Narcissa Angel

Narcissa Angel.

Narcissa flinched against the cold metal of the blade. It wasn't a foreign texture to her, but it was unwelcome nonetheless. She pulled it away from her skin and took a deep breath, sweeping her long ice-white hair from in front of her eyes. Like a curtain, it fell back and over her shoulder, brushing the small of her back where the skin was almost as pale as her hair itself. Her arm curved gracefully up to her cheek where she wiped away a tear and then she put the sharp edge to her deathly white wrist.

Something made her stop and re-examine the harsh slashes from where she had already used the implement, etching her hate and sorrow into her once unbroken skin. The cuts were angry and red and glared up at her with fierce intensity. Her grief didn't fade or disappear but became more passionate and incensed that she felt so alone she had to turn to this.

Her disgust for herself ran deep in the veins that were leaking and spilled out from her ruby red blood and into the air, choking her and suffocating all she had left: hope.

The fresher wounds were still appearing in angry red welts along her skin. There seemed to be so many lesions destroying her beautiful pearly skin when she knew there were only six. She traced her fingertips over the first without wincing and let her hand travel down over the others, the blood staining on her skin. Taking what seemed like an age, she raised her two fingers to her mouth and licked at the metallic liquid.

She almost gave a sardonic smile at the irony of it: she had so unwillingly taken blood away, opening a path for it to flow to the surface, yet now she was carefully putting it back inside her body.

A noise outside her door surprised her and her giant blue almond-shaped eyes blinked confusedly.

"Mother?" a small voice asked. "Can I come in? I can't sleep."

"Of course, you can," she replied, making no effort to cover the wounds.

Draco bounded into the room. "Thank you. I had a nightmare - where's Father?"

"He went away on business," Narcissa replied, her voice hardening and her eyes filling with pain.

"Why is he always working?" Draco asked. Narcissa shook her head. Her young son could not understand.

Draco hugged her gently and, as he pulled back, he gasped.

"Oh, Mum!" he said in horror, his tiny voice carrying so much concern that it nearly broke her heart. "You're hurt." His grey eyes filled with tears.

"I'll be alright," she said as strongly as she could. The dismay that was apparent on Draco's face told he knew otherwise.

"You're hurt," he said again, somewhat stubbornly. "Who did it to you?"

"No one," Narcissa said. "An angel, perhaps. I've... I've been having a bit of trouble recently, darling."

"You're an angel, Mum," Draco said as he buried his head in her shoulder. "Can I sleep here tonight? I'll protect you from the nasty angels."

"Of course," Narcissa managed, tears spilling down her cheeks.

"Mum," Draco said plainly. "You're crying. You're not afraid of the angels, are you?"

"No, of course not. Don't be silly, Draco. They don't exist."

"You're an angel," he repeated tenaciously. "Why are you crying? What are you scared of?"

"I'm worried about your father," Narcissa replied truthfully. The next words went unsaid. And what he will do when he finds out I've done this again. Because of him.

"I am too," Draco sighed against her arm. "He'll be alright though. He has to be, otherwise who'll look after us?"

"Good night, Draco," Narcissa said firmly.

Who will look after us if he does come back?

"Mum," Draco murmured.

He touched her face.

"You would tell me, if something was wrong."

Narcissa didn't say anything.

"Wouldn't you, Mum? You would, wouldn't you?"

Narcissa felt her teeth biting into her lip and pretended to be asleep. She felt her eleven year-old son push her hair off her cheek and kiss it gently.

"I love you, Mum."

I love you too, Draco. Just too much to explain.

"I hope Dad's alright," Draco muttered to himself. "I hope he gets revenge on whoever made you sad." So do I, Draco.

So do I.