Fic: "Slow Dying Flower" (No Challenge)
Title Slow Dying Flower
Author: flyingharmony
Prompt: #118 by flipflop_diva
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Narcissa/Lucius
Word Count: 3203
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Eating Disorder, Depression, Anxiety, Post-War Trauma
Summary: For Narcissa Malfoy, it was hard to remember a time when she liked looking into mirrors. It was also hard to remember a time when she liked looking into her husband's eyes. So why was he trying to look at her now?
Author's notes: Written for the HP Mental Health Fest 2014. Thank you so much to Prae for hosting this fest and being generally awesome, to C. for your constant support, cheerleading and threatening, and of course to Kristine for your amazing, amazing beta work. You guys are wonderful!
She had given order to cover every mirror in the house. Could barely stand her reflection. If her husband had ceased to look at her long ago, why should she still do so? Why should she still look into these empty blue eyes, into a face marked by war and despair, why should she still look at her body if it disgusted her, disgusted her beyond belief?
What had happened to her, she asked herself sometimes, the once so beautiful woman of twenty years past? What had time done to her, where had she gone? She seemed dead, long dead, and with her, she had taken the shine within her eyes, had taken the passion, the youthful naivety and any hope for a better future.
Some said that she was beautiful still, even more so than in the days of her youth, but whether to flatter or to mock her, she did not know. Yet how could their words, how could any of it still matter to her?
She had heard the whispers, had heard the rumours of Lucius Malfoy’s affair with young Daphne Greengrass, who was more likely to be his daughter than his secret beloved. Once she would have spat on what they called obvious, but her refusal to believe that it was true seemed to grow weaker and weaker with every day passing. Would he answer in honesty if she asked him? Or would he merely turn away from her, refusing to give the response she feared and yet so desperately longed for? Would any of it still be of importance?
The war was long over, yet another one had begun, and it was her own, a war against herself, a war that would never end, that she was forced to fight in alone.
It had begun as a punishment. She had locked herself into her bedroom for hours and hours, in order to punish herself for her weakness, to punish herself for her tears when at times she found herself incapable of holding back, when in the mornings she woke to find that she had wept in her sleep. It had begun as a punishment, a punishment for her worry, and now? Now she would barely leave the house, would barely speak, even to those she had once considered her closest friends.
What had become of her, what had become of fierce and proud Narcissa Malfoy? When had she given in?
Beautiful… She had once been so beautiful, her movements so graceful with her long, blonde hair falling down her back like a waterfall of pure spun gold. Her gaze had been so ravishing, and yet so cold. How many hearts had she once broken, and how many more had she conquered? Only one, however, had ever mattered.
Perfect, they had called her, and perfect she had been. And now? Now, should all this be over, should the war have taken away her beauty, her perfection? Wasn’t it enough already that it had taken her soul?
As though it were a surprise that he refused to look at her, as though it weren’t her fault. As though she couldn’t understand that he sought pleasure and found it in other women while his wife…
Narcissa had no memory of when she had last eaten, and even the mere thought caused her to wince. She had contracted the habit to take her meals in her bedroom, far away from her husband, far away from everything, unseen and in silence. Yet the nausea came to overwhelm her at the smell alone, would grant her no more than a single bite, even if she were willing to continue, and soon all her plates remained untouched.
If she were to starve herself to death, would he notice? Would he weep for her, if she died?
Perhaps he would touch her again if she lost weight, she’d thought at first; perhaps his desire would return to him. Yet her waiting had been in vain. Nothing had changed, nothing at all. And yet the bare sight of food now disgusted her beyond belief, while only a glance at the mirror would cause her to turn away in horror. She was barely herself anymore, only a shadow…
How long would she still be able to go on? How long would she still be able to live her life in silence until she broke apart?
Perhaps it wasn’t enough, perhaps…
Narcissa dared not finish her thought. How weak had she become, how frail… She vomited whatever the elves forced her to swallow, unable to stomach anything more than the bare necessity. She felt lightheaded, her heart palpitating within her chest as though it were to explode. Yet she forced herself into countenance, never to lose her dignity; she forced herself to go on until the darkness came for her. Only to the darkness would she surrender, waking a moment later, alone in her bedroom, for a moment oblivious of what had happened.
Only her sister had known about her condition, had known about her attacks, yet Narcissa had forbidden her to ever say a word about them, and Bellatrix had kept her promise until her death. Had merely looked at her, looked at her for minutes, hours, her gaze burning on her skin, and for a moment it seemed as though Azkaban’s traces had given place to worry that would briefly flare up within her eyes.
But now she, too, was gone, Narcissa’s last hold lost, lost forever.
Night had long fallen when the dizziness came to overwhelm her once more; she had risen in order to undress herself, to prepare herself for sleep, unaware that she was no longer alone in her room. She stumbled, reaching out for hold where none could be given… Yet when she fell, for the first time she was caught
*
Narcissa awoke to find her husband’s gaze resting on her, with an expression she was unable to read. His grey eyes were glistening dangerously in the dark. He looked at her almost like then, when she had fallen ill after giving birth to their son, almost like when he had nearly lost her for the first time. He almost seemed like himself again, like her Lucius, and yet she could not help but wonder whether he had been with her. Whether he had been with the Greengrass girl before returning home, and whether he had kissed her so passionately like he had once kissed her.
She shivered at the thought, but quickly composed herself. She tried to sit up, but Lucius pushed her back into her pillows, almost gently.
“Narcissa,” he said quietly, his voice strange in her ears. How long it had been since he last spoke out her name… And how long it must have been since he last thought of it, thought of her.
“I’m all right,” she whispered, causing him to snort with disbelief. He opened his mouth to speak, yet closed it again barely a second later, giving a quiet sigh as though for a moment he had considered contradicting her, only to change his mind. As though he had understood.
“Very well.”
Lucius rose from the edge of her bed, reaching out his arm for her, but she wouldn’t accept his help, both too proud and too foolish to take his hand.
He was never supposed to see her in a state like this, was never supposed to witness her weakness. Narcissa closed her eyes in shame, turning her head, no longer capable of holding his gaze. What had made him come to her, she asked herself, what had made him open the door to her bedroom, for the first time after so many weeks?
How many times had she told herself before that her love for him had long dried out? How many times had she told herself that she could not care less whether she found him by her side at night or not? … And it had always been a lie. Nothing but a lie. Of course she loved him still, loved him more than anything else, still yearned for his touch, desperately, yet in silence.
But why should he still touch her, if there was nothing left of her; why should he still touch her if she were a ghost? Weak and fragile, her once so beautiful, soft skin raw and pale, even paler than usual… Why should he still long for her like she longed for him if everything he had once loved about her she had lost - her beauty, her smile, her fierceness?
He was still there, still standing in her room, absently looking out of the window as though he were waiting for her to speak, to explain to him what had happened. Barely a year ago she would have given everything to look into his eyes again, would have given everything to have him in her room, yet now? Now she wanted nothing more than to be alone, could barely stand the way his gaze had rested on her, whether worried or disgusted she did not know.
Where had he been when she needed him the most? Where had he been when she…
“You could have saved me!” she wanted to cry, when for a moment fury seemed to overwhelm her, “It’s your fault, yours alone! You could have saved me...”
It wasn’t the truth. Of course it wasn’t. Even if he had wanted, even if he had noticed that she was slowly falling apart, how could he possibly have saved her? How could anyone have saved her, besides herself?
The war had taken its toll on him, too, and only now Narcissa realised how much. Had he once been so handsome, now he looked nearly like an old man, his posture bowed and voice hoarse, with deep shadows circling his pale grey eyes. How weary he looked.
And yet she was angry, so incredibly angry…
Again he sighed, turned his head to look at her once more. “Narcissa…”
No. No! He had no right to speak out her name, not after everything that had happened, not after… It wasn’t his fault. None of it was his fault. And still… Still…
“Leave now, Lucius,” she said quietly. “It’s late, and I would like to sleep. You would do well to rest, too.”
For a moment, no longer than a split second, Narcissa thought she saw his expression change. Thought she saw disappointment flare up in his eyes. Silently, he took a step forward, in order to leave, to finally leave… Yet he hesitated when he caught a brief glimpse of her desk, noticing the plates the elves had not yet taken away, all of them untouched.
“When was the last time you’ve eaten?” he asked her hoarsely, and for a moment it felt as though her heart had ceased to beat. How much had she dreaded this question. She didn’t reply, not even when he took her chin into his right hand, forcing her to look up. She could no longer escape his gaze, and yet… Yet she remained silent. Would bite off her tongue rather than speak to him. Rather than tell him the truth.
“Answer me, Narcissa.”
“Let go of me,” she breathed, allowing no warmth into her voice, tensing every muscle in her body in order not to wince at his touch. She wanted to scream, wanted to cry, to break away and never look at him again, wanted nothing more than to forget how much she loved him, how much she needed him, but she would keep up her composure, under any circumstances. She had known how to hold back her emotions when he kissed her good-bye before battle, and she knew now.
“Not until you give me the response I deserve.”
He took her wrist now, quickly before Narcissa had a chance to pull her arm back, and even if she had wanted to refuse, she knew that she lacked the strength. Knew that in this moment she was his, could see the sudden determination in his eyes to force her to tell the truth.
Never… He deserved no response, deserved nothing, nothing at all. She wouldn’t admit her weakness to him, not as long as she was alive.
“When was the last time you’ve eaten?” he repeated, slowly as though she hadn’t understood his words the first time, the harshness in his voice causing her to hold her breath. “A week ago? A month? What are you trying to achieve, Narcissa? Starve yourself to death? Is this what you wish for?”
How angry he sounded. As though he cared for her still, as though it weren’t a farce. But she would rather bite off her tongue than give in, desperately attempting to suppress the desire to fling herself into his arms like so many times before when they had still been young and foolish, to let him hold her and to cry, to cry until exhaustion came to overwhelm her.
“I only want to understand,” whispered Lucius after a while, finally breaking the oppressing silence that had filled the room. Perhaps he…
Narcissa closed her eyes, only to open them again barely a second later, incapable of keeping her body from trembling any longer. Had she for a moment allowed herself to believe in her husband’s sincerity, now all she could see was…
No.
“Please, Lucius, do not feel obliged to worry about me,” she spat, cruelty in her voice as the words came bursting out of her beyond her control. “I reckon that you would by far prefer to be spending your time with Miss Daphne Greengrass rather than with your mad wife. Let me reassure you, you needn’t trouble yourself with waiting until I have starved myself to death to return to her - you’re free to leave. This is your house more than mine, after all.”
For a moment, he seemed speechless. Let go of her at last and took a step back, still looking at her, his eyes wide open with horror as though he could barely believe his ears. “I… I beg you pardon?”
Were he to deny what seemed so obvious to her, were he to lie, to…? Was it a game, nothing but a terrible game, played to break her, to destroy her at last? If only he would tell her the truth…
Moments later he finally understood, audibly gasping for breath as though the realisation had overwhelmed him. “Narcissa, I never…”
Slowly, he shook his head, and he looked more like an old man than ever before.
“I always believed for you to be less foolish,” he said after a while, quietly, the disappointment in his voice unmistakeable. “But perhaps you have been alone too much to still possess the ability to differ between rumours and the truth.”
His words seared through her heart. How cruel he was, how incredibly cruel… As though it hadn’t been him to leave her alone, as though he hadn’t seemed to avoid her presence under any circumstances, even after the war had long ended… As though it hadn’t been…
It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his fault, none of this was his fault…
“Do not mock me, I beg you,” Narcissa whispered, suddenly dizzy once more. She stumbled, reached out her hand for her desk to steady herself… And yet she would have fallen had Lucius not quickly wrapped his arms around her waist to give her hold.
“Cissy…” he muttered against her ear, pulling her close to his body, and for a moment she was still too dazed to refuse. For a moment she allowed herself to give in. “You need to eat. Please... Or you will be losing your last strength, too…”
Slowly, Lucius lead her to her bed, carefully sitting her down. He took her hand into his, gently stroking over her skin…
Narcissa just shook her head, slowly, attempting to blink away her lightheadedness.
She would have shouted at him had she had the strength to raise her voice louder than a whisper, would have accused him of lying, but she was in no mood to fight, was in no mood to discuss whether he spoke the truth or not, not now, not tonight. How tired she was, all of a sudden...
“Let me sleep…” she breathed. “Please, Lucius, let me sleep now…”
“I will stay with you.”
No. Please… No…
“I don’t need to be taken care of.”
Again he sighed, sighed like so many times before. Briefly, Narcissa looked up, only to turn her head again, incapable of looking at him. The question burnt on her lips, yet she wouldn’t speak it out. Would never... Why did you leave me alone when I needed you the most?
“I wanted to protect you,” he said, as though he had read her mind. How sad he sounded. How sincere. “During the war, I… The battles, the meetings… Azkaban… We were hardly ourselves, but how could we have been? When you made this room your bedroom and refused to step out even at night, everything seemed to have fallen apart, yet then I began to tell myself that if you were invisible to me you would be to him, too. That you would find safety in solitude, that you wouldn’t be found. You shouldn’t become his property like me, like our son…”
She didn’t believe him - it was too hard - yet how much she wished for his words to be true, how much… As if it would change anything. As if it could undo the past, as if he could…
“This is not an attempt to justify myself, Narcissa,” he continued, and once more the sound of his voice nearly caused her to wince. “Because how could I possibly have the right? But I want you to believe me that I would never be able to betray you. And I promise you that I will never leave you alone again in future.”
Perhaps it was true, she thought. Perhaps he spoke the truth, perhaps the rumours were nothing but rumours. Narcissa forced herself to smile, yet she knew that it didn’t matter. Knew that words weren’t capable of undoing the past, knew that even if there were any love for her left inside of him, it wouldn’t be enough. Love was capable of many things, yet sometimes it needed more than love… More than faith, more than hope… Too long had they been apart…
“It’s too late,” she whispered, barely audible. It seemed impossible for her to keep her eyes open any longer, to fight against the dizziness. “It’s too late for us to have a future, Lucius…”
How tired she was…
“Narcissa!”
Again, she could feel his arms around her as he pulled her up, leaning her body against his chest. He held her, held her tightly, whispering into her ear and carefully shaking her as though to keep her awake.
“Stay with me… Stay with me, Cissy, let me save you…”
He couldn’t save her. Didn’t then and couldn’t now… She was lost. Had been lost for too long, like a slow dying flower.
Before oblivion came this time, she forced herself to look at her husband, to look at him for one last time… And she could see love within his eyes.
3203/30 = 106,7 = 107
= 107 points for Hufflepuff!
Author: flyingharmony
Prompt: #118 by flipflop_diva
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Narcissa/Lucius
Word Count: 3203
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Eating Disorder, Depression, Anxiety, Post-War Trauma
Summary: For Narcissa Malfoy, it was hard to remember a time when she liked looking into mirrors. It was also hard to remember a time when she liked looking into her husband's eyes. So why was he trying to look at her now?
Author's notes: Written for the HP Mental Health Fest 2014. Thank you so much to Prae for hosting this fest and being generally awesome, to C. for your constant support, cheerleading and threatening, and of course to Kristine for your amazing, amazing beta work. You guys are wonderful!
She had given order to cover every mirror in the house. Could barely stand her reflection. If her husband had ceased to look at her long ago, why should she still do so? Why should she still look into these empty blue eyes, into a face marked by war and despair, why should she still look at her body if it disgusted her, disgusted her beyond belief?
What had happened to her, she asked herself sometimes, the once so beautiful woman of twenty years past? What had time done to her, where had she gone? She seemed dead, long dead, and with her, she had taken the shine within her eyes, had taken the passion, the youthful naivety and any hope for a better future.
Some said that she was beautiful still, even more so than in the days of her youth, but whether to flatter or to mock her, she did not know. Yet how could their words, how could any of it still matter to her?
She had heard the whispers, had heard the rumours of Lucius Malfoy’s affair with young Daphne Greengrass, who was more likely to be his daughter than his secret beloved. Once she would have spat on what they called obvious, but her refusal to believe that it was true seemed to grow weaker and weaker with every day passing. Would he answer in honesty if she asked him? Or would he merely turn away from her, refusing to give the response she feared and yet so desperately longed for? Would any of it still be of importance?
The war was long over, yet another one had begun, and it was her own, a war against herself, a war that would never end, that she was forced to fight in alone.
It had begun as a punishment. She had locked herself into her bedroom for hours and hours, in order to punish herself for her weakness, to punish herself for her tears when at times she found herself incapable of holding back, when in the mornings she woke to find that she had wept in her sleep. It had begun as a punishment, a punishment for her worry, and now? Now she would barely leave the house, would barely speak, even to those she had once considered her closest friends.
What had become of her, what had become of fierce and proud Narcissa Malfoy? When had she given in?
Beautiful… She had once been so beautiful, her movements so graceful with her long, blonde hair falling down her back like a waterfall of pure spun gold. Her gaze had been so ravishing, and yet so cold. How many hearts had she once broken, and how many more had she conquered? Only one, however, had ever mattered.
Perfect, they had called her, and perfect she had been. And now? Now, should all this be over, should the war have taken away her beauty, her perfection? Wasn’t it enough already that it had taken her soul?
As though it were a surprise that he refused to look at her, as though it weren’t her fault. As though she couldn’t understand that he sought pleasure and found it in other women while his wife…
Narcissa had no memory of when she had last eaten, and even the mere thought caused her to wince. She had contracted the habit to take her meals in her bedroom, far away from her husband, far away from everything, unseen and in silence. Yet the nausea came to overwhelm her at the smell alone, would grant her no more than a single bite, even if she were willing to continue, and soon all her plates remained untouched.
If she were to starve herself to death, would he notice? Would he weep for her, if she died?
Perhaps he would touch her again if she lost weight, she’d thought at first; perhaps his desire would return to him. Yet her waiting had been in vain. Nothing had changed, nothing at all. And yet the bare sight of food now disgusted her beyond belief, while only a glance at the mirror would cause her to turn away in horror. She was barely herself anymore, only a shadow…
How long would she still be able to go on? How long would she still be able to live her life in silence until she broke apart?
Perhaps it wasn’t enough, perhaps…
Narcissa dared not finish her thought. How weak had she become, how frail… She vomited whatever the elves forced her to swallow, unable to stomach anything more than the bare necessity. She felt lightheaded, her heart palpitating within her chest as though it were to explode. Yet she forced herself into countenance, never to lose her dignity; she forced herself to go on until the darkness came for her. Only to the darkness would she surrender, waking a moment later, alone in her bedroom, for a moment oblivious of what had happened.
Only her sister had known about her condition, had known about her attacks, yet Narcissa had forbidden her to ever say a word about them, and Bellatrix had kept her promise until her death. Had merely looked at her, looked at her for minutes, hours, her gaze burning on her skin, and for a moment it seemed as though Azkaban’s traces had given place to worry that would briefly flare up within her eyes.
But now she, too, was gone, Narcissa’s last hold lost, lost forever.
Night had long fallen when the dizziness came to overwhelm her once more; she had risen in order to undress herself, to prepare herself for sleep, unaware that she was no longer alone in her room. She stumbled, reaching out for hold where none could be given… Yet when she fell, for the first time she was caught
*
Narcissa awoke to find her husband’s gaze resting on her, with an expression she was unable to read. His grey eyes were glistening dangerously in the dark. He looked at her almost like then, when she had fallen ill after giving birth to their son, almost like when he had nearly lost her for the first time. He almost seemed like himself again, like her Lucius, and yet she could not help but wonder whether he had been with her. Whether he had been with the Greengrass girl before returning home, and whether he had kissed her so passionately like he had once kissed her.
She shivered at the thought, but quickly composed herself. She tried to sit up, but Lucius pushed her back into her pillows, almost gently.
“Narcissa,” he said quietly, his voice strange in her ears. How long it had been since he last spoke out her name… And how long it must have been since he last thought of it, thought of her.
“I’m all right,” she whispered, causing him to snort with disbelief. He opened his mouth to speak, yet closed it again barely a second later, giving a quiet sigh as though for a moment he had considered contradicting her, only to change his mind. As though he had understood.
“Very well.”
Lucius rose from the edge of her bed, reaching out his arm for her, but she wouldn’t accept his help, both too proud and too foolish to take his hand.
He was never supposed to see her in a state like this, was never supposed to witness her weakness. Narcissa closed her eyes in shame, turning her head, no longer capable of holding his gaze. What had made him come to her, she asked herself, what had made him open the door to her bedroom, for the first time after so many weeks?
How many times had she told herself before that her love for him had long dried out? How many times had she told herself that she could not care less whether she found him by her side at night or not? … And it had always been a lie. Nothing but a lie. Of course she loved him still, loved him more than anything else, still yearned for his touch, desperately, yet in silence.
But why should he still touch her, if there was nothing left of her; why should he still touch her if she were a ghost? Weak and fragile, her once so beautiful, soft skin raw and pale, even paler than usual… Why should he still long for her like she longed for him if everything he had once loved about her she had lost - her beauty, her smile, her fierceness?
He was still there, still standing in her room, absently looking out of the window as though he were waiting for her to speak, to explain to him what had happened. Barely a year ago she would have given everything to look into his eyes again, would have given everything to have him in her room, yet now? Now she wanted nothing more than to be alone, could barely stand the way his gaze had rested on her, whether worried or disgusted she did not know.
Where had he been when she needed him the most? Where had he been when she…
“You could have saved me!” she wanted to cry, when for a moment fury seemed to overwhelm her, “It’s your fault, yours alone! You could have saved me...”
It wasn’t the truth. Of course it wasn’t. Even if he had wanted, even if he had noticed that she was slowly falling apart, how could he possibly have saved her? How could anyone have saved her, besides herself?
The war had taken its toll on him, too, and only now Narcissa realised how much. Had he once been so handsome, now he looked nearly like an old man, his posture bowed and voice hoarse, with deep shadows circling his pale grey eyes. How weary he looked.
And yet she was angry, so incredibly angry…
Again he sighed, turned his head to look at her once more. “Narcissa…”
No. No! He had no right to speak out her name, not after everything that had happened, not after… It wasn’t his fault. None of it was his fault. And still… Still…
“Leave now, Lucius,” she said quietly. “It’s late, and I would like to sleep. You would do well to rest, too.”
For a moment, no longer than a split second, Narcissa thought she saw his expression change. Thought she saw disappointment flare up in his eyes. Silently, he took a step forward, in order to leave, to finally leave… Yet he hesitated when he caught a brief glimpse of her desk, noticing the plates the elves had not yet taken away, all of them untouched.
“When was the last time you’ve eaten?” he asked her hoarsely, and for a moment it felt as though her heart had ceased to beat. How much had she dreaded this question. She didn’t reply, not even when he took her chin into his right hand, forcing her to look up. She could no longer escape his gaze, and yet… Yet she remained silent. Would bite off her tongue rather than speak to him. Rather than tell him the truth.
“Answer me, Narcissa.”
“Let go of me,” she breathed, allowing no warmth into her voice, tensing every muscle in her body in order not to wince at his touch. She wanted to scream, wanted to cry, to break away and never look at him again, wanted nothing more than to forget how much she loved him, how much she needed him, but she would keep up her composure, under any circumstances. She had known how to hold back her emotions when he kissed her good-bye before battle, and she knew now.
“Not until you give me the response I deserve.”
He took her wrist now, quickly before Narcissa had a chance to pull her arm back, and even if she had wanted to refuse, she knew that she lacked the strength. Knew that in this moment she was his, could see the sudden determination in his eyes to force her to tell the truth.
Never… He deserved no response, deserved nothing, nothing at all. She wouldn’t admit her weakness to him, not as long as she was alive.
“When was the last time you’ve eaten?” he repeated, slowly as though she hadn’t understood his words the first time, the harshness in his voice causing her to hold her breath. “A week ago? A month? What are you trying to achieve, Narcissa? Starve yourself to death? Is this what you wish for?”
How angry he sounded. As though he cared for her still, as though it weren’t a farce. But she would rather bite off her tongue than give in, desperately attempting to suppress the desire to fling herself into his arms like so many times before when they had still been young and foolish, to let him hold her and to cry, to cry until exhaustion came to overwhelm her.
“I only want to understand,” whispered Lucius after a while, finally breaking the oppressing silence that had filled the room. Perhaps he…
Narcissa closed her eyes, only to open them again barely a second later, incapable of keeping her body from trembling any longer. Had she for a moment allowed herself to believe in her husband’s sincerity, now all she could see was…
No.
“Please, Lucius, do not feel obliged to worry about me,” she spat, cruelty in her voice as the words came bursting out of her beyond her control. “I reckon that you would by far prefer to be spending your time with Miss Daphne Greengrass rather than with your mad wife. Let me reassure you, you needn’t trouble yourself with waiting until I have starved myself to death to return to her - you’re free to leave. This is your house more than mine, after all.”
For a moment, he seemed speechless. Let go of her at last and took a step back, still looking at her, his eyes wide open with horror as though he could barely believe his ears. “I… I beg you pardon?”
Were he to deny what seemed so obvious to her, were he to lie, to…? Was it a game, nothing but a terrible game, played to break her, to destroy her at last? If only he would tell her the truth…
Moments later he finally understood, audibly gasping for breath as though the realisation had overwhelmed him. “Narcissa, I never…”
Slowly, he shook his head, and he looked more like an old man than ever before.
“I always believed for you to be less foolish,” he said after a while, quietly, the disappointment in his voice unmistakeable. “But perhaps you have been alone too much to still possess the ability to differ between rumours and the truth.”
His words seared through her heart. How cruel he was, how incredibly cruel… As though it hadn’t been him to leave her alone, as though he hadn’t seemed to avoid her presence under any circumstances, even after the war had long ended… As though it hadn’t been…
It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his fault, none of this was his fault…
“Do not mock me, I beg you,” Narcissa whispered, suddenly dizzy once more. She stumbled, reached out her hand for her desk to steady herself… And yet she would have fallen had Lucius not quickly wrapped his arms around her waist to give her hold.
“Cissy…” he muttered against her ear, pulling her close to his body, and for a moment she was still too dazed to refuse. For a moment she allowed herself to give in. “You need to eat. Please... Or you will be losing your last strength, too…”
Slowly, Lucius lead her to her bed, carefully sitting her down. He took her hand into his, gently stroking over her skin…
Narcissa just shook her head, slowly, attempting to blink away her lightheadedness.
She would have shouted at him had she had the strength to raise her voice louder than a whisper, would have accused him of lying, but she was in no mood to fight, was in no mood to discuss whether he spoke the truth or not, not now, not tonight. How tired she was, all of a sudden...
“Let me sleep…” she breathed. “Please, Lucius, let me sleep now…”
“I will stay with you.”
No. Please… No…
“I don’t need to be taken care of.”
Again he sighed, sighed like so many times before. Briefly, Narcissa looked up, only to turn her head again, incapable of looking at him. The question burnt on her lips, yet she wouldn’t speak it out. Would never... Why did you leave me alone when I needed you the most?
“I wanted to protect you,” he said, as though he had read her mind. How sad he sounded. How sincere. “During the war, I… The battles, the meetings… Azkaban… We were hardly ourselves, but how could we have been? When you made this room your bedroom and refused to step out even at night, everything seemed to have fallen apart, yet then I began to tell myself that if you were invisible to me you would be to him, too. That you would find safety in solitude, that you wouldn’t be found. You shouldn’t become his property like me, like our son…”
She didn’t believe him - it was too hard - yet how much she wished for his words to be true, how much… As if it would change anything. As if it could undo the past, as if he could…
“This is not an attempt to justify myself, Narcissa,” he continued, and once more the sound of his voice nearly caused her to wince. “Because how could I possibly have the right? But I want you to believe me that I would never be able to betray you. And I promise you that I will never leave you alone again in future.”
Perhaps it was true, she thought. Perhaps he spoke the truth, perhaps the rumours were nothing but rumours. Narcissa forced herself to smile, yet she knew that it didn’t matter. Knew that words weren’t capable of undoing the past, knew that even if there were any love for her left inside of him, it wouldn’t be enough. Love was capable of many things, yet sometimes it needed more than love… More than faith, more than hope… Too long had they been apart…
“It’s too late,” she whispered, barely audible. It seemed impossible for her to keep her eyes open any longer, to fight against the dizziness. “It’s too late for us to have a future, Lucius…”
How tired she was…
“Narcissa!”
Again, she could feel his arms around her as he pulled her up, leaning her body against his chest. He held her, held her tightly, whispering into her ear and carefully shaking her as though to keep her awake.
“Stay with me… Stay with me, Cissy, let me save you…”
He couldn’t save her. Didn’t then and couldn’t now… She was lost. Had been lost for too long, like a slow dying flower.
Before oblivion came this time, she forced herself to look at her husband, to look at him for one last time… And she could see love within his eyes.
3203/30 = 106,7 = 107
= 107 points for Hufflepuff!