Author's notes: Thank you again to my bestie Aleah and my wonderful betas Denarii and Mdman1.

Special thanks to infinateconstellations, danceswithnorhythm, rsiles90, Lil Miss Sunshine14, Aegis-BTM, ImsebastianstanButter, trispectrum, Malfoy Mouth James- MMJ, cb1nz, Naruhina1519, anand891996, Blaze Stone, Mzfeebs, Pauper, bleachlover202, GracesNeville, MREZ, and BucksDoe for the reviews!

Chapter 89

Harry was beginning to wonder if Neville would ever arrive back in the dorms. He pinched his arm to keep from nodding off as he watched the entrance. It was doing a poor job of keeping him alert. He considered again if he wanted to wake Ron and ask him to wait with him, but that would bring about more questions than he would like. The last thing Harry wanted was to wrong Neville again, so he waited.

He knew Neville would never have harmed Graces. He knew that deep in his bones. Not only was Neville not capable of it, but the look on his face these past few days mirrored his after his loss of Sirius. He leaned back into the chair cushion and drowned those thoughts, not wanting that hurt to overtake him. Instead he focused on what he had seen between Neville and Graces these past few months. There was so much when he actually sat down and laid out every odd exchange between them in Herbology since the beginning of the year, through the tutoring sessions, to the fight Graces and Neville had had in front of him and Graham in the hall. He knew that he could be a bit dense, but he now felt as though he were blind.

She was hurt, Graces Bellatrix Malfoy, was utterly crushed when she found out Neville had chosen not to befriend her brother. He closed his eyes and replayed the memory again and again. She was more than just hurt when he pictured it, she looked utterly heartbroken. Neville Longbottom, it would appear, had the power to make Graces Malfoy cry with no hexes or harm, but with a simple refusal. And not only that, he had the ability to demand something from her. When Graces had shoved him, Neville hadn't balked, he had acted. He held her wrists and whispered sternly to her, and she—even in her rage—had conceded.

So that left the question: what were they? Neville had said they were secretly friends, that the friendship had developed through the tutoring and it was nothing more than that on Graces' part. He was supposedly the only one to harbor any deeper affections, but it didn't seem that way. It seemed like Graces harbored something deeper as well, or at least pretended to.

The common room door opened up then, and Harry stood, looking about at the emptiness before him. "We need to talk," Harry proclaimed to the open room, knowing Neville was there, hidden under his invisibility cloak. Harry waited, his stance and jaw set, until slowly Neville revealed himself.

The sternness that Harry had gathered for this confrontation immediately melted away as he took in Neville. He stared at the boy in front of him, at the brokenness of him. His eyes were red from exhaustion and tears, his pallor pasty, his hair and skin looked so oily Harry could see the shine even now in the darkened common room. But it was the eyes that made him take a step back. Those weren't Neville's eyes. Neville's eyes didn't hold such wariness, such pain. Neville's eyes never looked hopeless.

"I'm tired," Neville whispered, closing his eyes for a brief moment as though he were fighting off sleep. "If you have something to say, say it quickly."

Harry opened his mouth, but no words came out. Neville raised an eyebrow before sighing and heading to the stairs.

It was right before Neville began to climb the stairs that Harry found his voice. "What happened the night you took my cloak?" he demanded, more desperate than angry. "Why did you need the map?" Neville paused on the stairs, his whole body taut, before slowly turning around. "What happened that night, Neville?"

"I don't know."

"I think you do," Harry maintained, walking forward. "And I want an answer, because there are a dozen rumors going around this school, and I want the truth, and I have a feeling you are the only one that knows it."

Neville said nothing, just stood there looking at Harry with that glassy expression.

"Hagrid could be fired. There are rumors of Nott being a Death Eater. He—"

"Those are your concerns?" Neville interrupted, his voice dangerously quiet. "That Hagrid will be fired, that a student was a Death Eater? Not that Graces Malfoy is in the hospital wing, not that she hasn't woken up."

"I have a lot of concerns—" Harry countered, his temper flaring. "—the first being what your involvement was."

"You think I harmed her?" Neville asked, his voice raising a few octaves in disbelief.

Harry was silent for a moment. "No," he said gently, "But I do think you were there. I think you know the whole story, something no one else seems to know. And I don't believe you're being honest with me about things." Harry swallowed. "I don't think you and Graces had a secret friendship going, I think it was more. A lot more."

Silence encased them. Neville stared at Harry in what Harry suspected was supposed to look like bewilderment, but he could see through the facade, see the fear. "Nothing is going on between Graces and I."

Harry didn't believe it, not for one second. It was said too calmly, too practiced.

"Neville," Harry breathed, placing his hand on Neville's shoulder. "I need you to be honest with me."

"I am."

"No, you're not," Harry persisted shaking his head. "It doesn't all add up, Neville."

Neville's jaw twitched, and the silence that enveloped the two of them was so loud Harry's ears were ringing.

"Talk to me," Harry begged. "Tell me what is going on."

Neville swallowed and let loose a breath. He was paler than before and Harry watched as he ran his hands through his sandy hair as he considered his words.

"You can tell me, Neville. Whatever Malfoy has got you mixed up in you can tell me. I'll understand. I know—"

"Malfoy doesn't have me mixed up in anything," Neville snarled, moving out from under Harry's hand. "And, in case you forgot, she's the one that is lying in the hospital wing! So stop acting as though she's the one that's responsible! She's the victim!"

Harry took a step back and tried to regain his footing in the conversation. He didn't know how to even approach the boy in front of him. "I'm sorry," he began slowly. "Obviously, I don't know what happened, so I wouldn't know that. If you had told me what happened, like you promised—" Harry pointed out. "—I would have known. But as it stands, I just see what's in front of me. You took my cloak and map. Graces and Nott, a Death Eater, were hurt in the dead of night, in the woods, heading back to the castle, after an attack on a Ministry official's home, which has now been linked to Nott."

Neville's eyes narrowed.

"I don't think you had anything to do with that," Harry swore, moving forward. "I don't. I thought maybe—"

"You just think Graces does," Neville surmised, his voice going dangerously low. "You think she was involved in this Death Eater business."

"What am I supposed to think, Neville? Give me another explanation because right now it looks like your girlfriend is involved with Death Eaters and got herself hurt. Deservingly so too because, just so you know Neville, she and Nott killed that official and his family. Maybe you should think of that the next time you sneak off to be with her in the dead of night!"

"Deservingly so," Neville repeated, his whole body shaking as he glared hatefully. Harry didn't care. He had tried to talk with Neville and be open and instead he got this, not even an attempt. Neville gathered up Harry's cloak and map and shoved them hard into his chest. "Go fuck yourself."

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Draco still had not released his sister's hand after the Auror that wanted her statement left. He also had yet to look at her. All of that had happened right under his nose. Nott had been intimidating and trying to violate her for months and she had never breathed a word to him about it. They were strangers. He knew they had become distant, but not that distant. She had kept so many things hidden from him.

He stared down at the floor and tried to find that ancient connection to her, digging deeper and deeper in his soul to find that bond that had always been there. Was it still there? Was he holding her hand to comfort her, or was he holding it to try to hold onto something he had already lost with her?

"When he attacked you in October, when he—he potioned you and you hid in the barn before the potion put you under, why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell me about him in the classroom with you and Longbottom? Or—"

"Because you would have killed him, Draco," Graces whispered, her voice giving away her exhaustion. "And you would have been killed for your insolence in killing him."

Maybe, Draco thought, considering how he had felt when he was first told, when he heard her telling the Auror of everything that happened. She had given memories of some things and refused for others. The Auror was patient the whole time, never pressing or asking for anything she wasn't willing to give. There had been times when Graces had taken forever before responding, when she had just sat and thought before detailing the event. The Auror never once tried to hurry her, and Draco had kept silent the whole time, only holding her hand.

"You should have told me," he whispered, his heart aching in his chest. He didn't cry. He had cried too much for tears now, days of crying silently to the gods to save her, of crying angrily in the bathroom at the fates, and this morning crying tears of joy to see her silver eyes open, of knowing he wasn't alone. But he felt alone, even now with her beside him.

"I know about your eye." Graces tensed. "Why didn't you tell me about that?"

She moved to take her hand away, but Draco gripped it harder, turning to look at his sister. She looked at him too, and for a moment he sensed her before she turned her eyes from his.

"I knew what you would say, what you would do."

Draco released her hand and stood from the chair by her bed side. "You knew I would have your eye repaired?"

"Replaced," Graces corrected quietly.

Draco ran his hands through his hair and tried to organize his thoughts. His mind was jumping from frustration to pity and in all of it the question kept eddying through his mind, was his sister truly this unstable?

"Tomorrow, a healer is coming. He will begin the process of replacing your eye, restoring your sight."

"No."

"It's not up to you," Draco declared, steadying himself against her tears. "It's up to me, and I have made my decision."

"It's my eye!"

"It's useless," Draco said coldly. "It isn't even an eye anymore, just decoration on your face. It serves no purpose."

Graces shook her head, tears rolling down her face. "You can't take my eye. You can't."

"That's where you're very wrong, Graces," Draco sighed. "I can and I will."

"Draco, please."

"Do you think I want to do this?" Draco demanded. "Do you think I want to make this choice?"

"Then don't!"

"Do you know what they're saying?" Draco whispered tightly. "They think you're mad. The healer wants to take you away. They think you wanted to die and that you have been descending into madness for some time. They believe you are incapable of making decisions that aren't self destructive. So I have to make them," Draco choked, his voice as small as he felt. "One of us has to make the right decisions; has to take care of the family. I had to grow up."

"Draco, I beg of you don't. Let me remain whole, please." Draco shook his head from his sister's tears, her horrible gasps of breath as her words became ragged. "You can't do this to me!"

"I can and I will."

"You will not." Draco turned at his mother's voice. Narcissa stood there watching them like an eagle perched high above her prey, her sharp eyes piercing through him where he stood. He wondered how long she had been standing there. "But I will," she continued, stepping forward so she was fully in the room and no longer a shadow on the wall.

Graces began to speak, but was silenced by a simple gesture of her mother's hand. "Before you say a word remember who made that eye. Who grew you in their body and fed you from it as well. Remember who has devoted their whole life to raising you and keeping you whole."

"The day you two were born I swore to keep you from harm. You were both so perfect." Narcissa swallowed, the only physical sign he could see of the pain she was harboring. "It is a mother's duty to tend to her children."

Draco took a step back as his mother's eyes fell to him. "You will release your claim as patriarch, Draco. I have all the paperwork ready for you to sign."

"You want to strip me of my title?"

"I want to unburden you," Narcissa corrected slowly . "You will not be stripped of the title, it will be given to me until your father is released, or until you come of age."

"I come of age in a few months."

"Your father will be with us by then."

"You can't know that," Draco countered, shaking his head and backing away.

"Then you will have a few months of peace, and we will reevaluate the situation if need be."

"But what—"

"Draco, I am not asking you," Narcissa said quietly, folding her palms together.

An oily feeling began to coat Draco from the inside. Graces stared at their mother, her mouth agape, clearly as shocked as Draco felt. He took a breath and tried to quiet his mind. Tried to piece together what this would mean, what it would change, if it would even help and ignore the impulse to grab for a quill and sign each damn page twice.

"We will look weak; I will look weak."

His mother raised a cool eyebrow. "We already look weak."

"If I sign this we will be weak," Draco hissed, pointing at the ground. "You are in a worse position than I to care for us. You aren't even free in your own home."

Draco did his best not to buckle under his mother's glare. She stood there looking at him with a predatory stillness he had never had turned on him, only seen when she was furious with his father. "Do you think I can't take care of you? That I couldn't protect you from what's to come?"

Draco avoided his mother's gaze. "I believe you would try," he said carefully.

"That I would try?" his mother repeated, her voice dangerously quiet.

Draco fought the urge to chew on his lip. "You couldn't protect me before, how do you think you will be able to protect me now?"

"Sign these papers and I will."

"What will it change?" he barked, frustrated that his mother could not see forward enough to realize it changed nothing.

"I will have the ability and authority to help you, I will be able to make decisions. You no longer will have the weight of this family on your shoulders."

"I don't think you're the person to make decisions for us."

"You think you are?" Narcissa asked, her eyes narrowing. "You still believe that even now as your sister lies in that bed?"

"Mum," Graces whispered. "It wasn't Draco's fau—"

Narcissa shot her daughter a glare that she had only used when she was a rambunctious child in public before turning back to Draco. "If I was taking care of you two, if your father had been sensible and ensured I would act as head of the house until you were of age, your sister would still have her eye!"

"Maybe she would," Draco conceded, his eyes filling despite himself. "But she would also be dead."

"Draco." Draco turned to where his sister sat staring at him as though she didn't know who or what he was, her eyes pleading with him to stop, to not say another word.

"You would be. She would have done something rash. Something that would get you and me both killed. She would have tried to run. You did try to run. And I know what happens to those that run."

"You know what happens to those that run and are caught."

"There's nowhere to run, mother."

"Draco, you are making a mistake, a grave mistake. You cannot do this. Sign the papers."

"I don't think I am. No matter what I have a task to do. A task that holds our family's future; me signing these papers won't change that."

"I will—"

"You won't, because you can't. You want to be my mother in more than name, but the truth is you can't be. You just can't. You lost us a long time ago." Draco realized, his voice shaking with the realization.

"Draco! Draco come back!"

Draco ignored his sister's cries, he had to leave. Had to get as far away as possible from both of them, because in truth standing there with them made him feel more alone.

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"Draco! Draco!"

"You need to rest. Graces, stop this at once."

It broke her already shattered heart to have her daughter turn away from her and cry into her pillow rather than her arms. Narcissa swallowed the pain and smoothed her daughter's hair.

"You blamed him. You blamed him for everything," Graces sobbed, trying to move out from under her hand.

"Graces—"

"None of it was him! None of it! I made my own choices! I made all those choices! I did this to myself! I did it to myself."

Narcissa was thankful her daughter refused to look at her in that moment; thankful she couldn't see how those words destroyed her.

"I know you did."

"Then why put it on Draco? Why?"

"Because Draco and you are far too young to take care of yourself. Because I need your brother to understand that he needs me." Graces didn't acknowledge her words, she just cried more. Narcissa watched as she flinched from the movements her shaking caused.

"I need Draco," she sobbed, her voice filled with gravel. "I need Draco."

Narcissa nodded and wished she would have remembered that Draco and Graces only banded together in conflict. She had hurt Draco, and Graces would side with him, forsaking reason.

"I am just trying to do what's best for you both. I just want to protect you. You will never know how much I love you and Draco. There is no end to what I would do to keep you safe."

Narcissa stared down at her daughter and knew without a shadow of a doubt that what the healer said was true. Graces was not Draco, she was not made of the same iron that held him together, that allowed him to go on. She was made of something softer, something more fragile.

"Graces," Narcissa pulled her daughter's damp face around towards her and held her in her hands as she wept. Narcissa searched those silver eyes for the fire that had once been there, and when it could not be found she asked the question she didn't know if she wanted the answer to. "Did you want to die?"

Graces was silent for a moment, her gray eyes looking so far from her father's. Lucius never looked so unsure, so lost. She had her father's eyes, but there was Black in there, too much Black. Narcissa couldn't stop the small sob from coming forth as she saw how her own blood weakened her child. Malfoys were logical and rational, cold and calculating, ice that burns. Blacks felt too much, fire and passion, and fire was so much harder to control. She pushed thoughts of Sirius and Andromeda away from her as she looked at her daughter. Would she fall because she reacted too fast, because she felt too much? Her heart would betray her, she could see it right there in those eyes.

"I didn't want to die," Graces whispered, moving close to hold her as though it was Narcissa that needed the comfort. "Mummy, don't cry. I didn't want to die."

Narcissa held her daughter close and ran her free hand through Graces' now short hair, noting the sweat that dampened it. Graces' skin was hot to touch as her body raged a fever to fight the infection that had begun. It was being managed. She had been assured by every healer that they could beat the infection. They were being as aggressive as they could be, and she would be ill, weak, and may even need more time in the hospital wing, but she was going to recover fully. Her body was going to heal, but her mind was why Narcissa couldn't stop the tears. She thought of her sister, Sirius' mother, the Black madness that stained her family and she wondered if it had touched her daughter's mind.

"I will not send you away and I will not allow your brother to send you away," Narcissa stressed, pulling Graces away so she could look into her face. "But I need to know why you did this, Graces. I need to know what you were thinking, how you came to the conclusion that this was the best course of action.

"You realize stabbing yourself could have killed you, didn't you?"

Graces nodded and looked away.

"Then what were you thinking?"

"I wasn't."

"Graces," Narcissa said sharply.

"I wasn't! I just—I just reacted."

"That's not good enough. I need to know why and what compelled you to go this far, to take these kinds of measures! Graces, you brewed that potion! That is not a potion you can just brew on an impulse. You waited until the dead of night, you attacked with a plan and that plan involved putting your own life at risk. Do not lie to me. You thought about it. You planned it. Now I want to know why you made a plan that almost killed you! I taught you better than that! You know better than that! Now, answer me. What were you thinking?"

Graces made no real attempt to answer, she cried and repeated the same thing over and over. She didn't know. She was sorry. And, each time she cried and begged to be held and apologized, Narcissa felt like she was sinking deeper into hell. She came to pull them out, to save her children from this quicksand that held them, but neither would take her hand. So they were all to sink, all to be damned.

She climbed into the too small bed and held her daughter close as her too frail body was wracked with the onslaught of sobs and tears. She held her for hours until Graces had worn herself out and drifted away to sleep, Her puffy, red eyes hidden in a mess of golden hair and Narcissa's robes.

She had never in her life been so powerless. She had refused the Mark to keep herself free from restraints and now here she was shackled. How was she to leave when her husband and children were in chains? Never in her life did she think her son would be forced into service to a madman and her daughter would be the target of so many attacks. The Dark Lord dangled Graces' and Draco's life before her like gold to a niffler.

There were too many secrets in this family, secrets that prevented her from being of real use. She laid there in that bed wondering how she could know so little about her children and their lives. She wanted to believe it started when Snape had stopped their correspondence through letters, but as she laid there holding her daughter she knew it ran deeper than that.

She was so engrossed in her thoughts she didn't notice Pomfrey enter with a tray of broth and bread until the woman was setting the food down on the bedside table beside her. She moved to pull herself up from where she was, but the other woman waved a hand for her to remain.

"It's not weakness to comfort your child."

It still didn't feel right to be seen this way, but she didn't move. She laid back down and held Graces closer, slipping back into her own thoughts.

"Has the fever subsided?"

"She feels the same," Narcissa whispered distantly.

Pomfrey reached her hand between them to feel Graces' head before waving her wand to get a clear read of her status.

"No change, which isn't at all uncommon," the older witch added quickly. "Is she still nauseous?"

"Yes. She refused breakfast. When I pressed her to eat some toast it came back up maybe ten minutes later." Pomfrey nodded and made some note of that in Graces' chart. "Is that from the infection?" Narcissa asked, unable to keep the worry from her voice.

"No. It's from the potions," Pomfrey sighed. "It's a lot to have in her system. It's natural that she should feel sick with so many potions sitting in her stomach. I would like to get her to eat though, just some bread and broth. The next round of potions are very intense and it would be good for her to have some food in her stomach, not to mention food will make her stronger."

"She's barely keeping down the potions," Narcissa sighed, rubbing the middle of her forehead.

The mediwitch was silent for a few moments, before gently clearing her throat. "I do have something that will help with the nausea." Narcissa looked up and waited. "It's called ondansetron. It's a Muggle medication, but—"

"Absolutely not," Narcissa hissed, moving Graces off her and standing so she was at full height.

"Mrs. Malfoy, I would beg you to reconsider. Your daughter needs to eat and she needs to keep more of the potions down than she currently is. She will recover so much faster if she was eating and not throwing up half the potions we give her. She's dehydrated and—"

"The last I checked our family healer was placed in charge of Graces' care, followed by the healer from St. Mungo's. Both those healers seem to believe she is healing fine."

"Is fine the most you would want for your daughter? Fine is not great. She could be doing so much better." Pomfrey took a deep breathe. "And the healers in charge of her care hold the same beliefs that you do. They would never consider giving her anything made by Muggles, and they believe so out of hatred with no regard for logic."

Narcissa did her best to rein in her temper. The last thing she needed was to draw too much attention to herself. McGonagall already had asked for her wand. Her bare arm didn't seem to hold much weight with the Gryffindor, and she doubted that her conversation with Pomfrey would go unreported to the headmaster and the old cat.

"I am declining your offer. Thank you for the concern and for the broth. You may go, and in the future I would prefer only the family healer to attend to my daughter."

The mediwitch stared at her for a little too long to be polite before taking out a bottle and setting it on the tray that held Graces' food. "Every four hours. Only take one, let it dissolve on her tongue before she swallows it."

"I believe I made myself very clear we—"

"You're a good mother," Pomfrey interrupted sharply. "You love your children. And I believe that your love will overpower your hate, and you won't stand there and watch your daughter vomit out the nutrients that her body so desperately needs. I believe you won't just stand there idly as she wastes away." She paused and seemed to be gathering herself. "I have faith in your love, even if I don't have faith in your humanity."

Narcissa was left with those words echoing through her mind. She grabbed the vial of "pills" and almost threw it out of her daughter's room, but the older woman's words haunted her, compelled her even. So in the end she tucked the vial in her pocket, all the while telling herself she would not use them.

But it didn't matter how many times she told herself that. When the moment came and her daughter was trembling, covered in her own sick and crying into a bowl of broth that had become a challenge to her, Narcissa's heart could not take it.

Graces started at the pill that she held out to her, her silver eyes recognizing that this was not right. Narcissa took a deep breath and did her best to pretend that this was not happening as she instructed Graces on how to take the small pill she held out to her. Graces looked up at her one more time before slowly taking the pill. She shivered as it dissolved on her tongue. Neither witch was able to say a word as they waited for the Muggle medicine to kick in. Narcissa had someone come clean her daughter up, and a little after that Graces asked for something to eat.

And she ate, with no gagging, no wobbling chin, no greening skin. She ate multiple bowls of broth, two pieces of bread and finished her water. Nothing came up. And she kept her next set of potions down on the first try, no need to attempt to take them again.

It worked, the Muggle medicine, it worked. It was a sobering realization. She would never tell a soul and she would deny it till there was no breath left in her lungs, but it didn't change the reality. It didn't change what she had done. It didn't change that the Muggles had something that they didn't.

"I gave Octavian the Polio vaccination," Graces whispered, shattering the silence that had encased them these last few hours. It took the older woman a moment to process what her daughter had just admitted to, and her face must of shown her horror. Graces shrugged, as though it was just factual, as though it didn't matter. She laid down and stared up at the ceiling like what she just said wouldn't get her killed. She closed her eyes. "It was the right thing to do."

"Graces." Graces slowly opened her eyes and turned to face her mother. "You cannot think like that."

Her daughter's face held no hint of what she was thinking. Narcissa felt as though she wasn't even staring at her child. It took all her will to not look away from the vacancy in her face. To not show that she felt like someone had poured ice water all down her back.

"I can feel him."

Narcissa didn't need to ask who him was. "Does it hurt?" Narcissa asked cautiously, her eyes not moving away from Graces'. "Can you feel his pain?"

Graces shook her head, but her eyes were far away in thought. "It's— it's like he's there. In the back of my mind. I—I can feel a connection. I can feel him. He's right here under my skin." Narcissa could barely breathe, now it felt like she needed one of those Muggle pills.

"You always warned me about blood magic. 'The cost is too great,'" she quoted nodding as though she was having some conversation that wasn't one-sided. "You warned about the bond." Narcissa took her daughter's hand, bringing her back from her thoughts to the present. "Can it make me feel other things?" Graces asked. "Can—can it make someone think they're in love?"

Narcissa was silent for a moment, before cautiously asking. "Do you think you are in love with Nott?"

Graces bit her lip, an old habit that Lucius had tried in vain to break.

"Not with Nott."

Narcissa lifted an eyebrow, and waited.

"I—I used blood magic earlier this year. I hurt someone, and it was the only thing I could think to do to save his life and now… now—" Her lips began to tremble and she didn't continue.

"Now you think you love him," Narcissa finished, leaning back in her chair from a newfound exhaustion. She remembered the note she had found in Graces room, the letter that the boy she was talking about must have written. She tried to remember what it said, but she couldn't. All she could remember was that it was beautiful, and love was definitely in this boy's thoughts.

"I don't know," Graces trembled. "But he-he loves me. He really loves me, and I am trying to figure out my feelings…"

"You're so young—" Narcissa broke in. "—so young, my darling. I know you may think it's love, and it may feel powerful and real, but—"

"It's real," Graces declared passionately. "What he feels is real. And I don't know if I created that feeling in him, or it grew on it's own, but it is very real for him."

"I don't care if mine are artificial, if it's the side effect of the potion. He's wonderful. He's —" Graces wiped away a tear. "If this is the blood magic's doing, it did me a service. He's a better man than I would have picked for myself. But he deserves better than me. He deserves more than me."

"That is not true. How could you think such a thing? How—"

"Oh, mum, it is. I'm a mess. I'm such a mess, and I don't treat him with the love he deserves. And I have to tell him that what he's feeling may not be of his heart's creation, that I may have created it, that I may have bound his affections, because he deserves to know."

"Graces, who is it?"

Graces looked up from her tears and bit her lip for a moment before saying she couldn't say.

"Graces, I am done with secrets in this family. Who is it?"

"It's better you don't know, mum."

"Does Draco know?" Graces shook her head. "Is he—is he Muggle-born?" Narcissa asked, unable to hide her fear.

"No! No, he's pure. He's pure I swear it," Graces exclaimed desperately.

"Then why—" Narcissa stopped short. There were many reasons why a pureblood could still not be appropriate. Narcissa looked at her daughter, her child that she had come so close to losing, so many times. She thought of her sister and all the people lost in the past war and in the new. She stood from her chair and sat on the bed, looking down at her still-crying child that had become a woman.

"Don't rush into love. Even if it is real. You are my daughter, you are a Malfoy and a Black. The part of you that feels so much, and so passionately it feels like your chest will be ripped open from emotion, is from me. The part that has prevented you from diving into this foolishness is from your father. And it is foolishness, Graces," Narcissa stressed, meeting her daughter's eyes. "Even if it's real. Even it you didn't create it. You are smart, charismatic, charming. The world could be yours if you wanted it. You feel like you're not enough, but you are more than enough. You are more than I ever hoped for. This boy should worship the ground you walk on, because he does not deserve you. And he certainly doesn't deserve the cost that you being with him would bring," Narcissa added bitterly.

"You have a choice. The world: a life of privilege, power and security. You can walk this earth knowing where you belong, knowing no one can touch you. We will eventually climb out of these defeats, Graces. We will be back on top. I know we will be," she said with a viciousness she didn't recognize. "Or you can choose this boy and give up the life you were born to, give up the family that loves you and walk with him through hell for a small chance at happiness. But even then that happiness will be clouded with pain, because you won't have Draco. You won't have your father…" Narcissa continued on through her daughter's tears. "I will always love you. If you choose this boy I will love you still. You will always be my daughter. Regardless of what your father says I will always protect you, even if I cannot go to you. I will find ways to keep you from harm, as I have kept my sister from harm."

Narcissa took a deep breath, resigning herself to make this commitment to her child. "I don't want to know his name. I don't want to know how far you've gone, because I have an idea of what you have done. All I ask is that you remember what love you were given first, and what it will do to Draco."

Graces opened her mouth to speak, but before she could calm down enough for words Draco walked back in. He didn't look any of them in the eye. He stayed by the doorway his head hung low as he seemed to be trying to decide if he should have came back at all. And in that moment Narcissa's worries were put to rest as Graces reached out for her brother and sobbed uncontrollably in his arms as though he had been gone for years and not just a few hours. She would never choose this boy over Draco. Life without Draco would not be an option for her. She would stay with her family, with the security they had, with Draco. Draco looked up at her next and she hugged him just as hard as Graces had, without the tears. He would keep his title and she would pray to the gods for the best, and for the next few days their family would pretend to be whole.

Thanks for reading! Sorry it took so long. Happy Canada Day to my Canadian readers and Happy 4th of July! Also, I will be going out of the country on vacation coming up and I have decided to start writing my own book. I still will be writing this fic, so don't worry that it will be abandoned, posting may just be much longer than it already is. I know it already is long for an update :( But it's important to me that I start writing my own things. I am still going to try my very best for month to month updates, but July may not get any posting because I am traveling a lot, on top of work and writing my own book. I hope everyone here understands and will wish me luck :D I've been wanting to start writing my own things for so long and I just now am getting the courage to do it.