My Choice

I am Narcissa Malfoy, born Narcissa Black, proud member by blood of the purest lineage, and by marriage to another. I live in luxury, and, materialistically, want for nothing. I have more trinkets than most would dream of, and less need of them too.

I am beautiful, everyone says it, everyone thinks it, and I know it. Men fall at my feet, but I have the most handsome, the most austere, the most wealthy, already at my side. Lucius and I, we could conquer the world, and we had planned to.

But nothing ever goes according to plan, as that horrible old saying, most horrible because it is truthful, goes. As does another, one which I am beginning to detest with the same fervor: money can't buy you happiness. And don't I know it.

I used to believe that it could, or why else would everyone in the world secretly, or not so secretly, aspire to be rich? I won't be the first and I certainly won't be the last to fall into that trap, and that would give some a measure of comfort. But not me.

I am a Black, and a Malfoy by marriage. I am a cut above the rest, I am superior, and I should not make the same mistakes as the peasants of this world. Those who snatch and grab at any chance to make their fortune by luck or by trick, they are the fools. I am not a fool, nor will I ever be. And I certainly don't suffer fools gladly, as all fools who have crossed my path will tell you. Or will be unable to.

When I look back at my life, I see dignity. My dignity was my cover for all the fear, the indecision and the regret that I am too well bred to show. But dignity does not mean that one does not show emotion. It just means they show it while alone, so that there are none who know of their weakness.

For emotion is weakness, that much I have learned. It was emotion that caused my marriage to be anything but stable and secure, emotion that caused my son to go to Hogwarts and subsequently follow directly in his father's dangerous footsteps, emotion that causes me pain now that neither my husband nor my son are here with me at the Manor. Emotion is my weakness, but very few know that I possess it.

Yes, Narcissa Malfoy has feelings. That would come as a shock to many of the gossips and ignorants of the wizarding world. But then, there are very few who are neither gossips nor ignorants, very few who have seen enough and been intelligent enough to interpret it as I have. Oh yes, I have feelings. Far too many, in fact.

Love. The most powerful weakness of all. Of course, the only two people on Earth whom I love, I love in very different ways; my husband and my son. But I love them both equally, and far more deeply than logic would determine safe. It makes me weak and vulnerable, and I have never felt more of either of those damnable faults than now, nor have I ever worked so tirelessly to hide them. Now would not be a pertinent time to show weakness, for the good of my family and my lineage, and for our safety.

I have felt both weak and vulnerable a select few times in my life, and each time, if I had been stronger, I would not have had to suffer later in life with the consequences of those moments of weakness. But the past is the past, and there it shall stay. I cannot change it, and to wish that I could would merely frustrate me, or drive me mad.

But that doesn't mean that, when I am alone, I do not reflect obsessively on these moments of my life, analysing them, dissecting them, berating myself for my foolishness. My betrothal, my marriage, the birth of my son, his leaving for Hogwarts, the return of the Dark Lord, my husband's imprisonment, my son joining the Death Eaters. Those were my moments of weakness, far fewer than most people, but far more than I would like.

And wouldn't you like to know of my foolishness? Of course you would. Everyone revels in others' misfortune, whether or not they admit to it. So go ahead, be my guest...

* * *

"Narcissa darling, we have some very good news for you." My mother sat down beside me, and my father strode into the room, glancing over at the tapestry approvingly.

I looked up at my mother's face, her angular cheekbones still granting her beauty, but speaking volumes for what it once was, what I never knew. Of course, I had seen the photographs and the portraits, but that beautiful, youthful face was not the one I knew.

"Your father has secured a very desirable match for you." She squeezed my arm tightly, and I smiled, because I knew I should be happy. I always do what I am told. "You are now formally betrothed to Lucius Malfoy, the Malfoy heir."

"He is the most eligible young man on the circuit at the moment. Or he was, until he was pledged to you." My father was tracing lines on our family tree with his long thin finger, presumably imagining what my future husband's name will look like, set beside mine. I confess to wondering the same thing.

I vaguely remember Lucius Malfoy. I think Bella and Andromeda know him from school, but I will not be going there until next year. Bella told me that he was like a Prince, so handsome and aloof. If I am to have my husband chosen for me, I suppose I am glad that he's handsome. If I cannot bring myself to love him for who is he, maybe loving his appearance will be satisfactory.

But then, Pureblood marriages have never been forged for love. They are forged to honor family names, to prolong the purity of their lineages, not to fulfill every girl's childish dreams of fairytale romance and happily ever after. Of course I was taught that long ago, and I thought I had come to accept it.

But it seems so terribly final, that my marriage has been decided for me now, at the age of ten, when I am far too young to understand the full implications of it. Although, I suppose I will learn them in due course. Maybe I will be able to fall in love with him, and have my fairytale. Maybe I can have both: an honorable and loving marriage.

There is probably no such thing.

* * *

"Narcissa darling, is that you?" His voice sends shivers up my spine, and I know that he can sense it. I can see him now, the outline of his face tinged with the white light of the moon, his normally golden hair shimmering silver out of the darkness. He is holding a rose, a beautiful black rose.

"Yes, it is me," I pause, savoring her name in my head before I say it aloud, "Lucius." I love how it sounds, how my voice is slightly husky, how it is barely even a whisper. And I love the way it feels on my lips when I say it, the soft, sibilant sounds caressing the sensitive skin, shivering, trembling. It feels divine.

"I brought this for you." He hands me the rose, closing the distance between us to a few feet, and yet it still feels like miles. Lucius always keeps a certain distance between himself and everybody else, myself included, even if it is only figurative. I take the rose, careful not to prick my fingers on the sharp thorns. I brush it to my nose, inhaling the musky scent, feeling the petals, soft as velvet.

"Thank you."

Since our betrothal, we have met formally a handful of times, but since my fifth year, we have met in secret to court a romance. I do not think for a moment that he planned to fall in love me, he would merely have thought it a pleasant gesture to his future wife that he wished to get to know me better, perhaps ignite a flame of passion. After all, we are both beautiful, and with the right prompting, lust would not have been hard to kindle.

But we are in love, although we have never told a soul. It would be improper for us to flaunt our feelings for one another, especially since our families believe that we have only met four times in eight years.

And so we keep it secret. We are both very good a keeping secrets, as we were brought up to be. Who knows what else we may have to hide in the future? But if we can hide the way we feel about one another, when it is so very strong, then I believe that we could hide anything.

"I can't stay long, I will be missed." He brushes his hand against my arm, raising goose pimples where his fingers lay their phantom touch.

"As will I." I reach my hand out and touch his hair, winding a strand of it around my finger. I can't wait until tomorrow, when the whole world will accept that I can do this, when they will deem it proper for me to love him as I have loved him these three long years. It will be the end of the secrecy, the end of the pretence. We can love as we wish, and let others know of our love. We will be free.

And in that glorious goodnight kiss, I taste a bittersweetness that I never knew I felt. And now I am worried. What if our passion was only passion when we were forced to hide it, when there was danger and excitement? What if, with the dawn and our marriage, we lose that spark, the feeling that I live for? What if a relationship conducted in darkness and secrecy cannot endure the light and purity of the day?

But the day is never pure. It merely masks the improprieties of the night, and keeps them hidden and safe until the dusk.

* * *

"Narcissa, darling, it's nothing for you to worry about." Those were his exact words on our wedding night, when we lay in each other's arms, and I discovered that he had the Dark Mark, that my husband was a Death Eater.

I knew immediately that it was definitely something for me to worry about. Of course, the Dark Lord would win the war, and as one of his supporters, Lucius would be accorded a position of power and glory, and I am in no position to discourage his ambitions. But the Death Eaters are being hunted down by Aurors, and killed. More Aurors are killed, that is true, but what if he ends up as one of the few Death Eaters who are killed? What if I end up widow before I reach the age of twenty? What if...

I worry too much. Living my life on 'what ifs' is not healthy for me, but it seems to be the way of things at the moment. I worried before we married that we would lose the passion of our secret romance (of which, after tonight, there seems little danger), and now I am worried about his death. It must be natural, to worry about the ones you love.

I suppose that was the moment I first realised my mistake in falling in love, my weakness. If I had kept my relationship like that of my parents, a marriage for honor and blood purity, and passion only when an heir was called for, then I need never have suffered. All of the worry, all of the pain, I would not have felt it if I had not loved him, and then loved my son.

Yes, I saw then that, despite my impeccable breeding, I had grown up a fool, but, as I was brought up to do, I hid it, held my head up high, and pretended that I felt nothing.

Only my husband knew, and even then, it was only by his deduction. I never told how much I worried, and how deeply, how fiercely I loved.

* * *

"Narcissa, darling, we have a son!" The pain is washing away now, the pain of childbirth, worse than I could have ever imagined it, but worth all of that pain when I feel the soft, pale skin of my child, my son, resting in the crook of my arm.

And Lucius...I have never seen him so unguarded before. He's smiling, and it looks like pure joy for once, not his wry smirk, no irony, just pure happiness. I know I will probably never see it again, so I revel in it, and in my own happiness.

"He's so..." I struggle to find the words, and resort to the cliche, "...perfect." I know it's a cliche, but it's true. He is perfect. A small tuft of golden hair crowns his head, and his face isn't scrunched up like all of the newborn babies I have seen before. He already looks dignified, peaceful. He is his father's son.

"Draco." Lucius breathes, stroking our son's hair, and looking into my eyes. "Can we name him Draco?" I study him for a while, and I can see that he has been thinking about this for quite some time, probably trawling through the family trees for suitable names, and that thought warms my heart. My Lucius, planning for the birth of our child, just like a normal father. Somehow, it fits, and yet...I would never have believed it before.

"Draco." I bend down to kiss his forehead, and he squirms slightly in my arms, as though he recognised his name. "Yes, we shall name him Draco."

To any passer-by, we would have looked just like any ordinary couple, celebrating the birth of our first child. In that respect, yes, we are a married couple, and yes, we were celebrating the birth of our son. But we were, and are even more so now, very far from ordinary.

Our genuine feelings for one another, our love for one another, had caused unforeseen problems. His Death Eater business worried me, and I feared constantly for his safety, and it annoyed him immensely. If he had not loved me, he would have let me fuss and fret for him, but because he loved me, he had to prove that I did not need to worry, that I did not have to put myself through the unnecessary pain he knew I was suffering from.

But he has only ever been 'my Lucius' twice. The birth of our son was one moment where he was completely open and unguarded, and the other was when he first told me he loved me, and I knew that he meant it. For a fleeting moment, I caught a glimpse of a Lucius unrestrained by his upbringing and his pride, a Lucius who wanted nothing more than to hear me echo his words, to make his heart sing. And I obliged.

But those two moments do not cancel out who the other Lucius is, the Lucius that the whole world knows, the Lucius who is supremely in control, and entirely his own. He is cool and calculating, glossing over conversations with elaborate and intricate word patterns, while keeping the emotion as sparse as possible. He would never, ever tell me how he was feeling, but, over time, I have grown somehow adept at reading him. I would never claim to be an expert, only he himself can be the judge of that, but I certainly know him better than any other person who has lived to tell the tale.

And so our love, love against all of our better judgments, life lessons and sensibilities, has lasted, and proven quite a problem, at times. Heated arguments always countered by equally passionate apologies have been the story of our life together, and I know that it would not be right if it were any different. We alone vent our furies and reveal our most delicate tenderness to one another, which is why we work, why we make sense.

In the eyes of anyone truly wise, that is.

* * *

In the years since Voldemort's downfall, I will admit I got a little complacent. That is not to say I let my guard down, I do not know how, but I became certainly less sensitive to the world around me, and in reading the signs it gives us. Lucius though, he never ceased to look, to listen, to feel what was happening, and some intuition must have told him to send Draco away to Durmstrang, something that I never picked up on. I was a fool to dissuade him, for he knew what was best.

But the day he announced that he was going to visit Karkaroff, I let my troublesome and overactive emotions cloud my vision yet again, and it is another, and perhaps the second greatest, of my mistakes, being second only to letting myself love.

Really, it was a direct consequence of loving. I had pampered and doted on my little Draco, for he has always been 'my Draco', for the comfortable eleven years since his birth, and allowed my heart to grow soft watching him grow. He grew more and more like his father every day, but he was never quite as reserved. He always let me fuss, because he knew it made me happy. Like myself, and like Lucius, he has been brought up to do as is requested of him, what will best serve his honorable family.

"Narcissa, darling, please be reasonable. Durmstrang is the best choice for Draco, he will be taught well, and without the harmful influences of teachers like Dumbledore and McGonagall to undo all of our own teachings." He is brushing my feelings away again, and I hate it when he does that. It makes me feel like I am worth nothing to him, and I know that I am. He just feels that he is right, and that, therefore, I must be wrong.

"But Lucius, he will be so far away." I know that I could go and visit him within an instant if it were ever necessary, but the distance in miles would always feel so very real, so very unbreakable.

"This is no time to be sentimental, Narcissa." His tone is scolding, as though I am being disobedient. But then I suddenly realise that I am, and that I am disobeying everything I have ever been taught. I swallow the emotion in an instant, but I will not back down. If I am not allowed to keep my son close to me for the sake of my forbidden feelings, then I will keep him close for perfectly sensible reasons.

"I am not being sentimental. Without you here, keeping a close watch on his schooling, do you think he won't be in any danger of defecting? Do you think there are not Muggle-lovers at Durmstrang, because I know that there are." He knows that I am right, because his patronizing smile has vanished, and so I push on. "If you were nearby, he would be in no danger whatsoever of converting, but so far away..."

"They teach the Dark Arts, Narcissa. Clearly, the teachers are unlikely to be planting dangerous ideas into his mind." He has a strong case, but I will not back down. When I have my heart set on something, I always get my way. But so does Lucius. Our dreams have never clashed before, so this is something new, and I cannot help but think I have the stronger case. After all, nobody has ever won a verbal sparring match with me before, and I am not about to start a losing streak now.

"But you are powerful and influential at Hogwarts, in our Ministry, and you can intervene when you feel necessary. Were you not thinking of applying for a place on the Board of Directors at Hogwarts? You know that they would never turn down someone as important as you, and you could have a hand in our son's education, and keep and eye on things. You would have no influence at Durmstrang."

"I do not believe he would have any need of my influence at Durmstrang. It is the safest option, Narcissa." He looks wearied, and the slightly pink spots on his cheeks tell me that he is more than a little annoyed with me. It doesn't deter me, quite the opposite, in fact. I know that the more heated our dispute is, the sweeter our reconciliation will be, and so I still do not back down.

"That's not true. If he is here, he is protected by our status in society, by our wealth and influence. Our family connections have created a net safer than any Durmstrang could offer him. And did you not want to teach him the Dark Arts yourself? What will happen if his techniques, the techniques taught to him by this teacher, are not satisfactory? Could you ever forgive yourself?"

"And could you ever forgive yourself if your son was lost to Dumbledore's supporters?" He slams his fist down onto the table between us, and I wince ever so slightly. Perhaps I should not have pushed him quite so far.

"Eleven years of teaching cannot be so easily undone."

"How can you say that, when Sirius Black is your cousin?" We never mention his name, ever. It is a disgrace to our family, and even now, he has hissed it at me, in little more than a venomous whisper, but it does not placate me, in fact, it incenses me.

"He was always a traitor, everybody sensed it. Our Draco has never shown any such signs, and if he had, do you think we would have allowed it?" I know that colour is rising in my cheeks, and I am getting flustered, but, for once in my life, and probably the only time, I don't care. "And don't you ever mention him again. Do you not think I spend enough of my own time trying to forget about him?"

"And I have not? Come, Narcissa, don't be a fool..."

"A fool? A fool! Of course, that is what you think of me! Your wife, a prize fool! And I suppose that is why you never listen to what I have to say? Because nothing I say ever matters to you, does it?" Emotions, emotions, so many boiling emotions spilling forth, dirtying me, befouling my honor. Anger, love, jealously...

"You know that's not true." His face has softened slightly, he knows how upset I am, and I suddenly feel as weak as I have ever felt.

"Do what you will, Lucius. You always do." I sigh heavily, and in that moment, my emotions are locked away again, safe where they belong. "I understand that you must do what you feel is right, but if you could do this one thing for me..." I trail off, not knowing entirely where my own thoughts are leading me. That sudden explosion has left me feeling slightly lost, disorientated. I have never felt or shown so many emotions at once, and certainly not such fierce, passionate ones.

I suppose that he saw something that day that touched him. Perhaps it was the fact that I accused him of ignoring me, because he certainly paid a lot more attention to me from that day forth. I do not know what it was, but it prompted him to give in, for the first time in his life, and he let me have my way. Draco was enrolled at Hogwarts, and there he went, that September.

I still remember so clearly watching the train ride away, taking away my Draco, taking him into the wilderness of adolescence, somewhere no parent can ever follow their child. I even shed a tear, quietly, secretly, and wiped it away before any but my husband had noticed. He took my hand gently and we disapperated together. I don't know that I have ever felt closer to him than in that moment.

But then, Lucius is always such an enigma that I could never know quite how close I have ever been to him.

* * *

"Narcissa, darling, I am going out." I look up, and see Lucius in his black Death Eater's robe, the mask held in his hand. He looks tense, nervous, and even afraid.

"He is back?" I know that the Mark has been growing stronger for months, but suddenly it is all so very real and terrifying. Lucius denied that he had ever supported the Dark Lord, managed to keep himself out of Azkaban. And he managed to lose Riddle's diary. He will not receive the warmest of receptions, and I can only hope that his Master feels merciful today.

Merciful! As if the Dark Lord even comprehends mercy. But Lucius is a faithful servant, and he has served him well, maintaining good connections, gathering information that could prove very useful. No, he will not be punished too gravely.

"Yes." He voice sounds tight, but his face is stony and unreadable again, and I know that he is ready. "Don't wait up for me."

"You know I will, however late you may be." He nods sardonically, and disapperates, leaving me alone in the drawing room, alone with my thoughts and worries.

I do not think ill of Lucius because is a Death Eater, whatever he might be requested to do. Of course, I would not delight in mindless torture and murder, but if I had to do it, I know that I would. Or if I wanted to exact revenge, I know that I would make those responsible for their crimes against me pay, and pay very dearly indeed. Then they would never doubt my strength.

Lucius believes in the cause he is fighting for, and so do I. We both agree that Mudbloods and Muggles are a disgrace to the human race, and that is primarily what being a Death Eater is about - ridding the wizarding world of the filth which has infested it. The other reason is power.

Being Pureblooded, Lucius and I are given power by birthright, a station above that of those less pure and noble than ourselves, but that is not enough. We have money, of course, and intellectual superiority, but even those do not grant us all that we wish for. Money can only buy you so much power, aided and abetted by the fear Lucius manages to incite in everyone he meets. They know he is dangerous, they know he can manipulate them without even making an effort, and so they give him whatever he asks for.

But there are some things that he could never ask for, things that he wants and can only get through service to the Dark Lord. And so I support him in whatever he chooses to do, for I know that it will be right.

Lucius is always right.

* * *

"Narcissa, darling, stop worrying. I will be back in time for us to share a cup of coffee, and who knows..." He traces his finger along my jaw line, and I feel myself trembling at his touch, even after all these years.

"I look forward to it." I smile flirtatiously and look up at him through my thick eyelashes. He can still make me feel like the breathless, inexperienced schoolgirl I was when we first met, and I wouldn't have it any other way. "Just...be careful."

"I will do as I am instructed, and care is always top of the list." His kissed me lightly on the lips, and slipped the mask over his face, before disapperating.

His reassurances never usually made me feel secure, but for some reason, that day I was perfectly content to relax and pamper myself. I had a long soak in the bath, lit candles and incense, waxed my legs, painted my toenails and used a wonderful shine-inducing potion on my hair so that it slipped silkily through my fingers when I touched it. Pulling on a new negligee, a beautiful emerald green one, embroidered with serpentine patterns in black and silver, I reclined on our sheets, filling my head with thoughts of the night ahead of me, of us.

What the night turned out to be was as far from my fantasies as possible.

Our house-elf scurried into the bedroom at eleven o'clock, telling me that a Ministry Official was at the gates and urgently needed to speak with me. Lucius's death flashing before my eyes, I grabbed my black fur coat, slipped on a pair of shoes and ran to the gates, disregarding the chill in the night air.

"Mrs Narcissa Malfoy?" The man asked, raising an eyebrow at my appearance. I would have blushed, but I felt too sick to care that a stranger had seen me like this.

"Yes, may I ask what business you have here?" Nobody ever called at our Manor uninvited, and I knew that, whatever he was here for, it did not bode well for me and my family.

"It is my duty to inform you that your husband has been remanded in our custody after he was found partaking in Death Eater activity." The man's mournful pretence would have been so much more convincing had he not been grinning, and I found myself hating this foul man. He was taking delight in my husband's misfortune, and in mine.

"I don't know what you're talking about. My husband has never been a Death Eater." My voice is perfectly cold and clear, I have had to protest his innocence enough to be comfortable with it. Only Veristaserum would show my lie.

"I'm afraid that he was caught in the act, Mrs Malfoy, with plenty of eye witnesses to identify him. He and a number of others are currently being held awaiting trail." He fished a piece of parchment from his cloak pocked, and handed it to me. "The details of your husband's trial. Please notify the Ministry beforehand if you wish to be present."

I held the parchment in my trembling hand, and gave him one last look of utter contempt before turning and sweeping back up the driveway.

He would never have guessed that my shaking was from sobbing rather than the chill.

* * *

"Mother, stop treating me like a child. I am old enough to make my own decisions, and I cannot defy the Dark Lord." Draco's eyes are flashing, and I can tell that my mothering is annoying him.

"But you're too young, this is just punishment for your father's mistakes..." I am fighting very hard to keep my tears from spilling from my eyes. He would hate me now if I showed him the weakness inside of me. He is counting on me to be strong, strong for him and for Lucius, and for our family name. To be a Malfoy is to be strong, not to cry for your child, and certainly not to love him. I have failed miserably in both respects.

"I will gladly do the Dark Lord's noble work, as father did before me." I notice how impeccably well brought up he is, how hard and stony his features are, and his resolve. He was brought up to fulfill this duty, and now he is accepting it with honor, and with grace. But still I wonder if he has inherited my weaknesses, if, at night, he lies in his bed, crying silently into his pillow, wishing he had never been cursed with them.

Taking a deep breath, I sit down heavily on one of the footstools and nod my head. "Of course." He is so very like Lucius, he would never ask for my aid or counsel on any matter, however much he wanted it. From the eyes of an outsider, his upbringing must seem intolerably cruel. Possibly even from an insider...

"I told your father to take care, and he is not a clumsy human being. Please, be watchful." He nods his head stiffly, and kisses my cheek. I can feel the unspoken love between us, the forbidden warmth and affection, and I wish recklessly for a moment that I could pull my son into my arms and hold him there, just like any other mother comforting her child.

But he has turned and left the library before I can act on my impulse, and the moment is gone. I wish nothing more than for him to keep his distance, to do what I could not.

He will be a much better son to Lucius and I than I was ever a good daughter to my parents.

* * *

I walk slowly through the towering iron gates, Fudge at my side, and I can feel the dread, the fear, the death. The people in here are all dying, some slowly, some quickly. I pray that Lucius is strong, that I won't find him wasted away.

"He got what he deseved, you know." I hate that man, with his stupid bowler hat. So insensitive of him to wear something as brightly coloured when we are practically at a mass-funeral.

"As you have said many times." I won't rise to his bait. He would love any excuse to condemn me along with my husband, but I won't let him. I must honour Lucius, and Draco, and I will keep myself clean of scandal. It is the best I can do for them.

"I only say it because it's true." We are walking along between the rows of cells, the inhabitants all cowered in a corner, some moaning softly as though in pain, others far too still and silent to be well. Nobody deserves this place, certainly not Lucius. Maybe he has done unspeakable things, but they are in the name of ambition, of the superiority he deserves.

"How can you love a monster like him?" I wish he would stop asking me questions, trying to provoke me. It takes all my will-power to remain calm. After all, I have not seen my husband for months, and I have missed him dreadfully this past year. If only he hadn't been caught...

"He is not a monster. He is a perfect gentleman." I do not react to his snort, merely hold my head a little higher, and continue. "He is polite and dignified, and he is kind to me. I love him."

It sounds so simple, put like that, but it is anything but simple. My love for Lucius is like a tangled web of feelings, of emotion, and because those things are forbidden for someone of my status, I cannot make sense of it. He had caused me pain and anxiety, he has disregarded my feelings on occasion, has been overly strict with our son, and yet...none of that makes any difference. I love him, despite everything, just as I have always loved him, and always will.

We stop at his cell, and I see him, crouched there, like all the others, and I am afraid, truly terrified. Has he lost his mind? Will he recognise me? My heart is beating far too quickly, and I feel the colour rise on my cheeks when I realise that my anguish was showing on my face, plain for all to see. I clear my throat, and reassemble my features into their usual, bland, affected mask. The mask I present to everyone but myself, every day of my life.

Fudge unlocks the door to his cell, and I enter, although we are accorded no more privacy than if he had entered with me. It is like a cage, a cage for animals. Lucius at least deserves to be treated better than a dog, and a lowly one at that.

"Lucius, it's me, Narcissa." I bend down, and stroke his disheveled blonde hair from his face, fearing that I will see someone I barely recognise. But he is still Lucius, still handsome, still dignified, despite this hellish imprisonment.

"Narcissa." He touches my face, as though making sure that I am real, and my heart suddenly feels as though it will break inside my chest. He is drawing strength from me, and he has never needed to before. He was always more than strong enough for the both of us, and now I fear that our roles have been reversed. He is the one who is helpless, who needs protecting, needs saving, and I am the one who can grant him his freedom. If only I could...

"I am not allowed to stay long at all, Fudge," I nod my head behind me to the man standing watch over the door, pretending not to eavesdrop, "has given me five minutes with you."

"Just five minutes?" His voice isn't trembling, but I know it would be, if he had not been a Malfoy. It's not fair, no time would be long enough, but five minutes? Nobody would ever agree that that was fair.

"Yes, just five minutes." I decide that I don't care about dirtying the knees of my robes, I can cast a dusting spell when we leave the gates, and no-one but Fudge will know of it. I doubt he would even be caring about that. So I kneel before him, and take his hands in mine. "I promise you will be freed from here, and we will live once again at home where we belong."

"I know. I wouldn't have it any other way." There, he is still strong. He still believes that things will return to normal, that we will be together again. But he has changed, that much is clear. I did not dare hope that he would get through this unscathed, and so I suppose it was not wholly unexpected. But his kiss is urgent, hungry, as though he needs the warmth, the momentary release. This brief happy moment I know will be sucked from him as soon as I leave, but if I can give him any respite, even a second, I will do it. I love him, and this is how he needs me now.

Fudge is calling for me far too soon, although I know that five minutes must have passed. I kiss him one last time, meet his eyes in a steady, calming gaze, and stand.

"I will see you again, as soon as I can manage." He nods his head, the darkness creeping back into his eyes, although I have not even left yet. I pray that he will not have lost his mind by the time I return, for he seems so much weaker than my last visit, however long ago it may have been.

And so I leave Lucius, the man Fudge called a monster, knowing that I love him more than ever. True love never dies, they say, and I believe that to be true. Whatever we may do, however we may be parted, I will always be with him, in a way, in memory, wish or dream, but I will be there.

And that is all that matters.

* * *

And so you see, I am weak and I am a fool. I was a fool to ever let myself love, and I have paid the price many times over. But I will stand by my decisions, however idiotic they may seem to me now. My pride is all I have left to protect myself with, and I have no shortage of that.

I do not want your pity, I have never sought pity from anyone. Sometimes, obviously, it is avantageous to incite pity in others, but only others who you can afford to show weakness to. I cannot afford to show weakness to anyone now. I must be strong for my husband lest he loses his mind, I must be strong for my son lest he be sentenced to death for my shame, and I must be strong in the eyes of the entire wizarding community, so that they cannot revel in the fall of the greatest and most noble Pureblood family.

I shall hold my head high and keep up the pretence that I am coolly unaffected by all that has happened to destroy the world I so meticulously crafted for myself. I will have no regrets.

Certainly none that you would be able to see.