Prompts - 1. (word) defeated
2. (emotion) disappointment
3. (word) grass-stain
4. (dialogue) "Should we tell him that it's fake?"
5. (colour) lime green
Word Count: 1599
If there was one thing Narcissa Malfoy knew, it was that her son was head over heels in love with Harry Potter.
Young Love
He was never stellar at hiding it. A mere mention of the boy's name would set him growling, fully prepared with an eyeroll. He had a scroll of reasons to hate Harry Potter, alphabetised, itemised, and in levels of grievance from 1-10. Narcissa Malfoy had never seen him drop below a 6.
When Draco came out to her as gay, the mother wasn't exactly surprised. After all, he had kissed Blaise at the tender age of 6, and they'd had a tender relationship all of their lives. Narcissa took Blaise aside before their first year of Hogwarts, and she warned him. It wasn't the best thing she could do, but Narcissa didn't know.
"They'll hate you," Narcissa had told him. "They'll hate you if the two of you date, you know that, don't you?"
"I know," The stubborn first-year had told her through half-lidded eyes. "I know that, Mom, but still, we promised -"
"I know." Narcissa's hand curled around her bun in frustration. "I know that, Blaise, truly. Please, understand -"
"Mom, I don't get why you won't let us love each other." Blaise stomped his foot. "You don't understand!"
"Blaise, people out there don't accept two boys being together!" Narcissa squeezed. "You guys could get attacked, your parents could lose their jobs, Lu - Mr. Malfoy and I could lose our jobs in the Ministry and our influence in the wizarding community."
Blaise suddenly quieted, his eyes wide. Narcissa looked at him, and her heart broke, because oh my gods he was so beautiful and innocent, and she had just ruined it. The dams had broken, and she had been the wrecking ball.
Blaise looked defeated, and Narcissa didn't know how to put him back together.
"Why can't we be together forever, Mom?" He inquired, tilting his head. "Why don't people accept it?
Narcissa had sighed, then, briefly closing her eyes. "I don't know, Blaise, but they don't, and I don't think we can change that.
Three years later, Draco had come crawling to her, with wet hair and flushed cheeks, wide eyes and short breaths. If Narcissa didn't know better, she'd think that he was having a panic attack, but she knew her son better. She had sat him through his own share of panic attacks. This wasn't one of them.
Third-year Draco was coming off of one of his highs. Her son never needed drugs to get him started, to get him stimulated and broken. All he needed was himself, and a little bit of Blaise on the side.
"Don't tell Dad," She had instructed. "You know how he is sometimes, Draco. How's Blaise?"
A bit of colour on her pale son's cheeks. "He's doing well, mother. Nobody suspects a thing."
"Keep it that way, son." She had patted his head, adoring how it was silky. "You know how he is, sometimes."
Second-year Draco had nearly driven her insane, so much so that she felt like she had three jobs instead of one. It was okay, though. And if Harry Potter lived another year, it was to her discretion.
II. Diaries
Entry One - mother told me to make friends. i did make friends, mother, but not the one i wanted to make. harry potter is really cool, okay. he does, like, everything. weasly got to him first, the greedy bastard. i wanted him all to myself. and blaise, of course. i don't want him to not like me, but he did anyways, because of weasly. now i have to be mean to him, bc father says so. what a prat.
If there was one thing Narcissa knew, it was that her son's spelling really hadn't improved. She made a mental note to send him a Spelling Quill for his troubles.
Fifth-year Draco was a troubled soul, and Narcissa wasn't sure how to help him. The return of Voldemort had left a dampen on their entire household, and Narcissa was at the helm of the broken pieces.
She looked over Draco's first entry, made on the night he entered Hogwarts. He'd been upset, she knew, that he had been rejected. She knew he'd been upset, because Harry Potter had been just his type, and Ron Weasley had to go and ruin everything, just like Arthur Weasley ruined them.
If Harry Potter lived another year, it was to Narcissa's discretion.
III. Broken Pieces
The boy wasn't supposed to come.
The Dark Lord wanted him to come, truly. If there were things he didn't do when it came to Hogwarts, it was one of them. Every drop of magical blood spilled, in his eyes, was a waste. War was simply that - a waste. Necessary, sometimes, but a waste.
Narcissa felt the chill of dead things in the forest, felt it as no one else did. They were Death Eaters, and therefore were too closely tied with death to feel its presence. She was not.
Narcissa wasn't stupid. She had seen the Resurrection Stone, the Elder Wand, the Cloak of Invisibility enough times to know that the tale was true. What she also knew was that death was very, very real, and to play with death's toys was to toy with death himself.
Death was soon approaching, and she saw him in Harry Potter's eyes as he stood before the Dark Lord, a wand forgotten at his side. His eyes didn't widen as the Dark Lord screamed, but Death showed himself, his long fingers resting on Harry's shoulders and guiding him to the ground. The Death Eaters could not see him, but Narcissa could, and the breath left her body as quickly as it came in.
Death raised his head and looked at her, and she knew then what he was. She knew what she had to do.
Narcissa Malfoy cradled Death in her arms, crouching over the boy. She studied him, the sweat on his forehead and the hair that couldn't be tamed. She saw now why he was Draco's type, lime green grass-stains on his jeans and a firm mouth.
He became aware of her, then, looking over him. Narcissa cradled Death in her arms, but the boy could not see him, because even boy who lived could not see Death.
"Is Draco alive?" Narcissa asked, her voice barely a whisper in the wind. "My son. Is he in the castle?"
Narcissa wasn't sure who she was asking. Did she ask Harry if his nemesis was alive, or did she ask Death who all he had stolen that night?
If Harry Potter lived another year, it was at Narcissa's discretion.
IV. Normal
One giggle. Two giggles.
"Should we tell him that it's fake?"
It wasn't Narcissa's fault Draco had been disowned. It wasn't her fault that he had married Astoria Greengrass. It wasn't her fault that he had never accepted the truth - never accepted Ginny Weasley, never accepted the fact that his worst enemy's sister married the boy he loved.
Fake vomit had caused a boy near her to scream in terror, the disgusting sight in reality just some clumps of dyed mud on a nearby bench. Two Muggle children, a boy and a girl, laughed loudly together at the traumatised wizard. He was only eleven, but Narcissa kept an eye on him. It was her job, after all, to make sure that the boy didn't get hurt. It was her job, a promise to herself that when times got hard, she would treat him better.
Narcissa stepped forward, offering a peace treaty smile. A woman in a business suit wasn't what you'd expect to find on a children's playground, but the boy didn't seem to question it.
She recognised the spark in his eyes as the one that had left Draco. Narcissa knelt.
"I don't like vomit!" The boy told her, crossing his arms. "It's gross!"
"Hey, kiddo, look at this." Narcissa pointed at the fake throw-up dramatically, shifting her business suit's sleeve so the culprits didn't see the sparks that flew from her hidden wand. The mud vanished, the bench so clean it practically shone. The boy was taken aback.
"You can do magic?" He questioned, in pure awe of the older woman. "That's so cool!"
Narcissa winked at him. "So can you, you know."
The boy's huge expressions suddenly dropped, looking a bit scared. His voice also dropped. "How did you know?"
"I'm one of the special people," Narcissa told him. "We're special, you know."
"I'm a disappointment." The boy kicked at some rocks with his foot, his hands folded behind him and his head down. "Mother says so. She says that I'm a waste of magic."
Narcissa's chest tightened.
"You're a waste of magic, Norton Black!" Her father yelled, fixing her with a glare like no other. "You're no son of mine!"
"No," Bellatrix had told him, stepping in front of her sister. "She's your daughter."
Simpler times.
"No," Narcissa echoed, looking the boy in the eyes. "Magic is only wasted if you don't use it."
She noticed this boy simply because he reminded her of Draco: carefree, insecure, gay. She chose to pursue him because she wanted him to be better.
He would not grow up in a world where he was forced to hide. Narcissa would make sure of that.
He would be better.
She took his hand, willing it to be so. "I've come to invite you to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
If Harry Potter gained an extra, undocumented student this year, it was at her discretion.