Looks like this will end up being a four-parter. I sort of underestimated...on the other hand, I had an idea for a companion piece, if this turns out okay.
And thanks to everyone who reviewed: L.A.H.H., Oracle92, Monologuing at a Mirror (awesome pen name), flamingbunnies, RemmyBlack, JoStone and Discord in the Garden.
Narcissa met Draco on Platform Nine and Three Quarters at the start of Easter holidays. He greeted her with a smile. Pleasantly surprised, Narcissa smiled back.
"How is Hogwarts?"
His smile didn't fade. "I'll tell you more when we get home."
He filled her in on his classes (full marks in Potions, Dark Arts, Charms and Muggle Studies, with high grades in nearly everything else) and his responsibilities as Head Boy. Narcissa filled in the blanks with information gleaned from his coded letters and the few messages he'd sent with his Patronus. Potions was still his favorite class, and Charms was much easier now that he had mastered the Patronus. He was guaranteed good grades in Dark Arts and Muggle Studies; the Death Eaters teaching them were obliged to help one of their own. He wasn't Head Boy for any reason other than the Mark on his arm. Draco knew it, and the other students knew it, too.
"They're a sulky bunch," he said, sipping his tea. "Glare at anyone who looks at them funny. Pansy and I've had our hands full dealing with them."
Narcissa forced a knowing smile, hoping it didn't resemble a grimace. Problem students—most frequently half-bloods—got detention with a Slytherin or another pureblood who needed practice with the Cruciatus Curse. His letters had hinted at his dislike of performing the curse, and the hollow look in his eyes confirmed it.
"You're getting it down though, aren't you?" Lucius asked with a slight frown. "It's an important skill to learn."
Draco nodded. "Oh, yes. The Carrows say I'm improving every day."
"That's my boy!" Bellatrix crowed.
"Yeah, I found a tutor. Been helping me get it down."
Narcissa set her teacup on her saucer and looked at him in surprise. "A tutor? Who?"
He smiled. "Name's Asteria Greengrass. One of the best in her year. Certainly the best in her House."
"You needed a tutor?" Bellatrix sounded horrified.
Lucius had other concerns. "She's not a Slytherin?"
Draco took a swallow of tea. "Ravenclaw. Fifth year prefect. Volunteers for detentions more than any of her Housemates."
"Is she pretty?" Narcissa asked. Bellatrix kicked her under the parlor table.
Draco laughed. "Don't know if pretty is the word I'd use. I mean, she is a Ravenclaw. But she's passable."
Narcissa couldn't help smiling at the lie. Her son's smile—genuine for the first time in months—revealed the truth: Asteria Greengrass was beautiful.
For the next four days, Lucius seemed determined to learn every detail of his son's past few months at Hogwarts—particularly the doings of a group that called itself Dumbledore's Army.
"They haven't caused you too much trouble, have they?"
Draco shook his head. "Toward the beginning of the year, they put graffiti up on all the walls—"Dumbledore's Army, Still Recruiting"—but they're gone now. Made them scrub it off the way Muggles do."
Lucius winced, then laughed. "I'd say that taught them."
"That's what I thought, but we've had more detentions than ever lately. No graffiti, but the same spirit."
"Have the Carrows found who's in charge?"
"If Longbottom isn't in charge, he's pretty high up in the ranks, Amycus says."
Lucius laughed, and Narcissa moved from the armchair to the parlor sofa. Closer to the doorway, she could better hear what they were saying in the next room. "Longbottom? Honestly! Could Amycus choose anyone more unlikely?"
"That's what I say, but Longbottom's stubborn. Amycus says he must be up to something, with that perseverance. I think he's covering for someone more competent, but he's caused a nasty bit of trouble for us along the way."
There was a faint note of respect in his tone. Lucius would likely brush it off as the grudging admiration of a clever foe—perfectly normal, and completely acceptable in their circle.
"What does Severus think?"
"Hasn't said much one way or the other."
Narcissa smiled to herself. Draco was following the Headmaster's lead.
The Easter holidays passed too quickly. From the few minutes she had with him, Narcissa gathered that Asteria Greengrass had gotten him involved with Dumbledore's Army; that Neville Longbottom was indeed in charge; and that when the Carrows weren't watching, the Cruciatus Curse was surprisingly easy to fake. Thanks to the illusion of cruelty the deception created, Draco had gained esteem in the eyes of the Carrows and the Headmaster.
"None of the other teachers are too keen on students using it," he told her, "but they're just as powerless as I am, so their opinion doesn't count for much."
"Cruciatus Curse still used on students," she told Andromeda through her Patronus. "Resistance continues, despite risks. Dumbledore's Army thriving. Potter has not been caught or seen. Dark Lord assumes he still lives."
On Friday evening, Narcissa sank into her favorite armchair in the drawing room and opened a book. For the first time since June, she allowed herself the luxury of reading it; Lucius, too, was reading, and Draco had his homework fanned out on the table in front of him. There was no information to absorb, no secrets to ingest, so she accepted the opportunity to relax with quiet pleasure. The grandfather clock in the hall ticked away the minutes, and the sky behind the windows faded to a deep blue-black.
Three sharp knocks sounded at the door. Narcissa jumped, nearly dropping her book. Draco swore; a large ink stain blotted out several words in the center of his parchment.
The visitor knocked again.
Lucius started to rise, but Narcissa was already on her feet. A few quick steps and she flung the door wide.
Light flooded the front step, illuminating Fenrir Greyback, Scabior, and five prisoners. Narcissa blinked, hoping her eyes deceived her. "What is this?"
Greyback stepped forward. "We are here to see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"
Narcissa took them in at a glance: three Snatchers, a goblin, a boy she didn't recognize, and the one boy she least wanted to see on her front step. "Who are you?"
But she already knew.
It was a disaster from beginning to end.
Narcissa hadn't expected any differently, but the blow was still stunning. Whether it ended in victory or defeat depended on one's perspective.
The prisoners were gone, every one of them stolen from the mansion's cellar by Dobby. After dropping the chandelier on Hermione Granger and suffering a blow from Bellatrix, he escaped with Harry Potter, the latter having possession of every wand but Narcissa's. For the Order and its allies, the night ended in tragic victory. And had Bellatrix refrained from summoning the Dark Lord, the entire mess could have been swept under the rug.
He knew before he arrived, somehow, that Harry Potter was missing. Perhaps it was the looks of shock worn by everyone, or the fact that the cellar was empty. Maybe it was his strange, oft denied connection with the Boy Who Lived. Or maybe he simply assumed that whenever Draco was involved, plans had a tendency to go awry. It must have been the last, Narcissa decided. Why else would he blame her son?
"How dare you!" he had cried, long strides closing the distance between him and Draco. "How dare you let him escape!"
Draco swayed slightly, but stayed rooted to the floor, as though claiming his territory. "I-I didn't call you, my lord."
"I don't care who called me; I care that I am here and Harry Potter is not!" He waved his wand, and Draco flinched. "Was he even here? Or was this all a ruse to gain my favor?"
"He was here...my lord." His voice was steady, but barely above a whisper. "Ask Bellatrix if you don't believe me."
The Dark Lord turned. "Well, Bellatrix?"
"Harry Potter was here, my lord. It was Draco's incompetence that aided his escape."
With great effort, Narcissa held her ground. Had the Dark Lord not been there, she would have flown at her sister, hair flying, wand blazing. She had closed her eyes, knowing what was coming, dreading the word and the sound it would bring.
He had left a few minutes later. Only after she heard the soft pop that signified the Dark Lord's departure did Narcissa open her eyes.
Her son lay facedown on the floor, drawing breath in ragged gasps. Narcissa started to kneel beside him.
"Don't."
Lucius' voice was hoarse, as though he had silently screamed with his son. Narcissa saw him standing on the other side of the drawing room, grasping the back of a chair with both hands. "Excuse me?"
"Leave him. Just...leave him."
"Better listen to your husband, Cissy." Bellatrix's eyes glittered. "Draco needs to learn his lesson."
Narcissa froze, weighing the benefits of open defiance against the cost. "Tilly."
The house-elf appeared, her brown eyes round with fright.
"Take Draco up to his room, please."
"Mind you aren't too gentle," Bellatrix added, "or you'll share Dobby's fate."
When the elf was gone, Narcissa turned on her sister. Grabbing a handful of her robes, she pulled Bellatrix closer, pressing her wand to her throat.
"This is the last time, Bellatrix." Her voice was a whisper. "If you ever endanger my son again, or insult him in any way, I will kill you with my bare hands."
With a shove, Bellatrix landed on the floor. Narcissa swept past her into the kitchen without another word.
He lay curled on his side on his bed, facing the window. Tilly stood in the corner, wringing her hands.
"Tilly did the best she could," the elf said, "without going against Miss Bella's orders."
"You did fine, Tilly." Narcissa set the cup of tea on her son's nightstand. "You may go."
Tilly vanished. Narcissa sat down beside her son and stroked his hair. It was silky, the way it had been when he was small. If she closed her eyes, she could picture Draco as a small child once more, sweet and carefree, asleep after a long day with his playmates.
"Muffliato," he said after a moment.
Narcissa opened her eyes. The harsh reality collided with her daydream: Not a carefree boy, but a grown one, recovering not from a day of fun, but from torture. "Muffliwhat?"
"Muffliato," he muttered again. "Just cast it."
She did. "What did that do?"
"Makes it so no one can hear us." He rolled onto his back and smiled painfully. "Snape taught it to me."
"You're sure it works?"
"I've tested it."
She nodded. If Draco had tested it, she would trust it. She'd sooner trust a spell from Snape than from Bellatrix. "Can you sit up?"
Wincing, he lifted himself up onto his elbows; Narcissa caught him before he fell and propped him upright on his pillows. She thrust the tea into his trembling hands and lifted it to his lips. He sipped, sniffed and stared at the brew.
"What kind is it?"
"Chamomile, with a few ingredients of my own. Blackberry, peppermint, that sort of thing. Should help ease the pain. Do you like it?"
He nodded. She pulled her hand away, letting him hold the cup on his own. "He's going to kill me, isn't he."
Narcissa fought a surge of fear—whether from Draco's prediction or the resigned tone he used, she wasn't sure.
"It makes sense, doesn't it? Blames me for everything, gives me the nastiest jobs..." He drew a breath, this one slightly less ragged than the last. "He's going to do it, Mum. All he needs now is an excuse."
For a long moment, Narcissa couldn't speak. She knew Draco was right, and yet she felt no sorrow. No lump closed her throat; no tears stung her eyes. There was only rage, so hot she felt she might suffocate from the sheer force of it.
From rage came determination.
Narcissa stood and kissed the top of his head. "I'll kill him before I let him touch you."
Her mind made up, she left his room.