A/N: If it sounds familiar it's probably not mine. This is my story, if
you don't like how I've written the characters then write your own damn
story.
The Mad Madame
Narcissa slowly ran her finger around the rim of her glass as she watched Draco strut around the study like a puffed up little toad. Lost in her own thoughts, she was half way listening to her only son spout nonsense about stepping into his father's shoes.
"Potter is not going to get away with putting my father in prison. The precious Boy Who Lived will fear the Malfoy. I will finish my father's work." Draco rants. "Potter won't feel so brave once I become a Death Eater."
She dimly hears him vowing to "finish father's work" and mumbling something about becoming a "Death Eater."
Death Eaters. Now that gets her full attention. She watches her son closer. He is the very image of his father. Strut, strut, strut. Mumble, mumble, mumble. Narcissa rolls her eyes and sighs, takes another sip of her half full glass of goblin scotch before she sits down her drink and begins to pour another. The light amber liquid swirled out of the decanter, into the cut crystal high ball glass, and splashed onto the ice cubes like ocean waves breaking over rocks.
"Have a seat, Draco," she said, "We need to talk."
"Mother, I already told you, I am not going to France with you to play Muggle dress- up!"
She just stared at him with a knowing tight little smile as she pushed the drink across the table toward him.
His eyes grew wide and he stopped in mid strut. Draco realized that this is the first time she had fixed him a drink. Draco calmly sized her up through wary eyes. This is new, uncharted territory—caution is a must.
"You are just like your father," she sighed, "Now sit down and stop running your ridiculous mouth. Between your jabbering and your pacing I am getting a headache. I have something important to tell you that may just make you stop and think twice about all your father's accomplishments."
"My father pulls that puppet Fudge's strings, Mother. He has more power than the Minister of Magic. Fudge does whatever my father tells him to do. What is there to think twice about that?"
Narcissa shot him a mincing stare that would freeze even the strongest fire whiskeys.
Draco plopped in the chair but his eyes remained guarded. "Well..." he invited, "let's hear what you have to say."
"Your father is a sham, Draco. He preaches pure blood this and pure blood that and you are fast down the road to becoming a miniature version of him."
Draco stuttered and started to protest.
"Don't interrupt. I am not done yet—in fact, I have not even begun!" Narcissa held up her hand in silence. "Think for a moment how your grandfather Malfoy liked to hunt wild game."
"Huh?" Draco questioned.
"Don't be an idiot, Draco. You are sixteen now, must I spell it out for you? Grandfather Quietus was quite the gamesman, though the game wasn't the traditional wild animal. The game he hunted was much softer in nature. Your grandfather had a Muggle girlfriend, a mistress to be exact." She triumphed with cold satisfaction. "Your father isn't pure-blood. Do you know what that means? YOU AREN'T EITHER!!"
Draco sprang from the chair as the reality of his mother's icy confession chilled his mind. "I DON'T BELIEVE YOU!" He shouted.
"I didn't believe it either," she explained in a distant tone frozen with contempt. "I found some letters hidden in the back of your father's safe. When I asked him about it he had no idea what I was talking about. So I asked your grandmother before she died, and she confirmed the contents of the letter. She said that Grandfather Quietus moved his pregnant mistress to one of the more secluded estates for the duration of the pregnancy. Once she gave birth to your father, your grandmother Oblivated your father's birth mother's memory and ordered your grandfather to stop seeing her. Once Grandfather Quietus complied, your grandmother graciously agreed to raise your father as her own. Your grandmother wanted a child but never wanted to be pregnant, so it worked out well for everyone involved. After your father graduated from Hogwarts, your grandfather died and left Lucius some letters explaining your father's linage. Do you want to know the best part?" she taunted as a feral grin and malicious gleam danced in her eyes, "Your father actually knows nothing about this because after he read the letters he performed Obliviate on himself!"
Draco sat in stunned silence as his mother's hollow laugh echoed through the room sounding oddly like a clock striking its final hour in the dead of night. Starring at his mother while struggling with disbelief and uncertainty, Draco tried to comprehend this madness that was just thrown in his face.
"...Why does he hate Muggles and mudbloods?"
"I don't know," she replied, "why do you?"
'I hate them because he does, because he taught me to hate them.' Draco thought. But Draco remembered there was one muggle-born that he would love to hate but somehow couldn't.
As she turned to leave to room she laughed lightly and said, "Maybe now you'll think twice before you call someone a mudblood." With that Draco sank deeply into the chair and brought the glass of goblin scotch to his lips and took a sip. The light amber liquid burned as it past his lips and slid down his throat. He could feel the alcohol begin to snake its warmth through his veins leaving behind a tingling sensation that numbed his body.
"I want to see the letters." Draco wishpered in a cold flat voice before she left.
"Very well then. Now go pack for France, and don't forget the Muggle clothes." Narcissa left Draco with his thoughts.
"Don't forget the Muggle clothes! Humph!" Draco snorted as he busily packed in his room. 'Who does she think she is? She has the gall to tell me that my father is' --- Draco couldn't bring himself to even think the word mudblood --- 'not pureblood and then say 'Go pack for France and don't forget the Muggle clothes!' How could she do this to me?? I HATE HER!!!'
At that thought Draco launched the book which he was about to pack across his room. With a loud thud the book hit his door, knocked it open, and then fell to the floor exposing beautiful sketches of a young girl amongst journal entries. His mother was standing in the now opened doorway watching him with a sad interest.
"If that was aimed at me, you are a lousy shot." She said with a soft smile. She still had her drink in her hand and had brought Draco his unfinished one. She extended his drink as a peace offering. "You're abusing the finest goblin scotch money can buy. Finish it. It will help take off the edge."
Draco stared at her a moment longer before accepting her offering. With a hand now free, Narcissa picked up the book exposed at her feet.
"Pretty, in a wild sort of way," she said, "who is she?"
There was no response from Draco.
"At any rate, these are very good. You have a lot of natural talent. Too bad your father was too proud to let you continue art classes. What was it he said when he made you end them?" She asked as she handed the book back to him.
"That no Malfoy son of his was going be to a sissy artist." Draco said dryly.
"Ahh yes, I remember now. That was when he had someone give you private flying lessons and tutor you in hexes and jinxes. If he would have taught you that himself, I wouldn't have minded it so much that you were already being trained to follow in his footsteps at eight years old." She said with bitterness.
"Did you ever love my father?"
Narcissa pondered this for a while before motioning to Draco if she could sit down. Draco always liked that she asks to enter his room. His father never showed him that respect. She took a set at the window bench while motioning for Draco to sit beside her. Both she and Draco continued to sip the goblin scotch while gazing out the window watching the grey clouds of a summer storm roll its way across the moor.
"I might have loved him once," she began slowly after drawing a long breath as she watched lightening flicker across the darkening sky. "But I haven't loved him for a long time. Your father and I grew up together so to speak. The Black family had always been close to the Malfoys. They had the same views on keeping wizarding blood pure. No one outside of your father's parents knew that he wasn't pureblood. It makes me laugh now to remember the hypocrisy your grandfather Quietus would spew about mixed blood or mudblood wizards being inferior, all the while his precious son was one of those he would belittle.
"Both families encourage any time that your father and I would spend together. He was very dashing in his youth, he still is I suppose, but now I know too much about him to notice his appeal. "We were very much like you and Pansy are now. I see how you are with her. How you whisper in her ear and softy kiss her neck. Your father did those very same things to me and I bet Pansy's knees go weak just as mine did.
"As I think back on it, it was our families that suggested we marry. They pointed out all of our qualities and how favorable it would be to have both families truly united. Our marriage was a business merger of two naïve children that ended up playing house for real.
"In a marriage in the wizarding world, you are bounded by magic to each other. To break that magic, both parties must want to end the marriage and you need at least three witnesses who were at your marriage to cast the charm to undo those vows. Your father would never allow that to happen. It would make him look bad. I know this because I've begged him to release me. He has been as distant and unloving to me as he has been to you.
"You are the only good thing that has come out of him, and it terrifies me to see you become some much like him. You have been my only light in my private hell. Did you know that I threatened to tell the Ministry about his stash of dark magic items when he wanted to send you to Durmstrang? That's why you went to Hogwarts; I couldn't bear to be alone."
By now, they had both finished their drinks. Draco now understood why his mother always carried an expression of distain upon her face. His father had chiseled it there with hateful words and vengeful manipulation. Both Draco and his mother's eyes remained dry; they had stop shedding tears over his father long ago.
"What was my real grandmother's name?" Draco inquired quietly.
"I don't remember, it is mentioned in the letters somewhere." Narcissa answered.
"Mother," Draco said in a soft voice, "If you hate him so much, why did you become a Death Eater with him? You like Muggle things; I never understood how you could encourage me to read Muggle literature when you would torture the same Muggles who wrote it."
"Oh my son," she sighed. "When the Dark Lord was becoming strong, your father saw an opportunity to gain power as well. Your father, my sister and her husband were already members. You don't refuse the Dark Lord's invitation to join his ranks if you want to live. When the Muggle torturing incident happened during the Quidditch World Cup, it would have looked too suspicious if I didn't join ranks with my fellow Death Eaters. I now had you to protect as well. Sometimes you had to do what you know is wrong just to survive."
This time tears swelled in his mother's eyes. Draco nodded softly in understanding. He knew all to well what it is like to be playing a part just to survive. He had been cast the staring role in his own private play of trying to be the son his father wanted him to be.
"Tomorrow we will leave for France. I'll leave you alone to think things over." Narcissa rose from her seat and kissed her son on his forehead Good night, my son." And with that she left Draco in his room.
As she stepped through the door, she paused. "Draco," she said without turning, "it will not be easy, but with your father away this is your only chance to have everything you really want from life."
Draco sighs and opens the journal still clutched in his hand. As he gently strokes the sketch of the girl he considers his mother had just said.
'Could she possibly mean you?' He wrote as he addressed the girl in the picture. 'Is this her way of giving me her blessing for me to...to see you, to talk to you, to touch you? I don't know...what do I want from you? I guess what I want is quite simple. I want to be able to look at you and talk to you with out you hating me, without feeling ashamed of myself and without worrying about what anyone else will say or think. I want to brush my tingling fingers against the soft palm of your hand. And I want to finally discover what you hair feels like against my skin—of course, without risk of you using the Severing Charm to remove my hand! But, most of all, I want you to want me back?'
Fat chance of that happening, he thought as he turned out the light to go to bed. He realized that he would be lucky to get away with his life after daring to touch her. Then he groaned and fell on the bed as he considered what an idiot he would look like in muggle clothes. Oh well, he thought, at least no one I know will see me.
There's the First chapter. Oh, by the way, this is my first fanfiction, ever. Please review, I need all the help I can get.
The Mad Madame
The Mad Madame
Draco's Awakening
Narcissa slowly ran her finger around the rim of her glass as she watched Draco strut around the study like a puffed up little toad. Lost in her own thoughts, she was half way listening to her only son spout nonsense about stepping into his father's shoes.
"Potter is not going to get away with putting my father in prison. The precious Boy Who Lived will fear the Malfoy. I will finish my father's work." Draco rants. "Potter won't feel so brave once I become a Death Eater."
She dimly hears him vowing to "finish father's work" and mumbling something about becoming a "Death Eater."
Death Eaters. Now that gets her full attention. She watches her son closer. He is the very image of his father. Strut, strut, strut. Mumble, mumble, mumble. Narcissa rolls her eyes and sighs, takes another sip of her half full glass of goblin scotch before she sits down her drink and begins to pour another. The light amber liquid swirled out of the decanter, into the cut crystal high ball glass, and splashed onto the ice cubes like ocean waves breaking over rocks.
"Have a seat, Draco," she said, "We need to talk."
"Mother, I already told you, I am not going to France with you to play Muggle dress- up!"
She just stared at him with a knowing tight little smile as she pushed the drink across the table toward him.
His eyes grew wide and he stopped in mid strut. Draco realized that this is the first time she had fixed him a drink. Draco calmly sized her up through wary eyes. This is new, uncharted territory—caution is a must.
"You are just like your father," she sighed, "Now sit down and stop running your ridiculous mouth. Between your jabbering and your pacing I am getting a headache. I have something important to tell you that may just make you stop and think twice about all your father's accomplishments."
"My father pulls that puppet Fudge's strings, Mother. He has more power than the Minister of Magic. Fudge does whatever my father tells him to do. What is there to think twice about that?"
Narcissa shot him a mincing stare that would freeze even the strongest fire whiskeys.
Draco plopped in the chair but his eyes remained guarded. "Well..." he invited, "let's hear what you have to say."
"Your father is a sham, Draco. He preaches pure blood this and pure blood that and you are fast down the road to becoming a miniature version of him."
Draco stuttered and started to protest.
"Don't interrupt. I am not done yet—in fact, I have not even begun!" Narcissa held up her hand in silence. "Think for a moment how your grandfather Malfoy liked to hunt wild game."
"Huh?" Draco questioned.
"Don't be an idiot, Draco. You are sixteen now, must I spell it out for you? Grandfather Quietus was quite the gamesman, though the game wasn't the traditional wild animal. The game he hunted was much softer in nature. Your grandfather had a Muggle girlfriend, a mistress to be exact." She triumphed with cold satisfaction. "Your father isn't pure-blood. Do you know what that means? YOU AREN'T EITHER!!"
Draco sprang from the chair as the reality of his mother's icy confession chilled his mind. "I DON'T BELIEVE YOU!" He shouted.
"I didn't believe it either," she explained in a distant tone frozen with contempt. "I found some letters hidden in the back of your father's safe. When I asked him about it he had no idea what I was talking about. So I asked your grandmother before she died, and she confirmed the contents of the letter. She said that Grandfather Quietus moved his pregnant mistress to one of the more secluded estates for the duration of the pregnancy. Once she gave birth to your father, your grandmother Oblivated your father's birth mother's memory and ordered your grandfather to stop seeing her. Once Grandfather Quietus complied, your grandmother graciously agreed to raise your father as her own. Your grandmother wanted a child but never wanted to be pregnant, so it worked out well for everyone involved. After your father graduated from Hogwarts, your grandfather died and left Lucius some letters explaining your father's linage. Do you want to know the best part?" she taunted as a feral grin and malicious gleam danced in her eyes, "Your father actually knows nothing about this because after he read the letters he performed Obliviate on himself!"
Draco sat in stunned silence as his mother's hollow laugh echoed through the room sounding oddly like a clock striking its final hour in the dead of night. Starring at his mother while struggling with disbelief and uncertainty, Draco tried to comprehend this madness that was just thrown in his face.
"...Why does he hate Muggles and mudbloods?"
"I don't know," she replied, "why do you?"
'I hate them because he does, because he taught me to hate them.' Draco thought. But Draco remembered there was one muggle-born that he would love to hate but somehow couldn't.
As she turned to leave to room she laughed lightly and said, "Maybe now you'll think twice before you call someone a mudblood." With that Draco sank deeply into the chair and brought the glass of goblin scotch to his lips and took a sip. The light amber liquid burned as it past his lips and slid down his throat. He could feel the alcohol begin to snake its warmth through his veins leaving behind a tingling sensation that numbed his body.
"I want to see the letters." Draco wishpered in a cold flat voice before she left.
"Very well then. Now go pack for France, and don't forget the Muggle clothes." Narcissa left Draco with his thoughts.
"Don't forget the Muggle clothes! Humph!" Draco snorted as he busily packed in his room. 'Who does she think she is? She has the gall to tell me that my father is' --- Draco couldn't bring himself to even think the word mudblood --- 'not pureblood and then say 'Go pack for France and don't forget the Muggle clothes!' How could she do this to me?? I HATE HER!!!'
At that thought Draco launched the book which he was about to pack across his room. With a loud thud the book hit his door, knocked it open, and then fell to the floor exposing beautiful sketches of a young girl amongst journal entries. His mother was standing in the now opened doorway watching him with a sad interest.
"If that was aimed at me, you are a lousy shot." She said with a soft smile. She still had her drink in her hand and had brought Draco his unfinished one. She extended his drink as a peace offering. "You're abusing the finest goblin scotch money can buy. Finish it. It will help take off the edge."
Draco stared at her a moment longer before accepting her offering. With a hand now free, Narcissa picked up the book exposed at her feet.
"Pretty, in a wild sort of way," she said, "who is she?"
There was no response from Draco.
"At any rate, these are very good. You have a lot of natural talent. Too bad your father was too proud to let you continue art classes. What was it he said when he made you end them?" She asked as she handed the book back to him.
"That no Malfoy son of his was going be to a sissy artist." Draco said dryly.
"Ahh yes, I remember now. That was when he had someone give you private flying lessons and tutor you in hexes and jinxes. If he would have taught you that himself, I wouldn't have minded it so much that you were already being trained to follow in his footsteps at eight years old." She said with bitterness.
"Did you ever love my father?"
Narcissa pondered this for a while before motioning to Draco if she could sit down. Draco always liked that she asks to enter his room. His father never showed him that respect. She took a set at the window bench while motioning for Draco to sit beside her. Both she and Draco continued to sip the goblin scotch while gazing out the window watching the grey clouds of a summer storm roll its way across the moor.
"I might have loved him once," she began slowly after drawing a long breath as she watched lightening flicker across the darkening sky. "But I haven't loved him for a long time. Your father and I grew up together so to speak. The Black family had always been close to the Malfoys. They had the same views on keeping wizarding blood pure. No one outside of your father's parents knew that he wasn't pureblood. It makes me laugh now to remember the hypocrisy your grandfather Quietus would spew about mixed blood or mudblood wizards being inferior, all the while his precious son was one of those he would belittle.
"Both families encourage any time that your father and I would spend together. He was very dashing in his youth, he still is I suppose, but now I know too much about him to notice his appeal. "We were very much like you and Pansy are now. I see how you are with her. How you whisper in her ear and softy kiss her neck. Your father did those very same things to me and I bet Pansy's knees go weak just as mine did.
"As I think back on it, it was our families that suggested we marry. They pointed out all of our qualities and how favorable it would be to have both families truly united. Our marriage was a business merger of two naïve children that ended up playing house for real.
"In a marriage in the wizarding world, you are bounded by magic to each other. To break that magic, both parties must want to end the marriage and you need at least three witnesses who were at your marriage to cast the charm to undo those vows. Your father would never allow that to happen. It would make him look bad. I know this because I've begged him to release me. He has been as distant and unloving to me as he has been to you.
"You are the only good thing that has come out of him, and it terrifies me to see you become some much like him. You have been my only light in my private hell. Did you know that I threatened to tell the Ministry about his stash of dark magic items when he wanted to send you to Durmstrang? That's why you went to Hogwarts; I couldn't bear to be alone."
By now, they had both finished their drinks. Draco now understood why his mother always carried an expression of distain upon her face. His father had chiseled it there with hateful words and vengeful manipulation. Both Draco and his mother's eyes remained dry; they had stop shedding tears over his father long ago.
"What was my real grandmother's name?" Draco inquired quietly.
"I don't remember, it is mentioned in the letters somewhere." Narcissa answered.
"Mother," Draco said in a soft voice, "If you hate him so much, why did you become a Death Eater with him? You like Muggle things; I never understood how you could encourage me to read Muggle literature when you would torture the same Muggles who wrote it."
"Oh my son," she sighed. "When the Dark Lord was becoming strong, your father saw an opportunity to gain power as well. Your father, my sister and her husband were already members. You don't refuse the Dark Lord's invitation to join his ranks if you want to live. When the Muggle torturing incident happened during the Quidditch World Cup, it would have looked too suspicious if I didn't join ranks with my fellow Death Eaters. I now had you to protect as well. Sometimes you had to do what you know is wrong just to survive."
This time tears swelled in his mother's eyes. Draco nodded softly in understanding. He knew all to well what it is like to be playing a part just to survive. He had been cast the staring role in his own private play of trying to be the son his father wanted him to be.
"Tomorrow we will leave for France. I'll leave you alone to think things over." Narcissa rose from her seat and kissed her son on his forehead Good night, my son." And with that she left Draco in his room.
As she stepped through the door, she paused. "Draco," she said without turning, "it will not be easy, but with your father away this is your only chance to have everything you really want from life."
Draco sighs and opens the journal still clutched in his hand. As he gently strokes the sketch of the girl he considers his mother had just said.
'Could she possibly mean you?' He wrote as he addressed the girl in the picture. 'Is this her way of giving me her blessing for me to...to see you, to talk to you, to touch you? I don't know...what do I want from you? I guess what I want is quite simple. I want to be able to look at you and talk to you with out you hating me, without feeling ashamed of myself and without worrying about what anyone else will say or think. I want to brush my tingling fingers against the soft palm of your hand. And I want to finally discover what you hair feels like against my skin—of course, without risk of you using the Severing Charm to remove my hand! But, most of all, I want you to want me back?'
Fat chance of that happening, he thought as he turned out the light to go to bed. He realized that he would be lucky to get away with his life after daring to touch her. Then he groaned and fell on the bed as he considered what an idiot he would look like in muggle clothes. Oh well, he thought, at least no one I know will see me.
There's the First chapter. Oh, by the way, this is my first fanfiction, ever. Please review, I need all the help I can get.
The Mad Madame