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hp_goldenageTitle: She Leaves Behind
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
flyingharmony
Characters/Pairings: Narcissa/Lucius; strong mentions of Andromeda
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3745
Content/Warning(s): Mentioned (mostly canonical) character death(s), grief, grief denial, post-war trauma
Summary/Prompt: When after the war the newspaper delivers the unexpected message of Andromeda Tonks' passing, Narcissa doesn't grieve; she already lost her Andy many years before. (Prompt C11)
A/N: Thank you so much to the mods for hosting this fest and for your endless, endless patience with me! Also lots of thanks to my ever-wonderful friend and amazingly fast beta C. for everything you do and did <3.
Andromeda Tonks, formerly Black, passed away in the night on the first of November at the age of fifty-three after battling brief, severe illness. She leaves behind…
The newspaper fell to the floor; for a moment it felt as though she were drowning, as though she were deprived of all of her senses. Narcissa trembled, could barely breathe, barely realised that her husband had lowered his cup of tea and was now looking at her, eyes narrowed with concern.
“Cissy?” Lucius asked so suddenly and only the sound of her name, spoken so gently, so carefully as though not to startle her, caused her to wake from her trance-like state, caused her to sigh and to compose herself, to shake her head at her own foolishness.
“I’m all right,” she said quickly and turned away, did not want him to see how much it had unsettled her to read… “Forgive me, I…”
Narcissa had not the chance to finish her sentence; involuntarily she gasped for air as from the corner of her eye she saw her husband pick up the paper from the floor, saw his expression darken as he read, the hint of a frown wrinkling his brow.
“Your sister.”
His words. Two words, so simple, so blank… His words alone caused her to bite her lip as though to suppress a sigh, caused her to lower her eyes, and to shake her head, slowly, as though to convince herself that it was different, that it wasn’t the truth, that it was different...
“She was not my sister,” Narcissa whispered, and for a moment it felt as though her heart were going to break.
*
It was foolish, really, to be taken aback by a notice in a newspaper, nothing but impersonal words printed on parchment, to be read and soon again forgotten. It was foolish to be emotional when in truth Andromeda Tonks was a stranger to Narcissa; she had never known a woman who bore a name of such kind, so why… Why should she… But she had known Andy. She had known Andy, her sweet elder sister, her star, a beautiful whirlwind full of such love and such passion who had never ceased to protect, never ceased to worry about little Cissy, even long after she had blossomed from a bud into a flower. Her flower…
But Andy was dead. Andy was long dead, and Narcissa would never forget the morning she had woken to find the bed beside her empty. It had been a cold, dark winter’s day, not much unlike now, longer than thirty years past, a day that would eternally be burnt into her memory, as the day she had lost her sister.
How many nights had Narcissa cried, lying in her bed, face pressed against pillows to muffle her sobs, how many nights had she been unable to sleep as Andy’s spirit would still haunt her, as sometimes she would still believe that she wasn’t alone, that she would return? She had sought solace so desperately, had been in such desperate need for comfort, turning to Mother, to Bellatrix… But there was none to be given. There was no comfort to be given, as Mother would scarcely look at her, would merely lock herself into her own bedroom, conjuring Silencing Charms over nearly the entire corridor so they would not hear her despairing screams, as Bella would allow no mention of their lost sister, her expression having turned to stone.
If Father had lived to experience such a betrayal…
Andy had been her best friend, her rock, her confidante… Hadn’t they always shared their deepest secrets with one another, hadn’t they barely trusted anyone, save for… And yet. Yet she was gone, gone, never to return, never to look back. She was gone, leaving her little flower behind, drowning.
But things had become easier over time. As the weeks, the months, the years went by things had become easier, wounds had slowly closed yet never fully healed. Andromeda’s image, too, had faded; her smile was now no more than a vision in the dark, her laughter no more than a distant memory. She was gone. She was gone, once and for all, had made a decision and not bothered to spend a thought on those she loved, those who loved her, those who needed her so beyond belief, had not bothered to imagine what she would do to them, what her betrayal would mean for them all. She was gone.
Things had become easier over time, yet they were never the same. Mother, who had never smiled again, whose eyes had lost any shine since Father had fallen, would barely speak, barely look at her remaining daughters as though the fear to lose them, too, were about to break her. And Bella… Bella had withdrawn into her own world, a terrifying world that caused Narcissa to shiver whenever she would look at her sister and see the emptiness written upon her face. Things had become easier over time...
“Cissy…”
From far away her husband’s voice called for her, caused her to look up in surprise. Had her memories truly taken hold of her in such a way that she, for a moment, had forgotten where she was? That she was at home, sitting there in the drawing room beside Lucius who had wound an arm about her waist and was holding her close to him, nearly protectively, as he did so often since the war had ended and they had so fully come to realise that they were alive, to believe that things would be all right, that they would be all right. It was beautiful to feel him near, beautiful to know that he would always be there, beautiful to lean against his body, so closely that sometimes she could feel his heart beating within his chest.
“Forgive me, darling,” she said, smiling at him and yet the words would barely pass her lips. Hadn’t she spoken them mere hours before? Hadn’t the sound of her name once before woken her from… Was she still thinking about her, truly? “I was merely in thought.”
Lucius, too, smiled at his wife, but remained silent. She was your sister, each of his features seemed to tell her. No matter how many times still you will deny it, she was your sister.
Narcissa gave a quiet, heavy sigh, straightened her body within his arms yet soon again collapsed against his shoulder, closing her eyes only for a moment.
Fifty-three. Fifty-three years of age… Fifty-three! She had been so young, so… Severe illness… Mother, too, had been stricken by illness, had lost the battle against a cruel fever and yet they all had known that it wasn’t a fever that had caused Druella Black to yield to the darkness and leave this world three days before her forty-fifth birthday; it was grief. Grief, a broken heart, such endless sorrow over the loss of her husband and daughter… It almost felt as though she had waited, waited to leave until Narcissa, too, had grown up, until her little Cissy had wed the man she loved and left her childhood home; it almost felt as though she had waited until she was alone. Truly alone.
Severe illness… It had not been an illness that had taken Mother all those years ago, and it had not been an illness now; hadn’t Andromeda, too, lost everything? Hadn’t she, too, been alone in the end, a widow whose only purpose it had become to raise a child who had lost its mother when she had lost her daughter?
“She was a broken woman, Cissy.”
It felt as though Lucius had read her mind; he spoke so suddenly that Narcissa nearly winced, startled once more by his words. His words… It surprised her that such folly should pass her husband’s lips, as it had been him who had spoken so dismissively about her sisters, both her sisters, him who had valued purity and honour beyond anything else, who had been so taken aback as they were no longer capable of smothering Andromeda’s betrayal and the shame she had put on the entire family. It had been him who looked at her with reproach, no matter how gentle, in moments he discovered that she would think about her… It had been him… And now? Now, should the war have changed him, should the war have changed them so much all as they found their entire world crumbling down on them, as they had no other chance but to watch as everything they had once known and loved fell apart? Should all those years of silence have been in vain?
Should…
Why would it still matter? Why would any of it still matter? Honour, purity… Hadn’t they lost it all? Hadn’t they lost everything they had valued, except each other? Each other… They had not lost each other, had never lost each other, so why would anything still be of importance?
“She was a broken woman,” he murmured, again, and again she winced at his words, again she found her body contorting in what felt like physical pain at the memory. “A broken woman who lost her family. Twice.”
Narcissa would have kept her silence if only she could, but she spoke, spoke involuntarily as though she had lost control not only over her movement but also her speech. “She did,” she said, her voice nearly trembling, no louder than a whisper. “But once it was by choice.”
Was it the truth? Had it truly been by choice? Wasn’t the injustice they all had perceived to be done to them done to Andromeda instead, Andromeda alone? Hadn’t they all…
Bella had rejoiced as Ted Tonks had lost his life in the war, had seen his death as a triumph, nearly a personal victory. She had rejoiced and sworn to extinguish the entire family, yet Narcissa had merely thought of her sister, her middle sister, Andromeda, Andy, who had lost her husband. Hadn’t she loved him? Hadn’t she loved him so beyond belief that for him she had betrayed them all in such an unspeakable, outrageous way, that for him she had escaped from her family, leaving them behind without a word of farewell? Andromeda had lost her husband, and if it were Lucius, if Lucius were to… Narcissa dared not finish her thought. What would she have done, had it been Lucius? Lucius… Her Lucius…
Instinctively Narcissa tightened her grip about her husband’s hand, never willing to release him again, never willing to let go. Her Lucius…
The fear had nearly torn her apart at times during the war, when each day was so full of fright, so full of uncertainty, when sometimes she had been scarcely able to breathe, more than once close to breaking down beneath the burden of concern. The mere thought of losing those she loved the most, of losing her husband, her son… Even now that they were long safe, it would cause her eyes to moisten with tears, tears she had long forbidden herself to shed, in times any sign of weakness could have meant their certain death.
How lucky she had been. How incredibly lucky Narcissa had been to know her family safe, to know them by her side, always. Andromeda, however… Andromeda’s worst nightmares had come true, the tragedies had come to overwhelm her and yet she had faced them with her head held high until the end. Until she…
Perhaps she had needed her, perhaps she had needed her sister, perhaps they had needed each other in these times where despair and relief lay so close together, perhaps they had needed each other more than anything else. But Narcissa had locked each of her elder sister’s letters into her drawer, unopened, had crumpled the parchment of her own as soon as she realised what she had done, ink still wet and the written words staring back at her as though they were taunting her.
Perhaps Andromeda had needed her, but where had she been when Narcissa had been so desperate for her sister, when she had cried out her name with such despair, over and over again, that at times she felt as though her heart might burst? Where had Andy been, when Cissy had needed her the most? Where was she now?
Fifty-three. It felt as though there were a curse upon them, a curse that was to destroy them all at such a young age, to torture them and then to slowly... Had any of them lived to fifty? Mother, Father, Bella… And Andy, Andy who had been only fifty-three when darkness had come to claim her, too, to reunite her with those she loved. Death had once come as a relief for Mother, and perhaps it had come as relief for her as well. And yet.
A curse… Was this to mean her own end, too? Narcissa had never cared much about her own health when it was about her family, had constantly swallowed down her own pain, her own body’s struggles and forced herself to remain strong, strong for those she loved when they needed her so desperately. Even now she would scarcely allow herself to be ill, would ignore her condition as long as possible until Lucius gently forced her into rest, the worry written upon his face. Had it been a mistake? Had she been reckless, too reckless, had…
Fifty-three.
Narcissa had never been afraid of dying, had never been afraid of Death as she had encountered it too many times, as it seemed to be her family’s constant companion, even her own in times of deepest despair. She had never been afraid of dying, and yet. Yet she could scarcely bear the thought of leaving her family behind, of causing them such agony, such unspeakable agony that she had been forced to endure so often before, as they all abandoned her, slowly, one by one, never to return.
She had never been afraid of dying… Sometimes it had nearly felt like a relief to her, the idea of embracing Death and being free, free of any pain, of any worry. It had nearly felt like a relief to her to… But how dare she. How dare she allow her mind to drift, how dare she allow herself to consider the unspeakable and then look at her husband, smile at him as though for a split second she had not left him, as though everything were all right?
She had never been afraid of dying, had still been a girl, naïve and reckless, when for the first time she had given voice to the desire to leave this world early, afraid of age and its consequences, afraid of... Narcissa could scarcely remember. Was this to be her punishment? Was this to be her punishment, to outlive those she loved, to lose her family at such a young age and to be left alone; was this to be her punishment? Had it been her fault? Had it all been her fault, had it been her vanity, her foolish vanity that had destroyed everything, that had put such a horrifying curse upon them? Would Lucius, too…
Fifty-three… Andy… Fifty-three… A curse… No. It was ridiculous to believe in a curse, ridiculous and perhaps atrocious to blame the tragedies that had overcome her family on a curse. Ridiculous… Ridiculous!
She was tired, so tired… The day had gone by and Narcissa had barely noticed, had done nothing, barely realised the passing of time, too deep in thought, too consumed by the shadows of her past, the memory of those she had once loved and lost too long ago, so foolishly unsettled by the passing of a woman she had not known, a good woman, certainly, adored by many and stricken with grief over the course of her short life, but a stranger.
Narcissa had once known Andy, Andy who had betrayed her trust and love and turned her back to her family, Andy who had been so desperate, so despairing to escape that she had accepted the consequences and not asked whether they would, too, Andy who, so much like her sister, had only longed to be free. She had once known Andy, but Andy was gone and no matter how loudly she cried for her to return, she wouldn’t. She would never return. Andy was gone.
She was so tired… Looked at her husband and yet scarcely saw him, could scarcely keep her eyes open, found herself shivering with cold at times, fading into sleep right there within his arms only to be jolted awake by what seemed like an invisible force moments later. She was so tired… But she clung to him, clung to her Lucius as though she were afraid to lose him in the moment she let go, clung to him as he would give her hold. He had always given her hold, and she had done the same for him. They had always been so strong, so strong for one another, and only their strength, only their love had saved them from falling apart.
“You’re fevered,” Lucius said as he noticed her fatigue, her exhaustion, frowning as he placed his palm so carefully upon her forehead. The concern in his voice was unmistakeable. Her Lucius… He worried too much, had always worried too much. But how could he not, after everything they had experienced?
Fevered… How could it be possible? How could Narcissa possibly be fevered, if she had been so well merely hours before? How could she be ill, if everything had been all right until… No. She wasn’t. She wasn’t, she was not ill, could not allow herself to be…
“I’m all right,” she murmured, wondered how many times before she had spoken out these words on this day, wondered how many times they had been the truth. It was so strange. It all seemed so strange to her, all of a sudden, so unreal. Had she truly allowed herself to lose control over the newspaper, a brief paragraph of written words that usually she would scarcely have noticed, that were supposed to mean nothing? Had she truly been fool enough to…
The newspaper. She had learned about it in the newspaper. The newspaper…
There had been a photograph, too; a photograph of Andromeda, whose beauty had never faded and yet who seemed scarcely like herself. The war was written upon her face, had aged her, taken the shine from her eyes. She was smiling, absently playing with several locks of her dark, wavy hair as she always had, even as a girl, and yet… Yet her expression was empty. Had she once been so full of life, so full of passion… Now, nothing. Nothing at all.
“I’m all right,” Narcissa repeated, idly, almost as though to make herself believe what in this moment seemed so difficult to be believed. She was all right…
“You are not.”
Of course she wasn’t. Of course she wasn’t all right, was so far from all right, of course she wasn’t… Perhaps it was true, then, perhaps she was fevered after all, perhaps the fever had blurred her senses, clouded her mind and taken her on a journey through memories long past, memories she had once sworn herself to forget and yet couldn’t, couldn’t even if she wanted. Perhaps the fever had weakened her; perhaps the fever had caused her to lose herself.
Lucius would allow no words of contradiction as he so carefully helped her rise, leading her up the stairs to their bedroom as though he were afraid she might fall in the moment he released her.
“Rest, Cissy,” he spoke, his voice so tender and yet firm, fully aware of her reluctance, placing a soft kiss upon her lips. “I shall join you soon.”
Nearly mechanically Narcissa slipped her robe off her shoulders and reached for her night gown, would not bother to glance at the clock as she changed, ready to slip into bed, ready to succumb to her exhaustion.
But still… Still her thoughts would not let go of her, still she would think of nothing, of no one but…
Andromeda. Andromeda Tonks, a stranger, a woman she had not known, had merely…
No. Andromeda had not been a stranger, had never been a stranger, even now, even after all those years of silence. She had never been a stranger, because how could she? How could she… She hadn’t been a stranger… And yet… Yet, hadn’t she betrayed her, hadn’t she betrayed them all? Hadn’t it been her right to…
Andy.
Her sister. Her sister was dead. Her sister was dead, had spent the last moments of her life stricken by illness, in such desperate need of Narcissa, and what had she done? What had she done? What had she done!
Andy had written to her, had written to her so many times over the course of the past weeks, the past months, and yet Narcissa had locked the letters away, unopened. She had locked them away, had clung to the image of betrayal, the image that had followed her throughout her life and been nothing but a lie, a desperate lie as though to ease her mind and keep her from breaking apart. What had she done… Hadn’t she needed her, too? Her Andy… Gone.
Thirty years. She had wasted more than thirty years, had thrown away what she had once valued so beyond belief, had thrown away time so precious, time that was never to be returned, for nothing. Thirty years. She had wasted more than thirty years.
Her sister was dead. It seemed as though only now Narcissa would realise the true meaning of the words, as though only now she would process what had happened, as though… Her sister was dead, and she had not been notified.
Her sister was dead. The agony brought Narcissa to her knees, took her breath away, caused her to sink to the ground and bury her face into the bed sheets, shaken by uncontrollable sobs, tears spilling from her eyes like a waterfall of sorrow. She had never told her… She had never told Andy how much she loved her, still, after all those years, had never told her that… She had never told her that she had forgiven her. Had never asked her for forgiveness.
Her sister was dead. Her sister was dead, and Narcissa had refused the chance to say good-bye.
Author:
flyingharmonyCharacters/Pairings: Narcissa/Lucius; strong mentions of Andromeda
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3745
Content/Warning(s): Mentioned (mostly canonical) character death(s), grief, grief denial, post-war trauma
Summary/Prompt: When after the war the newspaper delivers the unexpected message of Andromeda Tonks' passing, Narcissa doesn't grieve; she already lost her Andy many years before. (Prompt C11)
A/N: Thank you so much to the mods for hosting this fest and for your endless, endless patience with me! Also lots of thanks to my ever-wonderful friend and amazingly fast beta C. for everything you do and did <3.
Andromeda Tonks, formerly Black, passed away in the night on the first of November at the age of fifty-three after battling brief, severe illness. She leaves behind…
The newspaper fell to the floor; for a moment it felt as though she were drowning, as though she were deprived of all of her senses. Narcissa trembled, could barely breathe, barely realised that her husband had lowered his cup of tea and was now looking at her, eyes narrowed with concern.
“Cissy?” Lucius asked so suddenly and only the sound of her name, spoken so gently, so carefully as though not to startle her, caused her to wake from her trance-like state, caused her to sigh and to compose herself, to shake her head at her own foolishness.
“I’m all right,” she said quickly and turned away, did not want him to see how much it had unsettled her to read… “Forgive me, I…”
Narcissa had not the chance to finish her sentence; involuntarily she gasped for air as from the corner of her eye she saw her husband pick up the paper from the floor, saw his expression darken as he read, the hint of a frown wrinkling his brow.
“Your sister.”
His words. Two words, so simple, so blank… His words alone caused her to bite her lip as though to suppress a sigh, caused her to lower her eyes, and to shake her head, slowly, as though to convince herself that it was different, that it wasn’t the truth, that it was different...
“She was not my sister,” Narcissa whispered, and for a moment it felt as though her heart were going to break.
It was foolish, really, to be taken aback by a notice in a newspaper, nothing but impersonal words printed on parchment, to be read and soon again forgotten. It was foolish to be emotional when in truth Andromeda Tonks was a stranger to Narcissa; she had never known a woman who bore a name of such kind, so why… Why should she… But she had known Andy. She had known Andy, her sweet elder sister, her star, a beautiful whirlwind full of such love and such passion who had never ceased to protect, never ceased to worry about little Cissy, even long after she had blossomed from a bud into a flower. Her flower…
But Andy was dead. Andy was long dead, and Narcissa would never forget the morning she had woken to find the bed beside her empty. It had been a cold, dark winter’s day, not much unlike now, longer than thirty years past, a day that would eternally be burnt into her memory, as the day she had lost her sister.
How many nights had Narcissa cried, lying in her bed, face pressed against pillows to muffle her sobs, how many nights had she been unable to sleep as Andy’s spirit would still haunt her, as sometimes she would still believe that she wasn’t alone, that she would return? She had sought solace so desperately, had been in such desperate need for comfort, turning to Mother, to Bellatrix… But there was none to be given. There was no comfort to be given, as Mother would scarcely look at her, would merely lock herself into her own bedroom, conjuring Silencing Charms over nearly the entire corridor so they would not hear her despairing screams, as Bella would allow no mention of their lost sister, her expression having turned to stone.
If Father had lived to experience such a betrayal…
Andy had been her best friend, her rock, her confidante… Hadn’t they always shared their deepest secrets with one another, hadn’t they barely trusted anyone, save for… And yet. Yet she was gone, gone, never to return, never to look back. She was gone, leaving her little flower behind, drowning.
But things had become easier over time. As the weeks, the months, the years went by things had become easier, wounds had slowly closed yet never fully healed. Andromeda’s image, too, had faded; her smile was now no more than a vision in the dark, her laughter no more than a distant memory. She was gone. She was gone, once and for all, had made a decision and not bothered to spend a thought on those she loved, those who loved her, those who needed her so beyond belief, had not bothered to imagine what she would do to them, what her betrayal would mean for them all. She was gone.
Things had become easier over time, yet they were never the same. Mother, who had never smiled again, whose eyes had lost any shine since Father had fallen, would barely speak, barely look at her remaining daughters as though the fear to lose them, too, were about to break her. And Bella… Bella had withdrawn into her own world, a terrifying world that caused Narcissa to shiver whenever she would look at her sister and see the emptiness written upon her face. Things had become easier over time...
“Cissy…”
From far away her husband’s voice called for her, caused her to look up in surprise. Had her memories truly taken hold of her in such a way that she, for a moment, had forgotten where she was? That she was at home, sitting there in the drawing room beside Lucius who had wound an arm about her waist and was holding her close to him, nearly protectively, as he did so often since the war had ended and they had so fully come to realise that they were alive, to believe that things would be all right, that they would be all right. It was beautiful to feel him near, beautiful to know that he would always be there, beautiful to lean against his body, so closely that sometimes she could feel his heart beating within his chest.
“Forgive me, darling,” she said, smiling at him and yet the words would barely pass her lips. Hadn’t she spoken them mere hours before? Hadn’t the sound of her name once before woken her from… Was she still thinking about her, truly? “I was merely in thought.”
Lucius, too, smiled at his wife, but remained silent. She was your sister, each of his features seemed to tell her. No matter how many times still you will deny it, she was your sister.
Narcissa gave a quiet, heavy sigh, straightened her body within his arms yet soon again collapsed against his shoulder, closing her eyes only for a moment.
Fifty-three. Fifty-three years of age… Fifty-three! She had been so young, so… Severe illness… Mother, too, had been stricken by illness, had lost the battle against a cruel fever and yet they all had known that it wasn’t a fever that had caused Druella Black to yield to the darkness and leave this world three days before her forty-fifth birthday; it was grief. Grief, a broken heart, such endless sorrow over the loss of her husband and daughter… It almost felt as though she had waited, waited to leave until Narcissa, too, had grown up, until her little Cissy had wed the man she loved and left her childhood home; it almost felt as though she had waited until she was alone. Truly alone.
Severe illness… It had not been an illness that had taken Mother all those years ago, and it had not been an illness now; hadn’t Andromeda, too, lost everything? Hadn’t she, too, been alone in the end, a widow whose only purpose it had become to raise a child who had lost its mother when she had lost her daughter?
“She was a broken woman, Cissy.”
It felt as though Lucius had read her mind; he spoke so suddenly that Narcissa nearly winced, startled once more by his words. His words… It surprised her that such folly should pass her husband’s lips, as it had been him who had spoken so dismissively about her sisters, both her sisters, him who had valued purity and honour beyond anything else, who had been so taken aback as they were no longer capable of smothering Andromeda’s betrayal and the shame she had put on the entire family. It had been him who looked at her with reproach, no matter how gentle, in moments he discovered that she would think about her… It had been him… And now? Now, should the war have changed him, should the war have changed them so much all as they found their entire world crumbling down on them, as they had no other chance but to watch as everything they had once known and loved fell apart? Should all those years of silence have been in vain?
Should…
Why would it still matter? Why would any of it still matter? Honour, purity… Hadn’t they lost it all? Hadn’t they lost everything they had valued, except each other? Each other… They had not lost each other, had never lost each other, so why would anything still be of importance?
“She was a broken woman,” he murmured, again, and again she winced at his words, again she found her body contorting in what felt like physical pain at the memory. “A broken woman who lost her family. Twice.”
Narcissa would have kept her silence if only she could, but she spoke, spoke involuntarily as though she had lost control not only over her movement but also her speech. “She did,” she said, her voice nearly trembling, no louder than a whisper. “But once it was by choice.”
Was it the truth? Had it truly been by choice? Wasn’t the injustice they all had perceived to be done to them done to Andromeda instead, Andromeda alone? Hadn’t they all…
Bella had rejoiced as Ted Tonks had lost his life in the war, had seen his death as a triumph, nearly a personal victory. She had rejoiced and sworn to extinguish the entire family, yet Narcissa had merely thought of her sister, her middle sister, Andromeda, Andy, who had lost her husband. Hadn’t she loved him? Hadn’t she loved him so beyond belief that for him she had betrayed them all in such an unspeakable, outrageous way, that for him she had escaped from her family, leaving them behind without a word of farewell? Andromeda had lost her husband, and if it were Lucius, if Lucius were to… Narcissa dared not finish her thought. What would she have done, had it been Lucius? Lucius… Her Lucius…
Instinctively Narcissa tightened her grip about her husband’s hand, never willing to release him again, never willing to let go. Her Lucius…
The fear had nearly torn her apart at times during the war, when each day was so full of fright, so full of uncertainty, when sometimes she had been scarcely able to breathe, more than once close to breaking down beneath the burden of concern. The mere thought of losing those she loved the most, of losing her husband, her son… Even now that they were long safe, it would cause her eyes to moisten with tears, tears she had long forbidden herself to shed, in times any sign of weakness could have meant their certain death.
How lucky she had been. How incredibly lucky Narcissa had been to know her family safe, to know them by her side, always. Andromeda, however… Andromeda’s worst nightmares had come true, the tragedies had come to overwhelm her and yet she had faced them with her head held high until the end. Until she…
Perhaps she had needed her, perhaps she had needed her sister, perhaps they had needed each other in these times where despair and relief lay so close together, perhaps they had needed each other more than anything else. But Narcissa had locked each of her elder sister’s letters into her drawer, unopened, had crumpled the parchment of her own as soon as she realised what she had done, ink still wet and the written words staring back at her as though they were taunting her.
Perhaps Andromeda had needed her, but where had she been when Narcissa had been so desperate for her sister, when she had cried out her name with such despair, over and over again, that at times she felt as though her heart might burst? Where had Andy been, when Cissy had needed her the most? Where was she now?
Fifty-three. It felt as though there were a curse upon them, a curse that was to destroy them all at such a young age, to torture them and then to slowly... Had any of them lived to fifty? Mother, Father, Bella… And Andy, Andy who had been only fifty-three when darkness had come to claim her, too, to reunite her with those she loved. Death had once come as a relief for Mother, and perhaps it had come as relief for her as well. And yet.
A curse… Was this to mean her own end, too? Narcissa had never cared much about her own health when it was about her family, had constantly swallowed down her own pain, her own body’s struggles and forced herself to remain strong, strong for those she loved when they needed her so desperately. Even now she would scarcely allow herself to be ill, would ignore her condition as long as possible until Lucius gently forced her into rest, the worry written upon his face. Had it been a mistake? Had she been reckless, too reckless, had…
Fifty-three.
Narcissa had never been afraid of dying, had never been afraid of Death as she had encountered it too many times, as it seemed to be her family’s constant companion, even her own in times of deepest despair. She had never been afraid of dying, and yet. Yet she could scarcely bear the thought of leaving her family behind, of causing them such agony, such unspeakable agony that she had been forced to endure so often before, as they all abandoned her, slowly, one by one, never to return.
She had never been afraid of dying… Sometimes it had nearly felt like a relief to her, the idea of embracing Death and being free, free of any pain, of any worry. It had nearly felt like a relief to her to… But how dare she. How dare she allow her mind to drift, how dare she allow herself to consider the unspeakable and then look at her husband, smile at him as though for a split second she had not left him, as though everything were all right?
She had never been afraid of dying, had still been a girl, naïve and reckless, when for the first time she had given voice to the desire to leave this world early, afraid of age and its consequences, afraid of... Narcissa could scarcely remember. Was this to be her punishment? Was this to be her punishment, to outlive those she loved, to lose her family at such a young age and to be left alone; was this to be her punishment? Had it been her fault? Had it all been her fault, had it been her vanity, her foolish vanity that had destroyed everything, that had put such a horrifying curse upon them? Would Lucius, too…
Fifty-three… Andy… Fifty-three… A curse… No. It was ridiculous to believe in a curse, ridiculous and perhaps atrocious to blame the tragedies that had overcome her family on a curse. Ridiculous… Ridiculous!
She was tired, so tired… The day had gone by and Narcissa had barely noticed, had done nothing, barely realised the passing of time, too deep in thought, too consumed by the shadows of her past, the memory of those she had once loved and lost too long ago, so foolishly unsettled by the passing of a woman she had not known, a good woman, certainly, adored by many and stricken with grief over the course of her short life, but a stranger.
Narcissa had once known Andy, Andy who had betrayed her trust and love and turned her back to her family, Andy who had been so desperate, so despairing to escape that she had accepted the consequences and not asked whether they would, too, Andy who, so much like her sister, had only longed to be free. She had once known Andy, but Andy was gone and no matter how loudly she cried for her to return, she wouldn’t. She would never return. Andy was gone.
She was so tired… Looked at her husband and yet scarcely saw him, could scarcely keep her eyes open, found herself shivering with cold at times, fading into sleep right there within his arms only to be jolted awake by what seemed like an invisible force moments later. She was so tired… But she clung to him, clung to her Lucius as though she were afraid to lose him in the moment she let go, clung to him as he would give her hold. He had always given her hold, and she had done the same for him. They had always been so strong, so strong for one another, and only their strength, only their love had saved them from falling apart.
“You’re fevered,” Lucius said as he noticed her fatigue, her exhaustion, frowning as he placed his palm so carefully upon her forehead. The concern in his voice was unmistakeable. Her Lucius… He worried too much, had always worried too much. But how could he not, after everything they had experienced?
Fevered… How could it be possible? How could Narcissa possibly be fevered, if she had been so well merely hours before? How could she be ill, if everything had been all right until… No. She wasn’t. She wasn’t, she was not ill, could not allow herself to be…
“I’m all right,” she murmured, wondered how many times before she had spoken out these words on this day, wondered how many times they had been the truth. It was so strange. It all seemed so strange to her, all of a sudden, so unreal. Had she truly allowed herself to lose control over the newspaper, a brief paragraph of written words that usually she would scarcely have noticed, that were supposed to mean nothing? Had she truly been fool enough to…
The newspaper. She had learned about it in the newspaper. The newspaper…
There had been a photograph, too; a photograph of Andromeda, whose beauty had never faded and yet who seemed scarcely like herself. The war was written upon her face, had aged her, taken the shine from her eyes. She was smiling, absently playing with several locks of her dark, wavy hair as she always had, even as a girl, and yet… Yet her expression was empty. Had she once been so full of life, so full of passion… Now, nothing. Nothing at all.
“I’m all right,” Narcissa repeated, idly, almost as though to make herself believe what in this moment seemed so difficult to be believed. She was all right…
“You are not.”
Of course she wasn’t. Of course she wasn’t all right, was so far from all right, of course she wasn’t… Perhaps it was true, then, perhaps she was fevered after all, perhaps the fever had blurred her senses, clouded her mind and taken her on a journey through memories long past, memories she had once sworn herself to forget and yet couldn’t, couldn’t even if she wanted. Perhaps the fever had weakened her; perhaps the fever had caused her to lose herself.
Lucius would allow no words of contradiction as he so carefully helped her rise, leading her up the stairs to their bedroom as though he were afraid she might fall in the moment he released her.
“Rest, Cissy,” he spoke, his voice so tender and yet firm, fully aware of her reluctance, placing a soft kiss upon her lips. “I shall join you soon.”
Nearly mechanically Narcissa slipped her robe off her shoulders and reached for her night gown, would not bother to glance at the clock as she changed, ready to slip into bed, ready to succumb to her exhaustion.
But still… Still her thoughts would not let go of her, still she would think of nothing, of no one but…
Andromeda. Andromeda Tonks, a stranger, a woman she had not known, had merely…
No. Andromeda had not been a stranger, had never been a stranger, even now, even after all those years of silence. She had never been a stranger, because how could she? How could she… She hadn’t been a stranger… And yet… Yet, hadn’t she betrayed her, hadn’t she betrayed them all? Hadn’t it been her right to…
Andy.
Her sister. Her sister was dead. Her sister was dead, had spent the last moments of her life stricken by illness, in such desperate need of Narcissa, and what had she done? What had she done? What had she done!
Andy had written to her, had written to her so many times over the course of the past weeks, the past months, and yet Narcissa had locked the letters away, unopened. She had locked them away, had clung to the image of betrayal, the image that had followed her throughout her life and been nothing but a lie, a desperate lie as though to ease her mind and keep her from breaking apart. What had she done… Hadn’t she needed her, too? Her Andy… Gone.
Thirty years. She had wasted more than thirty years, had thrown away what she had once valued so beyond belief, had thrown away time so precious, time that was never to be returned, for nothing. Thirty years. She had wasted more than thirty years.
Her sister was dead. It seemed as though only now Narcissa would realise the true meaning of the words, as though only now she would process what had happened, as though… Her sister was dead, and she had not been notified.
Her sister was dead. The agony brought Narcissa to her knees, took her breath away, caused her to sink to the ground and bury her face into the bed sheets, shaken by uncontrollable sobs, tears spilling from her eyes like a waterfall of sorrow. She had never told her… She had never told Andy how much she loved her, still, after all those years, had never told her that… She had never told her that she had forgiven her. Had never asked her for forgiveness.
Her sister was dead. Her sister was dead, and Narcissa had refused the chance to say good-bye.
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no subject
Date: 2015-03-12 04:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-05-14 06:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-03-12 07:54 pm (UTC)I loved it. This part “A broken woman who lost her family. Twice.” such an incredibly sad thing to be, and knowing it's true. I know this is from Narcissa, but I do hope Andromeda's death was peaceful and she's resting.
Pity the living, indeed. Wow. Powerful stuff.
no subject
Date: 2015-05-14 07:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-03-13 04:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-05-14 07:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-03-14 04:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-05-14 07:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-03-16 03:59 pm (UTC)I think my favorite part is the end when she finally lets herself truly grieve for her sister. It's painful to read, but it's very well done.
This is just a beautiful, albeit painful, story and I loved reading it.
no subject
Date: 2015-05-14 08:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-03-17 05:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-05-14 08:01 pm (UTC)