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“Be with me Narcissa.” he whispers urgently.
He’s looking at her with his warm brown eyes, so unlike her husband’s and for a moment she allows her thoughts to run away with that dream.
To live in the warmth of the sun, to escape the shadows and cold of the manor, the expectations foisted on her from birth, by birth, of being a pureblood matriarch. Leave behind the Malfoy name, connection to her first born, and who knows what kind of settlement with Lucius. Owning her life, finally. Having the face she presented to the world match the one she only ever showed to him. Being allowed to live a normal, unexamined, undocumented life outside the public eye…did she really want that? Was she interested in being without the name, the opulence and vintage it carried, the storied past, the weight of centuries?
Did she want a second chance to reinvent herself, to have a different ending written for herself? To sacrifice the known for the unknown? To do the third thing in her life ever because of love? Such a sentimental and selfish want.
She is not a woman known to live on potential or speculation. She is accustomed to reinstated civility in the wake of war, the stability of land and money, status and stature. As a member of the Pureblooded Wixen Clan Lineage like the Black family, she had her life mapped from birth to death before she was even a gleam in her father’s eye.
And like a snap of Lucius's manicured fingers that precious soft vision of love and fulfillment vanishes as Narcissa Black Malfoy is forced to assess her life. The bed of infidelity she's created with a naive young man who was only supposed to be visiting, but he'd changed his life for her.
He'd nurtured her independent adventurous side and ignited a passion that seemed forbidden. He'd stayed by her side in the shadows for six years, ostensibly the head of the Malfoy philanthropic foundation. The fact that Mrs. Malfoy had established a rather extended dragon preserve on British soil for his beloved Hebridien Black and her offspring was not lost on those in high society.
Behind closed doors, he was her confidant, her lover, her rock and her equal. He was meant to be a dalliance while her husband's lawyers and political lackeys find a way to free him from a life sentence in Azkaban. He'd grown up though from that boy she’d seduced away from parties and he’d pursued Narcissa repeatedly despite her many avoidances and dismissals.
He’d known her heart when he’d announced he was moving back to the UK and she’d suggested a donation in his deceased brother’s name to establish a dragon sanctuary close by.
When her old Black-family elf Kreacher had popped into the drawing room of Malfoy Manor at tea time on a Friday, Narcissa hadn’t known how to contain her surprise. She had seen the elf infrequently when visiting Grimmauld Place or sometimes he’d pop in when she was visiting the Burrow or the Weasley Joke Shop.
“Mistress Narcissa”, he said, extending his small hand, “Harry Potter sent me, there is something I must show you.”
Narcissa felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise with anxious intrigue. Harry never sent Kreacher on his behalf, he would send an owl. Their monthly teas were always on the third Sunday of the month at Luna’s tea shop off Diagon Alley. He’d never sought her out in this way before and the way the wizened old elf’s usual crusty demeanor was subdued had her on edge.
Nothing to be done about it, but allow her former servant to apparate her to Grimmauld Place and find out what in the dickens was going on. Taking Kreacher’s outstretched arm, she shut her eyes in anticipation of the disorienting feeling of side along apparition.
They landed inside the Drawing Room at 12 Grimmauld Place, directly in front of the ornate and aged family tapestry of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Harry, along with his wife, Ginny stood glancing down where a new branch had woven itself next to her name.
Charles Rupert Weasley it said with a smaller branch joining their names and extending down next to Draco’s image that said, Baby Girl Weasley.
Narcissa’s eyes went round as saucers as Kreacher apparated into the house with none other than Charlie Weasley, her paramour.