Many thanks to the wonderful Mrs. Milfoy for all of her help!
"How dare you kick me out of my own house!" Narcissa shrieked.
The auror sighed, "Mrs. Malfoy..."
Narcissa ignored him. "I saved Harry Potter's life! My son -" she said, wildly gesturing to the blonde sulking in the shadows " - didn't have a choice!"
"Be that as it may, Madam, your husband was very much a Death Eater. For years, in fact." The impish auror continued, pinching the bridge of his nose. "As such-"
"As such you see fit to make me and my son homeless? Freeze our accounts until you've decided we can buy a loaf of bread again?" Narcissa glared at her solicitor before continuing. "The Dark Lord is dead. You've already put my husband in prison. What difference does it make now?"
Apparently it still made a difference. Narcissa tugged on the threads of the old blanket, remembering the humiliating debacle that took place not even two weeks prior. Punished to make the Ministry look like they were finally doing something. She sipped the not quite steeped tea.
Where were they months before? Her hands clenched the chipped teacup. She doubted it had ever had a matching saucer. Where had the Ministry been when Bella had escaped from Azkaban? Narcissa took another sip. Too busy blaming our cousin. She stared out the window, wishing she was back home on her overstuffed settee, looking out her own window at the few remaining peacocks that would be frolicking in the well manicured garden.
"Narcissa?" A voice beckoned her from across the hall.
Narcissa swallowed. "Yes?" She responded hesitantly.
"Would you help with dinner please?"
"Yes, be there in a moment."
"Thank you!"
Narcissa could hear a loud racket of pots and pans as her sister began to cook. She sighed as she pried herself from the couch, letting the blanket drop onto the floor as she walked across the hall and into the kitchen.
"Oh, you've finished your tea?" Andromeda appeared from the pantry. "Let me take that for you," she said, grabbing the cup from Narcissa and placing it in the sink. "Grab the potatoes will you?"
Narcissa bit her lip. I've no idea why she is bothering with teaching me. I have to be more of a hindrance than help. She picked up the half empty sack of potatoes from the corner of the kitchen.
How many potatoes does one clean for three people? Rolling up her sleeves, she took a few out of the sack and began washing them. Disgusted by the dirt that got her on hands and under her nails.
"Might I be of any help...Aunt-Andromeda?"
Narcissa turned her head at the sound of her son's voice. Standing in the doorway, eyes red from smoking Merlin knows what out in the woods behind the house. Thin. Too thin from hardly eating. Narcissa turned off the tap and set the last potato on the counter, hoping she had cleaned enough.
"Would you mind chopping them up?" her sister asked. "Draco, set the table please."
She pursed her lips as she pulled a knife from the draw. My poor boy. Such a mess. She heard the clank and clatter as he pulled plates down from the shelves. Not really a boy though. No, not any more. A man I suppose. She felt his hands nudge her hips and a murmured 'excuse me, mother' as he reached in the drawer to grab the mismatched cutlery.
Nearly three hours later they were sitting around the dining room table. Narcissa pushed the stew around her plate, something she had often chastised Draco for in the past. Occasionally taking a small bite in between forced comments about Andromeda's babble. It was bland. The food, that is. Although she couldn't say much about whatever her sister was going on about, either.
She looked up from her plate. He was staring again. Something she had noticed he had been doing quite often as of late. She often found him watching her. Reading. Drinking tea. Staring at her as she stared out the window. He never turned away when she caught him. Never seemed to be embarrassed. "Draco, eat." He sneered. 'You look just like your father when you do that' she wanted to say. She couldn't be arsed to open her mouth. To speak. Besides, the poor boy - man has gone through enough already. It wouldn't do to insult him for something he couldn't help.
Draco stabbed at a piece of meat with his fork. It was cold. The potatoes were undercooked. He forced himself to eat another bite to make his aunt think the meal was edible. I'll gift her with a cookbook for Yule. His gaze never left his mother. 'Draco, eat' he mocked her in his head. Who was she to talk? Her collar bone stuck out more than his ribs.
"You both never eat, do you?" Draco watched as his aunt stood from the head of the table and collected their plates. "Understandable, I suppose," she continued as she headed into the kitchen. "I know you've both been through a lot."
Draco turned his head, finally breaking the gaze with his mother. You've no fucking idea, auntie. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the sound of her scraping their half eaten meals into the bin. He stood and dropped his wrinkled napkin onto the table. Leaving his mother sitting at the table, Draco left the dining room and made his way into the lounge. He picked up the blanket Narcissa had dropped on the floor hours before and tossed it onto the other end of the settee before sitting down.
Draco switched on the lamp next to him. Disgusting combination of magic and muggleness blended together. He picked up the textbook he had been reading earlier. A book he should have read in his sixth year instead of unwillingly plotting the assassination of his headmaster. If I go back to school this autumn would I be a sixth year or seventh? Eight possibly? Would they put me in Slytherin? Does Slytherin still exist? Oh gods, I'm going to be a Hufflepuff.
He began reading from where he had left off: "...modification of the elixir is not recommended. In 1854, after a steady consumption of the elixir over a series of weeks, Marilyn Douter of Devon disappeared. She was found days later in a fishing village in northern Spain speaking only in haikus. ... after a steady consumption of the elixir over a series of weeks, Marilyn Douter of Devon disappeared. She was found days later in a fishing village in northern Spain speaking only in haikus. ...found days later in a fishing village in northern Spain speaking only in haikus."
I've been reading the same bloody sentences over and over! "Fuck," Draco muttered.
"Lovely language, darling," Narcissa chided as she walked into the lounge.
Draco looked up at her. Watched her as she sat in the chair across from him. Watched as she picked up a dated copy of Witch Weekly. He wanted her. Wanted to make her his. To protect her, to help her, to make her feel better, to entertain her, to make her happy.
Lately though his thoughts about his mother had started taking a darker turn. The lines were beginning to blur and he wasn't quite sure how or why. The first time it happened it was early in the morning. Far too early for any human being to be awake. He was getting himself off. Thinking of a slender woman with perfect tits. When he came he ended up whispering his mother's given name. He was surprised and disturbed. At the time he had blamed it on being higher than a Quidditch post.
When he had woken up the next day he couldn't meet her eyes. She asked him what was wrong and he told her it was nothing. When he didn't think she was looking he'd stare at her. It started with him staring at her and wondering why he said her name when he had come. Then he started looking at her. The way she moved, the way her frocks covered her body. He let himself imagine what it might be to snog her. His mind slipped to being on top of her and then he imagined fucking her properly. Or as properly as a son can fuck his mother.
The sound of a baby crying brought Draco out of his thoughts. He heard his aunt run up the stairs to attend to her morphing half-animal of a grandchild. The thing cried relentlessly and when it wasn't crying it was leaking out some sort of bodily fluid from one end or the other. He was told 'that's what babies do'. He refused to believe it.
"Could it get any worse?" He muttered aloud.
Narcissa turned a page of the magazine. "Andromeda is hosting an Order of the Phoenix sponsored after war fundraising gathering next week," she replied nonchalantly.
"I shouldn't have asked," he responded dryly as he stood from the settee. He gathered his books and headed upstairs. The baby shrieked again over the sounds of his aunt's off key lullabies. And of course the ministry had to take away my wand until start of term. He slammed his bedroom door shut as the child cried even louder.