Deception

Narcissa was in full panic mode. 

Her husband was nowhere to be found, her child was missing, accused of a very serious crime, and she was the one handling it alone.

Of course she was.

She always handled everything alone.

Her only comfort was a useless house elf who held his head in shame. Tell me, when had Narcissa Malfoy been brought so low?

Was it when she married a man she knew she did not love but believed that she could influence otherwise? 

Was it when she ignored the fact that her husband participated in ending the life of his own mate, deemed unworthy?

Perhaps it was.  Narcissa clung to that fact, believing that her husband must feel something to select her.  Or maybe that was merely the beginning.

She looked back on her life and never had she felt so empty.

And now she was left to face this mess.  Alone.  Why should she expect anything less?

Pasting a smile on her face, she sat before several aurors, patiently answering their questions.

No, she had not seen her son for several days.

No, she did not think he would hurt anyone, especially Hermione Granger.

Yes, she was willing to cooperate.

The questions went on and on, always pointing the finger at her and her family.  The faces of the questioners changed, but the questions never really changed, nor did the accusatory eyes. 

It was humiliating, not simply because this was the hundredth time her family was being investigated, but it reminded her yet again that she was alone.  In all of this. As usual.

Narcissa knew her ability to express affection was limited by her own nature, but it did not mean she had absolutely zero attachment to her son. 

She did not ‘love’ him the traditional sense, but he was her only child. Her family, and in that she would always be loyal.  It was instinct.

She would not see him hang because of his own selfish stupidity. 

Or perhaps she should.  Leave him to finally face the consequences of his selfish actions.

She sighed.

After several hours, she returned home, exhausted. She ordered the elf to brew her a cup of soothing tea and sat down, rubbing her head with her fingers.

Another headache.

This was not something she could fix.  Arthur Weasley, a very respected cabinet member now [and still a fool], swore, even took truth potion, to confirm that he left the girl with her son and then waited.

When she did not return, several inquisitors reported that her son was seen looking very distraught, holding the girl, but they did not question him because he had a tendency to dole out punishment to anyone who questioned his authority.

She did not know where he was, or her husband.

‘When did I become so…’ she sighed.

Unnecessary?

It seems mother was right, she dully thought.  How many mistakes must she commit in a lifetime? 

Narcissa hated self-pity; it was something she believed helped separate her from the weak and powerless.  It was in her blood, a strength that elevated her above everyone else, seperating her from the common filth.  It was her identiy...

But right now that was all that she felt.  Self-pity. 

If mother could see me now...

Had her son ever really needed her?

Did her husband ever pretend to care for her?

She was merely ornamental at best.  When it would be so easy to make her happy. A few scraps of affection.  They could not even show her the same devotion that she offered to them, without question.

‘I give up,’ she said to no one in particular, ‘I mean it this time.  I do.’

She stared at her tea leaves.

And sighed.

She was a fool and a half.

‘Fetch me my shawl…’ 

___________________________________________________

I want to thank you all for supporting me!