Narcissa sees Voldemort fall - dead, finally dead, not a monster, just a man - and, taking advantage of the mad rush of the crowd to surround Potter, she sprints around the edges of it, barely hearing Lucius call her name, ignoring the feeling of his fingers brushing against her arm as he grabs for her. Bellatrix lays still and unmoving on the stone floor. Narcissa crashes to her knees beside her, seizing her shoulders and shaking her.

"Wake up!" she hisses, blinking back tears. She refuses to believe that Bellatrix is dead. Not Bellatrix, who has already survived one war and fourteen years in Azkaban. Not at the hands of a Weasley . "Get up, get out of here, while they're distracted!"

Bellatrix's eyes don't open, her body moving limply as Narcissa shakes her roughly. Narcissa stops.

"Please, Bella," she whispers brokenly, brushing Bellatrix's hair from her face. Someone steps up behind her, but Narcissa ignores them.

Lucius kneels beside her and places his hands on her shoulders. "I'm so sorry. She's gone." He tugs gently to her feet. "We shouldn't be here... If we have any hope of staying out of Azkaban, we must..."

Distance ourselves, she hears, but he thankfully does not say.

"We're not getting away this time," she says, defeated and exhausted. "It doesn't matter what we do."

"Maybe we can't. But we can make a better case for Draco," Lucius urges, and Narcissa silently curses him. He is right, she knows, and allows him to tug her to her feet and away from Bellatrix.

Draco throws his arms around her when they reach him again. "I'm sorry, Mum."

Narcissa holds him close, stroking the back of his head. Her son is still alive. That's what matters most, she reminds herself, letting him ground her. She always knew, deep down, that Bellatrix would fight to the bitter end, no matter what. No matter how much Narcissa would have begged and pleaded.

It doesn't help, but she can pretend it eases the sharp ache in her chest.

She can pretend. She's good at that.