She hung her head. For literally years now, she had gotten used to the loneliness- numbed herself to it. They would talk, they would long, they would occasionally meet while he was disguised as another man. All the while, though, they were not together like she wanted, and normally, her exterior was hardened to the sadness. Upon the mention of their grandson, though, the feeling in Narcissa's stomach cracked her resolve. Her husband had yet to meet the child who already had distinct features, a personality. Scorpius needed someone like Lucius there in the midst of Draco, Faustus....
Her husband had to be ill. It was no cold. She said nothing aloud of these thoughts, knowing how he was denying them, but within herself she was quite sure. A few hot tears streamed down her porcelain cheeks, and Narcissa attempted to move the locked to a position from which he could not see her face.
"You know that none shall be as perfect as our son," she said quietly, forcing herself into composure. "He grows like a weed, makes the most precious noises... he is bringing out the best in Tracey, and," she sighed bitterly, "he likes Faustus."