Narcissa Black Malfoy stared at the colored image on the front page of the Daily Prophet, unable to look away from the green eyes that brought back memories of a past long forgotten except in the darkness of her dreams. She had honestly never paid him much attention, dismissing him as being Potter’s child in name and image. It was only now that she noticed his eyes. Lily’s eyes. He was the savior of the wizarding world, as proclaimed by newspapers and magazines around the world, and he has his mother’s beautiful green eyes
The War had ended three years ago. Her son had survived, betraying Voldemort and fighting alongside the child of her former lover. He was now living with that Granger girl and Weasley’s youngest son. He came for tea every Sunday, always polite and well-mannered, never discussing his unorthodox relationship or offering to introduce her to his lovers. It was fortunate that Lucius had died before finding out his only son and heir was shagging Potter’s best friends not to mention that said lovers were a Mudblood and a Weasley. She smiled slightly, imagining her deceased husband spinning in his grave.
Perhaps she would invite the girl to tea. After all, if the Muggleborn was the only chance she had at having grandchildren she could overlook something as trivial as blood. She had never been as obsessed with such matters as the rest of her family and grandchildren would be wonderful. Unconsciously, Narcissa looked back at the photos of Potter and his new bride, unable to distract herself even with the thought of grandchildren. The wedding had been yesterday, a large event that looked quite lovely. The bride was beautiful, which was surprising because Pansy had been rather unattractive as a child.
Her attention drifted back to Potter. She remembered those eyes, bright green shining with lust and desire. Dull green swimming with tears and sadness the last time they had seen each other. It had been nothing more than a casual affair, a mutual satisfaction of desire that they had explored during reckless nights in the empty library. She told herself that every night after leaving Lily, reminding herself that it could never be anything more. She had been betrothed to Lucius from the age of ten, her future planned, no choice on being with the one she loved or leading the life planned for her from the moment of conception.
Leaving the paper on the table, she went upstairs to her room. Tapping her wand on the side of her wardrobe, a small compartment was revealed. The blonde witch removed a small box from the hidden drawer before sitting on her bed, placing her wand beside her. Opening the box slowly, she tried to remember the last time she had allowed herself to think of the past. Following Lucius’ arrest at the Ministry a half dozen years ago, she had opened the box and lost herself in memories.
A tender smile crossed her face when she saw the photograph of Lily. It had been taken during the redhead’s fifth year, shortly after their first kiss. It had been a gift to her after they had made love one night. Something to remember me by Lily’s soft voice whispered in her ear, her fingers holding the photo tighter. How different life would have been if she had been as brave as Lily. She could have refused to marry Lucius, could have joined Sirius as an ostracized Black, could have suffered the gossip and disgust of those she had known her entire life, and she would have been happy because Lily, beautiful, sweet Lily, had made her happier than she had ever been.
She was not brave, meekly following her parent’s wishes, entering into a marriage with a man who was as cold as the winter night, turning her back on Lily and everything that could have been. Lily had married Potter, they had a son, and the rest was history in the wizarding world. Draco was the only positive thing about marrying Lucius. Her son meant the world to her, giving her life a happiness she had not imagined obtaining once she lost Lily. Every sacrifice she had made was worth having Draco.
Lying back on her bed, she closed her eyes, the image of Lily in her mind. If she concentrated hard enough, she could remember it all. The scent of lavender and vanilla surrounding her, the taste of cinnamon and Lily, the feel of soft hands on her skin, the vision of red hair against her pale skin, wet kisses against her breasts and thighs. A few years later, the headline in the Daily Prophet declaring the Potters dead had caused her to feel as if someone had stabbed her, having to hide her reaction to avoid suspicion from her husband.
There had been a small photo by the article, a black and white image of Lily smiling on what appeared to be her wedding day to Potter. It had been a happy smile but it was not the secret smile Lily had given her every time they were together. The curving of full lips that say I love you and want you without a word being necessary. Narcissa wondered even now, over two decades later, if Lily knew how much she had loved her, how much she still missed her. Holding the photo as silent tears ran down her cheeks, she lost herself in memories of what was and what might have been.