FIC: Awakening (Snape/Narcissa, PG-13)
Okay, so, er, this is the first of my five kisses ficlets. Um. Except this became a bit more than a ficlet, and more about Narcissa than Snape and Narcissa. But I swear there's a kiss in there.
And OMG. Het. :D
Title: Awakening
Rating: PG-13ish
Pairing: Snape/Narcissa
Disclaimer: Don't own, dammit.
Word count: Word says 3717
Summary: Lucius dies.
Notes: Written for rikibeth's prompt, awakening. Utterly unbeta'd. :)
The letter in her hand trembled and she laid it aside, slowly, next to her teacup. She smoothed a fingertip over his name, as if by doing so she could bring him back.
Her throat tightened and the hot prickle across her left arm made her close her eyes for a moment. Too much stress. Far too much stress, she thought, forcing herself to breathe. But what did one expect during a war?
It was not unexpected, this news. The number of Ministry-sanctioned Kisses had been steadily rising through the war. It was as if Scrimgeour was determined to make an example of the Death Eaters in custody, and the wizarding world at large was demanding that he do so, like a pack of rabid dogs hungry for their feed.
What makes the self-righteous bastards any better than their prey? Narcissa thought bitterly, and she pressed a hand to her forehead at a sudden sharp ache. Her stomach twisted, anticipating the hours of pain ahead, and she pushed her tea away, calling for Migsy to close the drapes at the breakfast room window and to bring the amethyst-topped phial from her bedroom. Her voice sounded tight and thin to her ears and she leaned back in her chair, eyes closed.
Wretched migraines. She would have to ask Severus for a stronger potion when she next visited Spinner's End-and her breath caught.
Draco.
She didn't want to tell him-couldn't tell him, it was too hard and she knew Severus would, if she asked. Severus had always done what she'd asked, even in school and Narcissa knew why and she had used that to her advantage already. She pressed her lips together tightly and the hot tears welled up behind her eyelids before she forced them back, jaw tight. She was his mother. He deserved to know from her.
Narcissa stood slowly, wincing at the pain of movement, just as Migsy returned, small glass bottle in hand. The old elf held it out silently, her cloudy eyes worried as she watched her mistress swallow its contents.
"You is being in bed, Miss Cissy," she said, wringing her hands in her tea towel. "Migsy's head is being nailed to the wall if your mother was knowing-"
"Then it's quite a good thing Mother's dead, isn't it?" Narcissa asked, holding up a hand to hush the elf. She set the phial down on the table and reached for the back of the nearest chair, waiting for the first wave of nausea to pass.
The pain ebbed away slowly and she straightened. "Fetch my cloak," she said, relieved that her voice barely trembled. "I need to see my son."
*****************************
Draco was silent, staring into the twisted, unkempt branches of the blackthorn growing against the wall in the back garden.
The still cold breeze blew tiny white blossoms from the branches, scattering them across the moss-covered paving stones that filled the narrow slope of grass-if the meagre blades struggling through the broken, slimy stones could be called that. A flower caught on the tip of Narcissa's boot, fragile and pale against the soft black leather and she kicked it off, pressing it into a small patch of mud until the white petals were creased and dirty.
Narcissa pressed her palm gently to her son's shoulder, and she felt a shiver go through him. He pulled away and wrapped his arms around thin chest. "What are you going to do?" he asked at last, still not looking at her. His mouth was tight and drawn and he was pale but resolute and he looked so much like Lucius the night his own father had died-
She looked away, blinking for a moment, and pulled her woollen cloak tighter around her. "Don't worry, Draco," she said softly, telling him the lies she'd thought out before knocking on Severus' door. "Augustus assures me the Ministry won't claim everything. We'll still have the London house and they won't be able to touch my inheritance and the accounts on the Continent-"
"That's not what I mean," Draco snapped and he looked at her then, with eyes too bright. The wind blew his hair into his face and he brushed it away, tucking it back behind his ears. "It's not the money, Mother. Professor Snape tries to keep things from me that he thinks I'm better off not knowing, but I know what happened to Vincent's mother when his father died. Nott has her now. His Lordship-" and he spit out the word bitterly, she noted with surprise, "-gave her to him." He scowled back at the blackthorn. "I'm seventeen, not stupid. I know exactly what that means." He bit his lip, his fingers curling tightly around his elbows. "And that I can't stop it," he added quietly. "I couldn't help him and I can't help you and-" He pressed his lips together and his shoulders hunched. He slid a palm over his left forearm, squeezing.
"Draco." Narcissa touched her son's face lightly, turning him to look at her. "It won't happen-"
"At least treat me like an adult," Draco said sharply, but his eyes softened. "Please."
She nodded and suddenly felt far too tired and much older than her thirty-eight years. "Bella might help," she said, rubbing her hands over her arms.
Draco snorted. "Until she's angry with you again."
Narcissa didn't bother to answer. He was right, she knew. They stood in silence for a long moment and then Draco sighed and he pushed his hair back again, looking away.
He has Lucius' hands, she thought and her heart twisted.
**************************
Severus was waiting in the kitchen when she came back in and he pressed a heavy mug into her hands with that brusque manner of his. "Drink," he said, turning away.
She sipped the tea slowly, standing at the kitchen window. She could taste the whisky he'd laced it with--without asking, of course, and, because it was so very Severus, she laughed, a sharp, sudden burst of hysteria that caused her hands to shake and Severus to look up from his cauldron-he was brewing another potion for her, he'd said-with a frown.
And then he was there, and his hands were on hers, taking the mug away before she dropped it. She leaned her head against the window. The glass was cool and smooth against her flushed skin, and she stared out across the pitiful scrap of garden to the blackthorn. She could see glimpses of blond hair through the tangled braches when Draco turned his head, a flash of white sleeve where his robe had fallen open.
"He'll tear his clothes," Narcissa said, pressing her fingertips to the glass. She traced the arch of branch with one pale pink polished fingernail. Ladies always mind their hands, she could hear her mother saying, and she was seven again, being chastised for her ragged nails and dirty knees and torn robe and for playing with the boys. Quidditch is not for ladies, she mouthed. Her first broom had been made of blackthorn.
Severus snorted behind her and she heard him set the mug on the table, the stoneware thudding against wood. "They'll mend well enough." She felt him move behind her, a brush of robes against her hip. He stared out the window, his own eyes dark and dull. "I spent most of my childhood beneath that blackthorn," he said quietly, and then he looked at her. "He needs to be alone. It's not you."
"I worry."
Those dark eyes narrowed at her, and she suddenly felt exposed and she could feel the gentle press into her memories. "Stop it, Severus," she said, lifting her chin and he scowled and glanced back out the window.
Narcissa watched as his breath spread a thin fog across the glass.
"I spent two days out there when my mother died," he said grudgingly. "Leave him be. He'll come in when he's ready."
Severus turned away, back to his potion and Narcissa looked back at her son, hiding away in his grief and there was nothing she could do for him, nothing she could do for herself because Lucius was gone. He was gone and he wasn't coming back as she had hoped and she wouldn't see him again or touch him and he'd never hold her again and lie to her as she'd needed him to, promising her that His Lordship would protect them, that they'd be safe. They were alone now, she and Draco, and she didn't know what to do; there was no one to turn to, not her sisters, not His Lordship, not the Ministry.
She was alone. Alone with a son whom she couldn't help, and there was no money--what little the Ministry hadn't placed a lock upon when the Potter brat told them Draco had tried to kill that horrid old wretch was gone, taken by debts and bribes and the expense of surviving this damned war.
Narcissa felt her shoulders tense and she fought it, she truly did because a Black always keeps control of her emotions, Narcissa, but it was too much and she could feel the tears sliding hot and wet down her cheeks. She pressed her knuckles to her mouth, biting down until she could taste blood, and the sharp pain was almost a relief because at least she was alive and she could feel something.
Severus swore behind her; his hands were on her shoulders and he pushed her into a chair at the table. "Stop it," he snapped, and Narcissa laughed, because he sounded so very, very annoyed, but the laugh turned into a sob and the tears started again.
"Bastard," she choked out. "Horrid, wretched bastard-I told him not to go to the Ministry that night and he did anyway because what do I know, I'm just a woman, and the Dark Lord needed him-and now he's gone and Draco has no father and it doesn't matter that we need him-"
"Oh, for the love of God, woman, get hold of yourself," Severus said, and he jerked a tea towel from a drawer and threw it at her.
Narcissa twisted the soft fabric between her fingers and she pressed it against her eyes and breathed in the scent of clean cotton until her breathing evened and the hot tears had been sopped up.
She lowered the cloth, to find Severus eyeing her suspiciously as if she might break down again, and she folded the towel, neatly aligning the edges. She sniffed once and blinked and Severus flinched. Narcissa laughed softly.
"I'm sorry," she said, looking away. Severus poured a glass of whisky for her, neat, the way her father drank it, and set it in front of her.
It burned her throat going down and she blinked hard, choking a bit, but Severus smiled faintly at her. "Better?" he asked.
She nodded. "Thank you."
He sat next to her. There was something oddly reassuring about his scowl, because surely the entire world hadn't upended if Severus could still glare at her as he had done all these years, and she set the empty glass down. "What am I going to do?"
Severus curled his lip, irritated. "To begin with, you're going to breathe and calm yourself down. Then, you're going to realise that there's nothing to do to change what has happened and that you're perfectly capable of relying on yourself, as you have for the past nearly two years. You are not incompetent, Narcissa. Don't act as if you are."
"And this is your idea of comfort?" Narcissa snapped, lifting her head. "I just lost my husband, Severus."
"And I lost my friend," he said, through clenched teeth. "And Draco has lost his father. But if we are all honest with ourselves, we lost Lucius a year and a half ago when the damned fool got himself caught. We've known this was coming, Narcissa, and all we can do now is put one damned foot in front of the other or the next one will be one of us." Severus looked away, his long fingers drumming on his sleeve. "We're playing a dangerous game, we three," he said quietly.
"I know." Narcissa twisted her glass between her fingers, then tilted it. A drop of whisky ran down the side. She watched as it splashed onto the scarred, dark wood of the tabletop. "I'm frightened," she admitted.
"You'd be a fool not to be." Severus ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the lank locks.
Narcissa looked at him. "You're tired."
He shrugged. "No more than usual." He smiled, a tight, cold curve of his thin lips. "Double-crossing does tend to wear on one; Occlumency is exhausting to keep up."
"If I hadn't asked you to-"
"I agreed to the Vow."
"But if I hadn't asked-"
"Narcissa," he said, and he sounded tired and drained. "Shut it."
She fell silent. He reached for the whisky and poured another glass, drinking it quickly.
"Don't get drunk," Narcissa said, inexplicably annoyed. He eyed her balefully and splashed more whisky into the glass. "Bastard," she said, as he drank it down.
Severus set the glass back down with a thunk. "You should go to France," he said.
"Whatever for?" Narcissa picked up the glass and she poured a finger of whisky. She sniffed it, and her nose wrinkled at the slight burn. It smelled like her father and for some reason, that ached even more than Lucius…she missed Papa so. She drank the whisky quickly, blinking, and relaxed as the warmth spread through her.
Severus sighed, as if she were an idiot. "You'd be safer."
"And my son would be here, so why should I want to do that?" Narcissa licked a drop of whisky from her finger.
"Then take him with you," Severus snapped, his cheeks flushed. "He's a damned annoying brat as it is." He poured half a glass of whisky and Narcissa raised her eyebrow as he upended the glass.
"And if Draco goes, then that leaves you free to do something entirely ridiculous that will probably end up in your corpse being boiled down for potions ingredients like Antonin's wanted to do for years," Narcissa said and she took the glass from Severus.
"Were you this annoying in school?" Severus asked, and he poured more whisky into the glass for her.
Narcissa sipped it slowly and smiled. She felt warm and safe and the pop and bubble of the cauldron behind her was soothing. "More so, I think, " she said and she laughed. "Do you remember the time Slughorn caught us making that potion to use on Florence and I blamed you entirely for it?" She handed him the glass of whisky.
"Unfortunately, yes," Severus said dryly, and he took a long drink. "And as I recall you instigated the whole thing."
"Well, she broke your heart," Narcissa said, taking the glass back from him, her hands curling around the slick, cool surface. "She would have deserved it, the beast." She took a sip of whisky. "I wonder whatever became of her?"
"She married a Muggle. And she did not break my heart, thank you. Damned bitch."
"Oh, she did too," Narcissa said with a frown. "You spent the remainder of fifth year sulking and making the rest of our lives miserable, so I can't even find it in my heart to pity the poor girl for having to marry a Muggle. How horrid for her." She made a face and drank the rest of the whisky. "Pour me some more, Severus."
Severus looked at her, and she'd never noticed how deep and dark his eyes were, and she wanted to look away, but she didn't. "You've had enough," he said and she nodded.
"I'm tired," Narcissa said softly, and then she touched his chin, and she could feel the rough scratch of stubble on her fingertips. "Thank you," she murmured, and she leaned in to brush her mouth across his cheek, but he turned his head and their mouths met and she shivered.
His lips were dry and softer than she had expected them to be, and the realization that she had contemplated this moment in some manner frightened her, until his mouth opened beneath hers and his fingers slid through her hair, curling around the nape of her neck.
She kissed him, and her hand was on his cheek and his skin was warm and his tongue was wet and heavy against hers and she could taste the whisky, and she could taste him and he was tentative until she leaned into the kiss with a soft sigh.
And then she was in his lap and her hands were in his hair, pushing it back from his face, and she didn't care that it was dirty because his teeth were on her bottom lip and she was gasping and his hand slid over her breast and he groaned when his thumb pressed against her nipple, circling lightly, and she could feel his cock pressing against her thigh, but when she whispered Severus into his mouth, he pulled back, face flushed, and he dropped his hand to her waist.
They sat silently for a moment, the only sound in the kitchen the gurgle of the potion and their own sharp breaths.
"Draco could come in," Severus said finally, his gaze fixed on the shoulder seam of Narcissa's robe. "He wouldn't understand. His father--"
"He would understand better than you think," Narcissa said, but she stood up, shaking. She looked away. "I should…" She trailed off, then pressed her hand to her temple. The ache was building again and she closed her eyes. "I am tired." She laughed softly, and winced. "And a touch drunk, I think."
Severus picked the glass up from the table. "You can sleep in Draco's room." He didn't look at her. "The potion will take a few more hours."
Narcissa wrapped her arms around herself. She was suddenly cold. "I'll go upstairs then."
He nodded and reached for the whisky bottle, and Narcissa felt a sharp flare of anger twisting inside of her. Men. It was always about them. About what they wanted, about what they needed. And she was bloody tired of it. She pulled out her wand and sent the bottle flying, smashing it into the wall with a crash of glass against tile and it felt lovely.
The amber liquid ran in long rivulets down the tile and plaster, pooling on the floor. Narcissa looked back at Severus, at his stunned face, his half-drawn wand.
It felt absolutely lovely.
"You're not drinking yourself into a stupor," she said, and she slammed the door behind her.
"Goddamn you, Lucius," she whispered, stumbling up the stairs.
The mirror on the landing clucked at her--Language, dear--and she stared into it, at her hair, pulled loose from its chignon, at her mouth, sore from Severus' teeth, at her robe, twisted and rumpled from his hands. She ran her fingertips over her breast and she closed her eyes and she could almost believe they were his-but she didn't know which his she was thinking of. The mirror sighed and clucked again and Narcissa flinched, dropping her hand.
She touched her face; she only had one wrinkle. She was still young, even though she'd been building up to this day for a year and a half. Severus was right. They'd all known it was coming, even Lucius. And now she was a widow at thirty-eight. Younger than her mother had been when her father died, and how had she not known how devastating that was for her?
All three of the girls, they'd all been so wrapped up in their own grief, their own bitter anger, that they'd not spared a thought to what their mother was going through, how scared she must have been to be alone after all those years.
Narcissa hadn't been alone before, not until Lucius was arrested and she'd never forget the fear that first night, lying in the bed by herself. How empty it was. How lonely. How very frightened she'd been, for herself and her son.
She was used to it now, to that fear and that emptiness, and she would grow used to this new uncertainty. She was a Black, after all. She straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath. She was a Black.
The kitchen door creaked open below her and she whirled around.
"Mother?" Draco started up the stairs, and Narcissa smoothed her hair and wiped her hand across her eyes.
"What is it, love?" she asked and she smiled down at her son.
Draco stood awkwardly on the steps below her. He was tall now, and in that gawky, self-conscious stage where he was all legs and arms and half-boy, half-man, and she was suddenly reminded not of Lucius, who had never to her knowledge been anything but composed, but of Severus in their seventh year and how he'd spent most of autumn watching her nervously with those bright, dark eyes of his.
"Professor Snape said you were tired." Draco watched her closely and his hands clenched at his sides. "I was worried."
"I was tired." Narcissa brushed her knuckles against her son's cheek, and he caught her hand and there was a desperate look in his eyes. She pulled Draco closer and she stroked his back, as she had when he was six and frantic about the lethifold he was certain lived in his closet. She felt him relax against her and he breathed out. "It's going to be all right," she said into his hair, and he nodded silently and his arms tightened around her.
Severus stepped out of the kitchen and he hesitated. His hair hung in his eyes and he was exhausted, she could tell. The lines on his face had deepened in the past year. And then he looked up the stairs and she shivered at the warmth.
"It's going to be all right," she said again, her eyes on Severus. He flushed and nodded curtly, then walked across the hallway into the library and shut the door behind him.
Narcissa kissed the top of Draco's head. "It's going to be all right," she whispered once more.
And this time she believed it.
And OMG. Het. :D
Title: Awakening
Rating: PG-13ish
Pairing: Snape/Narcissa
Disclaimer: Don't own, dammit.
Word count: Word says 3717
Summary: Lucius dies.
Notes: Written for rikibeth's prompt, awakening. Utterly unbeta'd. :)
The letter in her hand trembled and she laid it aside, slowly, next to her teacup. She smoothed a fingertip over his name, as if by doing so she could bring him back.
Her throat tightened and the hot prickle across her left arm made her close her eyes for a moment. Too much stress. Far too much stress, she thought, forcing herself to breathe. But what did one expect during a war?
It was not unexpected, this news. The number of Ministry-sanctioned Kisses had been steadily rising through the war. It was as if Scrimgeour was determined to make an example of the Death Eaters in custody, and the wizarding world at large was demanding that he do so, like a pack of rabid dogs hungry for their feed.
What makes the self-righteous bastards any better than their prey? Narcissa thought bitterly, and she pressed a hand to her forehead at a sudden sharp ache. Her stomach twisted, anticipating the hours of pain ahead, and she pushed her tea away, calling for Migsy to close the drapes at the breakfast room window and to bring the amethyst-topped phial from her bedroom. Her voice sounded tight and thin to her ears and she leaned back in her chair, eyes closed.
Wretched migraines. She would have to ask Severus for a stronger potion when she next visited Spinner's End-and her breath caught.
Draco.
She didn't want to tell him-couldn't tell him, it was too hard and she knew Severus would, if she asked. Severus had always done what she'd asked, even in school and Narcissa knew why and she had used that to her advantage already. She pressed her lips together tightly and the hot tears welled up behind her eyelids before she forced them back, jaw tight. She was his mother. He deserved to know from her.
Narcissa stood slowly, wincing at the pain of movement, just as Migsy returned, small glass bottle in hand. The old elf held it out silently, her cloudy eyes worried as she watched her mistress swallow its contents.
"You is being in bed, Miss Cissy," she said, wringing her hands in her tea towel. "Migsy's head is being nailed to the wall if your mother was knowing-"
"Then it's quite a good thing Mother's dead, isn't it?" Narcissa asked, holding up a hand to hush the elf. She set the phial down on the table and reached for the back of the nearest chair, waiting for the first wave of nausea to pass.
The pain ebbed away slowly and she straightened. "Fetch my cloak," she said, relieved that her voice barely trembled. "I need to see my son."
*****************************
Draco was silent, staring into the twisted, unkempt branches of the blackthorn growing against the wall in the back garden.
The still cold breeze blew tiny white blossoms from the branches, scattering them across the moss-covered paving stones that filled the narrow slope of grass-if the meagre blades struggling through the broken, slimy stones could be called that. A flower caught on the tip of Narcissa's boot, fragile and pale against the soft black leather and she kicked it off, pressing it into a small patch of mud until the white petals were creased and dirty.
Narcissa pressed her palm gently to her son's shoulder, and she felt a shiver go through him. He pulled away and wrapped his arms around thin chest. "What are you going to do?" he asked at last, still not looking at her. His mouth was tight and drawn and he was pale but resolute and he looked so much like Lucius the night his own father had died-
She looked away, blinking for a moment, and pulled her woollen cloak tighter around her. "Don't worry, Draco," she said softly, telling him the lies she'd thought out before knocking on Severus' door. "Augustus assures me the Ministry won't claim everything. We'll still have the London house and they won't be able to touch my inheritance and the accounts on the Continent-"
"That's not what I mean," Draco snapped and he looked at her then, with eyes too bright. The wind blew his hair into his face and he brushed it away, tucking it back behind his ears. "It's not the money, Mother. Professor Snape tries to keep things from me that he thinks I'm better off not knowing, but I know what happened to Vincent's mother when his father died. Nott has her now. His Lordship-" and he spit out the word bitterly, she noted with surprise, "-gave her to him." He scowled back at the blackthorn. "I'm seventeen, not stupid. I know exactly what that means." He bit his lip, his fingers curling tightly around his elbows. "And that I can't stop it," he added quietly. "I couldn't help him and I can't help you and-" He pressed his lips together and his shoulders hunched. He slid a palm over his left forearm, squeezing.
"Draco." Narcissa touched her son's face lightly, turning him to look at her. "It won't happen-"
"At least treat me like an adult," Draco said sharply, but his eyes softened. "Please."
She nodded and suddenly felt far too tired and much older than her thirty-eight years. "Bella might help," she said, rubbing her hands over her arms.
Draco snorted. "Until she's angry with you again."
Narcissa didn't bother to answer. He was right, she knew. They stood in silence for a long moment and then Draco sighed and he pushed his hair back again, looking away.
He has Lucius' hands, she thought and her heart twisted.
**************************
Severus was waiting in the kitchen when she came back in and he pressed a heavy mug into her hands with that brusque manner of his. "Drink," he said, turning away.
She sipped the tea slowly, standing at the kitchen window. She could taste the whisky he'd laced it with--without asking, of course, and, because it was so very Severus, she laughed, a sharp, sudden burst of hysteria that caused her hands to shake and Severus to look up from his cauldron-he was brewing another potion for her, he'd said-with a frown.
And then he was there, and his hands were on hers, taking the mug away before she dropped it. She leaned her head against the window. The glass was cool and smooth against her flushed skin, and she stared out across the pitiful scrap of garden to the blackthorn. She could see glimpses of blond hair through the tangled braches when Draco turned his head, a flash of white sleeve where his robe had fallen open.
"He'll tear his clothes," Narcissa said, pressing her fingertips to the glass. She traced the arch of branch with one pale pink polished fingernail. Ladies always mind their hands, she could hear her mother saying, and she was seven again, being chastised for her ragged nails and dirty knees and torn robe and for playing with the boys. Quidditch is not for ladies, she mouthed. Her first broom had been made of blackthorn.
Severus snorted behind her and she heard him set the mug on the table, the stoneware thudding against wood. "They'll mend well enough." She felt him move behind her, a brush of robes against her hip. He stared out the window, his own eyes dark and dull. "I spent most of my childhood beneath that blackthorn," he said quietly, and then he looked at her. "He needs to be alone. It's not you."
"I worry."
Those dark eyes narrowed at her, and she suddenly felt exposed and she could feel the gentle press into her memories. "Stop it, Severus," she said, lifting her chin and he scowled and glanced back out the window.
Narcissa watched as his breath spread a thin fog across the glass.
"I spent two days out there when my mother died," he said grudgingly. "Leave him be. He'll come in when he's ready."
Severus turned away, back to his potion and Narcissa looked back at her son, hiding away in his grief and there was nothing she could do for him, nothing she could do for herself because Lucius was gone. He was gone and he wasn't coming back as she had hoped and she wouldn't see him again or touch him and he'd never hold her again and lie to her as she'd needed him to, promising her that His Lordship would protect them, that they'd be safe. They were alone now, she and Draco, and she didn't know what to do; there was no one to turn to, not her sisters, not His Lordship, not the Ministry.
She was alone. Alone with a son whom she couldn't help, and there was no money--what little the Ministry hadn't placed a lock upon when the Potter brat told them Draco had tried to kill that horrid old wretch was gone, taken by debts and bribes and the expense of surviving this damned war.
Narcissa felt her shoulders tense and she fought it, she truly did because a Black always keeps control of her emotions, Narcissa, but it was too much and she could feel the tears sliding hot and wet down her cheeks. She pressed her knuckles to her mouth, biting down until she could taste blood, and the sharp pain was almost a relief because at least she was alive and she could feel something.
Severus swore behind her; his hands were on her shoulders and he pushed her into a chair at the table. "Stop it," he snapped, and Narcissa laughed, because he sounded so very, very annoyed, but the laugh turned into a sob and the tears started again.
"Bastard," she choked out. "Horrid, wretched bastard-I told him not to go to the Ministry that night and he did anyway because what do I know, I'm just a woman, and the Dark Lord needed him-and now he's gone and Draco has no father and it doesn't matter that we need him-"
"Oh, for the love of God, woman, get hold of yourself," Severus said, and he jerked a tea towel from a drawer and threw it at her.
Narcissa twisted the soft fabric between her fingers and she pressed it against her eyes and breathed in the scent of clean cotton until her breathing evened and the hot tears had been sopped up.
She lowered the cloth, to find Severus eyeing her suspiciously as if she might break down again, and she folded the towel, neatly aligning the edges. She sniffed once and blinked and Severus flinched. Narcissa laughed softly.
"I'm sorry," she said, looking away. Severus poured a glass of whisky for her, neat, the way her father drank it, and set it in front of her.
It burned her throat going down and she blinked hard, choking a bit, but Severus smiled faintly at her. "Better?" he asked.
She nodded. "Thank you."
He sat next to her. There was something oddly reassuring about his scowl, because surely the entire world hadn't upended if Severus could still glare at her as he had done all these years, and she set the empty glass down. "What am I going to do?"
Severus curled his lip, irritated. "To begin with, you're going to breathe and calm yourself down. Then, you're going to realise that there's nothing to do to change what has happened and that you're perfectly capable of relying on yourself, as you have for the past nearly two years. You are not incompetent, Narcissa. Don't act as if you are."
"And this is your idea of comfort?" Narcissa snapped, lifting her head. "I just lost my husband, Severus."
"And I lost my friend," he said, through clenched teeth. "And Draco has lost his father. But if we are all honest with ourselves, we lost Lucius a year and a half ago when the damned fool got himself caught. We've known this was coming, Narcissa, and all we can do now is put one damned foot in front of the other or the next one will be one of us." Severus looked away, his long fingers drumming on his sleeve. "We're playing a dangerous game, we three," he said quietly.
"I know." Narcissa twisted her glass between her fingers, then tilted it. A drop of whisky ran down the side. She watched as it splashed onto the scarred, dark wood of the tabletop. "I'm frightened," she admitted.
"You'd be a fool not to be." Severus ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the lank locks.
Narcissa looked at him. "You're tired."
He shrugged. "No more than usual." He smiled, a tight, cold curve of his thin lips. "Double-crossing does tend to wear on one; Occlumency is exhausting to keep up."
"If I hadn't asked you to-"
"I agreed to the Vow."
"But if I hadn't asked-"
"Narcissa," he said, and he sounded tired and drained. "Shut it."
She fell silent. He reached for the whisky and poured another glass, drinking it quickly.
"Don't get drunk," Narcissa said, inexplicably annoyed. He eyed her balefully and splashed more whisky into the glass. "Bastard," she said, as he drank it down.
Severus set the glass back down with a thunk. "You should go to France," he said.
"Whatever for?" Narcissa picked up the glass and she poured a finger of whisky. She sniffed it, and her nose wrinkled at the slight burn. It smelled like her father and for some reason, that ached even more than Lucius…she missed Papa so. She drank the whisky quickly, blinking, and relaxed as the warmth spread through her.
Severus sighed, as if she were an idiot. "You'd be safer."
"And my son would be here, so why should I want to do that?" Narcissa licked a drop of whisky from her finger.
"Then take him with you," Severus snapped, his cheeks flushed. "He's a damned annoying brat as it is." He poured half a glass of whisky and Narcissa raised her eyebrow as he upended the glass.
"And if Draco goes, then that leaves you free to do something entirely ridiculous that will probably end up in your corpse being boiled down for potions ingredients like Antonin's wanted to do for years," Narcissa said and she took the glass from Severus.
"Were you this annoying in school?" Severus asked, and he poured more whisky into the glass for her.
Narcissa sipped it slowly and smiled. She felt warm and safe and the pop and bubble of the cauldron behind her was soothing. "More so, I think, " she said and she laughed. "Do you remember the time Slughorn caught us making that potion to use on Florence and I blamed you entirely for it?" She handed him the glass of whisky.
"Unfortunately, yes," Severus said dryly, and he took a long drink. "And as I recall you instigated the whole thing."
"Well, she broke your heart," Narcissa said, taking the glass back from him, her hands curling around the slick, cool surface. "She would have deserved it, the beast." She took a sip of whisky. "I wonder whatever became of her?"
"She married a Muggle. And she did not break my heart, thank you. Damned bitch."
"Oh, she did too," Narcissa said with a frown. "You spent the remainder of fifth year sulking and making the rest of our lives miserable, so I can't even find it in my heart to pity the poor girl for having to marry a Muggle. How horrid for her." She made a face and drank the rest of the whisky. "Pour me some more, Severus."
Severus looked at her, and she'd never noticed how deep and dark his eyes were, and she wanted to look away, but she didn't. "You've had enough," he said and she nodded.
"I'm tired," Narcissa said softly, and then she touched his chin, and she could feel the rough scratch of stubble on her fingertips. "Thank you," she murmured, and she leaned in to brush her mouth across his cheek, but he turned his head and their mouths met and she shivered.
His lips were dry and softer than she had expected them to be, and the realization that she had contemplated this moment in some manner frightened her, until his mouth opened beneath hers and his fingers slid through her hair, curling around the nape of her neck.
She kissed him, and her hand was on his cheek and his skin was warm and his tongue was wet and heavy against hers and she could taste the whisky, and she could taste him and he was tentative until she leaned into the kiss with a soft sigh.
And then she was in his lap and her hands were in his hair, pushing it back from his face, and she didn't care that it was dirty because his teeth were on her bottom lip and she was gasping and his hand slid over her breast and he groaned when his thumb pressed against her nipple, circling lightly, and she could feel his cock pressing against her thigh, but when she whispered Severus into his mouth, he pulled back, face flushed, and he dropped his hand to her waist.
They sat silently for a moment, the only sound in the kitchen the gurgle of the potion and their own sharp breaths.
"Draco could come in," Severus said finally, his gaze fixed on the shoulder seam of Narcissa's robe. "He wouldn't understand. His father--"
"He would understand better than you think," Narcissa said, but she stood up, shaking. She looked away. "I should…" She trailed off, then pressed her hand to her temple. The ache was building again and she closed her eyes. "I am tired." She laughed softly, and winced. "And a touch drunk, I think."
Severus picked the glass up from the table. "You can sleep in Draco's room." He didn't look at her. "The potion will take a few more hours."
Narcissa wrapped her arms around herself. She was suddenly cold. "I'll go upstairs then."
He nodded and reached for the whisky bottle, and Narcissa felt a sharp flare of anger twisting inside of her. Men. It was always about them. About what they wanted, about what they needed. And she was bloody tired of it. She pulled out her wand and sent the bottle flying, smashing it into the wall with a crash of glass against tile and it felt lovely.
The amber liquid ran in long rivulets down the tile and plaster, pooling on the floor. Narcissa looked back at Severus, at his stunned face, his half-drawn wand.
It felt absolutely lovely.
"You're not drinking yourself into a stupor," she said, and she slammed the door behind her.
"Goddamn you, Lucius," she whispered, stumbling up the stairs.
The mirror on the landing clucked at her--Language, dear--and she stared into it, at her hair, pulled loose from its chignon, at her mouth, sore from Severus' teeth, at her robe, twisted and rumpled from his hands. She ran her fingertips over her breast and she closed her eyes and she could almost believe they were his-but she didn't know which his she was thinking of. The mirror sighed and clucked again and Narcissa flinched, dropping her hand.
She touched her face; she only had one wrinkle. She was still young, even though she'd been building up to this day for a year and a half. Severus was right. They'd all known it was coming, even Lucius. And now she was a widow at thirty-eight. Younger than her mother had been when her father died, and how had she not known how devastating that was for her?
All three of the girls, they'd all been so wrapped up in their own grief, their own bitter anger, that they'd not spared a thought to what their mother was going through, how scared she must have been to be alone after all those years.
Narcissa hadn't been alone before, not until Lucius was arrested and she'd never forget the fear that first night, lying in the bed by herself. How empty it was. How lonely. How very frightened she'd been, for herself and her son.
She was used to it now, to that fear and that emptiness, and she would grow used to this new uncertainty. She was a Black, after all. She straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath. She was a Black.
The kitchen door creaked open below her and she whirled around.
"Mother?" Draco started up the stairs, and Narcissa smoothed her hair and wiped her hand across her eyes.
"What is it, love?" she asked and she smiled down at her son.
Draco stood awkwardly on the steps below her. He was tall now, and in that gawky, self-conscious stage where he was all legs and arms and half-boy, half-man, and she was suddenly reminded not of Lucius, who had never to her knowledge been anything but composed, but of Severus in their seventh year and how he'd spent most of autumn watching her nervously with those bright, dark eyes of his.
"Professor Snape said you were tired." Draco watched her closely and his hands clenched at his sides. "I was worried."
"I was tired." Narcissa brushed her knuckles against her son's cheek, and he caught her hand and there was a desperate look in his eyes. She pulled Draco closer and she stroked his back, as she had when he was six and frantic about the lethifold he was certain lived in his closet. She felt him relax against her and he breathed out. "It's going to be all right," she said into his hair, and he nodded silently and his arms tightened around her.
Severus stepped out of the kitchen and he hesitated. His hair hung in his eyes and he was exhausted, she could tell. The lines on his face had deepened in the past year. And then he looked up the stairs and she shivered at the warmth.
"It's going to be all right," she said again, her eyes on Severus. He flushed and nodded curtly, then walked across the hallway into the library and shut the door behind him.
Narcissa kissed the top of Draco's head. "It's going to be all right," she whispered once more.
And this time she believed it.