Summary: Narcissa sure gained a lot of decency and bravery when the Dark Lord recruited Draco and all but moved into her manor, didn't she?

Characters: Narcissa, Draco briefly, Voldemort also, (and Andromeda, Bellatrix, Sirius and Regulus?)

Pairings: None…unless you're sick and twisted like that.

Author's Notes: I am usually more into actual stories with chapters rather than one shots and the like, but this just sort of happened. I was just thinking about the end of the series with Narcissa being more concerned about her child than Voldemort and how it was a bit of a drastic change from her former attitude (or what little of it we got to see). I really am very apathetic towards the character of Narcissa, but like I said this was written mostly without the consent of the rational part of my brain. And as always when I try to write a Harry Potter anything, Regulus just has to slip in and steal as much of the show as he can, doesn't he?

Anyway, this is here now and it's not going anywhere, so read it if you want.

Brave For the Now:

You will not face the truth, you will not.

It happens not too often, but with enough regularity to be vaguely unsettling. And she is becoming scared.

Go to bed, Draco, sleep.

Briefly he looks worried, then nods and walks away.

Goodnight, Mother.

She sits at the dining table, dirty and tired. The grey curtains that cover the window rustle briefly.

In front of her there is a great photograph of her and her sisters. Auburn and brown, black and black, and blonde and grey sitting on their knees on Aunt Walburga's grand bed, the pitch black curtains shifting now and then.

So happy in their cousins' clothing, coy smiles on their faces say Regulus, Sirius, we look better in your slacks than you do. Come get us, come find us, come be in the picture.

Her [thin] hands shake as she holds the picture closer to her tired eyes. It is midwinter and she should be cold and shaking in her summer nightgown but she cannot remember how. He hair hangs greasy and unkempt around her [oh so thin] face. It is breaking, it is greying way too early. There are scratches up and down her arms, a nervous habit that has been steadily getting worse.

Outside the house the wind picks up. It doesn't howl, it is silent, and so she can almost hear the anticipation, the fast coming apparation.

Don't come here, don't come here.

This picture is so old and she longs to be in it again. To go back to then before, before—

That's mine, that's mine! Regulus's voice is still high still as he gapes at his cousins and tries to leap at them, playfully, but his brother has entered the photo behind him and wraps his arms snugly around the boy's chest, holding him back. He presses his lips to Regulus's cheek in a chaste kiss, whispering, whispering—Think you're going somewhere.

Unbecoming, unbecoming.

The three girls giggle and fall backwards onto the bed. Auburn, black, and blonde hair mix together. Then black and grey, and black and grey have rushed forward and leapt, landing on the girls' stomachs. The wrestling ends with Sirius pinning his oldest cousin to the mattress and Regulus is likewise trapped beneath auburn hair and brown eyes that wink down at him lovingly. Sirius leans to the side a little to flick Regulus's nose, making him sneeze. The final sister blows [healthy] blonde hair out of her eyes and disappears outside the bed's black curtains. She seizes the comforter which has been kicked to the floor. With a shriek she jumps back up and covers the five of them in it.

What're you up to? What're you doing in here?

Take a picture, take a picture! Click.

And the sisters sit upright again, hair disheveled and shirts twisted, they smile. Sirius ruffles Regulus's hair and then pins him to his chest when he tries to reciprocate. Regulus's words are muffled into Sirius's shirt, but he is giggling. Sirius gets blonde hair in his face when his cousin leans in to kiss them both so sweetly.

Love you, love you, always love you, spoiled brats—

She puts down the photo, breathing hard like she has been running.

I miss you, whispers, I miss you. He's coming, isn't He? I miss you.

On the table, the photograph still lives. Sirius is grinning so wide and hugging everyone, but mostly Regulus, mostly Regulus who shrieks with laughter and lets Sirius tickle him.

Her [so very thin] tears fall onto the picture but they cannot hurt it, this is a time that cannot be wrecked by any sadness. Perpetual happiness and she wants to go back to it so badly it hurts like a jagged blade carving a circle out of her chest. So real she almost screams out in pain.

Dead, dead, little cousin you're dead.

[He's coming, He's coming.]

Gone, gone, cousin, you're worse than dead. Your brother's dead, you're worse than dead.

[He's near, He's near.]

I said I loved you so many times, but so small…then I stopped. I never said it when we were old enough for it to matter.

[He's coming your way.]

My fault, my fault. Face still buried in her hands. Everyone left Regulus, everyone. Left him all alone.

The girls in the picture are crying, crying and covering their faces they're so happy. The black and grey brothers beam, all gangly limbs and goofy smiles.

Magic, magic, life's so good.

The cuts on her arms are bleeding again. She lies her head down next to the photo, her arms crossed over it. They ooze blood slowly and blood alone can affect the younger family in a way tears cannot. [Such very thick] blood because they are family. Blood because they are the same. Blood, the thickest substance of all. It spreads over the photo and the little people within the border watch it with wide eyes, breaking from their prerecorded routine only briefly to marvel at the assault of scarlet, scarlet blood. It soaks into the glossy material and disappears. The sisters and their cousins huddle close together on the bed, wide-eyed and shaking. Sirius can be seen stroking Regulus's hair and murmuring over and over the blood doesn't matter, the blood doesn't matter.

She wants this back, to be forever in this contentment. And as she sits up and takes a deep breath trying to compose herself, she is again struck by the fearful anticipation that has consumed her all night.

[On his way. God knows how long He'll stay here.]

Not in my house, she insists, not near my Draco. He's not bringing his monsters near my—

Is Lucius a monster?

The picture again and the children have drawn the black curtains tight around themselves, and they can be seen through the [thin] material, sleeping in each other's arms. Only one sits upright, brushing her blonde hair nervously and fidgeting a little. She seems on the precipice of a great decision. Regulus's head is in her lap.

Brave, brave, [Cissy] be brave.

She is not brave enough to face Him, though. She is not strong enough to fight. Draco, Draco, he'll be so near to my—

She used to be strong. She used to be brave. What [who] happened? When did it change?

Young girl, young girl, braver as a young girl.

She wants to go back to then, or be stronger now.

[She wants,

She wants,

She is…]

You will not face the truth you will not.

And Narcissa sits up, suddenly so much more alert, and outside she hears the wind knock a branch off a tree. She reaches behind her head and pulls up her [shiny, thick] hair. Her grey eyes narrow. She smooths her slacks calmly and waits. She watches the photograph as Regulus stirs briefly, confused, and then settles back down, head on his cousin's lap, Sirius snuggled behind him [arms tightening protectively]. His cousin leans forward to place a kiss on his forehead, and then sits back, content.

Narcissa puts the picture back up on the mantle where it belongs and then returns to sit at the table, still waiting.

Strong, strong, you're needed, be strong.

Behind her the curtains are black.

Outside the door, the Dark Lord is waiting.