a/n: omg, i've always wanted to read about the Black sisters during their time at Hogwarts (and if anyone has suggestions for fanfics, i'd love to hear them so definitely hit me up) so i guess that's where this stemmed from — and wanting to show a bit of Narcissa's character development rather than have her 'only redeemable quality being her great love for Draco' (which i guess it is in this story). anyways, hope anyone who reads this has a great day. xx grace
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1 September 1966
"Cissy, how do you expect to make friends when you can barely manage to keep up with us?" Bella shouted from ahead of her, flicking her long ebony locks over her shoulder as Narcissa hustled to keep up with her two sisters, large trunk carried in tow.
Dromeda sent her a sheepish smile, whispering something to Bella with a frown, and the latter merely laughed sardonically in response.
Narcissa held onto the clasp in front of her robes, smiling when she remembered how her mother had helped her fit into these Twilfitt and Tattings in the summer. She had stroked her abnormally dark blonde hair in a motherly fashion and told her to keep her chin up, for Hogwarts was the only adventure before the life of a pureblood wife.
Andromeda made sure to take a hold of her bicep, pulling her along the smokey platform at King's Cross and telling her to keep up. No one would ever wait for dawdling girls.
Narcissa heaved as she brought her trunk up, following her two older sisters to find an empty compartment. Bella was busy chatting up Stuart Craggy, a fifth year, besides a sliding door, batting her eyelashes and touching his forearms slightly.
"Bella, if you'd quit flirting, we'd like to move onto more appropriate matters," Dromeda drawled, barely sparing the amorous couple a second glance as she herded Narcissa to a compartment across from a bunch of Ravenclaws. The blonde gulped down her fears and glided into a seat, smoothing her hands over the skirt and crossing them over her legs politely, as she watched the train begin to move past the platform.
Bella managed to walk in minutes later, blowing on her fingernails as she entered the compartment, slamming the door shut and sitting across from Narcissa, and propping her legs up to stretch them out over the seat.
"Had a good time, did you?" Dromeda pressed, scowling at her sister.
"Piss off, Andy," Bella snapped. "Craggy's just a bit of harmless fun. Don't get your knickers in a twist." She darkly laughed before continuing. "Plus, we wouldn't want our dearest Cissy here not to know about how to wrap a boy around your finger. Especially if she's going to be learning from you."
"It's called being promiscuous, Cissy," Andromeda chirped again, pointedly gazing harshly at their older sister. "Nothing more to it."
"No, it's called having charm," Bella supplied. "Not that you would know much. How many friends do you have again — one? At least, it's a better count than your mere zero during the first two years of your schooling, is it not?"
Andromeda jutted her chin out, turned her head towards the window, and didn't talk the rest of the ride to Hogwarts.
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December 1967
"Rita Skeeter is a right bitch, she is," Bella chirped as Narcissa sat on her bed, watching her older sister with envy.
She'd always thought Bellatrix to be naturally stunning, with luscious locks and curvy hips and just the right amount of skin peeking from her Slytherin robes at school. Even Andromeda, who'd rather spend her days alone, had natural curls and a great complexion. But Narcissa had flaxen-like and flat hair, dull skin, and no idea how to accomplish her goals with the amount of elegance as her oldest sister.
"Who's that?" Narcissa asked with curiosity, wanting to absorb all the information about the older Slytherin girls.
"No one worth knowing, Cissy. Honestly, she has the appeal of a dung beetle." Bella threw her head back and laughed, curls splayed out across her pillow in a halo. "She snatched my locket right off my chest before winter hols, tore the sucker from the chain. Skeeter has it coming for her after break, Cissy. Never let anyone think they can mess with a Black sister. If you learn anything from me, let it be that."
Bella threw a peach into the air, blasting it to smithereens with her wand, smirking at the sight and twirling the wood between her fingers afterwards.
Narcissa nodded, blinking as she watched the vein in her sister's jaw pulse heatedly as another fruit went tumbling into the air.
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February 1969
The paths at Hogwarts began to dull down to a melted slush; the air of spring engulfing the outside with a fresh crisp of flower scented strolls (paired with allergies) and precocious students humming to the sound of baby blue birds.
Narcissa was busy walking back to the dungeons, books clutched in hands when she saw her sisters fighting beside an empty alcove. She slowed her pace to listen in the conversation, ears perched.
"You better break up with the Mudblood before I tell mummy," Bella hissed towards Andromeda.
"Don't tell me what to do, Bella. You may have Cis wrapped around your finger, but I can handle myself."
"Oh, and dating a filthy little Hufflepuff Mudblood is handling yourself? Good to know that all these years, when I thought I had a second sister, I was dead wrong."
"I love him, Bella," Andromeda whispered, and the glassy stains of tears glossed down her cheeks. "He's. . . not a filthy Muggle-born. And if you loved me, you would understand."
Bella grabbed Andromeda's neck, slamming her against the cobblestone walls and Narcissa felt her heart clench tightly.
"He's a dirty animal, Andy. He's barely half a wizard. You disgust me," she hissed with venom. "Have fun shagging your Mudblood, you slag. Because when I tell Mother of your disgusting exploits this summer, he's going to be the only one you have left, you blood traitor."
"And what are you going to do this summer? Marry off to that pretentious little Lestrange heir and inherit your Gringotts' bank account from mum and dad to go and send it off to Voldemort, are you? Don't think I haven't noticed, Bella. How you hang around those people. The people who pride themselves in following a homicidal maniac who—"
"Never speak ill of him!" Bellatrix gripped tighter around her neck, looming in closer.
"Let me go, Bella!"
"I already did, sister. I already did," Bella whispered, releasing her grip. "Toujours pur, Andy."
Narcissa's older sister slammed Andromeda's head into the walls once more before stalking off, robes billowing behind her.
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July 1970
"I'm leaving, Narcissa," Andromeda whispered, her features masked by the darkness encompassing the room.
Narcissa shot up, rubbing the sleepiness out of her eyes. "Where?"
"Me and Ted, we're leaving. We're going to start a life, Cissy."
"What — why?"
"Mum and dad know. It was either this or watch them kill him."
"Please don't leave me here. Take me with you. I promise, I can clean or cook or learn how to fold clothes properly. Dromeda, take me with you."
"I love you, you know that right?" Andromeda mumbled, moving forward to hug Narcissa tightly. "You'll be a beautiful young woman. You're going to make a lot of boys swoon, you know that?"
"Why are you doing this, Andromeda?" Narcissa asked quietly.
Her sister sighed before replying, "He's the light in my life. One day, you'll find your light, Cissa. And they'll lead you out of this darkness. Promise me that you'll hold onto to it when the time comes."
"I promise."
"Stay safe, sister."
Andromeda gave a final smile and tucked a lock of blonde hair behind Narcissa's ear before turning around and scurrying out the latter's bedroom.
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November 1971
Narcissa Black talked to Lucius Malfoy for the very first time eight weeks into her sixth year.
He was a year older, devilishly handsome — with long blond hair and eyes that sparkled every time he smirked. Malfoy offered to take her on his Nimbus around the school at night, practically oozing self-confidence as he told her he'd like to have a pretty girl like her on his back.
He managed to snog her in a broom cupboard two weeks after that. But the next day, after kissing her senseless, he cleared his throat and told her of his plan to properly court her, if she would allow it. Narcissa flushed and smiled.
Lucius met her parents that Christmas and besides the raised eyebrow from her father and Bella's cackling, they received the approval to be together, as future husband and wife.
They began openly dating mid-way through her sixth year. He would walk her to class, kiss her on the cheek, and offer her his hand during bustling crowds. He was an absolute gentlemen, with true intentions and chaste kisses, besides the time he stole her breath in an old cupboard as their first encounter.
For the first time since her birth, Narcissa felt loved and appreciated, by a man who would buy her endless streams of jewellery and show her off to all his friends. She played the part of a perfect girlfriend and soon-to-be fiancée, pretending to giggle at his jokes and coo over his hair.
She ignored the dark feeling that encompassed her when she returned home to see the scorched face of her sister the family tapestry, gone without even a note to their parents the summer after her seventh year, and watch her oldest practically canoodling with the Dark Lord's followers.
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March 1972
"Hi, Lucius," Narcissa said with a smile, leaning down to kiss him briefly on the cheek as he sat with his friends.
"Cissa, I looked for you this morning," Lucius replied, lacing his fingers with hers.
"Studying with Parkinson, sorry about that," she replied curtly.
"No problem, love. Can I meet you somewhere in a little bit? I'm in the middle of something."
Lucius looked weary as he glanced back towards his cronies with a tilt of his blond head, where Evan Rosier smiled predatorily, his arm tossed over the shoulder of a black-haired and crooked-nosed first year, and Crabbe sat beside Goyle, faces void of any emotion.
In all honesty, Narcissa abhorred his friends — pure leeches they were, who spent their time lurking after hours around the castle and terrorising younger students just because they could. She never really expressed her opinion though, instead gifted tight-lipped smiles towards the people her betrothed considered friends.
"Of course, by the lake after lunch?" Narcissa asked, smiling prettily.
Lucius nodded once before returning back to his friends, leaning in to whisper something.
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December 1972
"What do you mean you're joining them?" Narcissa snapped, pulling away her hand from her fiancé in a fit of rage.
"Cissa. . . my father. He's known since he was in school. I've been raised to do this. Just let me do this," Lucius gulped, giving her a sad smile. "Then the world will become a better place, for you, for us, for our future child. I love you so much, do you know that? I'd do anything to protect you. Even this."
"If you love me, you wouldn't be signing yourself off to a war not worth fighting."
"It is worth fighting." Lucius growled slightly, turning his head to clench his jaw. "All those Mudbloods and Half-bloods don't deserve to practice magic — they don't deserve to be in the same world as us. Bloody cretins, they are. Tainting London and the Ministry every time a new spawn is born."
Narcissa placed her palm against his scruffy cheek. "I never said the cause wasn't worth fighting for. I'm saying it's not worth losing you to."
"Cissa, you'd never lose me."
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August 1973
'I named her Nymphadora; she's got the most beautiful eyes.'
Narcissa tucked the picture of her niece in her locked drawer on her dresser, shucked off her white dress, and made love to her husband for the first time that night.
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March 1976
"I'm sorry."
"You have nothing to be sorry for, Cissa."
"I'm sorry I can't do the one thing that women are supposed to be able to do. I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. I'm sorry."
"Sh, it's okay. We can try again."
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June 1980
She'd named him Draco after the constellation that guarded the apples with his life, coiling around to protect the lush garden from enemies.
He was her star — coming out in a pale yellow blanket, bundled to the brim, grey eyes wide and a head full of white-blond hair already. His chubby fingers curled unconsciously around Narcissa's forefinger, gazing up at him with so much innocence and fragility, all she wanted to do was protect him just as well. Her light.
"Hello, honey," she cooed, bouncing him slightly upwards. "Who is it? Is it mummy? Huh, Draco? Is that daddy?"
His mouth made a tiny 'o' as he gurgled some more. Lucius stood beside, hand placed gruffly on her shoulder as he beamed down at his son with so much pride, it nearly took up the entire room.
"My Draco. My love. My light."
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November 1981
"Is it over, Lucius?" she spoke into the dead buzzing of the night, wrapping the sheets tightly around her body as she stared at the figure beside the foyer of the door. Her eyes travelled to Draco's crib at the end of the room, where he slumbered through the dark, shining quietly.
"Yes, Cissa, it's over."
Narcissa nodded. "And Bella?"
Lucius gave a wry smile before shaking his head once to say no. Her barrier to the unshed tears broke as she placed a hand on her mouth, restraint breaking away thunderously as her sobs wracked forward.
Her husband glided towards her, taking her body in his arms in an attempt to soothe her anguish.
"It's okay, Cissa." He gently stroked her hair, and she wondered how someone who's killed people with his bare hands can be so gentle and loving. How can she love a murderer? How can she love the father of her child more than she loves herself? "We're okay."
She shook her head with a firm decision. "She's my sister. I already lost one of them."
"We can still make a life together, Narcissa," he whispered. "You, me, Draco. Just like we always wanted. I'd give you the world if you'd ask. Ask me, Narcissa. Ask."
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September 1991
"Draco, did you finish packing your trunk?" Narcissa yelled from the bottom of the spiral staircase.
"Yes, Mother! Dobby finished hours ago." Narcissa saw the boy dart from his bathroom to his room, scurrying down the corridor with his dark green robes flowing behind him. He had his training broom in hand, with his toiletries in the other as he made his way down the hall.
"Then come downstairs and eat your oats. You need the energy for today, darling."
Draco hustled down the stairs, hopping one at a time, with a bright smile on his face.
"I can't wait till I'm going to be in Slytherin and play on the Quidditch team and meet Uncle Sev in Potion's," he babbled on as Narcissa led him to the dining room. "Is it true what they say about the Great Hall? How it changes the ceiling?"
"Yes it's true, and you better not embarrass your godfather, Draco. Keep it to yourself that you know him from family. Treat him as a respectable Professor, as well."
"Okay, Mother. Is Father coming to drop me off?"
Narcissa smoothed a hand over his gelled hair, courtesy of his biggest Quidditch idol for Puddlemere, and he scrunched his nose before swatting her hand away.
"He can't make it, sweetheart. He has business with the Ministry this morning."
Draco looked away and pouted, for besides the sports star he loved — he'd rather be appreciated by his dad the most.
"I'm coming, Draco," Narcissa finished.
"It's not the same," Draco mumbled, hopping on the chair to sluggishly eat his bowl of oats and honey, while his excitement diminished.
"I love you, Draco," Narcissa reminded him.
"I know, Mother. Who wouldn't love me?" Draco gave her a fox grin before laughing brightly again.
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September 1993
Lucius slammed the piece of parchment paper on the long wooden dining table, barely thinking clearly enough to treat the Owl that just delivered the message from Draco.
"There was an attack," he gritted out, fist clenching over the paper before he shoved it towards Narcissa.
"Cool your temper, Lucius," Narcissa calmly warned. "I'll not be treated as such in our home."
"Draco's been attacked by a hippogriff, under the care of that oaf who's become a professor. Some Mudblood had the barest amount of intelligence to force the idiot to take Draco to the hospital — at least their kind is good for something."
Narcissa immediately stood up, grabbing the letter from her son to quickly glance over his elegant script.
"Who's responsible for this?" she whispered.
"The Care of Magical Creatures Professor, the imbecile. Who does he think he is? Just because I've lost my position as school governor doesn't mean he won't be reprimanded."
"What are you going to do about this?" Narcissa snapped her eyes up to stare at her husband.
"He's going to pay, Cissa. The joke of the Professor and the bloody creature. Both of them."
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June 1996
"He's just a boy, Bella! He's just a boy! He's my son. How could you — why would you even?"
"Think of it as a little reminder as to why Lucius shouldn't have royally messed things up and ended up in Azkaban."
"Don't talk ill of my husband, Bella. You're treading on thin ice."
"Does it hurt to know that Lucius himself recommended Draco as the one to complete this?" Bella taunted darkly, pushing her hair out of her face and tapping her wand on the edge of her dress.
"You're sick, sister," Narcissa snapped. "He's 16. He doesn't deserve the weight of the world on his shoulders."
Bella grabbed her chin patronisingly tapping at the milky skin before laughing. "All the better. The young Malfoy should be glad they've chosen someone so young and tender to complete the mission of the Dark Lord. It's an honour."
"He's just a boy, Bella, please."
"He's the Dark Lord's boy now, Cissy."
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July 1996
"Aunt Bella's been teaching me Occulmency, mum," Draco mumbled in her shoulder, her hands reaching out to stroke his back after a particular run in with Fenrir Greyback that left him anxious and scared. "It's okay. I'll be okay."
"I love you, Draco. You know that, right?"
"I know, Mother, I know."
She hoped that when she kissed his hair, his angelic hair would absorb her tears.
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July 1997
Bella's voice darkly resonated through the air, her wand pointed shamelessly at her nephew, the aftereffects of the spell still flaming through the hall.
"Bella, please! Stop this!" Narcissa shouted, standing stock-still as she watched her son writhe in pain from the Crucio placed on him.
"He lowered his wand, Cissy. A coward needs to know his place."
Narcissa gulped, her hands twitching to reach for her own wand in the pocket of her cloak, but by the tone of her older sister's voice, she kept her hands at her side.
Draco groaned softly, moving his head to stare directly at his mother, shaking his head to motion for Narcissa not to do anything.
He smiled — and for a second, Narcissa saw the flash of acceptance and relief and happiness, as if he understood that he deserved this punishment.
It struck Narcissa to the core.
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May 1998
There was the tangy taste of blood ringing through the air in a swirl of humidity. Narcissa grabbed her wand and her son's hand, dragging him away from the battle before God forbid, a flash of green light hit him straight in the chest as well.
"Mother, wait!" Draco called out, removing his hand from her grip.
"Draco, we have to get out of here before the Dark Lord finds we're leaving, follow me," Narcissa breathed out between pants.
"I want to fight," he mumbled, glancing over his shoulder towards the tumultuous battle occurring behind them.
"I will not allow you to fight for the man who's been the reason for the killing of my sister, Draco. No arguments."
"I want to fight for Potter." Narcissa watched as his Adam's apple bobbed up on his neck, his silence providing the tacit plea for approval from his mother.
"No!" Narcissa finally yelled, grabbing his hand. "I can't lose you. Not you, too."
He gently broke away, grabbing her shoulders before swiftly kissing her on the cheek. "I'll be back, Mother. Get out of here before he finds you."
Narcissa bit her lip as she watched her only son, clad with dirt-smudged cheeks and flopped-over blond hair, run back into battle, his figure lurching into the shadows among evil.
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November 1998
"You don't understand, Father!" Draco yelled out, slamming his cup back into the dining table.
Narcissa closed her eyes and winced, dropping her fork back onto her plate in solemn.
"No, I don't understand how you would ever want to work for a Ministry that's been the single perpetrator in taking away over half our fortune and rummaging through our house like we're some common thieves. The single perpetrator in holding me hostage under my own house for the next thirty years!"
"In case you've forgotten, Father, but Voldemort was living and leeching off our house for over a year. I don't blame them for checking in on our house to make sure we're not helping manifest another mass murderer!" Draco's silver eyes were deathly cold when keeping his gaze steady on his father, not letting his unshed tears flow through.
"All my fortune, gone because of the Ministry! And you want to go do, what? File some papers like a plebeian? I've taught you better, Draco."
"No, you taught me how to become a Death Eater. That's all you ever did! Don't even try to deny it," Draco gritted out. "It was never about me — it was about the mindless soldier I could become."
"That's not true, son. I did everything to protect you."
"How did you protect me? You were in Azkaban during the worst year of my life. I became a Death Eater at 16, Father, and that's not even the worst part. The worst part was that I actually wanted to become one. I wanted to watch people die at the power of my wand. I wanted to rid the world of people who I learned are equal to us. I wanted to become you."
"Don't you dare talk to me like that in my house, boy! I am still head of the Malfoy house, and you better treat me like one!" Lucius slammed his hand down on the table in finality, but Draco didn't even flinch.
Her son merely softly chuckled, running his tongue on the interior of his mouth. "We have nothing anymore, not even the pleasure of our last name being honest — and that's the only thing in this world that really matters. And that's all thanks to you, Father. The least I could do is help the Ministry that helped me realise my mistake of wanting to follow in my father's footsteps."
Their hall retreated into a terse silence again, the only sound being the dull scraping of forks on plates.
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August 1999
Narcissa waited for Draco in her spare tea room, watching the clock tick past midnight, with no sign of his return home from where he said he would be — in the Zabini's Manor playing a game of pickup Quidditch. She checked his room earlier to find all three of his brooms still stacked in an immaculate order beside his closet, no sign of them ever going to be used that day.
When the sound of the floo finally went off near three in the morning, Narcissa slipped on her silk robe, tying it tightly before rushing to catch him before he slipped into his room.
The halls of the Malfoy Manor, still recovering from the scars of its past, lay in an eerie silence, with contours shadowing the forever silent portraits of ancestors.
She saw him slowly glide up the stairs, as a majestic animal would while hunting its prey, his robe hanging off his forearm and his hair messily tousled on top of his head. He gave a small smile when he reached the top of the stairs, stalking closer to greet her.
"Where've you been, Draco?" Narcissa eagerly pounded when his figure came close enough.
"Out, Mother," he replied easily, turning his neck to gift a kiss on Narcissa's cheek. "Shouldn't you be asleep? What are you doing up so late? You know what the Mediwitch said about getting your proper rest."
And that's when she saw it, the tell-tale sign of his rendezvous, sitting brazenly on the spot underneath his jaw, in a splotch of purple. He didn't even think to Glamour it before coming home to hide his amorous affairs.
"Out with a whore? Or out with Blaise?" Narcissa retorted.
Draco looked like he had been slapped, his hand going to cover the spot on his neck that Narcissa glared at, before replying, "Don't lecture me, mother, I am of age to be conducting my own matters on my own terms."
"If conducting your own affairs is an insinuation to you buying yourself prostitutes on the side of Knockturn, this better stop now. What little inheritance you have left is being put to shambles, the way you're spending it."
He narrowed his eyes, lifting on his blond eyebrows up elegantly. "I'm not spending my money on that, mother."
"Then who is it? Who's the girl?"
"Why does it matter?" he replied, more questioningly than with a tinge of sarcasm.
"Because you're supposed to carry on your father's name with pride! And if you're slumming down with a Half-blood, I'd like to know!"
"The war ended a year ago, Mother. Better save those remarks for private discussions if you're going to still be thinking like that," Draco replied smoothly. "Blood doesn't matter to me anymore, and it shouldn't matter to you either. You saw firsthand what those thoughts did to your murderous sister."
Narcissa ignored the jibe on her sister and continued, "So, I was right? You're using Blaise as an excuse to have sex with someone not worth the Malfoy name? What happened to Astoria Greengrass? You guys went out merely a month ago!"
Draco ignored her question, jaw clenched as he stalked past her to enter his room.
"Draco! I am your mother! And you shall treat me with respect and answer my question, for Merlin's sake!"
He turned around at the foyer of his room, spinning on his heels to gift her a look full of pity.
"The Malfoy name doesn't mean shite anymore. You should know that."
"Who is the girl?" Narcissa repeated again, eyes flashing with fury.
"Granger."
As much as she'd try to deny it, Narcissa had a sinking feeling it was her. Even after the war, when Draco went and shook hands with Potter for the first time, thanking him for defeating Voldemort and for getting them out of Azkaban, his eyes lingered on the witch behind Potter with a certain look on his face. She couldn't pinpoint when it exactly happened, but everyday, the fact seemed more clear to her eyes. Her son was in love with the very person he had grown up to hate.
Last month, she had read the news that Draco and Potter had attended one of the Quidditch matches together alongside Potter's friends, and he had come home that night with a lovesick grin on his face and a nervous stutter when Narcissa asked him how it was.
Narcissa gaped at her son, walking up to him and slapping him straight across the face. Draco didn't make a sound as he stood there regally, a red handprint marking the same side of his face that had a prominent love bite peeking through.
"You will end your relationship with the Mudblood before I tell your father and have you disowned for even thinking about her in that way," she hissed.
"He doesn't scare me anymore, Mother," Draco whispered. "Neither do your threats. You can tell him if you want."
"End it, Draco."
Draco didn't reply as he walked into his room and gently shut the door with no other sound being emanated from his side of the barrier.
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September 1999
Narcissa winced when she heard her husband's booming voice resonating through the corridor, right from Draco's room in the west wing.
"—a Malfoy doesn't sully themselves with a—"
"—don't you dare call her that—"
There was more shouting, a ruffling and a crash, and then silence. A scary type of silence, when all the good and bad in the world came to a pact of neutrality.
She heard stomping down the stairs before Lucius walked into their room, anger flushing through his face as he sat down on the opposite side of the bed.
"He left," Lucius said firmly. Even thought her husband hadn't specified, they both knew. He was gone for good. Her Draco. Her son. Her light.
Narcissa didn't reply as she merely got underneath the covers and fluttered her eyes shut, wishing for something to take her away from the darkening clouds.
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January 2000
Draco had finally replied to her Owls after months of ignoring her — apologies and all. They sat across from each other at a nearby Parisian cafe in the Wizarding World. Narcissa ignored the dirty stares from bystanders as her forefinger swirled across the rim of the her lukewarm tea.
"How is she?" Narcissa finally said as she broke the silence.
Draco scoffed, leaning back in his chair before saying, "Don't pretend like you care about her well-being."
"Don't be cross with me, Draco," Narcissa whispered. "I'm trying here. The least you could do is meet me halfway."
Her son looked like he was about to sprint about of the establishment, but he merely exhaled loudly before speaking.
"She's fine, great actually, better than ever, just peachy," Draco sarcastically drawled. "You know, after reading the threats regarding her safety, courtesy of my father — sent every single week since I left the Manor."
"I — I'm sorry about those," Narcissa muttered. "I tried to get him not to send those and—"
He raised a hand to stop her. "I didn't come here to hear excuses, Mother. What do you want?"
Narcissa gazed up from the rippling top in her tea, trying to muster up all the power in her throat to speak. "I want my son back, Draco. Please come home."
"I'm nineteen. I don't need to be mollycoddled, anymore. I'm just fine with where I live at the moment."
"Then, please accept my apology."
"I did, didn't I? I'm meeting you here, aren't I?" Draco's features relaxed into a blank one, and she knew him too well to realise he was pushing her away. Her son was pushing her away. It hurt more than she'd care to admit.
"Draco," was all she managed to say, her voice cracking from the sheer effort it took. "Please."
"I forgive you," he said firmly.
His words were swallowed by the engulfing silence.
"I want to meet her, Draco," Narcissa said. "Give me a chance to apologise to her, as well."
He looked weary as he bore his eyes back into hers, before finally saying minutes later, "If you say anything about her blood or me slumming down, I won't hesitate to choose." Draco paused and licked his lips. "Don't make me choose, Mother. Because you know the outcome already."
Narcissa nodded vigorously and sipped at her drink, hiding her watery smile behind the teacup.
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October 2003
"We named him Leo, Mother. After the Black tradition," Draco said pleasantly, holding the one in question on his chest. His son's head leaned against his collarbone, stirring in his sleep as Draco smiled gently down at the baby.
Hermione stood beside Draco, beaming up at the two boys with mirth.
"And the Gryffindor house emblem," Hermione fake whispered towards Narcissa, leaning in to say it.
"I refuse to accept that," Draco said while pouting. "Pure Slytherin, she is — pretended as if the name Leo had something to do with the constellation, and five minutes after we signed his birth certificate, Granger began bursting into giggles at the fact that a Malfoy was named after a lion. Conniving little witch."
Hermione smirked, and Narcissa couldn't help but crane her head back and laugh, shooting her daughter-in-law a sly wink.
"Can I hold him?" Narcissa asked, gazing lovingly at the boy.
Draco nodded, releasing his grip on the child as he handed him over towards her. Her grandson had a head full of brown curls already like his mother, with his skin glowing alabaster just like his father.
"He's gorgeous," Narcissa cooed, rubbing her hands down the back of his soft navy top. "He looks exactly like you, Hermione."
"Hey! He has my eyes, mother, wait till he opens them," Draco defended.
Hermione reached out to hold Draco's hand before saying, "Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy. Draco's just mad that my genes were a bit stronger, not to brag or anything." She shot another sly look at Draco.
Draco reached out to pinch her cheek, wrapping his arms around his wife's shoulders and burying his face in her hair when she let out a squeal.
Narcissa smiled and looked down once again at Leo, kissing his head softly.
He shined through the dark.
His lustre. His shimmer. His flickering beams.
And she knew.
Leo was Draco's light.