any reason to stay listening.
Narcissa watched hopelessly as her sister tried to hold the little boy. Her hands were shaking so badly, it seemed she could barely pick him up. Harry sat oblivious, head in his hands. At last, Narcissa rose. Her cheeks were dry, her insides oddly calm.
She stepped forward, careful to stay a good nine inches away from her sister. "Let me," she said.
Her brimming eyes wide, her breath gasping, Andromeda was helpless to do anything but comply. She handed the baby over, and Narcissa took him carefully in her arms. She couldn't be loving to him, not really, but as she held the baby – the unwanted, half breed of a baby – she couldn't help but latch her fingers tightly. Whatever else was true, Narcissa found she didn't want to let him go.