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The winter of 1977, Grimmauld Place
The moon is clear and high in the sky when an insomniac Regulus Black decides to go out of his room and wander around the sinuous corridors of Grimmauld Place, his steps charmed to not trigger any sounds of creaking, a spell he learned a while ago when this late-night wandering became a habit.
It isn't uncommon for him to end up in a random ancient room long forgotten by its habitants, so when he opens the door to find a large gallery full of portraits of the members of the most ancient and noble house of Black, the finding itself isn't what makes him widen his eyes with surprise.
Rather, it's the person who is seated with their hands resting in their lap in front of one of the portraits that intrigues him.
“Can I be worth your time, cousin?” Regulus says with a hoarse voice, sitting at her right in the padded bench.
Narcissa Black (“no, she's a Malfoy now”, Regulus remembers to himself) jumps a little at the sight of him, but rapidly recovers, schooling her expression. She is a good mannered pureblood lady, after all.
“Hello, Reggie”, the blonde woman replies, sighing and then looking back at the painting in front of them, which makes Regulus finally analyze it, too.
The portrait is quite simple. A woman with ebony hair and light eyes, typical phenotype of a Black, gently placing her hands on the shoulders of a girl with similar hair, but with a single blond lock right in front of the face, lashes also blond, who looks about eight years old, if not less. The frame is beautiful, but not too elaborate, the words Toujours Pur written in big golden letters at the top.
Regulus isn't close enough to the portrait to read the small description, so he asks gently, turning his head to face her, “is it you, Cissy?”
Narcissa is an odd case of a Black. She was born with hair as ebony as any member, but as she aged, her hair started to grow platinum blonde. Now, at 20, she's an all-blonde, black locks disappearing almost completely.
The blonde woman laughs lightly, facing him as well for a moment, “No, Reggie, I think that's actually some great-great-great aunt of ours, though the similarities are quite uncanny.”
“I guess your hair isn't that astray from the rest of the family, then”, he says, watching her smile for a short moment, then, when she turns back to the painting, “so, why are you staring at a century-old portrait again?” The boy prompts.
Narcissa sighs again. “Aunt Walburga asked me when will Lucius and I have children.” She frowns lightly.
“Do you… not want to have children?” Regulus asks in a confused tone.
“No, that isn't the problem.” She finally takes her eyes off the painting for good, facing him with all of her body. “The problem is that I don't know if I want to bring a child into this world in the middle of a war that they're going to be demanded to fight in.”
Regulus doesn't say anything, so Narcissa continues, grabbing his left hand, “I know you're going to take the Dark Mark soon, and that's an honor, but it's such a grand responsibility” and danger, she doesn't say, but he knows she's thinking it, “I can't get the thought that you're just a boy out of my head. You're so young, Reggie, you're my baby cousin, and seeing you get ready to fight in a war meant for adults gets me so… apprehensive.”
“I'm not that young, Cissy”, he tries to comfort her.
“You're still in school!”, she says, raising her trembling voice just a bit.
The raven haired boy doesn't know what to say to that, so he deviates from the topic of himself a little. “Look, I don't see how the world could get any more safer in the upcoming years, but you thinking about this child's safety so early before their conception makes me sure that they will have a wonderful, caring mother in their life who will do anything for them, and maybe that's what it matters.” he smiles, “I know I have a wonderful, caring cousin in mine”.
She half smiles, but that alone doesn't seem to deflate much of Narcissa’s worry, so he decides to distract her a little from the problem instead. “Have you and Lucius thought about the names for the child at least? I know it's early, but you two have been dating for so long, it wouldn't surprise me if you already thought about it.”
That seems to lighten up a bit of Narcissa's mood. “Oh yes, we already decided it”, she lets out a small but genuine smile, and Regulus thinks she might be one of the few pureblood ladies who actually married someone they loved. “We decided to follow the lead of my parents, so the children will either have a name inspired by a flower or by a constellation”. She glances back at the painting, then returns to Regulus, her eyes shining a little, lips still smiling a bit. “We were thinking Dahlia for a girl and Draco for a boy”.
“Dahlia, Draco” Regulus says as if tasting the names in his mouth, then smiles. “These are beautiful names, Cissy”, he then tightens her hand in his. “Look, I can't even begin to understand your anguish, but I can promise you that if it comes to that, I will help you protect this child in any way I can, even if I can't reach you or comfort you in person, even if we're worlds apart”, his voice trembles a little with emotion, and it's Regulus’ turn to tighten the grip. “You know you're my favorite cousin, right, Cissy?”
She smiles “I know”, and then, “you're my favorite cousin too, Reggie”.
The pleading is implicit, please don't abandon me like she did.
It's rare to see Narcissa show her emotions like this. She was a contrast to her sisters in almost every way, from the hair to her demeanor. While Bellatrix and Andromeda could be mostly seen wearing their hearts on their sleeves, for better or for worse, Narcissa was always the ever cold and alluring ice queen of the trio. Smart, cunning and calculating, eyes never betraying her, Narcissa made the perfect pureblood Slytherin. The perfect Black.
But her ways never fooled Regulus, not even once, for he coped in similar ways to her.
They're the closest cousins of the family, their ages contributing to that, but also their roles. Youngest children with rebellious older siblings who were burned out of the family tree. Regulus knows Narcissa misses Andromeda as much as he misses Sirius, even if they don't, can't express that, he sees her true emotions in the way she tightens herself every time her oldest sister is mentioned. The moment that someone is burned out of the tapestry is the moment that they are considered as good as dead by the rest of the family. Worse than dead, dishonoured. He also knows that, unlike him, Narcissa still has a sibling as company, but it's clear that nothing fills the gap Andromeda left. She cared for Narcissa like no one did, the love for her baby sister was always abundant. Sirius’ and Andromeda’s betrayals were still an open wound for both of them.
Narcissa isn't taking the Dark Mark, but she cares for Regulus as if he grew up in the same house as hers. Well, he did, in a way. The House of Black always welcomes every member of the family in Grimmauld Place every winter holiday. That's why she's here, now, and not at Malfoy Manor, her new home.
Narcissa takes a deep breath, taking one last look at the painting, then getting up, the ice queen mask falling into place. “Well, I think it's time for both of us to finally get some sleep.”
Regulus nods, leaving the gallery right behind her. “You still haven't told me why you were staring at that portrait, out of all others”.
Narcissa smiles then, before parting ways with him. “I was imagining taking a portrait like that with my future child.”
In peaceful times, hopefully, is what she leaves unsaid.
&&&&
The winter of 1979, Grimmauld Place
Regulus Black takes a deep, trembling breath, while holding in his trembling hands a drawing of the Slytherin locket (a fucking horcrux, he thinks in despair). It's the last time he's doing this, he swears to himself, then calls for Kreacher.
“How can Kreacher assist Master Regulus, sir?” The house elf promptly asks, voice still hoarse from the potion Voldemort made him take.
“I think it's time for us to destroy this aberration once and for all, Kreacher”, Regulus says, hanging his bag out of one shoulder.
Kreacher nods, then asks “is Master Regulus going to leave a notice for anyone?”
“No Kreacher, no one in my family should know what I'm going to do”, Regulus says firmly, but then takes a look at his Dark Mark and remembers a promise he made to his most beloved cousin a few years ago.
I promised Cissy I would be there for her…, he thinks, and then grabs an envelope, a quill and parchment, sitting down to write one last message.
When Regulus finishes writing the letter after some minutes, he puts it on the envelope and delivers it to Kreacher. “Listen, Kreacher, should I die”, Kreacher yelps, almost interrupting Regulus’ orders, but he continues, “this letter is to be delivered to Narcissa Malfoy only if these two events occur” he stares at the house elf's eyes intently, “if the war is over, and I mean definitely over, which can only happen if the locket is destroyed”, his breath shakes, and his voice trembles, “or, and Merlin, I hope this doesn't happen, if her child is forced to take the Dark Mark”. Regulus knows deep down that Narcissa would never take lightly the involvement of her child in an adult's war. He also knows she and her family likely won't have much of a choice, not under Voldemort’s regime.
Kreacher looks terrified at the prospect of Regulus' death, but agrees, popping out at some dark corner of the house to store the letter, then popping back to Regulus.
Regulus Black takes one final glance at his room, his childhood room, and thinks of the lost gallery he once found his cousin in.
“Take me to the place where the Dark Lord took you, Kreacher”
&&&
The summer of 1996, Malfoy Manor
The floors of Malfoy Manor creak under Narcissa Malfoy’s steps when she finally closes the door of her son's bedroom, who is finally asleep after the session in which the Dark Lord revealed his plans regarding Draco. Despite the boy’s mood, it makes the air escape her lungs to imagine the impossibility of his tasks. She has no doubt that Draco will be terrified once he finally understands what it means to bear his family’s lives on his shoulders.
Narcissa takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself, aware that she's not safe or alone in her own house, aware that nowadays even the shadows lurking in the Manor have eyes and ears. It's revolting that, after sixteen years of being a mother, she has to pretend not to be horrified about the fact that her own son is being made a pawn in the Dark Lord’s sick chess game. It's terrifying that she has to act like her worst nightmare hasn't come true.
Not for the first time, her mind wanders to her missing (dead, she miserably reminds herself) cousin and how he was almost Draco’s age when he took the Mark. The woman desperately tries to suppress the memories about Regulus’ mysterious end, how he had a funeral without a body after months of searching and was ultimately declared to have died while serving the Dark Lord. She tries not to think about Draco having the same fate.
Regulus, like her son, was just a boy after all.
Now trembling, Narcissa realizes that, in her frenzied walk, her feet took her right to the door of an old gallery, not unlike the one she found herself in years ago. It's deep in the Manor, residing in one of the only wings in which the Dark Lord and his unwelcomed Death Eaters haven’t spread and infested yet.
The woman walks inside and gently closes the door, eyeing the paintings. Unlike the gallery inside Grimmauld Place, this one doesn't house portraits of real people in its majority, but rather more mythical and symbolic paintings. She comes to a stop when a painting catches her eye, portraying a young, beautiful woman and an equally beautiful, even if not as young woman beside her, the two standing in a wheat field while eyeing each other. The sky above the two is seemingly harboring a storm. The plaque below the painting describing it has “Demeter and Persephone before the Winter” written. Narcissa doesn't have to dig too deep into her memories of lessons about Greek mythology to remember they are mother and daughter, and how Persephone was abducted by Hades with Zeus’ permission while Demeter incessantly searched for her daughter all over the earth, causing, in her despair, the neglect of her duties as a goddess in favor of her duty as a mother.
The tale has always left a bad taste in her mouth, and this time is no different, if not more bitter.
Her thoughts turn to Regulus once more.
“Oh cousin, even if you were alive, how could you help me now that the worst scenario has come true?” Narcissa whispers hopelessly to herself, refusing to think about the meaning of the Greek myth and how she could relate to Demeter’s despair.
The words hover in the air with no one to listen besides herself and the figures in the painting.
Then, suddenly, a loud crack noise behind the woman echoes around the empty gallery, and Narcissa almost squeals in an undignified way before remembering herself and turning around, only to find nothing.
Was I played by an elf? She questions herself and almost gets into an embarrassed fit of petty rage before her eyes focus on an envelope resting on the ground. The blonde pauses and then takes the old paper in her hands, almost fainting when she reads the words ‘From: Regulus Black To: Narcissa Malfoy. Grimmauld Place n° 12, 1979.’
This can't be, she thinks frantically before almost ripping the envelope open, hands trembling even before the first words are read.
Cissy,
If you're receiving this letter, it means I can't reach you. I'm sorry. Deeply, irrevocably sorry, but please, cousin, know that there was no other way, and that you're the only person who's getting a post-mortem message from me, so let me be worthy of your time once more.
If you're in possession of this letter, it's because of one between two reasons:
First, the war is definitely over, and the Dark Lord is defeated for good. I hope this is the circumstance this letter finds you, though if I'm not talking to you personally at this exact moment, it's highly improbable this is the case, though not impossible. I also expect you aren't facing prison for your family's connection to him. I know you're more intelligent than that, and you would never take the Dark Mark willingly, nor would you fight a war without keeping what's dear to you close to your chest. We, as Blacks, should be smarter than that. We should keep our family close to our hearts, closer than any prejudices or lords. Sadly, I failed in this, too. I pushed my brother away, took the Dark Mark, the Dark Lord’s plans tainted my honor, and all of this deeply pains me now that I finally have the hindsight. I hope you have it as well, at this moment, and I hope you don't hate me for turning my back against our family values, just as I hope you can forgive your sister for doing what she did. Above all else, I also hope you can forgive me for abandoning you on this earth, my dear cousin. I promise I had the best interests in mind.
Second, and I truly hope this isn't the case, your little Dahlia or little Draco is set to take the Dark Mark. In this situation, I am more sorry than ever, but I can't say I don't understand their position, even if a little, so, as I promised you long ago, I will help you protect your child, in any way I can. My resources are obviously limited as of now, but I can offer you my experience and thoughts as someone who was turned into a soldier far too soon, without knowing what all of this truly meant.
Please, let go of all they taught us, this will be necessary if you want to protect this child from his claws. I know you're ready to reject the Dark Lord’s victory if it means your child will be safe, but are you ready to actively act against it? Go against his devilish plans and intentions? I hope so. Dahlia/Draco will need all of the help they can get, so please grab the one that's closest to you and guarantee they will have this help. Someone who could get the job done and cover for them should they not be able to go ahead. I know the Dark Lord's ways can be vicious and nauseating, and I think this child will soon learn that as well. I also know the path he makes us take is terribly lonely and deprived of hope. You have to consider all possibilities. You are Narcissa Black before being Narcissa Malfoy. You are more than some Death Eater’s wife. You are stronger than this. Smarter than him. Most importantly, you love strongly and you love genuinely, you love with your whole heart and I know if everything around you falls apart, your love will persevere. I hope this child knows that, too. I do. I believe in you, Cissy. I believe you will make the right choices, the ones I couldn't make. If not out of calculation, out of desperation. If not out of desperation, out of love. Maybe all of it combined.
I love you Cissy. I know you reciprocate it, because you worry for me. I see through you, through your facade. I know this child will never know a love as pure or unconditional as yours, for you love even without meaning.
You truly love like a mother.
I hope you can find an escape whatever the case, I truly do. I also hope this child knows how lucky they are, for some mothers care more about values than their own children. I know because I had a mother like this. I know you did as well and I also know deeply in my heart that you're different from them, if not only for the fact that you wouldn't even consider disowning your children. Again, I hope you have the heart to ponder about Andromeda's situation after all of this. I sure regret leaving nothing to Sirius but a tainted memory of what I am. In his mind, I'm dying as nothing but a Death Eater. I hope I'm dying as something else in your mind, even if it's just a boy. It's surely more honouring than the former.
Never forget your black roots, even if the blond has taken over.
Your favorite cousin,
Regulus Black
Narcissa doesn't realize that tears are falling until one makes their way onto the side of the shaking paper. She reads and re-reads the letter time and time again, making sure the words are embedded in her mind. Her heart is aching, and as she folds the letter with delicacy and stares at Persephone's face in front of her, Regulus’ words turn into her head, making her thoughts swim and race.
If not out of calculation, out of desperation.
As Narcissa exits the gallery, takes a look at her favorite painting in her favorite wing in which portrays her and Draco in the same positions as that ancient portrait she set her eyes on long ago, and makes her way to Severus Snape’s house, she has only one goal on her mind:
Save her son.
&&&
The Forbidden Forest, 1997
“You!” The Dark Lord points to Narcissa, and she's pushed by Bellatrix, letting a small shriek of pain. “Examine him. Tell me whether he is dead”.
Narcissa checked the boy's body as instructed. Pulled an eyelid, checked his pulse. Her breath came in rapid puffs as she made sure that the pulse was there, that Harry Potter was really alive.
If not out of desperation, out of love.
The woman asks in a barely audible whisper, “Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?”, and when a breathy “Yes” answers her question, she makes one of the most important decisions of her life.
Narcissa decides to lie to Voldemort’s face, for she only wants to see her son alive and well, war and sides be damned. It may as well be one of the bravest things she has done in her life, not like she cares. The only thing that matters is that she has to see Draco again. Has to live for him.
Maybe all of it combined.
Her boy…
You truly love like a mother.
“He is dead!” She announces.