~ The Twenty-fourth ~
“How is everyone?” Molly asked, just preparing the tea as Narcissa returned.
“Hermione is still feeling sick every day. I gave her some tips that worked for me, at least sometimes. It's going to be hard on her.” Narcissa sighed sympathetically. “But the boys are fine. Ron had about a third of the cake within twenty minutes. You’d think they don’t get fed properly.”
Molly laughed. “It’s a good feeling to see someone appreciate your efforts, isn't it?”
Narcissa agreed. She would never have imagined that something like baking a cake herself could be anything but a waste of time.
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~ The Twenty-fifth ~
Narcissa and Molly were sitting at the kitchen table silently, all thoughts about Lucius and Howlers currently forgotten.
“Harry said it helps her a lot to talk with you,” Molly finally said. She had just returned from visiting Hermione at the hospital.
Narcissa smiled sadly. “I had hoped it would. Others can’t really understand, no matter how much they try.”
“I believe that. At least I saw Charlie and Ginny grow up...but to not even get to know your child...” She couldn’t suppress a sob, and soon, the two women were crying over Hermione’s loss as well as their own.
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~ The Twenty-sixth ~
“Harry’s aunt was there as well.” Narcissa had returned just punctual for teatime from visiting Hermione at home, a little over a week after the miscarriage. “I didn’t see her come, but when I left, she was sitting in the living room with Harry. They seemed to get along quite well.”
“Harry told me his cousin died in a car crash a year ago,” Molly said thoughtfully. “They didn’t have contact after that, but maybe this was the final straw.”
“Maybe,” Narcissa agreed. It made her hopeful, but also scared. What would it take for her own family to mend?
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~ The Twenty-seventh ~
“I miss him.”
During the last week, there had been no more Howlers, and no angry letters. They had annoyed Narcissa and made her feel bitter, but their absence made her miserable.
“I know. But he’s dangerous. He hurt you.”
She didn’t like the sympathy in Molly’s voice. It irritated her for no good reason.
“Only since Azkaban. He never hit me before. He was different!”
The other woman said nothing. Narcissa stubbornly looked down at her tea.
“He loved me.” The words sounded hollow. It had been true, once, but not anymore. Or so it seemed.
“I love him.”
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~ The Twenty-eighth ~
Narcissa was sitting on her bed, looking at an old photo album. Molly, who had come to get her for tea, sat down next to her silently. The pictures showed a young and happy couple in wedding attire, both apparently very much in love.
“He promised me he’d be different from Father,” Narcissa finally said. “That he’d never hurt me, or our children, for whatever reason.” Suddenly, she slammed the album shut with surprising force, her fingers tightly clenching around it.
“Coming from someone who had already killed Muggle women and children, I should have known it was a lie.”