Estranged | Narcissa, Andromeda & Bellatrix Black

01 | cissy

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c i s s y
m c m x c v i i

HER TEACUP CLATTERED on her saucer for the fifth time.

She cringed at the barbed sound of porcelain grating porcelain. Her hands wouldn't stop trembling. Cradling the saucer in her palm, Narcissa Malfoy brought the cup to her lips, swallowing the tea before it spilt over the edge.

In her lap was a copy of the Daily Prophet. Printed pages of insignificance marked yet another uneventful week in the wizarding world: the trite front page and bland articles remained unread.

But Narcissa knew exactly what the headline tomorrow would be, and it would turn the world upside down.

She had been waiting. Waiting whilst her patience dwindled, and her tea went cold. She took another sip; it tasted like acid. And she could have easily warmed the cup with her wand or added a lump of sugar from the bowl beside her — but she didn't. She chose to sit still. Until the silence curdled.

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Narcissa sprang from her chair the moment she heard the whoosh of the fireplace.

Severus Snape emerged from the emerald flames, Draco Malfoy cowering beside him. The Hogwarts professor stood in his billowing black robes, his bat-like silhouette mingling with the lucid green of the dying embers. The stoic expression upon his face was unreadable.

She had seen Snape step out of the Floo countless times, nearly always wanting to have a word with Lucius — business to do with the Dark Lord, she assumed. And every time Snape came and went, there was always that signature smirk on his face and a scowl on her husband's. But Narcissa didn't mind, for Lucius never bothered to confide in her what these conversations were about — Snape had protected her son — and that was all that mattered.

Yet today something was wrong. The lines of his sallow skin were deepening cracks and his black eyes were colder, like hardened onyx. They surveyed the spacious living room of Malfoy Manor, which was luxuriously furnished with plush sofas, and the high latticed windows were obscured by dark green drapes. Numerous portraits lined the mahogany-panelled walls, their gilded frames glinting in the dappled light cast from several crystal chandeliers.

"Narcissa," he said curtly, and there was a slight stutter in his voice. It was clear that something was disturbing him.

But Narcissa didn't notice, for she only had eyes for her son. She couldn't breathe. He's covered in blood.

"It's not his," Snape interjected, noticing Narcissa blanch, "He slipped as we fled from the Great Hall — no one attempted to harm him." Relief rippled through her. He's safe.

Draco Malfoy was safe, but that's not to say he was fine. Because the boy was shaking, and his stormy grey eyes were darting around the room. Knuckles white, he clutched his wand tightly in his fist. Terror was carved into the tear tracks that severed his pointed face. Blood — thank goodness it wasn't his own —soaked his Hogwarts robes and was slicked on his face and hair.

Narcissa hugged him to her chest, but his body was rigid, and she felt him shiver in her arms. He's so cold. Normally she would object to touching him in such a state, in fear of staining her gown, however today, she found that she didn't care. She ran her fingers through his platinum hair, feeling the coarse specks of Floo powder settled in it, and the streaks of blood that were still warm.

Snape had not spoken. He simply stood stony-faced as he watched Narcissa Malfoy and her only son, silently noting the way she stroked his head and the way Draco seemed to thaw at her touch. After a long moment, he cleared his throat. Suddenly Narcissa remembered he was here.

"Severus, I — " She was lost for words, feeling Draco stiffen. As if he had been shocked, Draco instantly pried himself from her grasp. Head bowed, shoulders tensed, he let out a small sob and walked away — leaving a trail of blood on the marble floor.

And as her son walked away, she thought of the man in front of her; how Severus had watched, no, shielded Draco. Enrobed in black, Severus was the night sky, and Draco was the moon. Light clashing dark. Only when Severus had shielded him, when the silvery moonlight shone against the frigid darkness, did Narcissa finally see the sky. And the stars burning within.

Once the sound of his footsteps faded away, Narcissa felt herself crumble. The fears that had burdened her for so many months, that were responsible for the sleepless nights and the nightmares that tormented her when she did escape consciousness, all spilt out. She clung to Snape's robes, as she had done all those months ago. Severus had saved Draco — saved her — twice. "Thank you, Severus. Thank you." She whispered, her blue eyes wet with tears.

She didn't want to ask him, to break that moment of blissful blindness. But she needed to hear him say it — the news that would destroy what hope she had left. Tell me. She clutched him tighter. Before the Prophet does it first. "Did you — did you —"

He nodded. "The task is done. Dumbledore is dead," he replied, his voice void of emotion. His words seemed to cement themselves in the air, and suddenly the truth became stifling: Severus Snape had killed Albus Dumbledore. And her son had seen it all happen.

Then she felt herself breaking inside again, felt herself being crushed from the inside-out until it felt as if she would shatter like a broken window, the bitter shards of her sanity scattering like tiny daggers on the floor. He had seen it. The flash of green light impaling the old man's chest, his lifeless body being propelled into the air, disappearing over the battlements. Draco had witnessed the murder of his headmaster, a task he was supposed to do. Her son wasn't a killer, but he was almost forced to become one. The thought made her feel sick.

Be grateful. Draco was home, alive. She didn't need to ask Snape about what had happened after; the blood on her son's robes told her enough. A battle with half the Order of Phoenix and her son had miraculously returned unscathed.

But she couldn't rid herself of the mental image of Draco just then. She hadn't seen him since the summer — only now did she realise how thin he had become. The image of his gaunt face and sunken eyes rimmed with shadows of insomnia swam in her mind. I did this. How could she have done this to him, her son? Lucius had promised her that the Dark Lord would make their lives better, but now Narcissa wasn't so sure.

Because Lucius Malfoy had been incarcerated in Azkaban for a year, following the failed mission to retrieve the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries. She hadn't seen her husband since, having convinced herself that Lucius was not worth a trip to Azkaban (the thought of freely roaming dementors was enough). It was not unknown that the Dark Lord was displeased with Lucius, and her Draco had to pay the cost. It had tainted her memory of Lucius with bitterness. Sometimes Narcissa wondered whether she still loved him.

"I should go," Severus said tersely, and she sensed his restlessness, slackening her grip on his robes. "I do not wish to take advantage of your hospitality any longer." The woman nodded in response.

"Goodnight, Narcissa." Severus turned with a flourish. "Spinner's End!" He exclaimed, throwing a handful of Floo powder into the grate. He moved swiftly, like he was desperate to leave the manor as soon as possible.

But this time Narcissa Malfoy didn't miss the flicker of pain in his tortured eyes, nor the unmistakable shudder that wracked his body. And before she could ask him if he was all right, Severus Snape was engulfed by the flames, and was gone.

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A / N

Two words:
Severus. Snape.

Now I know that Snape is a... conflicting character; some hate him, others love him. I proudly fall into the latter category — he is one of my favourite Harry Potter characters (who's yours?). Regardless of whether you like him or not, he is central to this story, so be prepared to see more of him.

Dear Snape-haters, I regret nothing.

And my fellow Snape-lovers:
Rejoice.

Yours always,
kit xx