THE SNITCH | narcissa black malfoy

iv. who is alive

Not once in her seven years at Hogwarts had Narcissa broached the edges of the Forbidden Forest. Now twenty years later, Narcissa has no choice. Silenced and wandless, she must join the Dark Lord's Army as they stalk into this terrible place.

Draco had told them once of the Forest's horrors. As a mere first year, he'd been subjected to an inhumane detention in the Forbidden Forest. In her rage, Narcissa had nearly flown to Hogwarts to curse Dumbledore herself. Lucius had needed to remind her that as a governor, he had ample other ways to punish the headmaster. Only then had Narcissa settled down.

So much had happened in the six years since. The once-hallowed Malfoy name is irrevocably sullied. The past year was utter humiliation, and her own sister crowed the whole time. Grateful as she is for Bellatrix's return, this is not the same sister imprisoned fifteen years ago. Tortured by Dementors, fanatical for the Dark Lord, Bella no longer understands her. To Bella, the Dark Lord's use of Malfoy Manor is an honour and triumph. But Narcissa sees the bars of her prison for what they are.

She finds Lucius in the crowd. His white-blond hair is easy to spot among the black cloaks and darker masks. And his sapped will makes him as much of an anomaly here as she is. Bella dances at the front by her Lord's side, but Narcissa huddles in the back near her husband. She looks towards Lucius but once to mouth, "Draco?" With the barest movement, he shakes his head. Her mouth puckers as she looks away, and they do not speak anymore.

They do their best to fade into the horde of Death Eaters for the torturous hourlong wait. If the boy is smart, he will never show. But Narcissa hopes Harry Potter is as compassionate a fool as Dumbledore. She cannot battle her way to Draco; she can only hope to find him. She gave Draco her wand, and he has the same self-preservation instincts as Lucius. She can only hope it's enough.

Potter finally shows, and Narcissa only feels relief. The war may be over soon. She allows herself a moment of pity for him – he is but a boy, she can see it now. The fear in his eyes is not unlike Draco's.

There is little ceremony. Narcissa reaches for Lucius, her fingers gripping his tight. With a green flash, the boy falls – but with a bang, the curse flings the Dark Lord backwards, too. He does not stir from the ground, and she can hear Bella's frantic screeches near his body. Narcissa looks up at Lucius with dread and sees her husband's jaw has set into a grimace. They both know this army is useless without its head.

Then, after a terrible long minute, the Dark Lord stirs. He brushes off Bella's assistance and rises as if naught has happened. Narcissa hears that terrible cold voice that never fails to send shivers down her spine:

"The boy... Is he dead?'

Not one of them moves; not one of them dares answer. In the chaos over the Dark Lord's incapacitation, no one had dared to check.

"You!" She hears the bang of his curse and her own yelp of pain in tandem. Overkill, she cannot help but think. He must know Narcissa is already defenseless. She lifts her head with great reluctance to hear his command.

"Examine him. Tell me whether he is dead."

For a breath, Narcissa is too frozen to move, though to defy the Dark Lord for even a moment is folly. Someone nudges her forward, and Lucius releases her grip with a sorrowful squeeze.

With halting steps, Narcissa approaches the boy's corpse. The eyes of a hundred Death Eaters – and the Dark Lord – on her, she kneels beside him. Her pale hands trembling, she touches his face and rummages for signs of life. In truth, her hands shake so much she cannot tell if the movement is hers or his. But when she feels the thundering heartbeat under her fingers, she realizes he is alive.

She leans down close enough to bestow a mother's kiss on his matted forehead. Instead, she whispers, so quiet the rustle of the trees nearly drowns her:

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

A beat passes, and she fears he may not have heard her. She dares not speak any louder. But then, his breath brings her the answer she had hoped for.

"Yes."

She stands up and turns to face the crowd. The false smile she slips on as easy as dress robes, and with appropriate triumph she proclaims:

"He is dead!"

The crowd is lost to shouts of victory. Unimportant once more, Narcissa shuffles back to Lucius's side. Her hand finds his with relief, and she feels his eyes searching her. She can lie to the Dark Lord, and she can lie to the Army – she can even lie to Bellatrix now. But she cannot lie to Lucius.

Draco, she mouths when his eyes find hers. No one looks at them, this fallen golden pair. Not when the Dark Lord is victorious, and Harry Potter is dead at their feet. As the army swells forward in a conqueror's rush, she sees the hope in her eyes matched in his and whispers, He's alive.