Harry Potter 1. Memories

It's been a while since you last heard from me but rest assured my writers block has been cured! Well, at least I wrote something that I think is passably good and decided to share it with you. I'm not sure if I'll continue it; I think it stands pretty well as a character sketch. But here's a little water to help your parched throat (I know you've been starving for me). For ominous music: I recommend you listen to The Council of Elrond, A Knife in the Dark, and Lothlorien from the Fellowship of the Ring Soundtrack. I listened to the soundtrack as I wrote this story. Enjoy!

**Memories**

They were everywhere, prowling around the mansion like overgrown boarhounds with less care than animals for the priceless antiques and her once perfectly clean rugs. She'd stopped leaving her quarters ever since they'd arrived; one would have thought that men of such upbringing would know how to behave. But not all of them had been raised as well as she'd been raised.

            It was times like these when she spurned her upbringing and who she was. She knew there were many witches who would kill to have been born into the Black family and even more who would have killed her to be Mrs. Malfoy. She was lucky, in a way, to have married so well. Her parents had died shortly after Draco had been born. Narcissa winced as a particularly raucous laugh echoed down the hallways and slipped under her door to pound at her ears. They were never like this when their superiors were around. But Lucius had taken the upper crust and his overpowering presence away and left her to deal with the uncultured crumbs.

            "I'll be back in a few hours, Narcissa. Don't frown at me like that, you'll get wrinkles," he had said, smirking when her frown deepened. "I'll have a surprise for you when you return." She wasn't sure she'd like the surprise or not.

            She was glad her parents were dead, so they wouldn't see what her life was like now and wouldn't be ashamed that she had married Lucius. They hadn't seen the hurts; they had come after their death. It wasn't that Lucius was abusive, he just lost his temper every once in a while. He didn't mean to hurt her, he just couldn't control himself. Anyways, she deserved it. Lucius deserved perfection, and if she wasn't perfect, well, she could try her hardest to be so. He deserved it.

            The sudden delicate tinkling of china, followed by a muffled expletive made her huddle more into the blanket wrapped around her as she sat before the fire, waiting for Lucius to return. There wasn't much she could do to prevent the slow but meticulous destruction of the house she had invested so much effort into. Hours of precise evaluation of positions and carefully selected elements of the family heirlooms led the house to have the exact mood she wanted: polite stolidity. It was only in her chambers and Draco's that she had let the personal slip in, although Draco had requested she stop invading his room and moving around and changing the furniture at her whim. He was growing up so quickly, her only son. Her only child. Lucius knew she could not get with child again.

            They had started trying to have a child almost as soon as they were married, but complications had arisen from the beginning. It had taken over a year before she had gotten pregnant, and then she had fallen down the stairs after Lucius had bumped into her. The second time, the mediwizards had very gently informed her that the fetus was deformed and should it be birthed, it would be crippled. Lucius refused to have a crippled heir and it was aborted. They had waited a full year before trying again, and it was during this year that Lucius had won his place in the highest of the Dark Lord's circles. She remembered how proud she had been, and how he had made love to her that night. It was like he was touching her for the first time, and there had been no pain, only desire. It had been the first time they had actually made love, not just committed the marriage act. There was no force to it, it had simply happened.

Just the once, and she had gotten with child. She thought it must be a miracle and she faithfully followed the Dark Lord. Lucius had been so proud at how quickly she rose through the ranks. To her, the Dark Lord was the reason why she was pregnant, and why her pregnancy was going smoothly. She had complete faith that he would protect her baby. Getting rid of the muggle filth was just a bonus point.

No complications arose, and she went into labor just as any normal witch would have. It had been painful, but the pain had been overridden with glee. She was going to have a child. Narcissa knew she – she was certain it was a she – would be beautiful; how could a child not be beautiful if she were sired by Lucius Malfoy? Only after the birth did she open her eyes to find the mediwizards looking down at her with pained expressions, glancing at each other warily as if asking each other permission. In the corner, she had seen Lucius bent over in a chair, his face in his hands, his hair an unruly blond mess. Slowly, one of the mediwizards had leaned down to her and said gravely, "It was a still born." She had reached out to smooth Lucius' hair gently. "What does that mean?" she had asked, blissfully. "It means the baby was dead." Her hand had frozen. How could the baby have possibly been dead? She had felt it in her, alive and kicking. How had this life been taken away from her? How could the Dark Lord have let this happen?

As quickly as she had gained faith in the Dark Lord, she lost it. From that day on, she never attended another meeting. If he couldn't complete the simple task of protecting her baby, how would he exterminate the Muggles? The mediwizards had told her to remain in bed as much as she could and for a month, she never left her chambers. When Lucius came at night, she would plead a headache or some other nonsense until he got the idea and stopped coming. The month had dragged on into the next month, until the house elves that cleaned her room started looking at her with pity and she forbade them from entering her chambers while she was awake. Then one day Isabelle, a house elf that she had known ever since she was a baby and had come with her from her family's manor, came into her rooms and started cleaning.

"I thought I had ordered you to stay out of my chambers while I was awake," she had said, staring disinterestedly at the wall.

"Yes, mistress did, but Isabelle has come to tell mistress that she mustn't mope any longer!" Narcissa had been shocked at the elf's audacity and had sat up to face her.

"Isabelle can not bear to see mistress sad any longer!" the elf had continued, "And she is willing to risk clothes for it! Mistress must get out of bed and go see the sunshine because the days will be getting colder soon and the flowers are almost all dead and mistress has been lucky because the summer has lasted longer but mistress mustn't miss it!" The elf had been out of breath by the time she had finished and Narcissa had smiled for the first time in weeks. Isabelle had been right, it was time to get out of bed.

As if in a trance, she had taken a walk through the crispening air, admiring the state of neglect that she had allowed. The house elves had done the best they could to maintain the Manor, but they knew nothing about gardening spells and the flowers were brown and withering from the cold and lack of water. In her mind, she had seen a little blond child sleeping on the grass and she smiled at the illusion. She had felt a tugging in her chest and she knew she wanted a child. She had decided that she would try again, if not for her sake, than for Lucius. He had been so good while she was feeling ill, he deserved an heir.

That night, she had put on Lucius' favorite dressing gown, surprised at how much weight she had lost. Brushing off that detail, she set to work preparing herself in front of her vanity, glad she had not lost her skill after so long.

She had gotten to Lucius' chambers to find him working hard in his study. He didn't look up when she entered the room and so she undid the robe, waiting for him to turn around. He didn't.

"Lucius…" she had said gently, and he had jumped, visibly surprised.

"What are you doing here?" he had asked, returning to his work. She had let the robe fall on the floor and he turned at the noise to see her naked before him, her body glowing in the firelight. He had sat still for a moment as if memorizing her like a list of potions ingredients before he walked boldly to her and took her into a loved-starved embrace. As he lowered her to the ground, she had savored the scent of him she hadn't realized she'd missed. As they made love for the second and last time in her life, he commented on little things, like how much he loved her hair just so and how thin she'd gotten. He told her about the first time he'd seen her, not as Narcissa Black, a possible bride, but as a _woman_ and she shivered despite the warmth of the fire nearby and the friction of the rug beneath her shoulder blades.

Nine months later, to the day, she gave birth to her son. It hadn't been the Dark Lord who had gotten her through the pregnancy, it had been her. She had initiated it, and had carried the baby, and the baby had been born, weak, but very much alive. Lucius had been aghast at how small the baby had been: just barely 5 pounds. Lucius chose his name, of course, but as she had cradled her tiny baby in her arms, Narcissa didn't care what he was called, just that he was hers.

Narcissa smiled in remembering and took a long sip of wine, swirling the bitter fluid around in her mouth before swallowing. She watched the flames flicker in the fireplace almost noiselessly. Lucius had hired a maid to take care of the baby, but Narcissa didn't leave her son's side. He slept in her bed at night and in the mornings she bathed him in her tub. She took him for walks in the garden and read to him from the books in the library. Lucius had stopped coming to her because she was always so busy. Her little Draco. 

He had remained very small, but began talking very early. She remembered being there for his first sign of magic. It had been a warm morning, unusually warm because for the past few weeks snow had been falling very lightly, only to melt and leave everything wet – a very odd phenomenon in Britain, especially in February. Draco had been talking, sputtering phrases like there was no tomorrow and she had found his nonsensical musings amusing. At least, until he had started talking in his sleep. It was a tradeoff for him to sleep through the night, she supposed. Usually he spoke broken thoughts about sweets or toys but sometimes they connected and let her know what Draco was thinking. She hadn't told Lucius, afraid that he would get upset and angry at her or maybe hurt her little Draco by accident. She knew Draco still talked in his sleep; if she went into his room when he slept she would hear him muttering.

That morning she had awoken earlier than usual and watched the sunrise, cradling Draco's still sleeping form in her lap. His head had been supported by the crook of her arm, his nose nuzzling her bosom as if he sensed food nearby in his sleep. She had closed her eyes for a moment feeling completely relaxed, and when she had opened them again, she found herself rising up in front of the window. Wildly, she had glanced around for anyone who could have been levitating the chair, waking Draco in the process. Promptly, the chair had dropped, making him cry and as she had cooed him asleep again, she couldn't help but feel pride at Draco's simple levitation. He hadn't even been in danger, simply in bliss. When she told Lucius at breakfast, he hadn't been as pleased as she had been. "He's a Malfoy," he had said, "what did you expect?" _He's more my son than yours_, she had thought, sorely tempted to risk her well being for the slight satisfaction of Lucius' guilt. Instead, she had started letting Draco play with her wand.

Slowly she unwrapped herself from her blankets and went over to her vanity, kneeling when she arrived there and pulling open the bottom drawer to reveal a small blanket of quilted silk. She had made it for his first birthday. She remembered that day so well. His birthday party had been the first party she had attended in almost a year and it had been the first time Draco had been introduced to children. At first, he had been shy but the Parkinson girl had come up to him, bold as a toddler could be and said, "hello." To which Draco had responded with burying his face in his mother's skirt. Pansy Parkinson was nearly a year older than Draco and much more confident and she had pried him away to play with the other children. The nannies sat nearby, gossiping gaily while they watched the youngest children. The older ones stood around coolly, drinking glasses of pumpkin juice in imitation of the adults and their glasses of champagne.

            For a little while, Narcissa forgot herself in the social whirl that she became whenever she hosted a party. She had forgotten how much she loved parties and everyone complimented her on how young she looked despite having a young child to look after. All the other mothers felt that children were a chore, but she knew Draco was never a chore for her. She loved her son and wanted the best for him.

            That night after all of the presents had been received, the giant cake cut and served, the children retrieved by their parents and the house-elves left to clean up after the party, Narcissa gave her son the blanket. She had sewn it in secret on the rare occasions she let the nanny take Draco away. He had been thrilled and run off to bed to try it out and Narcissa had laughed, so filled with joy.

            But her joy did not last long. That night was also important in her mind for much darker reasons. It had been the night the Dark Lord fell. Lucius, when he had heard the news, had been furious but thankfully he hadn't taken his anger out on her. He knew that he must defend the Malfoy name and that she might be needed in public for any number of reasons. A few days later, little Draco had asked her, "Why is father angry?" After a few moments, when she had pretended to straighten her blouse, she had replied, "Because some people think your father is a bad man."

            "Is father a bad man, mother?" She had smiled at the fearful awe that Draco had looked up at her with. His eyes had been large and grey, pleading with her to tell him the truth. She didn't want to break his heart – he loved his father so much – but she couldn't lie to Draco.

            "People make mistakes, Draco. Your father has just made more mistakes than most." Draco had nodded solemnly, as if he understood, which Narcissa doubted, and the matter had been dropped. She doubted he even remembered the conversation.

            Narcissa held the blanket to her breast as she walked over to the bed and sat down on it. The sun was just beginning to set but the clouds cast a gloomy shadow over the view outside her window, turning the pinks to purple and the purple to gray, and she shut the shade, leaving the room in near darkness. Draco had slept with the blanket for nearly two years afterwards until one night when Lucius had barged in, torn Draco away from her and told him to sleep in his own quarters. Frightened and confused, Draco had asked where his quarters were and Lucius had looked as if he was going to murder his only heir. "Where all your toys are," she had said gently and Lucius had whirled on her a maniacal glint in his eye.

            "Leave us, Draco," Lucius had commanded and Draco had run out as obediently as a house elf. As soon as he had left, Lucius pounced and Narcissa, unable to escape, had been forced to endure a torment of her senses that left her bruised and bloodied by morning. She hadn't let Draco see her until the bruises had healed (cuts she healed herself). When she had, Draco had run to her crying and she had shushed him, playing with him the entire afternoon. The night, Lucius had come again, and she didn't struggle like she had the last time. She waited again for the bruises to heal and again Lucius came to her. She hadn't questioned him or his reasons for coming after having left her alone for so long. After a year, he stopped, fed up that she wasn't fighting back any more. He said she'd lost her spark. Narcissa hadn't minded.

            The year had changed Draco. He'd become more independent and grown up, trying to imitate his father as if that would make his father respect him more. Narcissa saw the hurt that Draco had felt every time he was brushed off during dinner, or told off for trying to start a conversation. It was like his soul had built up a callous and it was rejecting her too. The more he had distanced herself, the more she had cried for him.

            But there were always the little times when he'd come to her for a brief chat, seeming wiser than only 6 years, which soon became 7 and then became 8. She knew no matter what, he would listen to her but as he grew to be a teenager, she knew she could only hope that he listened to her. But if she judged him to be anything like herself when she was his age, she knew that no matter what desires he may have within himself, family duty would win out in the end. She only hoped that he didn't condemn himself to misery and the destruction of the Malfoy reputation.

            Sighing, she lay back on the bed, thinking of the last real conversation they had had with each other. It had been the last day of the Christmas Holidays and Draco had been bragging about how favored he had been at the last meeting. She had smiled weakly, giving glossy responses such as "Very good, Draco," and mid-brag he had stopped and looked at her in the same way he had looked at her when he had asked "Is father a bad man?". She had resisted the urge to take him into her arms as if he were a baby again.

            "Is something wrong, mother?" He had reached out a hand to take hers from where it had been resting in her lap. She couldn't help noticing that he kept his nails perfectly filed just like she had taught him all those years ago. She had felt tears prick hers eyes and she smiled looking up at him, knowing that he was mature enough for the truth now, but she had been too afraid to say it.

            "Sometimes, Draco, it's good to do something for yourself. I know that you like working for the cause and that it's all you've ever wanted, but I just wish you'd be a little selfish sometimes." Draco's eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled.

            "But I am selfish, mother! I'm as spoiled as a baby with an overprotective and generous mother." She had squeezed his hand before sliding it back to her lap. Draco was always one to gloss over important issues with his wit.

            A tear slipped from her eye now as she held the little quilt to her breast. A timid knock sounded at her door. Sighing, she brushed the tear away and went to put the quilt away. As she was shutting the drawer, another knock sounded.

            "Just a moment," she called, checking her reflection in the vanity. Perfection stared back at her. Lucius would not be disappointed. Swiftly she opened the door, surprised when she did not see anyone there. As she walked forward to look down the hallways, she collided with something and toppled over, falling gracefully to the dirty carpet.

            "Oh miss! Isabelle is so sorry! Isabelle is wanting to tell mistress that there is a man from the ministry waiting for mistress. Isabelle did not mean to make mistress fall! Please do not give Isabelle clothes…" Isabelle's large, saucer-shaped eyed were filled with tears of fear.

            "Don't worry, Isabelle, it was my fault." Isabelle prostrated herself gratefully before Narcissa.

            "Oh thank you mistress! Isabelle will never displease mistress again!" But Narcissa had already gotten up from the ground and was walking towards the entrance of the Manor, determined to ignore the various scorch and scuff marks that were debasing the value of her home. The entrance hall had not been left untouched, with an uncleaned spill on the carpet and a shoe-print on the wall. But she gathered as much Malfoy as she could muster and greeted the Ministry representative who stood close to the door as if he were prepared to bolt at any second.

            "Ah, Mrs. Malfoy," he said, spotting her as she came down the staircase. His body relaxed visibly and he stepped forward to greet her. "I am Richard Lupin, a Ministry Representative."

"Well, what do you want?" she snapped, causing him to return to his wary stance. She knew she shouldn't enjoy using her status for her own amusement, but this man was too easy to scare.

"Well, um… you see, well…Mrs. Malfoy, there's no easy way to say this…"

"I don't have all day, you know."

"You're husband's been arrested." For a second Naricissa forgot to be a Malfoy. She forgot to breathe. She forgot to think. She forgot that her house was slowly being raped and pillaged but villainous rouges who claimed to be middle class.

"Excuse me?" she gasped out finally.

"He's been…are you all right?" No, she wanted to reply, I am going to bloody keel over and all you can ask is if I'm all right! How about 'maybe you should sit down, Mrs. Malfoy.' or maybe 'I'm very sorry Mrs. Malfoy.' Or – 

"Of course I'm all right," her aristocratic upbringing snapped. "This is all just a mistake, of course, a Malfoy would never do anything wrong." The representative looked like he wanted to make a saucy retort but wisely kept his mouth shut.

"What may or may not be true, your husband has requested to see you."

Bloody hell, what had Lucius gotten her into?

~~~~~~

            Well, that's it. I hope you like it. If you do, kindly drop me a review. It might move me towards adding more chapters to this story (that's a BIG hint). Ideas welcome!


	2. Responsibilities and Liberation

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, then it belongs to JKR and you should thank her.

**Responsibilities and Liberation**

The Inspector escorted her to a ministry car that sat outside on the gravel. Lucius had insisted on keeping the roads unpaved. "It adds character to the place," he had told her once, when she complained about the difficulty she had maintaining them. She thought that Malfoy Manor needed all the character that it could get, but Lucius didn't have very good taste in character.

The Inspector opened the door for her and she stepped into the spacious black car. The seats were made of beige suede and the cabin was filled with the heady scent of fresh leather. She sat primly, looking out of the window as he entered the car from the other side.

"Driver," he said to the chauffeur, and the car rolled at a comfortable speed out of the Manor.

They sat in silence. Narcissa, for her part, didn't particularly want to talk to anyone, far too filled with contrasting emotions to keep up her aristocratic front. If Lucius had been arrested, he must have been caught doing something awful. Lucius might have been found in compromising situations before but his money and blood purity made him slippery as gillyweed for the law. She distinctly remembered the trial the last time he had been accused of anything. He had walked in dressed in his formal black robes with his shining blond hair pulled back, and had explained his actions with so much class and aristocratic silkiness that the judges of the Wizengamot didn't even doubt his excuse. Of _course_ someone would want to put someone with so much power in the magical community under the Imperious curse. And why didn't Lucius fight? Poison? Voldemort himself was keeping him under the curse? What a plausible explanation. She hadn't even been asked to testify on his behalf. But this time she was to be his voice.

Last time she would have played the part of a young mother, a silly blond woman who didn't know which end of a baby was for feeding. But this time she had to keep the reputation of the Malfoy line intact. Malfoys did not marry weak women. She had to be a strong aristocratic woman, with so much belief that money solved all problems that they wouldn't doubt her position. "Of _course_ my husband hasn't been practicing the Dark Arts. Why would someone of our position have any need for such things?" she would say, harnessing all the Veela within her to create an icy beauty. And yet again, the Wizengamot would be none the wiser.

"Inspector…"she began, realizing she had not caught his name.

"Lupin," he finished and she felt a shiver at the base of her spine.

"Yes, well, Inspector Lupin, I would like to know the circumstances under which my husband came to be arrested."

"I…are you sure you wouldn't like to wait until there is a lawyer present?" She fixed her eyes on him pointedly.

"You can explain it to him later." He looked somewhat taken aback at her harshness and explained the situation. _Poor Lucius, he makes so many mistakes_.

"My husband is not some common robber," she said, once he had finished, "We earned everything we have justly."

"I never said that – oh, we're here." He sounded somewhat pleased and nearly jumped out of the car when they stopped. She let him open the door for and stepped out into the parking garage which was filled with shiny black Lincolns, identical to the one they had arrived in. She followed him into the building, feeling preoccupied. As they walked down the impassively clean hallway, she made a mental list of things that needed to happen before the Aurors arrived at her house the following day (which they were bound to do; Lucius had quite the – unproven – reputation as a Dark Arts patron). The riffraff Death Eaters would have to go. The manor would have to be thoroughly cleaned and she would have to go around restoring the manor to its former elegance. She would have to go into Lucius' study and transfigure all of the Dark Arts books. Any conspicuous bills would have to be hidden. She sighed heavily and Inspector Lupin looked up at her, with the first concerned look she had seen in a very long time.

"Is everything all right, Mrs. Malfoy?"

"Yes," she said frailly, "I suppose it's just all a bit much to take in."

They stopped at the lift and he pressed the button. After a few seconds the doors opened for them and shut behind them with a golden clang. There were many people squeezed anxiously into the elevator and the top of the elevator was swarming with messages, drifting over her hair and nearly getting caught in her hair. She was disappointed that Lucius had let her down so much. He always insisted in believing he was invincible and now what did he do? He left her to clean up his mess, as usual. She smiled grimly and leaned against the side of the elevator. It was just like when they had sex.

The elevator opened at every floor and there was much bustling to get people and papers in and out. It seemed that the farther down they went, the less space there was in the elevator.

"The next floor is where we get off," the inspector said, leaning over and whispering in her ear. She nodded. When the doors opened at their floor, a stream of people poured out of the elevator, catching her and the inspector up in it. She followed him down a torchlit hallway. After so many years, the place still hadn't changed. It was a pity that the stagnant decoration didn't represent a static legal system. She wouldn't know what to do this time. As she passed, the Aurors guarding the doors allowed their faces to melt into looks of loathing, but she kept her head held high. _Lucius__ hasn't done anything wrong._

The inspector, who had been walking a few paces ahead of her, stopped abruptly and spoke in low tones with the Auror guarding the door as she caught up. The woman was thin with dark black hair streaked with pink and was wearing clothing in the Muggle style which Narcissa found highly distasteful. Finally, the woman nodded, inserted an iron key into the lock and tapped it with her wand. The key turned slowly, squeaking against the lock until finally there was a small click and the door swung open. The woman had to jump out of the way in order to avoid being hit, nearly knocking Narcissa over in the process.

"Sorry," she muttered, keeping her eyes low. Narcissa ignored the woman as she followed the inspector into the room.

She recognized the room as one of the long unused courtrooms for the high Wizengamot. The air was stale and cold but all the torches were lit, giving the false impression of warmth. Sitting bound to a chair in the middle of the room was Lucius. She was proud to see his back straight and his eyes alert. Her Lucius didn't bow to anyone. Or at least, anyone but the Dark Lord.

"You are allowed five minutes with your husband," the inspector said, before turning to guard the door. She felt his eyes on her as she rushed over to her husband, forgetting propriety and grasping his hand, the only part of him that wasn't bound.

"Lucius," she whispered, kneeling before him.

"Get up," he snapped.

"No," she said, and he squeezed her hand affectionately, his face remaining stolid. She was used to his displays of affection. It wasn't that he was a cold-hearted man, but he just didn't know how to show how he felt. It had taken her several years to realize this and not feel slighted that he didn't seem to notice when she did something special for him.

"Narcissa, listen to me. The ministry had this crazy idea that –"

"Shh…" she said, putting a finger to his lips, "I know what the ministry thinks. I want to know what happened."

"This is hardly the time nor place…" he said gruffly.

"Please Lucius…" she pleaded softly, "This might be the last time in a long time that I get to see you."

"Narcissa…"

"What were you doing?"

"We were…the prophecy." Narcissa wasn't surprised. She had heard about the prophecy, and the Dark Lord's obsession with it. For a man who was supposed to be a leader, the Dark Lord was far too over-concerned with balls and orbs to be in his right mind. She had often doubted his sexuality as he seemed to abhor unmarried women and welcome single, frustrated men into his group so quickly.

"Did you get it?" she asked quickly.

"No, it's gone," he said brittally," "But I didn't ask you here to tell you that. You've got to protect yourself Narcissa."

"I know I do, Lucius. But they don't have anything against you. The inspector explained it to me when we were coming here."

"They…" he paused and glanced over at the inspector by the door. Lowering his voice he continued, "You have to get rid of everything."

"Everything?"

"It's the key you couldn't touch. Get rid of everything. Draco knows how," She moved her hands to grasp his again and looked into his eyes.

"You know what you could lose," she said. All the centuries of Dark Heirlooms would be lost. His eyes, hard and foggy, looked back at her. She knew there was no other way and she was glad that her Lucius understood. Gently, she gave him a kiss. It was a kiss she had only given once before and had never given to Lucius. When she pulled back, she could see tears in his eyes. Her Lucius never cried.

"I'll get you out," she whispered, hugging him to her despite the chair's back. The inspector cleared his throat and Narcissa pulled away.

"It's time to leave," Inspector Lupin said, visibly uncomfortably.

"Goodbye, Lucius."

"Goodbye, my flower." She smiled down at him as she released his hands and walked away. He had called her his flower when he had been courting her and after they had married, he had stopped with the nickname. He said it was because Malfoy's were too high ranking for nicknames. She knew it was because he found out she had already been deflowered.

Little did Lucius know that he had been the circuitous cause.

It felt like a crying moment, yet as she left, she didn't cry. She had spent nearly twenty years married to Lucius and this was the first time she would be without him. Right before she left, she sneaked one last glance back at Lucius. He sat as erectly as when she had first walked in, showing no sign that she was there or that she had come. The chair buckled around him, prepared for a struggle. But Malfoys didn't struggle, they conquered. His hair, the hair his son had inherited, glowed in the torchlight and there was no sign of defeat in him. Or perhaps his silence was his defeat.

"I hope you don't mind if we ask you a few questions Mrs. Malfoy?" the inspector asked, closing the door behind her as she exited the room.

"No," Narcissa said wearily, "I don't mind. But I would prefer if you would wait until I had spoken to my lawyer."

As she passed the woman guarding Lucius' door, she treated her to a warm smile. It was liberating.

"You do know that your lawyer will not be present when we question you?"

"Yes," she said, too tired to be a Malfoy and slipping into humanity," But I would feel much more comfortable after speaking to him."

She followed him again, as if in a trance brought on by the Imperio Curse, not noticing whether or not the aurors were giving her funny looks. The investigator's footfalls echoed in the hallway and she found herself keeping time to him. Right, left, right.

They entered the empty lift and she felt the warm light engulf her, fueling the inexplicable bubble of joy forming in her tummy. The gates clanged shut before her and she leaned against the wall, listening to the paper airplanes rustle above her. As the lift neared its destination, the inspector looked more and more uncomfortable and she vaguely wondered why, distracted by the glittering lights that reflected off of her engagement ring. She looked down at her hand, seeing the giant diamond sparking stolidly at her. When Lucius had first given her the ring, she had been overjoyed that the diamond had been bigger than any of her friends'. It was just as the future Mrs. Malfoy should be. But as she looked at it now, she wondered how she had managed to wear it for so long and have not cut herself. The rock simply wasn't practical. Impulsively, she turned the ring over so that the stone hid itself in her palm when she clenched her fist. The silver band was inscribed with an ancient language that she couldn't understand. Lucius had told her what it meant once, but she had forgotten. It would be a long time before she could ask him what it meant again.

"I assume you won't need me to escort you home," he asked and she shook her head gently.

"No, I should stop at my lawyer's first." The lift's doors opened. "Thank you."

As he left the lift he glanced back over his shoulder, thoroughly befuddled. The doors closed and she remembered the last time she had felt so content.

The walls of Hogwarts held many secrets, she knew, so many that hers were probably lost. She knew that she had tried her best to lock the memories of _him_ away. And yet, in this moment of liberation, she felt the lock spring free from the locked armoire in her mind and the memories pour out, many different colored slips of paper blending into a silvery Pensieve. And leading the cascade of reminiscences was the little flutter that had bothered her when she left Lucius.

She had been waiting for him that night. They no longer had Astronomy, but it was much more than habit that brought them up to the highest point of the tower every Tuesday. She had almost wished he wouldn't come that night so that she wouldn't have to tell him and the inevitable wouldn't have to come. But like a faithful puppy he had shown up right on time, bounding up the last few steps with reckless abandon, and had smiled at her sitting on a faded cushion, awash with the waxing moonlight.

Looking at him, with his pallid brown hair swept casually to the side, his pale gray eyes twinkling and his smile casting off years of premature age, she had felt a pang in her chest and had known that if she kept looking at him, she was going to cry and ruin it all. She had taken him delicately into her arms and feeling the tears pearling on her eyes, quickly broken away, pretending that something outside had caught her attention. The moon's reflection haunted the lake, a white orb amongst dangerous black waters. A chill swept over her and she had shivered, stilling when his arms wrapped protectively around her.

"Whatcha lookin' at?" he had asked teasingly, ditzily, and she had found she couldn't respond the way she would have before. Narcissa had glanced down at her hand where the ring mocked her for being a prisoner and a rebellious urge to rip off the ring and chuck it into the darkness had risen and fallen within her.

"He asked me today," she had said, leaning against the railing and looking out upon the lake.

"What did you say?" he had asked, choking the words out. She had looked at him, her hair falling over her shoulder and catching the moonlight. He had known what she had said. They had never specifically discussed it but he knew there were certain obligations and certain sacrifices that a pureblood witch had to make. He had moved to stand next to her and she had slid her left hand to where his had been resting on the railing and squeezed gently.

"I said yes." He was silent for a moment as if swallowing a particularly bitter potion and then, without warning, had embraced her, pressing his mouth to hers in a kiss so beautiful she began to cry. He didn't stop kissing her, even when the tears had reached her mouth and she knew he could taste them. Pulling away, she had opened her eyes and saw that he was crying too and she cried harder, not knowing why. She had done the right thing.

"Your ring is very pretty," he had said, looking down and examining the gaudy stone that adorned her finger.

She had cupped his face in her hands and brushed away his tears with her fingers. He had leant forward, nuzzling his nose into her neck and she had wrapped her arms around him. He didn't shake as he had cried, just let his tears slide down her neck to pool in the hollow of her neck. She had moved to kiss him and he had pulled away, standing up and walking towards the door. Catching him in her arms, she had pulled him into a chaste kiss.

"I thought we were finished," he said and she cringed at his grating tone. She couldn't blame him, they had both known that nothing good would come of their liaison, and he must have known, deep down, that she wouldn't stay with him. But hope that she would give up all of her expectations for him had been festering, despite all of her promises that nothing would last. She was entirely to blame for creating that hope.

"I could never be finished with you." After a moment's pause, he had turned and left and she collapsed, listening to the echo of his angry footsteps as he evacuated the Tower. She had looked down at the ring on her finger, the stone glittering in the dim light, and wiggled her fingers, feeling the band rubbing unfamiliarly. Swiftly, she had pulled it off and stuck it in her pocket as tears began to blind her vision.

She had stayed in the Tower all night until rosy fingered dawn crept and stole the moon's bequest in the sky. Not wanting to return to her Common Room and be faced with all of her obligations, she had wandered down to the room that she had once shown him to win his trust, her vision blinded by sleep and dried out eyes, and had collapsed in the bed without bothering to cover herself.

When she had awoken, he was setting a plate of food on the bedside table. She had been surprised that he would bother bringing food.

"The whole school's worried sick about you," he had said gently and she knew that everything would be alright between them for a little while.

"To be honest, I feel like shit," she had said, sitting up and running a hand through her tangled hair.

"You look beautiful," he replied carelessly, looking at her with such glowing compassion it had made her feel that despite her rumpled clothes, snarled hair, smudged make-up, swollen eyes, and unbrushed teeth, she was the most beautiful girl on the earth. She could have produced the most powerful Patronus ever conjured.

He was sitting in an armchair doing homework as she ate the lukewarm food that he had brought for her. He had even left a Toothflossing Stringmint that she sucked on once she had finished, letting it fizz and floss her mouth as she watched him.

"What are you working on?" she had asked.

"Arithmancy," he had said, scribbling a few more lines and then finishing the proof with a flourish.

"Thank you for breakfast."

"It's more like dinner."

"Remus, I…"

"Yes?"

"Could you come here for a second?" He hesitated.

"I can't stay long."

"Oh…if you don't want –"

"No, it's not that."

"Oh, right. I almost…we can be quick."

They had never touched the bed before because it would make _them_ too official. Couples rolled around on beds, not two people who had a seemingly arbitrary interest in each other. She sat nervously on the bed and he sat next to her. The moment was awkward; they had never done anything remotely as advanced as she intended. She wasn't even sure if such a thing was possible, or if it was just one of the things she had read about in novels that was _supposed_ to be a union of sorts.

He had kissed her, gently as usual, and she had responded timidly, like it was the first time she had kissed him. She had placed a palm on his chest and leaned towards him and he grasped her waist, bringing her closer. She had broken the kiss and moved further into the bed. He had followed, pushing her down against the pillows and taking up her lips with his. His kisses had made her feel powerful and wanted and her hands had grown bold, tugging his shirt free from his pants and pulling his sweater over his head. Their mouths had broken apart as he pulled her sweater over her head and had met again, their tongues mingling in and out of each others mouths.

Their fingers had attacked the buttons on each other's shirts, with Remus winning the race and pushing her shirt off first. Instead of meeting her mouth again, he had stopped short and stared at her and she had stopped mid-button, wondering what he was looking at. Upon looking down, she had realized what it was, she had been wearing her bra made of sheer mesh and he could see everything. Shyly, he had reached out a hand, looking to her for permission and had touched her left breast with his fingertips. She had watched as he stroked, exploring with his fingertips first her left breast and then her right, and then growing sure of himself, he had massaged them both. She had arched her back and unhooked the bra, and he had slid it off of her arms, leaving her chest bare before him. He had brushed his thumb over her right nipple, watching it harden under his ministrations. He had turned his attention to the other nipple, touching it with his other thumb as he had rolled the right nipple between his fingers. With every stroke she had felt a tingling between her legs that grew and grew, overwhelming the rest of her senses until she wasn't able to think of anything but how he had been touching her.

"Oh!" She had exclaimed, feeling a jolt throughout her. He had looked up at her sheepishly and continued sucking on her nipple, playing with the other nipple between his fingers. She had closed her eyes again, and leaned her head back on the pillows. He had been so eager to make her happy…

Narcissa looked up at her only companion, a lone paper airplane drifting over the light.

"It's just me and you now."

* * *

As you can see, I decided to continue this. This has definitely been the most intensely worked story so far, each chapter going through several drafts before I'm happy with it. Hopefully the work shows. There is no plan for this story, only a handful of memories that I've written for Narcissa so please be patient with updates; I have only a slight idea where the plot is going. Thank you to **Flaky-Flores**, **Gwuinivyre**, Kelly, **Usako3000**, **Victorita9_, _Bride of Malfoy**, and **TiffanyandCo** for pushing me to continue.Like what you're reading? Then Review!


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