Mirror

(A Harry Potter Fic)

While staring into the looking glass Narcissa decides that she is no longer beautiful. She is still young. Her hair still falls in perfect golden curls. Her eyes still glow the icy blue that both terrified her suitors and caused them to become hopeless infatuated with her. Her conversation is still witty. She still has no sense of humor, but she has always had an enjoyable laugh. She is not unintelligent, and can be exceptionally clever if the situation warrants it. She has an air of authority about her, one that has been instilled through many generations of proper breeding. She is commanding, controlling, and always obtains her own way without fuss or complaint.

All thoughts to the contrary are nonsense.

Narcissa is perfect. She will always be perfect. It is the world that is imperfect around her and seeks to destroy all that she is.

She is the last of her line; the last Black. She is wife and mother to the House of Malfoy and for the first time in many years she wonders if she was mistaken to ally herself with such a family. Lucius is all she has ever wanted in a husband. He is charming, wealthy, handsome, and powerful. His blood is pure. Theirs is a sensible marriage; one based upon mutual gains and goals.

Still, there is always a still.

Narcissa married early, as is the custom. Fresh from Hogwarts; immature and stupid and not knowing a thing about the world except that her kind would rule it. She was blind to Lucius' flaws; ones that, had she not been sightless to them, would have halted all plans of union.

Lucius is not very smart. He has a wicked tongue, and knows which words to speak, but he functions best when receiving orders.

Lucius is a coward. He bows to the Dark Lord and forfeits all motions of independence due to a crushing fear and half-whispered promises of power.

Lucius is short-sighted. He sees a beginning, and always dreams an ending so far removed from reality that Narcissa can't help but smirk at her husband's foolishness.

It is not Narcissa's place to question Lucius. She is his wife and mother to his heir; she is not supposed to speak. She is only a woman. Whatever power she wields must be handed to her by the man who owns her. First there was her father; he gave her the power to choose her spouse. This was the one, true act of self-determination permitted to her in her first seventeen years of life.

Lucius allows her more freedom than her father, but that autonomy is always limited to his desires and ambitions. Narcissa's liberties have always been given to her. They are a privilege, not a right. Such is the life of a Pureblood's consort. She exists for her husband, her child, her blood. She is nothing without these three components. From their first meeting Narcissa has captivated Lucius. She thinks he loves her. She knows she loves him, and this is a fault she can scarcely tolerate. Narcissa has stood by Lucius's side for over twenty years, and now she is so very, very tired. In his entire life her father entrusted her with a single task, and she failed him. In failing him she's ruined herself. Narcissa chose the wrong husband. Her one act of freedom and she squandered it on a man who devalues himself daily.

Narcissa can no longer pretend to be a Malfoy. She has always been a Black. This is the final truth she can still cling to with absolute certainty.

Her world has been destroyed many times during her short life. She is so weary of the existence others have created for her because she lacks the strength to produce her own being. Lucius is in Azkaban. The Dark Lord is displeased with his many failures. His son, Draco, must pay for his incompetence. Narcissa has let many things happen in her life that she could have altered had she the courage. She will change her son's fate. Draco will not die because it is not her duty to interfere.

Narcissa is the last of her generation. She will not shame her line like the others have done before her. She will be strong for perhaps the first time in her life.

Unbidden, she remembers the family from her youth, the one she has tried for years to forget and bury along with the rest of her displeasures. Her sisters were once as wondrous as she, with more potential than she could ever hope to possess. Andromeda has been bed slave to a Mudblood for nearly three decades. Her daughter is an abomination. The eldest, Bellatrix, was made insane in Azkaban in service to the Dark Lord. She is vanished to madness.

Her cousins, too, are lost. The youngest, Regulus, lacked the conviction needed to serve the Dark Lord. In this manner he is like Lucius. Lucius, too, prefers theory to actual practice. Regulus was killed for his indecisiveness. His body was never found. Sirius, the true heir to the Black line, betrayed his family to walk amongst dirt. He was the final hope of their House; the hope of a family weakened by death, and women; the last hope for purity in a world becoming so filthy and stained. He shunned his family, and the world he chose imprisoned him for thirteen years for a crime he never committed. He eventually escaped and rejoined his precious Order. Bella later killed him in the Department of Mysteries. It was a fitting punishment, a traitor deserves nothing less.

But, still, Narcissa never wanted to be the last one standing. It has all come undone now. Everything of worth to Narcissa has been taken from her. Her last chance for salvation is Severus. It is Severus alone who can save her son from the Dark Lord's wrath, which is why she ensnared him with the Unbreakable Vow. Neither she nor Severus is made of stone. Tears have always been her best weapon. Again, she trusts a man to do what she is unable to accomplish.

Severus Snape is nothing like her husband. He is bitter and ugly. He is malicious and cold. His lineage is questionable, and his loyalties are uncertain, but he is not a coward. He is a genius, one with undeniable power. Narcissa cannot help but be in awe of him. He could have ruled this world had his parentage not been so inferior. Regardless, Severus will not fail, he doesn't know how.

Again, Narcissa feels as though the world is ending. She stares at her reflection and lays her palm across it. This is all that she is – shown in the looking glass.

She sees fear and pain and knowledge cutting into her like nothing ever has before. She is crumbling, wilting like the short-lived flower of her namesake, her body and soul occupying one instant of eternity.

She is beautiful in this moment. Her soul lies bare and naked for her total contemplation. For once, Narcissa is fascinated by something other than her corporeal form.

Pure, perfectly, wonderfully pure. She thinks, briefly, that she is innocent, but she has never been that kind of holy, that kind of pure.

She blinks and the glory is gone. Her true reflection returns, and she is less than she was before. She is no longer perfect. Her pain has destroyed her beauty. Her life has destroyed her magnificence. The world has stolen her effulgence, and she will never recover that exquisiteness again.

The mirror is now her enemy. She does not hesitate to shatter it.