Chapter Text
Love is stronger than everything.
Sun rays gently caressed the bed. It was one of those early summer days when the light was so pure and bright. Narcissa held her miracle daughter, whose eyes shone like pure jewels, and her son, whose hair was as pure as the summer light. Despite her difficult delivery, she was not feeling the pain as she was absorbed in the pure bliss of having in her arms her perfect twins after years of hardship. Her husband was beside her, a loving hand on her shoulder, as she was fondly caressing her daughter’s cheeks. Life was perfect, and their joy was immense.
However, the joyful moments came to a crashing end in the form of a devastating thunderstorm. At the end of Summer, storms were coming every night. Summer rain is nearly poetic, but summer storms are dark and brutal, tearing the heart away.
Servus Snape sat across the winter garden table; next to him, wriggling in his chair, was Sirius Black. Although estranged by divergence of opinion, Narcissa was trying to maintain a close relationship with her Black cousin and her sister Andromeda. She would often invite them when her Husband was not home. She did not like lying to him, but she could not sacrifice her family over some purity 'concept.'
Snape hated Black as the honorary member of the clan that bullied him all his tenure at Hogwart, but it seems fate had a peculiar way of tying destinies together.
"Narcissa," Snape started in a barely audible tone. "the oracles…they are clear," he stammered before being cut off by the woman sitting across him. She knew the prophecy regarding the One who would kill the Darklord.
"I know, dear, but Draco cannot be. He was born too early," she proceeded scooping her son from his cradle as the babe was fussing. Snape opened his mouth again, to be cut by Narcisa, presenting the blond infant to him, "Hold your godson, Severus! I need to pick up Diana."
Seeing the inefficiency of his former Hogwarts classmate, Sirius tried his luck: "Please cousin, it is not about Draco." He continued, "The Seer; she saw something else." Snape took the opportunity to clear his throat before reciting:
Born on Saint James fires month as the heathen dancing. Stronger as the huntress, she will carry the most powerful wizard’s offspring.
The room fell into a cold silence with only the sound of the storm as a background soundtrack.
The blond witch was petrified as if a mandragora scream had frozen her expression in a distressed mask.
“What does it mean?” she pleaded as if she suddenly realized, and a strangled sob erupted from her perfectly painted lips. “They cannot do that to us, to me,” she rectified. “Everything is so perfect. She is my daughter.”
“ I am so sorry, dearest Cousin. It can only be her; she is the only one fitting the description,” Black added sadly.
“No! No! someone else might be !” She cut, hastily calling the house elves to bring the Wizarding birth records. Suddenly, propulsed out of the silence, Snape reached toward his friend.
“Narcissa, you should trust us. We already looked, Diana is the only pure-blood babe born in June.”
Time was suspended as tears ran down like diamonds rivers on her cheeks. Sirius was looking at the young Draco sleeping peacefully. He was unable to be a witness of that dire agony. Severus was still holding her hands as she stood abruptly. “I need to tell Lucius.”
“No!” both men shouted at the same time.
“The less people involved, the better. We must keep this information away from him as much as possible.” By saying him, Sirius was referring to the Darklord himself, as his shadow was looming over them.
In between her sobs, the dark haired potion master last spoke. “I have plan”
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Few things happened after that night. Severus encouraged Narcissa to write a few letters, addressing the situation to him, Andromeda, and Sirius. Those letters had to be kept in a secret location for each of the recipients. She proceeded, still under Severus' command, to obliviate all of them, including Diana's father, Lucius.
Now the only remaining person entrusted with her daughter's secret, she fled as fast as she could. Lucius was worried at first. Why would she want to leave so close after giving birth to their boy? However, Lucius ignored that his wife was a skilled manipulator. She brushed it off, saying that the house elves could take care of their son perfectly well for a couple of days while she was visiting her relatives in the Scottish countryside.
Narcissa wanted to laugh at the simplicity of convincing her husband with her lies. He mostly thought he was in charge of their relationship, but she knew otherwise.
When she woke up in the middle of the night to obliviate him, Narcissa felt her heart sink. She did not want to deprive, her husband of the joy of having a daughter, but she felt that destiny was too powerful. She had left Lucius a letter on his nightstand, explaining that she had left in the wee morning hours as her trip to Scotland would be draining for her. She was not going to Scotland to visit her relatives.
On a beautiful late summer night, she crossed the English Channel with her daughter securely clenched to her breast. The portkey journey was rough, as it was a black market portkey. She reached her destination, a small village in the southwest of France. There, she reunited with an old friend of hers whom she met during a semester abroad in "Beaux Batons." Her friend, Isolde, was now married to an Irish muggle and was living peacefully in a small village nested into the picturesque French landscape. She handed over her girl to her friend. She explained that the babe was the daughter of one of her relatives for which she could not reveal their identity. She added that the babe birth would cause scandal for her family and that she needed a foster home. Isolde and her husband had trouble conceiving, and the fair little girl was a beacon of hope for the couple.
Narcissa did not stay too long, letting the couple fussing over her precious little bundle. She knew that her little jewel was safe, but despair grew in her chest about the selfishness of her act. She deprived her son of his twin, the husband of his daughter, and herself of watching Diana grow as a beautiful human. Devastated by the situation and exhausted by her travel, she found solace in the forever snowed picks of the Pyrenees in the small castle she owned.