𝘋𝘈𝘕𝘊𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘞𝘐𝘛𝘏 𝘖𝘜𝘙 𝘏𝘈𝘕𝘋𝘚 𝘛𝘐𝘌𝘋/𝘵𝘰𝘮 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘦 (English version)

Chapter 71

"When all this is over...
We'll talk about the rest."

Sarah had repeated that phrase for so long that it had almost lost its meaning.

She waited. She hoped. She remembered.
She lived in the fragments of beautiful moments spent with her friends, with Tom.
She imagined the exact moment when it would all be over, and they would finally live the life they deserved.

That was her way of surviving.
Her only way not to slip into madness.

Resisting was becoming harder every day, especially holding back the instinct to respond to the Death Eaters' endless provocations.
She had never felt so empty. Not even in the darkest moments of her life.

She hated those eyes on her.
She hated the comments, the filthy laughter, those oversized hands that gave her shivers just by brushing against her.
She prayed. She prayed that at least one of them would have the decency to leave her alone.
But even that seemed too much to ask.

And yet, despite everything, there was one certainty anchoring her to reality: she was alive. Still alive.
Every wound, every scratch screamed that this imprisonment was a sentence.
But every breath... every breath reminded her that something inside her refused to give in.
That she didn't want to surrender.

That day, the Death Eaters were late.
Sarah noticed it immediately.
By now, she knew the sound of their footsteps well, could tell them apart:
Pettigrew always moved slowly, uncertain. Sometimes he stopped halfway down the corridor, before even reaching the cell, as if he were too afraid to look inside.
Bellatrix, on the other hand, skipped. She laughed. She was the most recognizable of them all.

But this time, Sarah struggled to identify who was approaching.
The steps were light, precise.
Whoever it was knew exactly what they were doing, and yet, there was caution in that movement.
When the cell door opened, there were no cruel laughs, no sharp words.
Only a profound silence.

Sarah slowly raised her gaze.
The dim corridor light forced her to close her eyes for a moment, until they adjusted.
When she opened them again, she saw who stood before her.

That face, that figure in the doorway, wasn't made of the same substance as the others.

Narcissa Malfoy was standing there, with the same elegance as always.
No hesitation in her gestures. No fear in her eyes.
But there was something different, something in her gaze betrayed a deep weariness.
A fatigue that went beyond age, beyond the masks of aristocracy she had worn her entire life.
Her black cloak billowed lightly around her, and her hair, tied in a flawless knot, shimmered faintly in the dull light.
Her eyes, usually so imperious, so distant, now revealed something Sarah had never seen before:
a sadness she could no longer hide.

Sarah had known Narcissa before all this.
She had grown fond of her, had bonded with her to the point of calling her "family," a privilege she had never extended to Lucius, with whom she had barely exchanged a few words worth remembering.

But now, after everything that had happened, she no longer knew what to make of her.

Some people say the eyes are the mirror of the soul, the best way to understand someone, just by looking.
So Sarah gave herself time to look. To set aside every judgment.
Those pale eyes now tried to convey too many things, and the girl didn't even know where to begin.

Resignation.
As if, somewhere deep inside, Narcissa had understood that, despite everything, she too was a prisoner.
A prisoner of a world she had never chosen, a prisoner of a destiny that had nailed her to a role she no longer wanted to play.