For I am a Mother
I wait in the clearing along with my husband, along with a hundred other Death Eaters, along with three beasts who are impatient for blood, and along with a restless, slithering coil which is enclosed in an oddly luminous cage. We stand, we kneel, we crouch - we are here - all of us except the half-giant captive - to wait for a casual wave of the hand of one man, an unthinking flick of his wand, an irrevocable nod of his head. All our eyes are drawn to that figure, now sitting with his head bowed, his hands knotted over a recently acquired wand.
Each passing minute becomes a harrowing hour in my mind. Where is Draco? Where is my son? Is he safe? Is he alive? It takes every bit of control I can summon to stop myself from running off towards the castle. If only I could join the fight – but he won’t let me. He has never considered me worthy of fighting for him. He knows I am too weak. He knows that, if I went into the castle with the rest, I would not be wielding my wand. I would be looking for my son.
Lucius slides his hands into mine and briefly squeezes it. I know what the gesture means - sorry, it says. Sorry, for the hundredth time, for dragging you and our son into this. I squeeze his hand back. In love, we have been equally culpable; in guilt, nothing has changed.
The gesture draws my mind to something that has worried me for quite some time – our fate. The events of this night are going to decide our future. I cannot help but consider what tomorrow is going to be like for Lucius, Draco, and me. If the Dark Lord loses, we are headed for Azkaban; we are headed for long years of entrapment, long years of nothing but our minds to converse with. And when we are released from the prison – if we are fortunate enough to see that day – we will only have a distrustful, hostile world waiting for us.
And if the Dark Lord wins? Will we be better off? After all, what is life lived with constant fear? What is life lived with death looking at you with hunger in its eyes? What is life spent serving a master who will never be pleased?
”No sign of him, my lord,” says Dolohov, entering the clearing.
How much longer do I have to wait? How much longer till I learn of my son’s fate?
My thoughts are interrupted by the soft, beseeching voice of a woman. She is kneeling on the ground, inching closer and closer to the Dark Lord’s feet. My sister…who used to play with me, who used to protect me…that Bella lives no more. It is just Bellatrix now.
“I thought he would come,” says the Dark Lord in a disappointed voice. I feel Lucius stepping back and pulling my hand. What difference does it make, darling? Will taking one step backward save me, or anyone, from his wrath?
“I was, it seems…mistaken,” he finishes, in a mourning voice that usually bodes ill for those who happen to be near him.
“You weren’t,” replies the clear, determined voice of a youth. I turn towards where I think the voice just came from.
Harry Potter is standing in front of me.
At once, the atmosphere changes from one of tension to one of jubilant anticipation. In the span of a few seconds, I register several things - a deafening roar from the giants, excited whoops and shouts from the Death Eaters, and a cackle of laughter from Bellatrix. I continue watching Harry Potter - he is moving towards the Dark Lord, whose eyes are smoldering with hatred and cunning.
Someone shouts for Harry Potter to stop – the half-giant. The boy glances once behind me, at the half-giant who is being subdued by a group of Death Eaters, but only for a moment. He continues on his way towards the Dark Lord. It is just him and the Dark Lord now.
This is the moment we have been struggling for.
But the boy says nothing, does nothing; he almost seems to be coolly waiting for the blow to strike. I am puzzled. Where is that fear? Has he no instinct for self-preservation? Is he really as foolish, and as heroic, as he is made out to be?
I look at the Dark Lord. A mirthless smile is carved on his face. He is enjoying what seems to be the end of Harry Potter.
“Harry Potter,” he whispers. “The Boy Who Lived.”
Time stands still for now. Death is coming.
Without warning, there is a shout, and a blinding flash of green light. The boy has fallen.
Triumphant cheers rise in the air. But I, who see no victory for my family either way, witness something else as well. The Dark Lord has collapsed.
Bellatrix is the second to notice this. She screams, and then the Death Eaters rush to his side. Hope rushes to me. Is this possible? Can we really be free of him?
But, no, he seems to have stirred. They are hastily backing away.
The Dark Lord dismisses Bellatrix’s offer to help him. He is getting to his feet now.
Bellatrix doesn’t give up; she continues moaning. I will never understand her obsession. I would never love a man like him. He is an immortal threat to all of us, followers and dissenters alike.
The Dark Lord’s attention is fixed on the fallen body, which has not moved. “The boy,” he asks, “is he dead?”
There are no volunteers brave – or loyal – enough to check.
He searches for one and finds me, the weakling. He has no need for me.
“You!” he cries, pointing his wand at me. The next second, a sharp pain assaults my abdomen and I shriek. “Examine him. Tell me whether he is dead.”
I have no choice. I nearly run towards the body on the ground, just to get it over with quickly. But when I reach him, I am irresistibly reminded of Draco. Where is my son? When does this end?
Then, something catches me by surprise. I pull back one of the boy’s eyelids and discover he is alive. With a flick of my head, I let my hair fall over to one side, so that no one sees what I am about to do. I move my hand over his chest and feel the pounding. He is alive!
I lean down towards his ear and ask him in a low voice, “Is Draco alive? Is he still in the castle?” I hope to Merlin he has heard me.
“Yes,” he breathes back.
My son is alive!
My mind races over a series of blurred images – Lucius kissing me, my son riding his first toy broomstick, the body of a woman hanging upside down, Lucius and Draco shrieking in pain. I make my decision, pressing down on Harry Potter’s chest to reassure him.
I gather what remaining strength I have so that I can lie to the one who cannot be deceived.
“He is dead,” I cry.
For I am a Mother by hestiajones
Story Notes:
This story is based on the theme of motherhood - one of the most prominent leitmotifs in J.K.Rowling's books.
Thanks to APURVA (DracoGurlFurever) for being the amazing beta that she is.
Disclaimer: If you are really going to think that I am Rowling and confuse this with her writing, then shame on you! Lol!
Chapter Notes: All dialogues taken from DH (Chapter 34 - The Forest Again)
Chapter Endnotes: Liked it? Nope? Let me know. ;)