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Severus-
He needs you.
-L
Severus strode through the manor, summoning his cloak as he went, stepping through the floo to Draco’s flat.
“Miss Brown.”
Lavender perched on the edge of the sofa, rubbing Draco’s back. His godson was hunched over, his face in his hands, a crumpled piece of parchment on the floor at his feet. Lavender met Severus’ eyes, a warning look clear. It was uncomfortably similar to a look Hermione often wore. Bloody Gryffindors, he thought exasperatedly.
“Do you want me to go?” Lavenders voice was soft, husky as if she hadn’t spoken in a long while; it was a lingering effect of her own injuries sustained in the final battle. Jagged scars marring her right cheek and neck were hidden under charms and enchantments, rarely seen by anyone not involved in her recovery. Draco had once confided in him that she was uncomfortable with even him seeing them, and Severus sympathized. Lucius and Hermione rarely saw his own, and they’d both been instrumental in his survival and recovery.
“No, I need you.” Severus hadn’t heard Draco so close to tears in years, and his blood ran cold. What had Draco calling him, and not his father? “Did you know?” Draco raised his head slowly until his frosted steel eyes met Severus’ own.
Severus stayed silent, unsure of what he could possibly know that would put Draco into such a state. Lavender’s face was infuriatingly blank beneath her cold glare, and he turned his attention to the ball of parchment on the hardwood floor.
Cream parchment covered in sapphire blue ink, he knew the penmanship intimately, even from a distance. Whatever was in that letter from Narcissa had thrown Draco into a tailspin, and he had no idea what it was. Flicking his eyes back up to Draco’s, he had to force himself not to occlude, the habit so ingrained it took conscious effort not to block his godson out.
Draco was occluding though, and doing it extraordinarily well, even for him. Narcissa had trained him well, though it had been Severus himself to teach her, so many years before.
“How? How did you not know? You know them better than anyone.” Draco’s knuckles blanched white, clasped around his wand in front of him, elbows still on his knees. Lavender’s arm worked in slow sweeps across his back, her jaw set.
“You’ll have to be more specific,” Severus said carefully. Draco was no longer a scared sixteen year old boy, and Severus had no interest in playing a game that he didn’t know the rules to.
“ Mother is dying, “ Draco spat, tears sparkling in his eyes. “She’s dying and apparently I’m not to tell Father.” Severus could see a muscle working in his jaw as he bit back the emotion roiling within him, and Severus’ heart beat faster, his stomach dropping through the floor. Narcissa couldn’t die. Not Narcissa.
“That simply cannot be true.” Even after they’d agreed to separate and divorce, Narcissa and Lucius had remained close friends, and she was a stabilizing force in his life, and losing her would devastate him. Severus too, but that was another matter altogether.
“She said it was a direct result of her actions during the war,” Lavender added softly. “What did she do?”
Severus was frozen in place, feeling much as he had when Charity had begged him for mercy moments before her own death. What could he do? What had Narcissa done?
“I don’t care what she did!” Draco snapped, leaping to his feet, facing him with his wand still fisted in his hand. “You have to go talk some sense into her! I can’t—“ his voice broke, the first tears finally falling free. “We can’t lose her.”
The pain in Draco’s eyes was the same he’d seen when Draco was a scared sixteen year old. Some things never changed, and Draco’s unwavering loyalty to his mother was one of them.
“And what precisely do you want me to do?” Severus’ voice was even, steady, and Draco wilted, his shoulders drooping.
“I don’t know.” His broken whisper seemed to echo through the flat, followed by a ragged breath.
“Draco, darling. Go make some tea.” Lavender was still seated on the edge of the sofa, and Draco just nodded, striding off in the direction of the kitchen. Severus knew it was to allow Draco to regain control of himself, but it felt like a physical blow to watch Draco walk away. If it wasn’t for his short hair and slighter build, he could easily be mistaken for Lucius from behind.
“I don’t know what kind of relationship you have with Narcissa now, but I know you were close once.” Lavender’s voice was low, and she talked more to the floor than to Severus. “Draco told me about the Vow you took to protect him.”
For the second time in the space of less than ten minutes, his world shifted beneath him. He hadn’t known that Narcissa had shared that information with Draco.
“I was simply best positioned to—“
“Don’t lie to me,” Lavender snapped, looking up sharply. “If you care for Draco and Lucius at all, you have to go talk to her.” Severus opened his mouth to reply, and was cut off by the woman as she stood, her light eyes flashing in the late morning sunshine spilling through the wide windows. “You may be the only person she will listen to right now, and I don’t give a fuck what your reasoning was for taking that Vow. It ended when that manic died but I know you owe your life to Narcissa a dozen times over.”
Severus narrowed his eyes at the woman. He never would have expected Draco to choose the voluptuous blonde, especially after watching the spectacle when the younger Weasley dunderhead had been poisoned by Draco’s halfhearted attempt at killing Albus. But now, lit with a Gryffindor fire, Severus understood. She was no Hermione, but she was good for Draco.
“If there is anyone that she needs, it’s you. When all is said and done, will you look Lucius and Draco in the eye and tell him you did everything you could, or will you lie?”
“I’ve done quite enough of that, Miss Brown.” Severus should have been angrier, should have put her back in her place with a sharp retort or cutting remark, but he couldn’t. Not with Narcissa…
“Then why aren’t you going to her? Why are you still here? Draco can’t. He’s tried, but the floo is sealed to him. But it won’t be for you.” It wasn’t a question. Lavender crossed her arms, and met his eyes. Hers were a smoky, dusty blue, and she didn’t flinch away as she once would have. For perhaps the first time, he saw the woman that had been shaped and molded under much of the same fire that Hermione had been.
“Take care of him,” he said simply, before turning on his heel.
Draco’s flat was connected to Narcissa’s chateau via the floo network, and when he stepped out, the sky over Paris was dark and grey, a sharp contrast to the bright blue outside of Draco’s London flat.
“Narcissa!” His voice echoed through the house back at him, and he strode through the space, decorated in creams and pale golds. The house was quiet and still until he reached the doorway to her suite. It had been years since he’d entered, and last time it had been the three of them, the year before the Dark Lord’s return. He placed his hand on the porcelain knob and it turned easily, swinging inward on oiled hinges.
The room was the same, except the bed. The massive sleigh bed had been made up in stark white sheets, the soft grey he’d expected nowhere to be seen. In the bed lay Narcissa, pale and still. A plump healer in ocean blue robes sat off to one side with a book in hand, and she looked up in surprise.
“Monsieur Snape, I presume.” She had a thick French accent, and her dark hair was streaked with silver. Her face was round, soft lines showing years of worry and concern. She stood, smoothing down a starched white apron, and drew closer.
“Yes. Is she—“ His eyes flicked back to Narcissa, and this time he noticed a sheet of glass hovering near her, showing the beat of her heart and several figures in black, blinking in and out as they changed. “How long?” He stared down at her, and realized he couldn’t remember the last thing he’d said to her.
“A day or two at most. She is very sick.” The healer spoke softly, as to not disturb her. “She told me you would be coming, once the letter was sent to ‘we son.” Her voice was soothing, the kind of voice that was used to soothing the dying and the grieving.
“Will she wake?” Severus couldn’t tear his eyes from her. It reminded him of his mother’s last days in the Muggle hospital. Sterile white sheets and too-pale skin that looked grey without the healthy flush in their cheeks.
“Yes, soon. She is weak, but she will be pleased to see you. She ‘as told me much about you. You should sit wiz ‘er.” The healer motioned towards the bed, and he stepped forward, not willing to show his hesitation.
He took the solitary chair beside her, and reached for her hand. Always slender, now up close she looked emaciated, the bones in her fingers and wrist painfully obvious. Still, he slipped his hand into hers and brought it to his lips.
Her eyelids fluttered, but didn’t open. Distantly he recognized the healer had left them alone, and he silently thanked her for her tact.
“Narcissa,” he whispered, his voice rough. “Why didn’t you come to me?”
Still her eyes remained closed, so he pressed her hand to his cheek, and closed his own. Her blonde hair wasn’t the silky perfection it should have been, and her skin was nearly translucent. She looked so sick, so frail, and it made his chest ache.
He didn’t know how much time had passed before she stirred, but she swiped her thumb over his cheek, chasing away a tear he hadn’t mean to let fall.
“I thought you would never cry over another woman,” she whispered, and he was afraid to open his eyes. She sounded the same, her voice soft and lilting. Had it been a dream?
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, though the cutting edge was missing.
“Don’t lie to the dying, Severus.”
Another tear fell unbidden from his eye. Had it been anyone but Narcissa he would have been ashamed. Now, he was just lost and heartbroken.
“Why didn’t you come to me?” He finally opened his eyes, and met the blue eyes of the woman that had so often been his voice of reason. They were bright in her pale, ailing face.
“Because there is nothing you can do, Severus. Nothing except care for Lucius and Draco once I’m gone.” She said it softly, and there were no tears in her eyes. She’d long ago come to terms with her death, he realized. Much as he once had.
“Don’t let him push Hermione away. And don’t you dare push her away yourself. Draco will need his father, but he’ll need her, too.” She smiled, her thin lips curling up in a shadow of her old glory, and then it faded. “I’m sorry that it had to be you, Severus. But had it been one of them to come now…” She trailed off, and Severus bowed his head low, cradling her hand in his.
“Impossible woman,” he murmured, and she laughed, not more than a huff of air crossing her lips.
“You always did have a soft spot for impossible women. Lily, myself, Hermione. Even at Hogwarts, it was always Minerva you gravitated towards. As a student, as a teacher…. You like the challenge.” There was a smile in her voice, and he shook his head again.
“What happened? What brought this upon you?” He looked up and met her eyes again. They were sad, but steady.
“The price I chose to pay to keep Draco alive came at a cost. Yours was not the only Vow I took.”
Severus shook his head again, his hair brushing his cheeks and sticking to the paths left by fallen tears.
“Cissa what did you do?”
“What was necessary.” She squeezed his hand, and he watched her eyes close and her breathing even into a cadence of sleep once more.
He sat there with tears dripping down over their clasped hands, the drops following the same twisted paths that the Vow had formed so many years before.
“Oh Cissa,” he cried as he felt her life slip through his fingers.