Narcissa Malfoy (neé Black) has certainly seen a lot of shit in her life, but this is an entirely different situation altogether.
On the soft, enchanted rug to her right sits her son: her precious baby boy with a chubby face and delicate, dark wispy hair (just as hers had been at birth). Mother had taken one look at him and declared him her favorite grandchild...Nevermind that he was her only grandchild.
To the left of Draco is his cousin, her niece, because Reggie was always her favourite cousin, and he might as well have been her little brother for how they grew up. Vulpecula is a curious baby, a bit standoffish compared to how loud Draco is, but still a lovely child. Takes after her father in every way.
And in the middle of the two of them…
Ursala (the child of a mudblood) has taken to arranging Draco's toys in an organized, pleasing manner: an almost perfect circle surrounding the two eleven month olds (one year old in just two days). Vulpecula is quiet as always, watching her older cousin with a focused interest that Narcissa has only seen on grown adults. Draco is the one that's acting off: he's completely mesmerized by the arrangement of his toys, staring at them intensely as if they hypnotized him. It's the stillest she's ever seen him outside of sleeping, and while she's enjoying the peace, it unnerves her.
Then Sirius' child commands "Go!" and Draco smacks down the circle, giggling. Ursala cheers and Vulpecula yawns.
To be frank, Narcissa doesn't know what to make of her estranged cousin's child. Children of mudbloods are naturally inclined to be a little slower, yes, but there was no sign of that with her (probably the Black blood countering that). In fact, she seems a little smarter than most of the other children her age that Narcissa's interacted with (Flint's son, Marcus, was having problems, she remembers, she should check up on that). Of course, as smart as any two year old can be. Certainly no genius.
Across from her are her cousin, goodcousin, and the mudblood's mother: the mudblood. Her other goodcousin.
Narcissa sips her tea and tells Dobby to fetch more scones and clotted cream.
She's not sure what to make of Rachel either. At Hogwarts, she kept away from dirty blood at the expectance and request of her family, and never felt any curiosity about them. What is there to be curious about? What does a worm have that interests a lioness? Nothing. The lioness shouldn't even notice the worm. But looking at her now, she can see what Sirius liked about her. A certain fierceness in the eyes, a kindled fire. Unabashed pride in her dirty blood, as evidenced by her too-short hair. Her smudged name.
She wonders if her name on the Black family tapestry means they got married. If he knew that her name was on the family tree. If he was serious about her and the child, or just thought about having a family as fast as he could before...
Of course, she believes the bit about Sirius being innocent: he and Potter were joined at the hip growing up, it would be like betraying his own brother. Preposterous to believe that he got imprisoned whereas her husband left the trial smelling like daffodils, but that was the reality. Perhaps if she had also been there to advocate on his behalf, her cousin could be here with them...Well, if anyone can get him out of Azkaban, it's Aunt Walburga. A true banshee, she is. She expects to be summoned to court for Sirius' late trial any day now.
On the other side of the table, Regulus' cup of tea remains untouched, cooling in the still air that hangs over them all. Aurora has doused hers with some cream, no sugar, and Rachel has dropped an unseemly amount of the substance in her cup. Narcissa waits, until Regulus drinks or until he finally-
"He's not dead, Narcissa." Aurora says, speaking the words Regulus was struggling to say, "Reggie's seen it. He's done the unspeakable."
Narcissa's hands tense around her teacup and Regulus presses his mouth into a thin line, looking too grim for a man of twenty.
"Unspeakable?" There's hardly anything taboo for a Black, but when Narcissa thinks about how quiet Regulus has been since before his wedding to Aurora, she wonders about what he discovered. Why he turned his back to You-Know-Who after so many atrocities committed.
"He made a horcrux, Malfoy." Rachel says, crass and blunt and very Gryffindor like.
Narcissa almost spits out her tea.
Regulus flinches at the word.
Draco pushes his palm onto Ursala's cheek. She squeals. Vupecula sneezes.
"He what." She's no naïve little fool, though she's certainly excellent at playing the part. Well aware of what some wizards would do to get what they want, having grown up as a Black with dark objects in her childhood home, she's unphased by most things.
But a horcrux–Sweet Circe.
"So that's why you left." She places her cup back on its saucer, laying them down on the table gently.
Regulus nods, "I couldn't follow a wizard monstrous enough to create such a thing–"
"Monstrous enough to kill Muggles and muggleborn?" Rachel cuts, merciless. Any other time, Narcissa might admire the venom, but now she just finds it uncouth.
Regulus doesn't say anything to her. Aurora rubs his back soothingly.
"Regardless." Narcissa clears her throat, not backing down in her own home to a mudblood, of all things, "I never liked that you took the mark, Reggie–It's not like a Black to follow. We lead."
Unspoken is the knowledge of her eldest only sister in Azkaban.
Regulus scoffs in amusement, nodding, "I thought I was doing the right thing. Making our family proud." His fist tightens to the point where his knuckles go white, "...Mother hated the idea from day one."
Narcissa can only imagine. Walburga having one of her sons bowing to another lord like some common wizard...It gave her ulcers, surely.
"Does Lucius–Is his mark still there as well?" Aurora whispers, as if someone were spying on them (an amusing thought: nothing gets through Narcissa's wards).
"Yes." She replies with some hesitation, "...He believes him truly dead, but I..."
"You know better." Rachel says, and oh she must stop, because if she keeps this up, Narcissa will end up liking her presence, "Someone like that cannot just disappear."
No. No they cannot.
She orders Dobby to play with the children.
"Do you have it?" She asks Regulus, and he blanches. Nods. "Where is it?"
"With Kreacher." Ah, yes, his elf. Always was unnaturally attached to it. Unnaturally kind. Reggie was always so soft. "He helped me retrieve it."
And he tells the story to the table–By the looks on his wife and goodsister's faces, they haven't heard the whole tale either.
Instead of listening, the children continue their play: Ursala chanting Dobby's name over and over as he does a dance for them. Draco shrieking in laughter. Vulpecula bubbling her little babble. And good. That's good. Narcissa doesn't want them to grow up with the knowledge that they once resided in the same room as Regulus while he recounted tales of his near-death experience. They should never have to know what a horcrux is or what it takes to make one. Even little Ursala, who, despite everything, is still a Black. Is still family. Her blood.
Regulus is shaking by the end of it. Aurora tightly gripping his hand to steady him. Rachel is silent, arms crossed and stern. It reminds Narcissa of her father, of all people.
"Are you committed?" Rachel speaks, addressing him, addressing them all, "Are you committed to ending Voldemort's life?"
The name makes the purebloods at the table flinch. Narcissa can now almost understand why Walburga let her into the house.
"Because I know you've seen him face-to-face, and from what I've heard he hardly looked human anymore." The tension coils at her implication.
"You think he made–You think he made more than one?" Aurora sounds scandalized. Rightfully so.
"I do." Rachel's face remains impassive, "I think the fucker's so afraid of dying, he loaded up his soul into as many pieces as possible."
Usually Narcissa would chide the language in front of her son, but she doesn't remember to do so. Instead, she recalls the meetings held in her home–Merlin, her home. The solemn talks, the interrogations that would take place, the pure dark energy radiating off of him–Yes, that was not the magical signature of a man who was whole. His eyes, so red, so hungry. A powerful desperation that threatened to devour all in its path.
"So are you committed? Do you want to do the right thing?"
Regulus looks over at the children, and Narcissa knows in that instant what his answer is. She looks too and knows as well.
Idk about ages and timelines, does it really matter? Does it!
As usual, this is unedited and not beta read. Thanks for reading + commenting, y'all.