Author's note: Here is a short piece produced by my insomniac brain - and for this reason, you'll have to forgive any mistakes. I intend to add to this theme, probably two more vignettes of comparable length, from the perspectives of Lily Potter and Molly Weasley. (Those are the only ideas I have at the moment, but if there is something in this vein that you would like me to write, feel free to suggest it.) I hope you enjoy this. Please review!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Narcissa Malfoy

I should have handed him over to the Dark Lord, the man to whom my first loyalty supposedly belongs. Perhaps it would have helped with the redemption for which Lucius has been trying. Had it been he whom the Dark Lord sent to confirm the Potter boy's demise, I do not know what he would have done; although my husband and I value the same principles, we are not always driven by the same instincts. I suspect that he would have felt Potter's beating heart and would not have hesitated to serve it to the Dark Lord on a silver platter.

How miraculous for a child to be victim to the Killing Curse and live to tell the tale, not once, but twice. I saw an opportunity when I placed my cold hand on his warm chest: I had been deliberately kept away from the battle, and here was my connection to the centre of the action. If I let him live, I could see a way out for all of us; and if I did not ask the question burning at the forefront of my mind, I would never forgive myself.

The answer gave me hope, and it was this hope to which I clung as I proclaimed the boy wonder dead. My hope was strengthened when the Dark Lord cast Crucio and got no reaction from Potter. This meant that he had defied the Dark Lord yet again, for I know from experience that one cannot remain impassive under the effects of the Cruciatus.

I was aware as I spoke the words that to lie to my master was to betray him, especially when it came to such a matter as important as this. The truth, though, is that I hardly cared. Potter was blessed with some innate gift of escapology; if he played it right, if I played it right, then he could work another miracle, and I could satisfy my burning desperation. The prospect of the Dark Lord's anger, should he prevail and learn of my duplicity, did not deter me in the slightest.

If I die, it will not be for an insignificant reason.

That is what I thought of as I stood up and lied to the Dark Lord's face, and as Lucius and I ran from the rekindled fight; that is what I am still thinking of as we push through the throng of battle-weary witches and wizards, dodging curses and not casting any of our own.

I need to find my son.