Chapter 3
Narcissa sighed, as the muggle children walked past. They seemed to think she was some type of ghost.
She missed her little dragon. Only two months ago, Draco had moved out to live with his now fiance, Harry Potter. She didn’t care that her son was gay, she just wanted him to be happy. She also didn't care to mention that her younger cousin had fallen in love with Harry’s father and that it had ended in tragedy. Everyday she prayed to no one in particular, that her son would not meet the same fate as Regulus.
These days, she glided through her house without a purpose. She didn’t have one without her son or a puffed up narcissist to argue with. As a pureblood, she had never had a chance to pursue any hobbies, her mother had forbidden it. Aside from reading, she had nothing to occupy her time. That’s why, when one third of the golden trio (or half should she say, since the ginger twat was practically useless), sent her an owl requesting an appointment, she jumped at the opportunity.
She had honestly been expecting a hour long lecture on the treatment of house elves. She had not expected the brunette witch to step into her wards without a second thought. The girl was lucky to be alive, due to the ancient Malfoy’s prejudice against muggleborns. It was intriguing that she wasn’t killed on sight. And the scar? She had no idea that her sister had cursed her favourite obsidian blade. She had believed or more so hoped, that the scars would disappear so there would be no reminders of that horrific event. It seems both her and the muggleborn would continue to be haunted by their shared ghost of the past. The ghost who had once been her sister, before the world had forced her to succumb to the madness.
She dearly hoped that she would never have to carry another bleeding, unconscious human being into her home again. She remembers the first time a prisoner had arrived at the manor. It had been a blonde girl, only a year younger than Draco, Luna Lovegood. Her life had been used as blackmail, in an attempt to catch the Potter boy. The orders had stated that she remained unharmed, but the snatchers had decided to have their fun with her. By the time she arrived at the manor, she was covered in blood head to toe, she had a nose that was bleeding profusely, wrists bent at awkward angles and a number of injuries that weren’t visible. But the most disturbing thing about it was the silence. From what she had heard from Draco, the girl was always babbling about some nonsense, yet, at the manor, she did not say a single word as Narcissa carried her down to the dungeons. Luna had been the first, but unfortunately not the last, or worst of these cases.
Since Hermione had been and gone, Narcissa had summoned every book from the library that could possibly contain any information about a curse that wouldn’t heal. Not just a curse that wouldn't heal, but one that became significantly worse when someone tried to heal it. She had read through at least half of them, before sighing and throwing her latest read against the wall.
All of the content was the same. Just hundreds of gruesome descriptions and pictures of difficult to cure curses. One of them had even seemed promising, until the scar in the picture slowly faded away overtime.
Realistically, she knew that it wasn’t her responsibility or obligation to find a cure for the scar, but she still couldn’t shake the feeling that all of this was her fault. She had just stood there and watched, after all. It would be a lie if she said that Bellatrix would have killed her and Draco if she had intervened.
Her sister may have been driven mad at the young age of 17, but her instinct to protect her family still remained.
So why didn't I intervene?
Narcissa couldn't find a reason, so she conjured a self-inking quill and carefully wrote in cursive.
Miss Granger,
At your earliest convenience, I would like you to join me for a cup of tea at the manor.
N.B.