DISCLAIMER: All characters and settings found in my stories are the property of J.K. Rowling.
The Other Side
Chapter 1: Narcissa
I was raised by a nanny, my father was away too much for him to take notice of a child and my mother wanted nothing to do with me; she had fulfilled her marital obligations and ended up with a sniveling, crying being she couldn't detest more. People always thought it was my father that was cold and heartless, but I think my mother had him beat. Their circumstances, however, are very different.
I know, for instance, that my mother used to be a very loving, caring person. There had been a time when she laughed and her blue eyes sparkled with mirth. It was only after she met my father that she became the woman I know. For you see, she had loved another. A poor man—a Muggle—a man that could only offer her love and protection, not the riches and opulence her family reasoned she deserved. My father, unbeknownst to my mother at the time, killed him on orders from the Dark Lord.
Heartbroken, my mother married per her family's wishes and gained a lifetime of cold, impersonal wealth earned by the devil's deeds. When she learned of the way her former lover died, she vowed revenge and closed off her heart. Love has never since graced the walls of our home. She has bedded many a man besides my father, unknown to him and his arrogance, trying to reclaim what she lost the day he put a ring on her finger. I once asked her, due to my young age and naïveté, why she couldn't love my father. She told me that not even the strongest person could help whom they loved.
Her revenge is her sweetest indulgence. She is a spy. For every person my father kills, for every Muggle he strikes down out of hate, she saves two. More importantly, she does it right under his nose. His dedication to the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord himself keeps him away for extended periods of time, giving my mother free reign of the finances. She sends Muggles abroad, away from England and away from the war under the pretense of "business." She sends rolls upon rolls of parchment to Professor Dumbledore, telling him when and where her husband has been and will be in the future. It wasn't until recently I realized my mother helped shape him, helped further his fame and guarantee his name made headlines—she made him a figure of hope—much to my father's dismay.
My father has always underestimated the power of women. He almost died at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange when my mother slept with Rudolphus. That was the only man he ever found out about, and my mother was punished severely. I used to sit in my room and listen to him beat her as a child, hear him rationalize he was only "putting her in her place," but now I know better. He is a man ruled by fear and consumed by the idea of control. He fears what he cannot control. He fears my mother. He knows she is smarter, that she only settled for him out of some misplaced family identity and that because most of her family is now dead due to the war, she holds the power to destroy our "family." My mother has little to lose at this point; she is not interested in her fame or riches, she doesn't care about me, her only son who was conceived and born from hate. I know that it is her pride alone that keeps her from going public with the truth and giving Dumbledore that final piece of information with which to end the war—that which will make Harry Potter a hero.
I have already said that my mother is intelligent; she graduated near the top of her class at Durmstrang. What's more, however, is that she knows the power her mind possesses and she does not hesitate to use it. It is not my father's bribes that keep the Minister in his place; it is what my mother learns from Fudge during their trysts that could destroy a very powerful man and his counterparts. Men are weak when it comes to the opposite sex—it is truly women who run the world despite outward appearances and the things we tell ourselves in the mirror. I have learned that behind every powerful man there is a woman controlling him, reining him in or making him more irrational as the situation warrants. Even Voldemort has his lovers; I can name them all. My mother once told me that a man who rejects a woman "is either very smart or very stupid." I asked her, once, how to tell and she just gave me that impassive stare she has perfected over the years, leading me to the realization that I, as a man, may never know.
I watch her carry on with her everyday life, pretending she knows nothing about my father's deeds save what she reads in the papers. She congratulates him on successful raids to keep up appearances—he has no clue of what she really is. However, I know she is disappointed in me, disappointed in my choices and my "decision" to follow in Lucius' footsteps. Little does she know she is not the only spy in the house. My mission is to counteract my mother, on orders from Voldemort. I feigned surprise that day—I may not be as smart as Hermione Granger, but I knew it was not a good move to let the Dark Lord know I was aware of my mother's treachery; better for him to think me a fool than a threat.
The rain outside has begun to lash against the windowpanes; a few drops have managed to seep through a tiny crack in the frame. I quickly repair it with a wave of my wand, the irony of an invasion not lost upon me. In five days I am supposed to join my father in the fight against Voldemort. In five decisive days, I am supposed to join the side of evil and kill my mother.
End of Chapter 1