The boy who lived - An Alternative Ending

Narcissa's Despair

Darkness stretched like a suffocating veil over the forest. The air was thick with tension, the footsteps of the Death Eaters were muffled by the thick fog that danced between the trees. In the distance, Bellatrix's high-pitched laughter echoed, resonating in Narcissa's mind like an omen. But for her, none of that mattered. The imposing presence of Voldemort rising before her mixed with the growing dread that consumed her. There was only one thing on her mind: Draco.

In the midst of them, Narcissa looked for a gap to look at the body on the ground. The dark lord had won, but for her that didn't matter. All her mind could think about was him.

Draco

It was then that Lord Voldemort approached them, widened his red eyes and spoke in his slippery voice.

"You," Voldemort said, pointing to Narcissa. "Examine him. Tell me if he's dead."

It would take Narcissa a moment to tear her eyes away from him, but her muscles moved without her having to ask, following his command and taking three steps towards the body lying in front of her. Harry Potter, the boy who lived, the chosen one, the boy her family had hunted for so many years, lay motionless on the forest floor. To her, this meant nothing. He was just another piece on a board where Draco was king.

Every thought screamed to find him, to see her son again, but there she was. Narcissa bent down, the weight of each movement making her hands tremble. Her fingers hesitated for a brief second before touching Harry's dirty skin. The sensation of heat beneath her fingers shocked her—he was alive.

Her heart pounded, not out of fear, but out of an urgency that was growing inside her. Draco needs me. The world around her disappeared, Voldemort, the Death Eaters, Harry himself, nothing mattered. All that remained was the need to save her son. Her voice was just a whisper, inaudible to the others around her.

"Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?"

She waited for a moment and time seemed to stop. Harry's body remained still for a few seconds. Then, his chest rose and fell with difficulty, his eyes averting from hers.

"Yes," he replied, almost inaudibly.

Narcissa's heart tightened in her chest, and her hand, which was resting on the boy, contracted involuntarily. Her nails pierced Harry's skin lightly, and then she let go.

Draco was alive.

Narcissa stood up, looked at Voldemort, her expression cold as she told that lie.

"Yes. He's dead," she said, her voice firm and without hesitation.

As Hagrid picked up Harry's body, Narcissa could no longer think about what was happening around her. Her mind was racing and she could only think of one thing: finding Draco.

She followed the group towards the castle, amidst the funeral procession, her steps firm and her heart heavy. She would find him.

The darkness of the forest slowly dissolved into the chaos that consumed the battlefield. The roar of the flames and the screams of agony echoed in the distance, but Narcissa barely heard them. Her steps became quick and irregular, almost as if her legs were moving on their own. Each beat of her heart seemed to hammer Draco's name in her mind. The dread grew with each second, the reality distorted around her, but one truth remained: she needed to find him. He is alive, she repeated to herself, like a desperate mantra.

I need to find him. I need to see him with my own eyes.

As she left the forest, passing by sprawled bodies and rubble, Narcissa realized that there was no going back. She had lied to her master, and he never forgives.