A/N: Thank you to the ever lovely dormiensa who alphaed, betaed, cheerleadered, and listened to me complain, and all within one week of the due date. She's fantabulous! And a thank you to my father who, without knowing it, made me write in my spare time. The Faulkner reference is for him.
Prologue
"What the fuck have you done?"
His voice was a harsh whisper. His eyes, wide and unblinking, stared down at the two broken pieces of his hawthorn wand that she was holding in her hand. She could hear the tremble in his voice, not as much of anger as of fear. And he was right to be afraid—a wandless wizard was a dead wizard, especially in this house.
But she had done it for him. She had done it to free him, and one day, hopefully, he would forgive her.
A guttural whimper seemed to pass through his lips unbidden, and she felt her own eyes well with tears. He had had so little happiness in his short life, and yet had been subjected to a host of horrific and burdensome experiences that no one should have had to go through, especially one so young and naïve.
"How could you?" He continued to stare at her hands, and she realized the tremble in his voice had moved to his hands.
"Draco, I did this for you. Very soon, you will see."
He looked up at her, his eyes wet with unshed tears, but he made no move to wipe them away. Maybe he wanted her to see how much he was affected.
"And how, how is this for me?" She watched his fists clench at his sides, masking their shaking. "Do you want me dead? Do you want me dead, Mother?"
Narcissa Malfoy bowed her head, shaking it slowly, back and forth. The thought that he could believe that cut her deeply, but she supposed she deserved it. He just didn't understand.
"No, of course not; that is why I took it. I suppose breaking it was unnecessary, when I will have to destroy it."
At that Draco looked completely mortified, and confounded. "Mother, what are you talking about?"
Narcissa wasn't one to play mind games—that had been best left to her husband—and looked her son directly in the eye. "You're leaving," and glancing at the clock over her son's shoulder, she continued, "in less than fifteen minutes."
"What? Where?" He paused and with even more incredulity asked, "Why?"
"I'm getting you out of here, so you will be safe. So you won't die." She gave Draco a pointed look.
"Am I going to the Order?"
Narcissa bit back an unladylike snort. "Good heavens, no. I don't trust them with you."
Before he could comment, which she could see he was about to do, she continued.
"Draco, we don't have much time. Your Portkey will activate in . . . twelve minutes. I need to tell you as much as I can, as much I have time to."
She pulled an old paperback book out of her robes and held it out toward him, watching her son, her beautiful boy, shake his head slowly, clearly attempting to process this information. His mind was working furiously, and before the words were even out of his mouth, she knew what he was going to say.
"I can't leave. I can't leave you. I have to protect you . . . since Father is . . . dead." He spat out the last word, obviously still hurt and bitter at Lucius for more things than either of them could count. Narcissa couldn't blame him, but now wasn't the time for grievances.
"Yes you can, and you will. I have taken care of arrangements for myself." His look said he didn't believe her. "Draco, I promise you, the Dark Lord will not hurt me."
"Now," Narcissa said, sweeping her hand through the air, effectively ending that discussion, "I cannot tell you where you are going because I do not know myself—in order to keep you safe. But I did meet the people you will stay with, and they are very kind and will protect you."
Draco just stood in front of her with his mouth slightly agape, and although it all made sense to her, she knew she had gone over it thousands of times in her head. Poor Draco was just hearing this for the first time.
"Mother, this makes no sense. Wizards don't just leave the Dark Lord. I'm as good as dead anyway if I do. And if he finds out you helped, so are you! Whatever you are planning, forget it." He turned on his heel and started pacing the room, muttering to himself about procuring a new wand and keeping her out of the Dark Lord's sight.
"Draco." He continued to pace, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "Son."
She still received no response, and Narcissa felt a little sick thinking that she may have to hex him to get him to listen and comply. "Draco Abraxas Malfoy! Sit down, now."
Once a boy, always a boy. He stopped suddenly and looked ashamed under her fierce gaze; he dropped into a chair, his shoulders drooping as his head bowed. As Narcissa sat down in the chair in front of him, dropping the book onto a small table, she was reminded of how torn her son was. He looked like a man but had the actions of a child. He had so much to learn and to grow into. And it reaffirmed her already solid conviction that what she was doing was right—even if she never saw him again.
"Our time together is running out. You need to listen to me and listen well. You are leaving. Even if I have to Stun you and place your hand on that Portkey, you are going. I cannot tell you much, for I know so little, but you will be provided for; I have taken care of that. I wouldn't want you to do without."
Draco's blonde head shot up. "Money? Money? You think I care about that? At a time like this? Mother, I'd give it all up, if just to be free of . . . this." He gestured wildly around him, his eyes feverish with anxiety.
And just as feverishly, she leaned forward, tapping his leg. "And you shall be. But you won't be penniless while doing it."
"What will I do? When can I come back?" He sounded, and looked, annoyed and petulant, the teenager in him raging.
"Again, questions I cannot answer. The family assured me there will activities for you to engage in. As far as when you can come back, it all depends."
"On what?"
"On when this war ends. How it ends." She paused. "On whether you want to or not." Then Narcissa leaned forward and cupped one of his flushed cheeks with her hand.
"Draco, I will miss you so much."
The boy appeared again as he tilted his face into her hand, and a tear rolled down his cheek.
"Don't make me go, Mother. I don't want to leave you."
The words "I'm scared" remained unspoken, but Narcissa heard them like they were shouted at her, and her heart broke a little more.
"I don't want to leave you either, my sweet Dragon."
His tears quietly but quickly ran down his face as he whispered, "Then why are you making me go? Don't you love me?"
That last question crushed her, and she stroked the other side of his face before answering.
"It is because I love you that I am making you go. All I want is for you to be happy. And you never will be . . . not if you stay here, not if you aren't exposed to something else. You deserve the opportunity to be the man I know you can be."
Draco dropped out of the chair and onto to his knees, hugging her as if she might pop out of sight at any moment. She returned the embrace and held onto him as if her life depended on it.
Suddenly, the Portkey alarm sounded, alerting her to the fact that she only had three more minutes with her only child.
She pulled back and held him at arm's length, looking him over, wanting to remember every detail of him, and as she stared, she felt her throat close up. She didn't want to let him go. He was her baby, her child, her son. But instead, she took a deep breath and said quickly,
"Draco, I need you to do three things for me." He nodded as she looked at him expectantly. "Be open-minded. Please, please."
Her voice sounded desperate, and she was. This would all be for naught if he didn't at least try to look beyond the veil his father had placed over his eyes.
"I know you will be around witches and wizards, but I am sure you will be around Muggles as well. Please be tolerant and learn to embrace the differences you see in other people. Will you please try?"
Draco looked doubtful but nodded slowly.
"And I want you to find something that engages your mind. You are so talented and bright—use your gifts to do something you love, that will fulfill you."
Narcissa glanced at the book, and as she rushed to finish what she wanted, no, needed to say, she moved her hands down from his upper arms to his hands, squeezing them tightly.
"Draco, let go. Let go of the pain, and the hate, and the sorrow of this life, and go live another one. Don't remain trapped by . . . all of this. Accept what it was and move forward. Grow."
She watched his face, and she could see so much confusion there. But there was so little she could do about that now. Preparation would have been dangerous, for both of them—not that it would have made it easier on him. He probably would have fought her harder. Narcissa released one of his hands, leaned over and picked the book up from the table, and pressed it into his hands.
"Mother . . . " He trailed off, looking down at the Portkey in his hands.
"I know you think I am abandoning you; I know you are confused. But if you take nothing else I say to heart, just know that to me, you are . . . everything. And why I do everything I do."
"But why—"
Narcissa cut him off with a shake of her head. "You won't understand or agree with all the decisions I have made over the years, and some I do not understand or agree with either, but this one," she jabbed her finger at the book, "this one is right. And I know it."
She cupped his face with her hands and, gently leaning down, pressed her lips to his forehead, whispering, "I love you so much, my son. Never forget that."
Still on his knees, Draco cast his grey eyes up at his mother and repeated her sentiment.
"I love you too, Mother. I don't understand . . . I don't know what to feel."
Narcissa then embraced him, knowing she only had a few seconds left before she would be reminded of the activation. He held her and she held him, equally giving and receiving. When the final alarm sounded, it was too soon, and she wanted to cry, but she instead released him and stepped back.
"Take care, Draco. I love you. And remember to live."
On her last word, Draco disappeared from her vision and her life, and she sank to her knees and cried. Deep throaty sobs poured out of her as she buried her face in her hands, her beautifully immaculate robes spreading out around her.
He was gone, and she was alone, and all Narcissa wanted was to end it all right then. But her job wasn't done yet; she had a few more things to do make sure he was safe, and she didn't have long to do it. So she stood, wiped her face, and looked around the room, outlining everything she had left to do in her head.
And when she was done, Narcissa surveyed the room, a cleaned fireplace roaring with a new fire, a carefully penned note to her sister, and a draught on the table were all new additions to the room. Other letters had been written and charmed to appear to the intended recipients at later times.
She picked up the draught and downed it as quickly as the glass and her mouth would allow. Only one final step to complete, and then she, too, could let go. As she raised her wand to her temple and spoke the charm, her last thought was, Now we can both be free.
