Fic: "Conquer Even Death" by AoifeMoran
Title: Conquer Even Death
Author: AoifeMoran
Rating: PG
Word Count: 5706 words
Warnings: None
Summary: "In the end, Voldemort's fate twice came down to the choice of a woman, a mother."
An examination of why, exactly, Narcissa Malfoy might have made the choice she did.
Why I loved it: First and foremost, this is Narcissa's story and I like how the author interpreted the prompt and fleshed out a character who we don't know much about, canon-wise. The reasoning behind Narcissa's decision is bittersweet, but makes me respect her more because it demonstrates that despite her family being very involved in Voldemort's inner circle, she's very compassionate. I love how her friendship with Harry is open and honest, allowing him to figure out who he is without society's expectations thrust upon him. (The ending is a nice surprise, too!)
“I know you grew up in the muggle world, Harry,” she begins, choosing her words carefully, “and in that world, people are not so accepting of… differences. In the wizarding world, my dear, while we have had our share of prejudices, there has never been one against those who love the same gender.” Narcissa stands from the table, letting Harry mull her words over. “When you’re ready, Lommy will lead you to your guest room. Sleep well, Harry,” she adds, briefly pressing a kiss to his forehead.
In the corner of her eye, she catches a flash of blonde hair disappearing around the corner just as she leaves the kitchen. “Draco?” Narcissa calls softly, not expecting a response, but as she rounds the corner, she sees her son, standing there with an expression of betrayal on his face.
“You kissed him on the forehead?” Draco accuses, sounding like a petulant eight-year old, and not like the man in his twenties that he is. His voice cracks mid-sentence, and he bites his lower lip, trying to fight back tears. She does not know when he developed that habit, but its origins are painfully obvious. Narcissa has seen it many times, and always in her own mirror.
“Oh, my son,” she sighs, heart aching, and then for the second time that night, her arms are full of crying young man. “There is room enough in my heart for two sons, and more,” she tells him, stroking the hair he has allowed to grow long, “but do not think for a moment that even if there were not, I would forget the son I bore. You are my son, Draco, and no matter else what you may do, may be, you will always be loved. A mother’s love can conquer even death, you know.” She kisses his forehead as well, and he staggers out of her embrace, surprised by the outpouring of emotion.
Mods: May I have an author tag?
Author: AoifeMoran
Rating: PG
Word Count: 5706 words
Warnings: None
Summary: "In the end, Voldemort's fate twice came down to the choice of a woman, a mother."
An examination of why, exactly, Narcissa Malfoy might have made the choice she did.
Why I loved it: First and foremost, this is Narcissa's story and I like how the author interpreted the prompt and fleshed out a character who we don't know much about, canon-wise. The reasoning behind Narcissa's decision is bittersweet, but makes me respect her more because it demonstrates that despite her family being very involved in Voldemort's inner circle, she's very compassionate. I love how her friendship with Harry is open and honest, allowing him to figure out who he is without society's expectations thrust upon him. (The ending is a nice surprise, too!)
“I know you grew up in the muggle world, Harry,” she begins, choosing her words carefully, “and in that world, people are not so accepting of… differences. In the wizarding world, my dear, while we have had our share of prejudices, there has never been one against those who love the same gender.” Narcissa stands from the table, letting Harry mull her words over. “When you’re ready, Lommy will lead you to your guest room. Sleep well, Harry,” she adds, briefly pressing a kiss to his forehead.
In the corner of her eye, she catches a flash of blonde hair disappearing around the corner just as she leaves the kitchen. “Draco?” Narcissa calls softly, not expecting a response, but as she rounds the corner, she sees her son, standing there with an expression of betrayal on his face.
“You kissed him on the forehead?” Draco accuses, sounding like a petulant eight-year old, and not like the man in his twenties that he is. His voice cracks mid-sentence, and he bites his lower lip, trying to fight back tears. She does not know when he developed that habit, but its origins are painfully obvious. Narcissa has seen it many times, and always in her own mirror.
“Oh, my son,” she sighs, heart aching, and then for the second time that night, her arms are full of crying young man. “There is room enough in my heart for two sons, and more,” she tells him, stroking the hair he has allowed to grow long, “but do not think for a moment that even if there were not, I would forget the son I bore. You are my son, Draco, and no matter else what you may do, may be, you will always be loved. A mother’s love can conquer even death, you know.” She kisses his forehead as well, and he staggers out of her embrace, surprised by the outpouring of emotion.
Mods: May I have an author tag?