Written for Hogwarts Challenges and Assignments - Term 11, Assignment 3: Magical Law and Government, Task 8: write about outdated ideals.

Also written for the Through the Universe Challenge at The Golden Snitch Forum (Beauxbatons, Guinefort, 2. Malfoy Manor).

Beyond Her Control

Narcissa doesn't look up when Draco walks into the grand sitting room of Malfoy Manor. She merely continues to swirl her spoon around in her pale blue teacup. "You're late."

"I'm aware, Mother," her son says stiffly, taking a seat with equally rigid movements. A house elf scurries over with a cup of tea for him, but he doesn't pick it up.

Narcissa sniffs and takes a dainty sip of tea. "She's made you late, hasn't she?"

He arranges his features into a careful mask. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Narcissa sets down her cup, eyeing him warily. "Do you really think your father and I don't know who it is you're seeing all these nights?"

"If you do, Mother, why haven't you said anything?" Draco leans back in his chair slightly and stares at Narcissa with a look that is vaguely challenging. "Why hasn't Father? He can write letters, can he not?"

"I suppose we thought you'd get it out of your system soon enough." Narcissa sips her tea again. "After all, your father was much the same way when he was your age."

"I'd rather not think about that, thank you, Mother."

"He had many dalliances of his own," Narcisses presses on, ignoring her son, "with the same sort of...undesirable people."

"She isn't—"

"She comes from a family of blood traitors, Draco, do you really think that makes her any better?" Narcissa picks up her spoon and whisks it around in her cup again just to give her hands something to do. "Her kind would see our blood sullied. You cannot continue to see her."

A muscle twitches in Draco's jaw. "I'm afraid you can't control me, Mother. I'm not that scared, obedient little boy anymore."

"Your father—"

"Is in Azkaban. There is not much he can do to enforce his will from there," Draco says coldly.

"You will not interrupt—"

"I believe I just did."

Her features harden. "So this is what is has come to, then? My son, my only child, spits in the face of all we have ever taught him?"

"The old ways are just that, Mother," Draco replies tonelessly. "Old. Outdated, one might even say."

"Well, if that is all you have to say—"

"It is," is Draco's simple response.

Narcissa stands gracefully and points to the door. "Then there is no legitimate reason for you to be here. Out." The softness of her voice belies the cold fury coursing through her.

Draco has gotten to his feet as well, scraping his chair against the sleek hardwood floor with a screech and earning himself an icy glare. His expression unreadable, he stalks away, but stops just as he is about to pass into the large foyer. His grey eyes, so like his father's, are stormy when he turns to look back at her.

"While it is admirable that you have clung to your ideals for so long, Mother, those sentiments are dying out. It is my sincerest wish that you one day realize that, and welcome Ginevra with open arms. Until then, however, I will consider us estranged."

Narcissa only nods, once, but his words have struck her like a blow to the face. As soon as the front door slams behind him, she collapses back into her chair and sobs. She has just lost the most precious thing in her life — and what is worse is that she let him go. And for what?

Not for the first time, she wonders if she has been too harsh, too unyielding. Though she wanted the Dark Lord vanquished, she isn't ready for the status quo to be dismantled so unceremoniously. She knows Lucius would have stood by her actions, praised her even, but if she has done the right thing, why does everything feel so wrong?

She wipes her eyes carefully and pushes her shoulders back. She will visit Lucius tomorrow. He always knows just what to say to keep her morals from crumbling. After that, she will figure out what to do about her son.

Word count: 676