The battle is a haze, but my mind is clear, singularly focused.
Draco.
When Lucius’s mark burned, my stomach clenched. I felt like I had been dunked in ice water. We had been preparing for this, the “final battle”, for weeks. The Dark Lord was sure that this would be his moment of victory, that he had Potter cornered in the castle.
The years my family spent under the shadow of the Dark Lord were cold and unforgiving. The years we spent in the interim left time and space to think, to plan, to prepare. My husband had been gifted a dark object in the first war, and he so foolishly gave it to the Weasley girl, enabling it’s destruction. I don’t know if Lucius understood what he had been given, but I did. One does not grow up where I grew up and not see dark magic for what it is. The brief month Lucius spent in Azkaban after the end of the first war allowed me much space to explore this object. By the time Lucius returned, acquitted under dubious claims of the Imperius curse, I knew all I needed to know about the Horcrux we kept locked in our manor.
I wish I could say I did more, I wish I had done more. The false sense of security I was lulled into by my child & the years of steady peace pushed the Horcrux to the recesses of my mind. It got locked away with all of the other memories; of Andromeda leaving, of the children I lost, of the times Lucius nearly died, of the Dark Lord’s fingers on my face.
When the Dark Lord entered our home again, accompanied by that unnatural snake, an old memory pulled itself free. Was it possible? Did he create two Horcruxes? Surely not. Surely we would not be under his thumb for eternity. Surely Dumbledore and the Potter boy had a plan to end this madness.
My husband and I arrive on the Hogwarts grounds. The Dark Lord’s army stands on the hill, overlooking the castle. It is clear that the students are preparing, no doubt warned of this invasion by the strange connection the Dark Lord shares with the Potter boy. Their minds are linked, similar to how he is able to communicate with Nagini without speaking to her. It's eerie, and it clearly angers the Dark Lord.
The battle is a haze but my mind is clear, and singularly focused. I need my son. I need my Draco. Nothing else really matters except for his safety.
When the Dark Lord calls his forces into the forest, I'm shaking. Numb, and trying to Occlude, I ask around after my son. Nobody has seen him in the fray. Severus had said that some of the students were sent to the dungeons for safety, but Severus was dead now. bitten by that unnatural snake.
The snake.
Potter appears in the forest. He is thin, he always looks thin. My mind clears when I see his face, I wonder if this boy has seen my son. I wonder if this boy knows where Draco is.
The Dark Lord casts the curse on him. Potter crumples to the ground. He lies there, in a fetal position, facing away from us. The Dark Lord falls back with the curse. It is curious, he almost looks ashen, like he's suddenly ill.
The truth hits me like a punch in the gut. Suddenly my mind is clear.
“The boy…is he dead?”
The Dark Lord’s voice is thin and tired. I feel a stinging hex hit my leg and I jump. Without thinking, I step out of the circle towards Potter’s body. I need to check if the curse rang true. Immediately it is clear that Potter was still with us. He is breathing slowly, and his pulse is slow, but he is undoubtedly alive. I bend over his body and my hand finds it’s rest on his thin face. It's warm. I stroke his cheek with my thumb, my other hand reaching around to feel his heart beating under his shirt.
“Draco” I whisper, “Is Draco alive, is he in the castle?”
Potter takes a shuddering breath and gives a minute nod of his head.
“Yes” Potter breathes.
My walls crumble, I am shoved into memories.
Draco meeting Potter in Diagon Alley, telling me later about how excited he was to make a new friend.
Draco sending letters, complaining about Potter’s knack for trouble and inability to follow rules.
Severus sitting in my parlor, red and blotchy after Lily Potter was murdered.
Lucius in Azkaban, blaming Potter for his imprisonment once again.
Draco, eyes empty and tired. face pale and drawn, lying in a hospital bed wrapped in bandages.
I press my hand to Potter’s face and whisper “Legilimens”. He doesn't fight back; I swim through the chaos of his mind.
Draco lying in a pool of blood in the bathroom. Severus crouched over him.
Potter, in my dungeons, listening to Granger scream.
A burning room, Draco and Potter riding out of it on an old broomstick.
Nymphadora Tonks, my estranged niece, lying dead on a cot in the great hall.
Severus dying, asking Harry to take his memories.
Albus Dumbledore, telling Severus that Harry Potter is the last Horcrux.
I resurface, only a moment has passed.
I think of my son, of his life, of what future he has. And at that moment I make a decision, for Draco, to trust Harry Potter.
After all, he’s just a boy.
My hand on his chest clenches into a fist. I sit up, bracing myself on Harry’s shoulder to help me stand. I turn around to face the Dark Lord, occluding faster than I ever have before.
“He is dead!” I yell. Pushing triumph and victory into my voice, I sound more confident than I feel. I force a grin onto my face, channeling Bella, trying to look as mad as I can.
The Dark Lord smiles slowly. The circle cheers, yells, hollers.
In the end, Draco and I leave. I do not stay to watch Harry Potter kill Lord Voldemort. I do not witness Molly Weasley murdering my sister. I do not wait for my husband to decide whose side he is on. I take my son & I leave.
Harry Potter finds me months later. He wanders through my rose garden and sits next to me on the bench. I'm sure he owled ahead and I'm sure I saw it but I don’t remember. My husband is dead, and my son is in prison, I haven’t thought about much else.
“Mrs. Malfoy” Harry says quietly, “Do you mind if I sit with you a bit?”
I nod. Harry’s face is drawn, and thinner than it was when I last saw him. I wonder if he eats, I wonder if he has anyone to remind him to eat, I wonder when I started thinking of him as "Harry" instead of "the Potter boy." He sits quietly with me for a time, enjoying the roses. Finally, Harry takes a breath and speaks.
“Can I ask you why you did it?” Harry whispers, like he is afraid of the answer.
I sigh. My hands shake. I start occluding again, I do not want to think about that day.
Harry covers my shaking hand in his own. His knobbly brown fingers are warm and strong. I look up at him and realize I’ve never truly looked at Harry Potter before. It’s true that he resembles his father, the same dark skin, tousled hair, wired glasses, but Lily is there as well. In his startlingly green eyes, in the swoop of his nose, in the freckles on his cheeks. His scar spreads down across his forehead and over one of his eyebrows. I've never really looked at it before, but it’s strangely beautiful.
“You’re just a boy.” My voice is resolute. I know what I did, and why I did it. This child needed protecting, he needed a mother’s love.
“My mother saved me from Voldemort when I was a baby, and you saved me from him months ago.” Harry’s eyes glisten.
I slowly smile and squeeze his hand in my own.
“A mothers love is not to be trifled with.”
Harry Potter stays after that. He comes by for tea every week until Draco is released. He helps Draco rehabilitate from prison. Harry gives Draco a second chance, an opportunity to create new friendships.
I see Harry more and more as time goes on. He comes to me for advice when he proposes to Ginny Weasley. He helps me plan Draco’s wedding to Hermione. He accompanies me to visit my husband’s crypt when it is too difficult to think about him.
Years later Harry has a daughter. Lily Narcissa Potter. Quite an improvement from his second son, who is named Albus of all things. Lily Narcissa Potter, a physical reminder of a mother’s love, and all the power it can hold.