A/N: Happy 19th Birthday to my dear friend Michelle… A very slightly HD-related drabble.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but Queeky the house elf lol.

Know

Narcissa Malfoy is perfectly aware of everything happening in her house. You may not believe so, for she has been quite silent about her Death Eater loser of a husband's plans. Oh well, she has already rightfully placed her vengence by ordering Queeky, one of her closest house elves, to dye all Lucius' hair conditioning potions orange… magically irreversible, of course.

When her house was still the Evil Head Quarter, she knew Bellatrix never truly worshiped Voldemort's evil ambitions; it was just because he really got nice skin—Bella used to sulk at her for marrying Lucius… obviously he's got nice skin, too. That crazy hag. She also knew that Severus Snape never stayed there for more than an hour if Voldemort was there. He always wriggled out of it. She knew why. But she never told.

When the Manor is left for three of them, Narcissa knows when to have the house elves polish the picture frames, tidy up the many studies, and trim the various pretty trees. She doesn't really need to know, but she just does.

She also knows, when an eager-looking Queeky desperately runs up to her one morning, that her eighteen-year-old son has been acting oddly. She knows that his cheeks and lips are doubly rosy, his mood has improved immensely, and there is an indescribable aura around Draco… a rather pink one, if she squints. She also KNOWS, her darling son is never daring enough to tell her the truth, which she could just easily guess from what she knows.

With a smirk emerging on a side of her lips, she just knows it. She places down her porcelain teacup, folds her arms elegantly as she gazes up at the beautiful view outside but not taking any of it in.
Of course she knows that there have been more than three people in her house during nights over a fortnight. She takes up a honey-sweetened cinemon tart and nibbles on it. Of course she knows Draco's room always rumbles with deep whispers and rumages of sheets at night if you attach your ear on the door and listen very hard. Not that she's tried it, though... She takes another sip of her morning tea; she too knows there is a very convenient floo-connected fireplace in her son's room. Unfortunately, she somehow has the decency not to interigate her son who that extra person staying overnight is.

Queeky, still looking troubled, gazes at her mistress and asks very tentatively, "But… does Mistress Narcissa know, young Harry Potter is still sleeping in Master Draco's room now?"

She pauses.

"Oh, really?"

That, she does not know.

An astounding sense of revelation strikes her.

'Merlin, Draco isn't a whimp hypocrite like Lucius, after all!'

And that, she admits she has had some fears that Draco doesn't have enough influence from a masculine figure... or perhaps now, with the bespectacled Boy-Who-Lived upstairs cuddling with him, she finally knows that her fear has come true... however, not surprising enough to weigh over the joy exploding inside her.

Does it mean she can finally know everything?

Narcissa strides down the corridor that leads to her son's bedroom some ten minutes later, assuming they have got up. She thinks of the faces on the charming boys. Chuckling, she thinks she needs to know... she might even inquire if her son is a tough top like she so falsely imagines, or a definite bottom as he so stunningly makes one...

Oh yes. She would very much like to know.


Please R&R :-)