After Begins
Only days after the Dark Lord fell, Hermione wakes up crying in her cradle. Narcissa hears her wails through the echo of the hall and goes to her bedside.
An elf should have heard first, but Narcissa forgets that as soon as the young girl reaches her pudgy arms out.
“Hush, child,” Narcissa soothes the girl, taking her into her arms.
The girl’s thick hair falls across her face, forcing Narcissa to brush away the locks to look at her teary eyes.
“All is well,” Narcissa whispers, bouncing the girl as she has done with her son since he was born.
“Mummy,” Hermione cries, sniffling. Snot leaks from her tiny nose and Narcissa reaches for a cloth to wipe the girl’s face.
The girl hadn’t called Narcissa mummy. She’d looked past her, as though her real mother would come out of the shadows and comfort her.
It ruffles Narcissa’s feathers, but she manages to shove away the guilt.
“I’m here,” she says, pretending as though she is what the girl wants. What she needs.
Even though she isn’t.
“Mummy,” the girl cries harder, tears spilling down her reddening cheeks.
“Hush,” Narcissa says again, feeling her own eyes water.
How can she do this? How can Lucius expect her to mother a child whose parents he’d killed? What will they tell her?
The girl quiets, sniffling.
“You’re okay,” Narcissa comforts, not at all comfortable with the notion that she is now responsible for this mudblood. That in the wake of the Dark Lord falling, she must raise his sparrow.
Hermione burrows into her shoulder and Narcissa closes her eyes. This is just another challenge that she must adapt to and overcome.
“Lady Malfoy.” A house elf appears, already mid bow. “Wotty is sorry she did not hear the babe.”
“It is fine. Take her,” Naricissa says, handing over the child with more relief than is right.
And then she flees the room, returning to her bed chamber and glaring at her sleeping husband. He promised her a life of comfort. How comfortable will she ever be with that girl under their roof?