Content Warning for child abuse, animal abuse, and the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black.
Silly, foolish, stubborn girl. Don't you know? Haven't you figured it out yet? Of course not. The books never talk about this part. Nobody ever tells you that your lot is to rot, and wither, and decay. The sunrise eventually sets, the lively spring eventually gives way to cruel and unforgiving winter. It is the nature of things. It is inevitable.
So of course it hurts, idiot child. Escaping the inescapable always does.
Memory I - Family Values
Before anything else, Narcissa Malfoy was someone who knew both what she wanted and how to get it. She valued control of her own life, and who wouldn't? She valued her son, the one good thing that she had ever brought into the world. Most importantly, Narcissa valued power; an unseemly trait among good trophy wives, but she had never been one to settle for a trophy. Power, though, often came most easily from playing to expectations. It was a subtle dance that she had mastered young, presenting a front as a perfectly respectable pureblood woman while simultaneously seizing control of everything she touched. If looking pretty as a picture and smiling at the right times gave her the route to control of her own life? Then she would do it gladly. It was amazing what one could get done so long as they didn't care who got the credit.
To that end, asking her father to arrange her marriage with Lucius had been one of the best decisions that she had ever made. Even back in Hogwarts, he had been so amazingly suggestible. He was no fool, but it had always been easy for a pretty face to whisper in his ear and make him believe that something was his own idea. He was the best husband she could have ever asked for: prideful, charming, and ever so gullible. Lucius made for a perfect smoke screen behind which she could project control.
Many had tried to hang their judgements over her head. Some—particularly the more traditional members of the Umbrists and the Federalists—called her a traitor. Those people so quickly forgot that the only loyalty she had ever pledged was to family. Commonly, Narcissa was called an ice queen by those who foolishly believed she wouldn't hear; people who failed to realise that she heard everything said by anyone of import one way or another. This was regarded with no small amount of amusement. To anyone with a mind for politics, the declaration that she kept her cards well hidden was nothing less than the kindest of compliments. There were those who called her cruel and unfeeling, and those who accused her of some moral failing against which they had righteously succeeded. These earned outright laughter within the confines of her well occluded head. Narcissa knew cruelty all too well, and sly comments and whispered words in receptive ears were far from it.
If asked (and compelled by some outside force to answer truthfully), Narcissa would proudly declare herself a pragmatist. A survivor. War spared none save for the pragmatic and the lucky, and Narcissa had never been very lucky. She was born right into the centre of the Dark Lord's war and had managed to get herself, her husband, her son, and most of her allies out unscathed. No amount of luck or good intentions would have managed that.
She had learned the value of such ruthless pragmatism by watching her elder sisters—both of them idealists to their core. One was an outcast, penniless and bearing a mudblood man's name over the noble one she'd been born to. She was the lucky one, and had been ever since the day of her birth. Her eldest sister had always been unlucky however, and so had played guest to the dementors of Azkaban for over a decade.
If those were the glorious lives that petty ideals had to offer, then Narcissa wanted none of it.
Narcissa remembered briefly that it was nearly time for her annual visit to Azkaban. Bellatrix may have been a madwoman—and worse, an idealist—but Narcissa owed her more than she would ever be able to repay. The occasional visit was the least she could do. Timing it for September that she might take her mind off the freshly emptied house was just practical.
But again, that was rooted in sentiment, and Narcissa was a pragmatist. It was this pragmatism that led Narcissa to the uncomfortable position of sitting across from Rita Skeeter, sharing tea. At least, that's how she justified it. While Narcissa didn't care for the reporter any more than she had when she'd attended school with her, she couldn't deny that the woman was useful. Sadly, necessity dictated that she humour her. Few could deny the power that she held over the common people. Scintillating gossip always proved to be a highly effective diversion, and that was just what Narcissa needed.
A few months back, a team of Aurors from Misuse demanded entrance to Malfoy Manor, proceeded straight to the drawing room, and began scrying for compartments under the floor. They'd found some old family relics that were more than a bit embarrassing to be harbouring in the current political climate. The standard fine for the sort of thing they'd found was hardly a concern. The Malfoys had fallen back a bit since the Dark Lord's fall, but they were far from poor. No, the part which demanded action was the publicity. Lucius was the de-facto head of the Umbrists, one the two largest parties in the Wizengamot. The damage to reputation which would come from being discovered hiding so-called dark artefacts would cost far more than the few measly galleons which would undoubtedly be levied as a fine.
This, of course, was only compounded by the idiocy that was Lucius slipping the darkest of the aforementioned artefacts into a schoolgirl's things a few months before. The fact that the only consequence was the loss of a single disobedient elf was a miracle in its own right.
Narcissa, of course, was not without a plan. The auror in charge of their case was one John Dawlish, and she happened to know that he purchased smuggled potions ingredients from a little shop in Knockturn a week or so before every full moon. Narcissa had sent him two letters in the time it took him to prepare his case while Lucius did everything that he could to delay the presentation of the evidence. The first letter had been sweetened with honey. The second bore only vinegar. She hadn't received a response to either.
Which brought her to lowering herself to inviting Rita Skeeter into her home yet again. It didn't do to make threats that one wasn't prepared to follow up on, after all.
"So, Narcissa," the insignificant bug broached, ignoring any and all social graces that might be expected of her. "I doubt that this is a social call." Her tone was grating. If she hadn't grown up with Bellatrix, Narcissa might have even been annoyed. Being intentionally unpleasant was a particular skill of Skeeter's, and one she had made a living out of, but very few people were as good as her eldest sister at much of anything.
Narcissa gave the detestable woman a conspiratorial smile. "A social call it is not, but I gather that business and pleasure are much the same for you."
"Ah, little Narcissa, you know me so well!" She calmed her rising blood pressure by imagining what the Dark Lord might have done to the insolent woman were He still around. It was a frequent fantasy, and not one that she'd ever managed to feel bad about. "I imagine that you have something for me to sink my teeth into then, hm?"
"That depends entirely on whether you can keep a secret, Ms. Skeeter." It was a rhetorical question and they both knew it. Skeeter had never managed to keep a secret in her life; a fact betrayed by her shoddy occlumency practically screaming her thoughts to the world. The question did its job, though, as the reporter only seemed to grow more excited. "It's true that I hear about a great many things." Narcissa took a sip of her tea, relishing in making the foul woman wait. "But so do many others. I'd hate for a whisper in your ear today to be a whisper in someone else's tomorrow."
Skeeter rolled her eyes. "Oh must we play this game every time? I'm not about to give up the anonymity of my favourite source! Now, what do you have for me?" Her eyes looked almost hungry.
It really was too easy to bend Skeeter to her will. She fashioned herself as a shark, but the animagus ritual seldom lied. The woman was an insect; a bottom feeder happy to devour any little tidbit that came her way. She thought herself one of the little people, and she dreamed of bringing her betters down a notch. It was petty, childish, and highly exploitable. So long as Narcissa fed her a morsel or two when it proved convenient, Skeeter kept her nose well away from the Malfoy's business. Narcissa, of course, had far more than just a single morsel or two to spare. She heard everything, after all, and Skeeter often begged at her table for scraps.
Narcissa lazily waved her hand, prompting a folder to pop out of her purse. "I have it on good authority that one of our supposedly upstanding Aurors has been making illicit deals with a potion seller in Knockturn." She floated the folder over to Skeeter who snatched it up eagerly.
A few moments passed as she skimmed the contents of the folder with greedy eyes. It contained photos, speculations on ingredients with referenced identification books, dates, times, and more. Thorfinn Rowle was quite the thorough investigator when he cared to be, and had made a habit of caring on command ever since Narcissa managed to keep him out of Azkaban.
"Of particular attention is the dates. Note how they correlate to lunar cycle. In fact, I'm told that Dawlish has a nephew who hasn't made an appearance anywhere on the night of the full moon for many years."
"You suspect these to be for the Wolfsbane potion?" Skeeter didn't glance up.
Narcissa allowed herself a smile. "I can't say, but I considered that you might find its recipe interesting."
Skeeter flipped through the documents in the folder before coming to a copy of Wolfsbane's recipe. In a flash, she was pulling out images of the ingredients and speculation sheets to compare. "Oh Narcissa, you give me the sweetest of gifts," she finally said with a predatory grin. Narcissa didn't need to look into her head to see how pleased she was.
"I'm simply doing my part for the community."
"And the community will eat this up," Skeeter purred.
The insolent woman was quick to finish her tea and depart after that, eager to get to work. She'd been fed, and fed well. Neither woman saw any reason to dally. Based on experience, Naricssa knew that she would be seeing an article within the week. She mused that she'd need to get to work as well. Blackmail, of course, was a more effective means of getting what you wanted when the other person actually listened. Releasing leverage to the Prophet outright simultaneously removed the hold she had, and advertised that she wasn't afraid to follow up if necessary. She'd lost this snitch, but it would ensure quite well that she wouldn't miss the next one.
Which meant that she needed a new form of leverage to ensure that Dawlish wouldn't foolishly believe that he had nothing left to lose, get desperate and stubborn, and push the case forward regardless. Luckily, Narcissa had just the idea.
While the Malfoys traditionally made their money in the harvest and trade of potions ingredients, the Blacks had a long shadow in the field of real estate. Narcissa had received a sizable share of the company as part of her dowry. Now with everyone else either dead, exiled, driven mad, and imprisoned, there was nobody to protest when she suggested that the company inquire about buying out Dawlish's mortgage from Gringotts. A copy of the inquiry and the bank's positive response would fit very nicely in a self-destructing letter to the foolish auror.
Everyone always had something else to lose, after all.
During the summer, family dinners were something Narcissa insisted on. She understood well the need for freedom that so often characterised the teenage years, but she indulged that decently enough the rest of the time. Truthfully, she had underestimated the toll that having her little dragon away at Hogwarts would take on her. Having her only son away in the dubious care of Dumbledore for ten months of the year stung. At least Narcissa had Severus to rely on, even if he never seemed to be able to decide whether he hated her or not. She herself had been hesitant about the dour man, but the frequent updates he sent cemented his place in her mind as a steadfast friend and a worthy godfather.
Powers knew her son often forgot to write, something which caused her no end of anxiety when Severus wrote that children were being attacked in the halls. Mudblood children, yes, and nobody would be like to mistake her proud son for one of them, but children regardless. Severus had claimed the beast responsible was a basilisk, and those weren't precisely known for taking care to limit collateral damage.
Lucius had joked that stressing so much about their son would give her grey hairs. Not that there weren't solutions to that sort of thing, but she'd banished him to one of the guest rooms regardless. He didn't seem to understand her concern. His position made sense to her—fathers and Heads of House weren't meant to care and dote like she tended to do—but she found herself loathing it regardless. Draco may have been his heir, yes, but he was also her son. If there was a more worthy cause of stress anywhere, Narcissa had not yet found it .
Fortunately, both of the men in her life knew better by now than to complain about her insistence on family dinners. Lucius had, once upon a time, but that had ended by the time her dragon had turned four. He had always been one to turn with the wind when the consequences for stubbornness were too much to bear. It was part of why Narcissa had married him, after all. For Draco, a doting mother and loving father was all he had ever known. If that kindness was the only good thing that she ever wrought, then Narcissa would die happy.
"—but I can't wait to see the look on Potter's face when he sees how much I've been practising!" he said. "He won't even know what hit him."
Even if his obsession with the Potter boy was more than a bit transparent. Her baby always had had a taste for the finer things. Narcissa knew well that she'd bare tooth and claw against anyone who dared begrudge him that, and dreadfully anticipated the day that she would have to.
"Your mother's been a little worried about sending you back tomorrow," Lucius said. "Between the dementors and her cousin, she's convinced there's going to be trouble."
That was the other concerning thing. Draco knew well enough to stay away from the demonic prison guards, she had taught him better than that. Sirius, though, was another case entirely. He was no Death Eater—even if bringing that up to the Wizengamot wasn't in anybody's best interests—but he had inherited the Black Madness just as surely as Bellatrix had. Running headfirst into a castle guarded by dementors to see his godson sounded like exactly the sort of thing he would do. Sirius likely wouldn't even plan it out in advance. He wasn't stupid, precisely, even if Narcissa would never say that out loud. He was just mad. Walburga had made quite sure of that, and his stay with the dementors almost certainly hadn't helped.
"I would be more confident if Dumbledore hadn't been content to let a basilisk roam around for six months," Narcissa said.
"I'll be fine, Mother," spoke the light of her life with an aborted roll of his eyes. "Even if something happens, Uncle Sev won't let it hurt anyone." He spoke with the easy confidence of youth, but Narcissa knew far too well just how many people Severus had failed to protect before. "He's the one who killed the basilisk, remember?" He made a face. "I'm not looking forward to seeing Granger again, though."
"That's the mudblood girl who got possessed?" Lucius prompted between bites.
"She's insufferable! Top of the year, and she's always so smug about it!" Draco stabbed his fork in perhaps a touch harder than was necessary. "Dumbledore let her get away without taking her exams last year. I tried to put her back in your place like you told me, Father, but she just punched me like some muggle!"
"She punched you?" I asked.
He nodded. "Broke my nose too. The worst part is, McGonagall saw it and took her side! I had to scrub cauldrons for hours."
"One would think that Dumbledore would have elves to do his labour, rather than foisting it on children," Lucius said. Draco nodded, vindicated.
Narcissa took a sip of her wine before an errant thought came to her. "You vanished the blood, of course."
"Er, no, I didn't. That's what the elves are for, isn't it?"
She blinked, quite sure that she had heard incorrectly. It was Lucius' job to ensure Draco knew what he needed as heir of the House. Surely, he would have brought that up. "Are you saying that you did not cast a Blood Incineration charm to get rid of the blood that had been shed?"
Draco shot his father a confused look as Lucius' eyes widened in realisation. "No, I didn't."
"Then did you dedicate the blood to magic to strip it of its potential?"
"No, Mother. Should I have?" There was a tinge of worry to his voice, but nowhere near enough. "Granger's a mudblood, it's not like she'd know what to even do with it."
"I see." Narcissa's voice was cold as ice. She felt walls closing in around her, and wondered if perhaps she should have been a touch less protective. At times like this she remembered just how coddled Lucius had been as a child. Of course this would be the sort of thing he'd fail to place appropriate priority on. "Draco, meet me in the library when you have finished eating. Don't dawdle." Without another word, she rose and swept out of the dining room.
Barely suppressed panic coiled around Narcissa's throat as she realised just how ignorant she'd allowed her son to be. It was a luxury that she'd never had, and it seemed that she'd been too permissive with allowing her son his luxuries. Draco thought the world to be a kind place. It was an illusion she had had dismissed early.
When she had turned seven years old, Narcissa's father had decided that she was old enough to learn magic. More precisely, all the ways that magic could be used against the House. He started with an explanation of why, exactly, protecting one's blood was so important. She had listened as he talked about how blood was so intimately tied to the powers of Life and Connection as to be indistinguishable. Blood was Life, he had explained, and it was also the closest Connection to her family that existed anywhere. Narcissa had nodded and said that she'd understood, but he hadn't quite believed her.
She always felt so small in her father's study. It was like the weight of the attention of all the Heads of House that came before were pressing down everywhere. The effect only seemed to magnify when her father decided to place his attention onto her.
"You've been listening, yes, but I'm afraid that you don't understand quite yet." Cygnus gestured to an ornate dagger laying on its sheathe on the table beside them. The whole thing was deep black, with a bizarrely flared handle. "A demonstration is in order. Go ahead and prick your finger." He levelled his expectant gaze at her, a look that even the always indomitable Bella bowed to.
"Will it hurt?" Narcissa asked.
"Of course it will. It's meant to be a lesson." His voice held no pity, only cool certainty.
With shaking hands, Narcissa picked up the dagger and took a deep breath. "Where would you like me to…?"
"The end of your finger."
Narcissa calmed at that. If the only pain from this lesson was a prick of the finger, then it would be a far kinder one than most. Cygnus was always harsher with her lessons than he was with any of her sisters. With newfound resolve, she placed the dagger against the end of her finger and pushed. It slid in easily. The slight pain was almost an afterthought.
The moment the dagger touched her blood, it seemed to thrum softly. After a moment, watery ripples spread outwards from the point all across its surface. The black blade lightened to pale silver, and the handle shifted to spotless ivory. Narcissa felt the strangest sensation of oneness with the blade. It was almost as if it was part of her. Somehow, she knew for a fact that she would know precisely where it was even if she placed it down and closed her eyes.
"Good," Cygnus said. "That knife is yours now. It will work as a focus for you and you alone, much like a wand. You are a Black, child, and every Black worthy of the name learns the knife before they learn the wand. You will keep it by your side always, without exception. Now, put it down." He produced a monogrammed handkerchief. "And clean up your hand with this."
Narcissa did as instructed, placing the new part of herself onto the table quickly and gingerly. Father was never a patient man. In the privacy of her head, she knew that she was worried about what the lesson might entail. That worry fought a losing battle against the fear of what she knew would happen if she was so foolish as to disobey. Once she was done and had wiped her finger clean, Cygnus snatched the handkerchief from her.
"Now, do you remember why you are not to allow anyone to have your blood?"
"Because blood is Life and Connection, and allowing it to get into enemy hands harms the House of Black," she recited dutifully. That was always the point of the lesson. Narcissa might come to harm, but the House always came first.
"And do you know what that means?" he asked her.
Narcissa hesitated for just a moment. "No, sir."
"Well then, allow me to make it very clear," Cygnus said. He levelled his wand at the spot of blood on the rag. "Dominus."
She felt every cell of her blood freeze inside of her body before marching along at a languid pace. Narcissa attempted to move, to adjust her place in her seat, but found that every attempt brought spikes of pain.
"There are two reasons that the Imperius is considered 'Unforgivable'." Cygnus lectured. "The first is that there is no known defence for the ill tempered mind. The second is that the state of mind required to cast it is considered to be dangerous by the Ministry. These are reasons fit for spineless cowards and ignorant fools. Of all the spells I know to take control of a person, the Imperius is by far the nicest."
He flicked his wand up, and Narcissa's body stood of its own accord. A swirl, and her body gave a perfect curtsy.
"Every spell can be resisted. You insist that you are worthy of your station? Then do not simply allow me to have my way with your body. Be better than that."
Narcissa's body began to walk around the room. She prepared to fight rising panic, but her breathing was too calm, her heart too steady for panic to occur. It gave way to an all encompassing fear which she covered up with determination and righteous fury, just like Bella said she should. Her mind was still her own, after all. After a moment of preparation, she tried to stop moving her legs.
Before that moment, Narcissa had believed that there might be a limit to pain. She thought that there was some plateau beyond which the body simply shut down. How very naive she was.
Stabbing agony coursed out from every vein from her waist down, like every single drop of blood was ripping through its lining and tearing out the muscles. The pain forced her spine to freeze and her whole body to spasm, spreading the white hot searing stabbing burning pain ever upwards, like a thousand rusty hooks digging in and ripping out and tearing and cutting and twisting. She'd have screamed were she able, and she felt her stomach flip as if to vomit before being beaten back down by the ironclad control of the spell.
She stopped resisting. It had to be better if she let the spell take its course. The agony coursing out from her blood dimmed, but with dawning horror she realised that the feeling of her body tearing itself apart hadn't just been her imagination. Narcissa's body walked on with eviscerated muscles casting bolts of lightning up her spine with each step for what seemed like an eternity before the curse lifted and her body collapsed to the floor. Tears streamed freely down unseeing eyes.
Cygnus voice filtered to her as if through a distant veil, as if it was being said to someone else. Somewhere else. "Your blood is your life. It hurts now, but you will come to thank me for this lesson in time. Elf!" A distinctive pop filled the air. "See to it that she's functional again." His piece said, Cygnus turned and left the room.
"Please do not cry, Miss Black. Mimsy will take good care of you," said the matronly elf. "Mimsy already has everything Miss Black needs to get all better. Off we—"
"Wait," Narcissa managed to say.
"Miss Black you shouldn't be speaking. You could hurt yourself! Mimsy promises that—"
"The knife," she gasped through the blood quickly filling her mouth. "Father said I need to keep my knife with me."
"Of course, Miss Black. Just stay still."
Narcissa grasped at skin to pull herself out of the memory, pacing through the library as she attempted to recentre herself. Memories of her father's many lessons always put her off balance, but when combined with the idea that her son was vulnerable to that same experience at the hands of an enemy it sent her into an anxious fit.
It had taken a week and a half for her to be healed back up to full. Cygnus had forbidden pain relief that the lesson might sink in more fully, but her elf had snuck some to her anyway. She had no idea if she would have ever recovered had medical attention been any less immediate. Narcissa forced herself to sit, grasping through her dress at the dagger strapped to her thigh. The action made the world stop spinning, the same as it always had. Her dagger had been a constant companion since she'd received it. She could feel it the same as she would any limb, but the reminder soothed her in ways she hadn't the words to describe.
She realised from the muttering voices in the back of her mind that she'd let her grip on her legilimency slip. Sloppy. Ever since she came into her power, legilimency had come to her naturally. It was useful when she kept a handle on it, but that became significantly more difficult in times of stress.
It might have been for the best, she mused as she let the reassuring familiarity of her family's thoughts wash over her. The presence of her son's mind had ever served to calm her, even when it was racing almost as much as hers.
It's just blood only blood Granger wouldn't know how to Father says stealing magic could she steal mine will I be alright Father says so but he looks worried will Mother be alright I should finish eating—
His thoughts were as disorganised as they always were, the same as those of anyone untrained in Occlumency. It was a shame that they couldn't teach him yet, but forcing Order like that on a developing core could damage it irreparably. Even knowing that, she'd considered teaching him anyway once Lucius began teaching him about the family magics. The book had already been purchased and her calendar was cleared when she realised that prioritising keeping secrets over his children's safety was something that Cygnus would do.
Narcissa refused to be her father.
"Mimsy," she said with an ever steady tone. The aged elf appeared before her with a pop and a curtsy.
"How can Mimsy help you Missus Malfoy?"
"I need you to bring me one of the rodents you breed for the owls. Alive."
"Of course, Missus Malfoy."
Narcissa didn't linger on the melancholic affection coming from the elf's thoughts, instead focusing on leashing her legilimency once more. After several minutes, the door to the library creaked open and Draco walked in.
"Mother?" he called as he approached. "Is everything alright?"
She opened her eyes and looked at his worried face. "No. Sit, Draco." He sat without hesitation. "Draco, do you know what magic is?" He knew better than to claim that he did, and so shook his head. "Magic is, at its most basic level, Connection. You have magic because you are at the end of a long chain of people who had magic. The spells you cast are the way they are because that is how they have always been cast. It wears a hole in reality like a river might through stone."
"What does that have to do with me not cleaning up my blood?" Confusion was writ large on his face, and Narcissa mourned the loss of innocence that she would be responsible for today.
With a crack, a cage appeared on the table between them, a large rat inside.
"Everything, dragon. When you have something in your possession which bears a strong connection to something else, you have power over both. Now, can you think of anything more thoroughly connected to you than your blood?" Draco's eyes widened.
"So Granger could have power over me if she had my blood?" He shuddered. "I think I understand why you're worried."
"No, you don't," she echoed. "But you will."
Narcissa flicked her wrist, causing the cage to open and the rat to float out before she reached under her dress to remove her dagger. The bashful boy averted his eyes. Too innocent by half.
"Keep your eyes up, Draco. This is important." She waited for him to pay attention once more before reaching out and pricking the squealing rat in the belly. With blood on her focus and steel in her spine, she incanted. "Dominus."
The squealing stopped immediately. She felt the rat, in a distant sort of way. Like a phantom itch for a limb long lost. Its blood hovered at the edge of her sense, a small rush of magic and Life whirling around her like Power everlasting. The rat's blood froze before she breathed the magic in, adjusted to the sense, and bade it flow once more. Narcissa cancelled the levitation charm to drop the rat onto the table. With a flick of her dagger it rose up on two legs and began to walk.
"With blood, the most vile of malefica can be cast. You could kill someone from miles away, or take control of them just as easily. The cruellest spells ever invented call for the blood of their victim. By blood, I have seen grown men reduced to mere screaming, wailing flesh. You are familiar with the Imperius curse, correct? It works on the mind, filling the victim with joy whenever they please their master. Blood magic is not so kind. It works on the body, promising punishment for disobedience instead."
Draco swallowed, eyes like saucers. "Is it in a lot of pain?" he asked.
She felt it twitch in protest, felt the muscles shred in response. It felt good. It felt like power. "Yes."
"Please stop."
"Of course." Narcissa dropped the curse, and the rat began squealing once more. She ignored it writhing on the table to focus on her son. "I think you understand the lesson. Now, give me your hand."
He looked up suspiciously, filling Narcissa's heart with a mixture of pride at how he had learned and horror that she had made him mistrust her for even a moment. "Why?"
"The caution is wise, but unnecessary. I'm going to show you how to incinerate any blood that's been left outside of your body. It won't affect any already dedicated to a working, but it will prevent someone from using it for something new. I don't imagine that that fact will matter much today. As you said, the girl is a Mudblood. However, not everyone who might want power over you will be so unfortunately born. The fact that I never taught you this is an oversight on my behalf. I'll demonstrate, then you'll follow." Narcissa picked up her wand and pointed it at the blood still on her dagger. "Like so. Combustus Sangui."
The tip of the dagger lit up in flame for a moment, as did several spots on the table. She handed both dagger and wand over to her son. "Now, prick your finger and cast the spell. We need to make sure that there's no traces of you left sitting around for anyone to find." The rat's squealing reached a fever pitch. "Mimsy," she commanded, and both rat and cage disappeared.
Draco took the foci with trepidation. It was with shaking hands that he finally pricked his finger. "Combustus Sangui." Nothing happened.
"Don't forget the swirl at the end."
"Combustus Sangui."
"Tighter motions. You're banishing something outside of you, you need to keep it constrained."
"Combustus Sangui!" The dagger's tip finally lit up in flame. Narcissa grasped his hands and moved them to place the foci down on the table.
"Good." Narcissa gave her son one of the smiles she reserved only for him. "There are many people who will want to hurt you. More who will want to control you. You are pureblood, Draco. That means more than just money and privilege. The mudbloods and blood traitors scorn you and covet your magic. You need to protect yourself from them. It's the only way to stay alive." She squeezed his hands once more. "Do you understand now why I was so concerned?"
He nodded, ashen-faced. "Yes, Mother."
"Good." She let Draco's hands go. "Now, tell me more about that trick that you're going to beat the Potter boy with."
He took a deep breath. "Actually, I think I have some homework left to check over. If I may?"
"Of course," Narcissa said, as if the thought of her son pulling away from her didn't feel as if her heart was being torn from her chest. "I wouldn't want to disturb your studies."
He stood and began walking away. "I love you, dragon," she called after him, the words bubbling out of her as if they had no place to go but out. "Never forget that. I just want to keep you safe."
"I love you too, Mother." Draco closed the door shut behind him without another word.
So apparently FFN doesn't have a way for me to align text to the right, which is annoying. I'll still be posting this story here, but I'd recommend going to find this story on AO3 posted under the username M15. The way text is aligned is going to be... slightly important after a certain point going forward. You can go without and get the full story, but it won't be an experience in line with author intentions. I'm also a bit more communicative in the AO3 comments, if that sweetens the pot. Up to y'all.