Tears of Innocence

You don't know me. You think you do, but you don't. You don't know my heart. You don't know my mind, and you don't know my soul. You don't know the pit of misery in which I dwell, shrouded by my own incompetence and failures. They are hidden by my eternal lack of thought for any one else, abetted by my arrogance.

You do not know me, therefore you have no power or control over me. Oh yes, you can torture me, kill me, or members of my close or extended family. I have watched, and indeed aided, you in doing so to so many innocent people. I am not innocent. Oh, by no means. I am as guilty as you, my liege. But I cannot live like this, and I will rebel. The time has come for you to see my heart and know it is not yours to own.

So, my Lord, by now you are probably troubled, or, most likely in your arrogance, merely curious as to what my silly mind is saying now. You will think silly, because when you look at my thoughts, I hide them, put on an air of cheerful girlishness. But I have deeper, more philosophical ideas, which I must hide from you at all costs, else there would be no escape. Well, my Lord, I shall indulge your curiosity. I've had enough, quite simply.

The deepest, darkest, memories which I have suppressed so long now haunt me late at night; a small face, smiling down at me, hot breath upon my pale neck, late, so very late at night. I see her crying, her innocent blue eyes look down on me in their childish sorrow, and I know why. She, and I both know the truth: You are evil, and you are fully aware of the crimes you commit, and of which I shall play no further part by torturing myself with her mauled memory.

It is your fault. All of this, it was your doing. I have been told I, myself, am to blame for harm done to my family. Bellatrix, my beautiful and charming sister, Bellatrix, has told me to let go. But I cannot, I shall not, let go. My darling daughter is part of me, and I will not lose her again. But, of course, you do not remember, oh dark one, the great bleeding wound you left in my heart. You do not recollect the pointless cruelty you inflicted upon my angel, Rose.

No? Her name rings no bells? I am not surprised, nor am I disappointed. Your low, low standards met my expectations. After all, when killing people is your habit, your hobby, when millions die at your long, spindly hands, why bother to remember their names, their lives? Your miniscule brain would never worry over such a meaningless task, I am sure. So, I shall remind you.

She was beautiful, my daughter, Rose was. The very picture of perfection. Long, fair ringlets surrounded her pale features. Bright blue eyes shone out her large, sockets. There is something about big, innocent blue eyes that makes you want to protect them, and Rose was no exception. She would look up at me, and I would silently vow never to let anyone harm her. She had full, red lips, the colour of which inspired her name. She liked to be read to, my Rose. She would sit for hours, either with me, or her nursemaid, snuggled up close, her small fingers caressing the page, tickling the bright, colourful illustrations. She could sleep the night through never crying, never disturbing me, Lucius, or the servants. We loved her like ourselves, and never would we wish ill upon such an innocent creature.

Yet you did, did you not? You may deny your responsibility in the matter, for it was only a matter of time before she died. No other infant would have survived after her brave, but innocent, act of spewing her milk upon the Dark Lord.

It was dark, that night. The moon was nowhere to be seen, coated in a fluffy mass of clouds. She had been unusually fretful that night, refusing to settle until I took her in my own arms, hugging her, soothing her with a bottle. Rather frustratingly, she had chosen precisely the worst moment to become so. There had been a meeting planned at our Manor that evening, rather a major event it must be said, and it so happened that Lucius required my hostess skills in order to keep our prestigious, and not so prestigious, guests happy and well catered to.

You smile now, I see. For now you remember the part of the tale that is coming. I shall disappoint you, however, master. You have no power over me. You cannot make me recount it, yet I shall for my own purposes. I need to tell you for you to understand, but, even then, you, who are not capable of human thought or sentiment, shall not know the extent of my suffering. You have never suffered the loss of a loved one. You have never loved, so you can never fully understand.

You see, you were arriving, with all your prestige and power floating on your coat tails, just waiting, begging, to be taken by one so worthy as to reach out and take hold of it. Lucius, my once much-loved husband, deemed himself to be the worthy one.

"Just think, my darling, just imagine what could be ours if we chose it."

His greed-addled mind saw only the power and the desired inclusion into the inner circle. He needed me downstairs, tending to our guests, taking coats, delivering drinks, fussing over our evil, evil friends. But I was not. Instead, I was rocking my beauty back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, hoping to get her to take more of her bottle.

"Narcissa! Hand the bloody child to the nursemaid, or even a house-elf!" Lucius shouted. His voice harsh with anxiety, fear and panic, scaring little Rose, making her cry, and fret harder.

"Shh, shhh, my sweet," I cooed, "Don't fret darling, Mummy's here."

There was a clap of thunder outside, and the sound of a door creaking on the hinges. You were inside our manor, mounting our stairs, wishing to know to where his most loyal hosts had vanished.

I watched, helplessly, as my husband's terror mounted. Everything would be gone. Our family would lose all credibility. We would all die, or, worse still, be forced to take on challenges that are beneath our station as Malfoys.

Your feet climbed our stately staircase. Ka-thump. Ka-thump. Ka-thump. The look of horror rose in my loving husband's eyes. Ka-thump. Ka-thump. Ka-thump. He grabbed Rose in his arms, rocking her, rocking her. He wills her to fall silent. She does not. She, too, can hear the footsteps, and feel the tenseness in the room.

You enter, calling out to us, imperiously demanding to know our whereabouts. You spy our daughter out the corner of your eye, and whirl round to face her. Your spindly fingers pick her up. I do not stop you; it is an honour to have you hold her. She gurgles, then spits up the milk I had been feeding her.

I see my life flashing before my eyes, or rather I see hers. You look her square in the eyes, then take your wand out. I struggle against Lucius' now restraining arms.

"NO!"

But yes. You will do it. I could not break out my husband's grip, but I yell. I scream, I shout, I plead. But, alas, to no avail.

A muttered curse. A flash of green light. A yell from a mother and father. Then, no more. Gone. Forever.

Lucius removes the spit-up from your robes with his wand. He offers you our bathroom, and finest towels with which to clean up. He even offers his own robes, but he shows no emotion as to our daughter's death.

You smile and promote him up the ranks. Your most treasured servant.

In your mind, and Lucius', you are complimenting our family to the highest degree. I am not complimented, nor am I offended. I am numb. I hold my daughter, my beautiful Rose, and I do not let go, not then, when her limp, lifeless body lay pitifully still in my arms, or now, when all I have left is a few photos and my memories. I shall never let go. She is mine, part of me. She is the hole in my heart. Her memory fills the gap. Draco, of course, does not know. No-one knows. And Lucius has chosen to forget.

This is because she never existed, not really. She made no difference, no impact upon the world. Rose is my innocence, my purity, my conscience. If I do not go back, go spread goodness and light in the world, soon she will be gone forever. Her memory grows weaker, fading into nothingness, but as it does so, she imparts part of herself into everything. Everything. All is a living memory of her, her beauty, her innocence, her unfailing goodness. Me. The real, or unreal me. I have to choose, and I chose her.

I will always choose her.