As courtyards went, the one that sat at the centre of Malfoy Manor wasn't anything special. In fact, Narcissa would have gone as far to say that the square garden was a bit on the small side; especially when compared with some of the grand designs that she'd come across over the years of being married to Lucius. Some purebloods took their status as a competition to other purebloods, declaring all-out war in the decoration department. Narcissa knew this because she was one of them, or rather had been one of them.
Her garden though was her own and she liked to think that she'd created a little bit of paradise in the middle of such a grand home. She'd always found that no matter how much finery she sunk into the grand manor, none of it ever seemed to blunt the cold edge that permeated the stone walls. Her garden though remained free from the cool grasps of Malfoy Manor, with its pebbled pathways weaving between flowerbeds bursting with colour and converging toward a fountain at the centre. The fountain had been her own design; two mermaids locked in an embrace, their tails meeting to form the base where crystal clear waters collected, glinting in the son as exotic fish swam in its depths. The small smile that had grown on her face faltered when she noticed the stone cherub kicking back in the water, lazily plucking its lute as it sunned itself. The chubby stone annoyance had been a gift from Sephina Zabini, another one of her apparently heartfelt gifts that Narcissa swore was a joke.
Narcissa's heart ached with longing as she remembered when Draco was younger. His golden hair glinting in the sun as dodged between the flowerbeds, his laughter ringing off the stone; the way he would trail his fingers in the water of the fountain, giggling with delight when a fish swam closer, mistaking his pudgy fingers for worms. Her shoulders lifted with a sigh, they had been simpler times, simpler times she wished she could return to. But she knew it was pointless, the world always crept in and everything innocent and good always fell in its wake.
"Mother?" Narcissa turned quickly in shock, almost losing her footing.
"Draco." she breathed, placing her hand over her heart as she rushed forward to meet him, sadness tugging at the corners of her mouth when turned away, wandering through the garden till he stopped before the fountain. He had always stated that it was ridiculous to have such unrealistic depictions in their home, but she knew that it was just for his father's sake. Whenever he had visited the garden he would stare up at the fountain for hours, his eyes drifting over each and every detail.
"Mother I need to...I need to speak with you." Narcissa nodded, moving to step beside him. "It's important."
"Of course." She clarified, touching the top of his arm gently. He'd gotten so tall, she wondered how these changes happened so quickly. She'd hardly had any time at all with him and already he was turning into a man before her eyes.
"Why do we follow the Dark Lord?" He asked quickly, turning to meet her gaze. She realised, with shock, that she could find no trace of the coldness his father had tried to beat into him. Its absence left him somewhat unrecognisable.
"Pardon?" She found herself asking, though she'd heard every word.
"The Dark Lord, why...why do we follow him? Isn't there another way?"
"What other way?" Narcissa heard her voice shake.
"I mean…" Draco seemed to struggle over what he wanted to say. "What is the Dark Lord really offering us?"
Narcissa stared at the small stones beneath her feet, she knew there was a reason why she and her husband had followed the Dark Lord the first time, she knew that there had been talk of purebloods taking their rightful place among witches and wizards, of removing the stain of mudbloods and reclaiming the earth. She knew she must have believed it at some point, but it seemed like such an age ago.
"He is offering us a chance to take back what is ours." She tried to say it with conviction but she knew she'd failed when Draco gave her an incredulous look.
"Do you honestly believe that?"
"What else could I possibly believe?" Narcissa asked cautiously.
"That he's lying, that really all he cares about is power. That the world really is fine as it is and he's just making things worse." The slap was loud and it froze Narcissa in place. She could feel the sting of contact burning her palm and her eyes widened as she watched a red mark bloom on her son's face. He was just as shocked as she was and Narcissa took the chance to grasp her son's face in her hands. Her vision blurred with tears but she blinked past them, her voice shaking as she spoke.
"Now, you listen to me.." Draco moved to pull away, but she held firm. "Listen, this is important." She took a deep, shuddering breath before continuing, "we must do what the Dark Lord says."
"But.."
"We must. If we don't we will be the first people that he kills and he will kill us all. He will kill your father, he will kill me and then, oh sweetie," she caressed his cheek gently with her thumb, her heart aching with the truth of her words, "he will kill you too."
"But what if we, what if we worked against him. We could join the people who want to fight him." Narcissa almost scoffed at Draco's words, they were desperate and innocent and showed his age completely.
"You think they would accept us. Your father's involvement with the Dark Lord is no secret, they would sooner see us fall with the Dark Lord than take us into their care."
"You don't know that some of them….some of them might not care about what came before." The way Draco spoke made Narcissa think that there was possibly one person he had in mind, she eyed him suspiciously.
"They will always care and they will always treat us differently because of it." Draco stared down at his feet looking as lost as she felt. "As long as we are together we are safe."
"We aren't safe, he will kill us just as easily no matter what side we are on."
His grey eyes burnt with fury and determination and Narcissa realised that somehow, she was losing her son. Once upon a time, she would have wished for the mask of indifference to fall and for her to see such fury and determination, now though it scared her.
"If you stand against him, he will kill you." Draco shrugged.
"I'd rather die than cower on my knees and watch him destroy the world." Narcissa watched him as he began to walk away, certain that there was something he wasn't saying.
"You would not turn your back on your father." Draco steps seemed to falter, but he did not stop walking away. "Would you turn your back on me?" At this Draco froze, his shoulders stiffened as he turned to face his mother.
"Mom, don't…"
"If you go against this family, you go against me, would you fight me?" She knew she was manipulating him, twisting his arm till he couldn't move from the pain, but if he went against the Dark Lord's wishes there was no way that she could protect him.
"If the Dark Lord finds that you've turned your back on him, that you've thought about turning your back on him, he will destroy all that you care about." Her son's face contorted in fear and it made her heart squeeze. She wanted nothing more than to take those fears away, for him to be the small child that laughed in the garden and had no worries and cares.
"But.."
"Everything you care about."
"But I could...someone could stop him." Narcissa almost laughed but managed to restrain herself.
"No son, no one can stop him."
Draco stared at the ground for some time, his eyes flitting backwards and forwards as if searching the pebbles for some form of an answer. He looked up suddenly, his shoulders straightening, his eyes a dull grey as he nodded.
"I understand." He quickly turned, his shoulder stiff as he walked away. Narcissa quickly followed him, unable to keep herself from voicing her concern.
"Draco, Draco sweetheart you won't.."
"Sanctimonia Vincet Semper. I am a Malfoy and I always will be." Narcissa thought she would feel relief at hearing those words, but a coldness filled her and made her shiver. He had sounded like his father, mask firmly set in place, eyes giving nothing away but their greyness. Even as he spoke of his loyalty, even as he told her that he would remain close, she felt her little boy slipping through her fingers and disappearing into the darkness of the world.
Draco stared at the side of the Hogwarts Express with a ferocity that could have melted a hole in its side. His mother's words had been bouncing around in his head along with the memory Snape had shown him. He wondered, not for the first time, how Granger made 'being good' look so easy, as every time he even attempted to put a foot in that direction he was met with resistance.
Draco gritted his teeth scuffing his feet against the red brickwork of the platform. Merlin only knew what the right thing was. His mother wanted him to believe it was following in his father's footsteps, towing the line til such a time that the Dark Lord was either no longer all-powerful, or had taken over the world and they were all his merry slaves, shuffling about doing his evil bidding. And what if somehow super specs did manage to save the entire wizarding world? Knowing his parents they'd probably feign imperius and wax lyrical about their terrible ordeal, they'd done it before.
Draco glanced at his parents, they were mumbling to one another, their heads pressed close together. He knew they were talking about his lessons with Snape, wondering whether or not to allow them to continue throughout the school year. As per his mother was desperate for him to learn all that he could from the dark-haired Professor, his father, on the other hand, wanted to ensure that his son brought honour to the Malfoy name by succeeding at school and he saw his lessons with Snape as some sort of distraction.
Draco almost laughed, if only his father knew. The lessons were an incredible distraction that kept sending his mind wandering back to Granger. Without doubt, his Patronus kept changing and Snape kept delving into his memories, calling back things that he tried with all his might to keep buried. The professor was another one pushing him to do what he considered to be the 'right thing', it just so happened that his idea of right was keeping away from Granger and pretending that the last year hadn't happened. This plan was almost as laughable as him trying to be good and it made him seriously question the Professor's credentials. How on earth Snape expected him to keep away from Granger was beyond him; she was persistent, strong, stupidly brave and didn't like to let things go, no matter how much he encouraged her to drop the subject.
Then there was Granger herself; the bushy-haired bit of gravity that seemed to draw his attention no matter how much he tried to ignore her, sucking him back into orbiting all her little schemes. She'd banged on before about goodness and making the right choices, but as far as he could see choices didn't exist, they were just this grand illusion, snatched away from him just before he could wrap his fingers around them. He supposed she wanted him to hop skip and jump into Dumbledore's waiting arms and leave his parents to suffer the unfortunate fate of a slow and agonising death. He could say a few words, all bleary-eyed at their funeral, maybe spend the rest of his years summering at the Burrow.
He shivered as the mental image became too much of a reality, turning to his father, realising that he'd been spouting his usual nonsense about 'upholding the family name'. Draco had heard it so many times that he had it practically memorised, just about stopping himself from mouthing along. His mother was staring at him with her usual worry and concern and it made his cheeks burn with anger. He knew he shouldn't blame her for worrying about him and trying to keep him safe, but he couldn't help it. He hadn't really considered how the conversation with his mother would turn out, but resulting in a huge resounding nothing was farthest from his mind, right up there with his mother ever slapping him. The position of slapping Draco had been held, with a certain amount of pride, by his father. He wondered sardonically how his father would actually react knowing that his position was being challenged.
"Black." Lucius hissed suddenly, pausing in his tirade to glare daggers over Draco's shoulder. Draco swivelled round noticing the boy wonder almost immediately, a huge black dog jumping up to him appearing to give him an awkward hug.
"I should alert the authorities," Lucius muttered in a forthright tone.
"And what good will that do? He will be hidden away faster than it takes those bunch of idiots to even process the information."
Draco stopped listening to his parents as his blood roared in his ears. She was looking at him, her brown eyes meeting his across a busy platform. He gulped as the feeble longing returned. If he wasn't a Malfoy, if only she were a pureblood if only all the stupid things his father spent his whole life beating into him didn't matter and it was just them.
"Draco?" He jumped, turning to blink at his mother, wide-eyed. "Are you okay?" She asked, looking over his shoulder with curiosity.
"I'm fine, I'm...I just want to get going."
"Yes, I think it's time you boarded." Lucius sniffed, nodding once to his son before turning on his heel and walking away, his cane punctuating every other step.
"Draco, please remember what I told you." His mother quickly hissed, grasping his arm in a furious grip, her eyes all but begging. He wondered how he could have ever thought that his parents were strong. How could he have idolised his mother for her garden of colour in the midst of all the grey, when she was just as bad as his father.
"Bye mother." He mumbled, turning to board, glancing longingly at Hermione one last time before clambering onto the train and moving to find his usual compartment.
There were many things she knew she failed at as a mother; letting her son down was one, dragging him kicking and screaming into danger was another. Still, as many things as she did wrong, there were some things that she did exceptionally well, the main one being; knowing her son.
She knew his eyes, their dark grey when he was angry, she knew his hair, how it felt soft and downy when it had just dried, she knew the way he glanced at his feet when he danced, still unsure of the steps and she knew every single expression that had ever made it was onto his face.
Narcissa did not register the noise of the train as it began to pull away, too lost in the realisation that had knocked the air out of her lungs. She had never seen him look that way before, but she recognised it. It had been plastered all over Snape's face when he was younger, pining after Harry Potter's Mother, she'd seen it in her sister's eyes when she'd first met the man that would become the Dark Lord, she'd seen it in her own eyes when she'd glanced out the window to freedom. It was longing.
The train had gone and Narcissa stared at the empty space. She needed to talk to Snape if anyone could confirm or deny it would be the wizard. The possibility of it being true filled her with dread. He wondered how much more the impending war would take away from her son before it was satisfied.