The Politics of Survival
The Malfoys had always been a tight-knit family. For generations, their numbers had remained small, their world revolving around the core bloodline. That was how it had always been—until Narcissa Black married Lucius Malfoy.
Narcissa had never been one to simply accept the rules set for her. She had insisted on keeping her sister Andromeda in her life, despite the scandal of her marriage. She had stood by Regulus Black when his own brother considered him to be evil. And, by extension, she had accepted Severus Snape into the fold.
Draco, as it turned out, was very much his mother’s son. Stubborn, clever, and fiercely protective of those he considered his own. If Abraxas Malfoy had still been alive, he would have been appalled by Draco’s definition of family. The boy had no interest in blood purity or social politics —if he liked someone, they were his, it was as simple as that. Over time, the Malfoy family had grown to include Theo Nott and Pansy Parkinson, bound not by blood, but by loyalty and friendship.
It was Draco who had changed the course of their lives. He had pulled them away from the grips of a tyrant, giving them a measure of independence they had never thought possible. And now, they were bound together by more than just trust—they were bound by an Unbreakable Vow. A vow to protect Draco’s secret. A vow to protect Draco himself.
Divination was an imprecise magic, riddled with inaccuracies and superstition. But Draco’s visions, his instincts, had never been wrong. So when, one morning, he sat down to breakfast and said, with perfect calm, “You must agree to meet Augusta Longbottom.”
No one questioned him.
Three days later, Andromeda arrived at Malfoy Manor. She didn’t need to be offered tea or asked how she’d been—there was no need for pleasantries between sisters who understood each other too well.
“She’s eager to meet you,” Andromeda said, getting straight to the point. “She suspects you’re my source. She believes you’ve truly turned against Voldemort.”
Narcissa didn’t respond immediately. She tapped her fingers lightly against the armrest of her chair, weighing her options.
Their small group had spent years carefully balancing between survival and rebellion. They made no moves without consideration. Augusta Longbottom was an unknown factor. A variable they had not accounted for.
But then she thought of Draco, of his certainty that this meeting needed to happen.
Finally, she nodded. “Set it up.”
When Augusta received Narcissa Malfoy’s answer, she allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. This was progress.
Her satisfaction dimmed, however, when she realized the meeting would take place at Malfoy Manor. The location was deliberate, as if to inform her that Narcissa Malfoy held all the cards.
Still, she went.
What she had not expected was to be greeted by a young boy, blonde and sharp-eyed, who looked to be about Neville’s age.
Draco Malfoy.
“Lady Longbottom,” he greeted. “Allow me to escort you to the sunroom.”
Augusta didn’t miss the significance of the gesture. To let their only son greet a guest alone was an unspoken show of trust—or perhaps a test. She suspected the latter.
As they walked, she finally spoke. “You must be Draco.”
“I am.”
“You’ll be starting at Hogwarts this year, won’t you?”
“I will, though Mother wanted me to attend Beauxbatons.”
Augusta raised an eyebrow. “Not Hogwarts? Even though it’s her alma mater?”
Draco gave her a knowing look. “My parents believe Hogwarts’ curriculum has fallen behind. The war has kept it stagnant. There have been no updates to account for recent magical developments, and Muggle Studies is more than a decade outdated. They also say Dumbledore refuses to allow the study of certain magical branches.”
Augusta frowned. “Your parents want you to learn dark magic?”
Draco came to a stop, turning to look at her. “I was told that you are a woman of strong opinions, Lady Longbottom. But also that you are fair in your view of the world and magic itself.”
She considered him for a moment before nodding. “You’re right. Magic itself is not light or dark. It’s wizards who make it so.”
Draco said nothing more. But for the first time, he smiled.
The sunroom at Malfoy Manor was a breathtaking space. Bright, airy, but not overly warm, with flowering plants weaving through every available surface. It was the kind of beauty designed to disarm, to lull visitors into a false sense of ease.
At the center of it all, Narcissa Malfoy sat poised, Lucius standing behind her. They made an undeniably striking couple—elegant, powerful, and composed.
As Augusta stepped forward, Narcissa rose gracefully.
“Lady Longbottom, welcome to our home.”
Augusta inclined her head. “Thank you for meeting with me. I had the pleasure of speaking with your son. He’s… remarkable.”
Lucius chuckled, the sound low and amused. “Don’t let him hear you say that. He already has quite the opinion of himself.”
He leaned down, brushing a kiss against his wife’s cheek. “I believe you came to speak with Narcissa. I’ll leave you to it.”
Once the door closed behind him, Narcissa wasted no time. “I must admit, Augusta, I was surprised by your request. I’m curious—what is it you hope to gain from this meeting?”
Augusta took her seat, folding her hands in her lap. “I’ll be blunt. There are those within the Order of the Phoenix who are dissatisfied. There has been very little transparency and little real progress. Some of us believe a political and legal approach may be more effective than what Dumbledore has been attempting.”
Narcissa remained expressionless, listening.
“I’ve been following the political maneuvers of your family,” Augusta continued. “Lucius and Regulus have been pushing for bills that are—unexpected. More moderate than anyone would have assumed.”
Finally, Narcissa spoke. “And where do I fit into this?”
Augusta held her gaze. “You have a way of making people listen.”
Narcissa merely smiled, saying nothing.
After a pause, Augusta pressed further. “What I need to understand is—where do you stand? Do you believe in protecting Muggleborns?”
Narcissa tapped a single finger against the edge of her teacup. “I believe in integration. But it must be done properly. Right now, Muggleborns enter our world with little preparation. Their knowledge is dictated by a single man—one who answers to no one but himself. A man who has made grave mistakes in the past, and still insists on holding all power in his hands.”
Augusta studied her, intrigued. “And how do you see this war ending?”
Narcissa gave a soft, knowing laugh. “Ah, Augusta. You ask too much too soon. We’re willing to work with you. But don’t expect me to bare my soul just yet.”
Augusta smiled. She had heard more than enough.
A few days later, the breakaway faction met once again—this time joined by a hesitant Remus Lupin, still uncertain, still filled with gratitude and loyalty to Dumbledore, unwilling to betray him in any way. However, his friends had been insistent that he come and listen, and to be honest, he was tired and broken. The missions brought about no success, only a particular combination of pain and isolation that left him reeling. And so, he had made the decision to follow his friends, the only ones who had stayed with him through his worst nightmares, and still decided to support him and care for him.
After listening to Augusta recount her conversation with Narcissa Malfoy, the group easily agreed on the decision they had all spent the last fortnight discussing.
They would work with the Malfoys.
Politically, for now.
And socially? Perhaps the children would be the key to a true alliance.