Week Seven - Generosity (Vice)
Narcissa collapsed onto her rumpled sheets, heaving shaky breaths as sweat dripped down her neck. A healer applied a cool cloth to her forehead, murmuring reassurances and praise, but Narcissa heard none of it — delirious as she was in her exhaustion.
She knew another round of cramping agony was coming, and that she’d need to be ready to push, but she was so tired.
Still, Narcissa prepared herself. She’d waited so long — been through so many losses — for this moment.
Even if the effort took her own, Narcissa would give this child life.
When the pain came with the urge to push once again, she screamed and cried until a high wailing joined in.
Healer Brown placed the baby on her chest. He was pink, wrinkled, and covered in white goo, but he was hers, and she loved him.
With a tender kiss to his slimy bald head, Narcissa resisted the urge to sleep. Her Draco needed her, and she’d give him all she could.
Narcissa served her dinner guests slices of the gorgeous Tarte Tatin she’d personally purchased from her favourite pâtisserie.
She couldn’t wait to taste it.
With all of the guests served, only one slice remained, so she levitated it to her dessert plate.
“May I have the last slice, Mother?” Draco asked, his previous slice already in his stomach.
“Of course, darling.”
“You spoil him, Cissa. It’s making him weak!” Lucius hissed. “He doesn’t understand the meaning of the word no.”
“He’s just a boy!”
The Dark Lord loomed over where she knelt at his feet, kissing his robes and begging for mercy.
“Your husband has failed me. Your family must take his punishment while he is in Azkaban. Draco must serve me in his place.”
“No, please, allow me to serve you instead, My Lord. I can better serve you!” Narcissa would give anything to save her son from this—anything. “Draco is only sixteen.”
“You dare question my judgement?” A cruel smile crept up his deathly pale face. “Crucio!”
He was in love with a muggleborn. Oh, Dear Merlin, her son was in love with a muggleborn.
Narcissa held his hand, silently begging him not to break as the girl screamed and bled on their Drawing Room floor. Draco squeezed so tight she thought her fingers would break, but she didn’t let go. She’d give him what she could.
Narcissa brushed back the boy’s dark fringe, scar clearly visible through the soot and blood on his face. Harry Potter was so young, the same age as Draco.
When she placed two fingers at his pulse point on his neck, Harry’s eyes fluttered open.
Narcissa kept her face blank as her mind raced, heart pounding.
“My son — is he alive?” she whispered, using her body to shield their faces from view.
He nodded imperceptibly.
Narcissa faced the Dark Lord, looking him right in his blood-red eyes. “He’s dead.”
Consequences be damned, she’d give her son the chance to live and be happy with his muggleborn.