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The music is low and sweeping, filling the air around them. Lily’s hand is warm on her back, guiding her through the room and holding her close, closer than is appropriate. Narcissa doesn’t point that out; the excuse of needing to train this dance for her wedding is long ignored anyway. Right now, she can pretend, can rest her head on Lily’s shoulder and let the music carry them away, her entire existence narrowing down to this moment, this dance. Narcissa doesn’t want it to ever end.
“Run away with me.” The suggestion makes her smile, speaks to that wistful part of her that blooms at the idea.
“Where would we run to?” It’s impossible, they both know it. Narcissa is to marry Malfoy, arrogant, self-obsessed but rich and pure-blooded Malfoy. She prefers not think about that, about the dress waiting for her at home, passed down in their family for generations and heavy with expectation. But here, Lily and her the only people around, it seems nothing more than a bad dream, like a completely different world.
“Wherever you want to go, love.” Narcissa hides her smile in Lily’s neck, lets the warmth and the music fill her, and listens to Lily describe the places she wants to show her, the world she wants to give her. It’s a beautiful fantasy, familiar by now but no less alluring for it.
And for right now, it’s enough.
The music box is playing, the little figurine turning and turning, blissfully unaware. Narcissa tries to tune her out, not to recognise the music from all those dances that feel a life time ago. But there is nothing else to fill the silence, only the faint notes and her suppressed sobs. It’s cruel, the memories forced onto her, the comparison drawn.
Narcissa remembers how Lily would laugh, how she would swirl her through the room and safely welcome her back into her arms, eyes bright with joy. Lily was always warm, a fire sparking in her and giving her a passion unequalled by anything else Narcissa has seen.
And now here Lily is, cold and unresponsive in her arms, the spark extinguished.
Narcissa can’t think, can do nothing but press Lily closer, hoping against hope that she will wake up. Her tears are soaking Lily’s hair, and all Narcissa can think of is that, were she here, Lily would sooth her. She would card her hands through her hair, wipe away her tears and press a kiss onto her forehead, and then she would smile at her and embrace her, shelter her against the world.
But Lily isn’t here, and Narcissa has the irrational urge to shelter her, to protect her from this world that took everything. It’s too late for that now, far too late for everything.
Suddenly a cry breaks through the music, shatters the nostalgia Narcissa drowns in and clings to. Reluctant to let go of Lily Narcissa gently lays her down on the ground, almost convincing herself that she is merely sleeping. The only reason she doesn’t lay down next to Lily is another wail, finally alerting her to things outside of her grief.
Walking numbly over to the crib, every step is an effort. But when she looks down and sees the child, Lily’s child, she shoves the pain into the background. Lily had been ecstatic when she told her, the worries of the war forgotten while they planned out their futures, how they would raise their children together. And now the little boy is all alone, scared and confused and alone. And Narcissa can’t bear it.
She picks up the little bundle, cradles him close to her chest and drops a kiss on his head. He clings to her, still making sounds of distress but calming down as she begins to hum along to the music. He is so tiny in her hands, little Harry, who is too young to understand what happened but knows that it was awful. Overcome with a fierce protectiveness, Narcissa knows that she can’t leave him here, can’t leave him to a fate unknown.
Worried that Harry, too, has been hurt, Narcissa moves him to sit on her hip, cups his face in her hand for inspection. He has green eyes, achingly familiar green eyes pleading up at her. They are Lily’s eyes. Despite already knowing this -having listened to Lily mourn the fact that he doesn’t have James’s eyes while also unable to hide her pride at how handsome her son looks- it hits Narcissa like a new discovery. They look too big on his face, wide and filled with tears. She didn’t think she would ever see these eyes again, but she is unendingly grateful that she does.
There is also a scar on his face, a curse scar undoubtedly and Narcissa quickly squashes the horrified realisation. She doesn’t have time for this, Harry needs her. She doesn’t know when she decided this, if it ever was a question, but there is no way that she will leave this boy here. There is nothing else she can do for Lily, too late to save her life or even just say goodbye, but she can make sure that her son will have a good, happy life.
She will raise him next to her Draco; watch them grow up together, as close as she can get to the glorious future they had planned.
Decision made, she tugs the boy back against her chest. Then she kneels down next to Lily, and presses a kiss to her forehead, like she used to do to wish her good dreams. Logically Narcissa knows it isn’t the same at all, but she can’t go without saying goodbye.