A Reluctant Sign in the Right Direction
In another wing of the manor after Draco and Ursa have been settled down for a nap.
The parlor was quiet, save for the soft chime of the tea service as Narcissa poured for Severus, her fingers poised and graceful, though a touch of strain betrayed her calm.
Severus accepted his cup without a word, observing her with his usual keen eye. After a sip, he reached into his cloak and withdrew a slim, unremarkable book, its cover worn and plain.
Narcissa raised an eyebrow, surprised as he handed it to her. “And this is…?” she asked, turning the book over with a flicker of disdain as she noted the Muggle-style binding.
“A book on Muggle sign language,” Severus said calmly, as though he hadn’t just placed something distinctly non-magical in the Malfoy household. “It might be of use with Ursa.”
The corners of Narcissa’s mouth tightened, but she forced herself to keep her voice polite. “Sign language, Severus?” She gave a brief, controlled exhale. “You’re saying that Muggles use this…this method of gesturing…to communicate?”
“Yes. Those without speech often use it, and some children in magical families as well,” he added. “It’s a way to offer Ursa words, even if she’s not ready to speak them aloud.”
She glanced at the book, struggling to mask her distaste. Anything Muggle was inherently suspect—odd, primitive even. She imagined Lucius’s reaction when he saw it. But she couldn’t deny that Severus had a point; her daughter deserved a chance to communicate.
Reluctantly, she sighed. “I…I see. If it could help her…” She trailed off, but the intent in her voice was clear. For her little witch, she’d overlook her distaste for this Muggle invention.
---
Later that evening, when Lucius entered their private sitting room, Narcissa was waiting, the book placed deliberately on the table between them. She watched him closely as he glanced at it, his lip curling ever so slightly as he read the title.
“Narcissa, what is this?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Sign language? Muggle sign language?”
Narcissa straightened, folding her hands primly in her lap. “It’s a…method for communicating without speech. Severus suggested it.” Her voice softened a little, though her face was set. “He thinks it might give Ursa a way to express herself. At least until…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence, her mind haunted by her family’s dark legacy.
Lucius frowned, picking up the book with a measure of distaste, as though it might contaminate him. “We’re to gesture like Muggles, then, all for the sake of—”
“For the sake of our daughter, Lucius,” Narcissa interrupted firmly. “Whatever misgivings we have about Muggle methods, if this can help her…” She trailed off, her voice soft but steady.
Lucius, after a long moment, gave a small, reluctant nod. He placed the book back on the table, his mouth set in a grim line. “Very well,” he muttered, as though the words tasted bitter. “We’ll do it. But this had better be worth the indignity.”
---
In the days that followed, they met in private to study the unfamiliar gestures. Narcissa’s fingers moved with careful precision as she learned each sign, though her lip often tightened with frustration. Lucius’s movements were stiffer, less graceful; every now and then he muttered a disparaging comment under his breath about the absurdity of it all. Still, they persisted, driven by the faint hope that this might reach their daughter in ways words had failed.
Finally, they felt prepared enough to introduce Ursa to their efforts. One evening, as the three sat in the family room, Narcissa took a deep breath, leaning close to her daughter. She brought her hand up to make the sign for “hello,” her movements careful and deliberate, watching Ursa’s reaction.
Ursa’s bright eyes followed the gestures, her expression thoughtful. Narcissa hesitated, then formed the sign for “love,” followed by “you.” “Hello, Ursa,” she said softly, though she knew the words themselves didn’t matter as much. “We…love you.”
Lucius, his expression less openly affectionate but just as intent, repeated the signs, his movements stiff but determined.
Ursa watched them both, then lifted her own small hands, mimicking the sign for “love.” After a moment’s hesitation, she added the sign for “you,” her gaze darting between her parents as if to make sure she’d done it correctly.
Narcissa’s eyes glistened as the meaning of the moment settled around them, and even Lucius’s usual stoic demeanor softened. Though this form of communication was foreign and even distasteful to them, it had allowed Ursa to share something real, something precious, without ever saying a word.
Lucius gave Ursa’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, his tone softer than usual. “Our clever girl,” he murmured, pride overriding the resentment he’d initially felt.
In that small, silent moment, Narcissa and Lucius realized the lengths they’d go to for their daughter—even if it meant crossing lines they’d once deemed unthinkable.