Chapter 4
A month had gone by since you had met Lord Voldemort, and you now frequently attended the Death Eater meetings with Draco. Plans were being discussed as to how the breakout of the remaining members from Azkaban would proceed, and while many gave their input, you kept silent, listening.
At all meetings, Professor Snape turned up. The first time came as a shock to you, even though you knew he was a Death Eater, but all it did was give you a newfound respect and admiration for your Potions professor. He had expressed how glad he was that you were on the same side, and how he always saw you as a promising student.
You didn’t miss the note of apprehension in his gaze, though, as you began to attend more and more meetings.
Now you and Draco were sitting out in the garden. It was a beautiful late-summer evening, and while the occasional cry from a peacock was slightly annoying, you and Draco had made progress in your summer homework.
“I still can’t believe they cleared Potter of all charges,” you grumbled to your friend, brain starting to shut down from all the work you’ve done. “Why the bloody hell does he get everything he wants?”
“He’s not a prefect at least,” Draco sneered, closing up his own books to put his work away. “Professor Snape told me that they’ve picked the prefects. Of course, I’m one for Slytherin.”
“Who’s the other Slytherin?” you asked, curious.
“You, of course! We’ll receive our badges when the owls come with our booklists.”
Hearing you were made a prefect made you feel warm. Snape must have had something to do in that, you decided. Surely Dumbledore would never pick the Malfoy kids (you consider yourself one) to have any sort of power at the school.
“Anyway, Potter got out of a conviction only because of Dumbledore,” Draco continued, looping back to the initial conversation. “Dementors showing up in a Muggle neighbourhood, yeah. Even I wouldn't even show up in a Muggle neighbourhood just to kill him.”
You were about to reply when the back door opened, revealing Narcissa, who called out that dinner was ready. You and Draco grabbed your things before heading inside, making sure to set them in stacks on the table out of the way as you sat next to each other, Narcissa on the other side.
It was not uncommon to be eating without Lucius. Because of his work at the Ministry, family dinners often consisted of Draco, Narcissa, and yourself alone. Sometimes even Narcissa would skip out, leaving just you and Draco.
“The trial for that Potter boy went terribly, I’ve heard,” Narcissa commented, clearly trying to make light conversation. “I don’t understand how he keeps slipping away from trouble.”
“It’s Dumbledore,” Draco spat. “He’s always saving him.”
You made no commentary, taking notice of the food on your plate. It was nothing special, of course, but it was to you.
As much as you knew your parents disliked you, this was your favourite meal, and they made it every year on your birthday. Your birthday wasn’t until winter, but seeing the food suddenly hit you hard, and you found yourself tearing up at it.
It was a moment before the chatter between mother and son vanished into a complete silence, and you knew at least one of them was staring at you as you silently began to cry.
Allowing yourself to cry in front of others was extremely uncommon. While Draco has seen the tears countless times, Narcissa has only seen you crying once, back in Diagon Alley, and those were purely tears of anger.
This time it was of pain, of uncomfortable feelings that arose to the surface.
You pushed away the plate, vaguely aware that it was an insult to Narcissa’s cooking, but that was the last thing you cared about right now. You felt the overwhelming urge to hide, to get away, and you quickly excused yourself before darting down the hall to your room.
Once inside, you quickly shut the door and locked it. Almost a heartbeat later you broke into uncontrollable sobs, which left you unable to stand.
You made your way over to the bed, which was now tucked against the left-hand corner, and grabbed one of your stuffed animals that you bought yourself, hugging it tightly as you cried into it, facing the wall as you tried to tuck yourself as close into the corner as you could.
There was a knock at the door, but you didn’t answer, quieting your sobs in hopes that whoever it was went away.
While you expected Draco, this was one of those moments where having him around was the last thing you wanted. Typically allowing yourself to cry in front of him, the gut-wrenching sobs that were escaping you moments prior were saved for a moment alone, not even Draco having heard you like that before.
You heard the door attempt to open, but having locked it, they couldn’t get in. Good, you thouhht.
What you weren’t expecting was to hear the lock click, and it was at that moment that you knew it wasn't Draco. He’d never disrespect your privacy like that, no matter how curious he was.
You propped yourself on your elbow and turned to face the intruder, which you quickly had gathered from the barge-in was Narcissa.
She stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment before welcoming herself inside, shutting the door behind her.
She stared at you for a long moment, before attempting a joke with, “Was my cooking today that bad?”
You laughed, a few more tears escaping as you shook your head no. You set your niffler stuffed animal to the side as you fully sat up, facing her as you rested your back against the headboard.
“Mind if I sit with you?” she asked softly, and once again you shook your head, deciding you’d allow her to stay.
Narcissa had never bothered you like this before; she knew you would get into your moods, but she’d always stay away. You weren’t sure what made this time different, but you were somewhat curious to see what made her follow you here.
You were expecting her to just sit on the edge of the bed, but she instead crawled up and sat next to you, drawing her knees up and resting her arms over them, gazing around the room.
You have decorated since you first began staying here. Having finally taken a successful trip to Diagon Alley, you bought yourself loads of things to adorn the walls with.
Growing up listening to Muggle music from your father, some posters were stationary photos of the bands you enjoyed, while others were animal portraits of the various creatures you took an interest in, all moving like the regular wizard photographs. You had Narcissa at one point enchant your ceiling to sparkle like the night sky, and added several figurines on shelves bolted to your walls.
Lucius had also bought you a new broom, a Firebolt (Draco was jealous about that for a good week), which was hanging from your wall, along with several daggers and swords for display purposes only.
Your walls were also decorated with drawings you’ve done, many being of Draco, some being of animals or landscapes, and one or two of Narcissa herself, who you caught softly smiling once her eyes landed on one of them.
“I’m sorry,” you murmured, drawing your knees tightly to your chest as you looked away from her, staring at your blankets. “It was rude of me to leave dinner.”
She didn’t reply, but instead grabbed one of your hands that were hugging your knees, drawing it to her as she covered it with both of her own.
You looked back at her again, shocked to see a genuine caring look in her eyes, features softened with concern.
It once again brought tears to your eyes, and feeling her holding your hand brought back unpleasant memories, so you found yourself ripping your arm away from her grip, quickly wiping your tears away.
“Has something upset you?” she asked softly. “You are more than welcome to confide in me about anything. I’m very good at keeping things quiet.”
“No,” you murmured, looking away from her again. “You don’t have to pretend to care, y’know. I won’t even let Draco speak to me right now.”
You felt the urge to tell her to leave, but something inside wanted her here with you.
It was something you had never received much from your own mother: comfort.
In this moment, all you wanted was a mother’s comfort, but the last person you’d expect it from would be Narcissa Malfoy.
It’s not like you two hadn't been getting along; you’ve actually been getting on well with each other, although you still had that slightly disappointing impression that she still didn’t see you as family.
Of course, you knew it wouldn’t happen (or at least had a very rare chance of happening), but it still hurt slightly. The Malfoys considering you their family was the one thing you wanted most; Draco had already considered you as his sister, which you’ve expressed to each other several times, but specifically you wanted Lucius and Narcissa to see you as their daughter.
“I’m not pretending to care,” Narcissa whispered so fiercely that you turned to look at her again. “Nor am I here for any other reason except to know if you’re alright.”
You stared at her for a long moment, trying to decipher if she was lying or manipulating you, which your own mother had done several times.
When you finally decided that she was being completely honest, you let your walls crack a little.
“It’s a stupid thing to be upset over, really,” you muttered in a slightly choked voice, trying to hold in more tears. “I simply had an unpleasant memory, and it triggered an over-emotional response.”
“Those things can happen,” Narcissa replied. “I won’t press you to speak about it, although I do want to make it clear that you need not ever hesitate to seek me out for any matter.”
At that, she gently cupped your cheek in her hand for a split-second before pulling away, making her way back toward the door.
She paused, hand on the handle as she turned to give your bedroom one last quick glance.
“Do you think you could draw me a picture?” she asked quietly, looking back at you. “I’m quite fond of foxes.”
At that, she opened the door and left, shutting it behind her. You heard the lock click back into place.
She…respects me, you thought, the emotion coming with it almost suffocating. It hurt, but in a good way.
It was that moment when it hit you that maybe, at least to Narcissa, you were finally seen as their daughter.
***
Almost a week had passed since the tearful incident, which was not brought up by Draco nor Narcissa.
Neither had changed their behavior toward you, either: Draco still smugly teasing you about little things, Narcissa only speaking to you if you were in the same room together.
Your hopes of being considered a Malfoy in the last few days had dwindled in certainty, mainly because Narcissa showed not a single ounce of the maternal side to you again as she had that night in your room. The thought stung for about a day, but you quickly got over it. As Draco had told you before, it was best not to seek out a relationship with his parents.
You felt like they were feral cats, approaching someone only if they wanted to.
It was morning, and you and Draco were reading the latest copy of the Daily Prophet. Some Ministry worker, Sturgis Podmore, was arrested for attempting to break into a room inside the Ministry of Magic. It seemed to be a fairly big deal, although you were unsure as to why.
Shortly after the Prophet had arrived, two more owls followed suit, dropping into the vast living room through an open window.
While initially the only room you were allowed to recreate in was the drawing room, in the past few weeks you had finally been allowed more reign over the house, now relaxing in the family-only living room.
It was quite comfortable inside, and much brighter compared to the rest of the house.
The floor was carpeted, walls covered in a Slytherin-green wallpaper with little silver and black snakes on it. There was a sofa, a few armchairs, a loveseat, and a rocking chair piled into the centre of the room. A chandelier hung overhead, light softly illuminating the walls, and a fireplace sat to one side, the flames burning inside.
One entire wall was practically all window, each a large arch partially covered with dark green drapes. That was the reason why the room was so bright.
You and Draco gently removed the papers tied to the owls’ legs, quickly unrolling them to see your booklists for the year. In a separate package came your prefect badges, which gave you a thrill of ambition.
“Looks like our new Defence teacher is taking a different approach this year,” Draco commented, examining his list. “These books are for first-years! Although, it’s not like we need that class, anyway.”
“I wonder who the new teacher is,” you replied, pridefully clipping your badge to your shirt. “We know they’ll only last the year, anyway.”
“Nonsense. The Ministry assigned one of their own members, Dolores Umbridge,” he replied, as if that were information you should have known. “They’ll be making great changes to the school. They’re putting loads more control over what’s taught, and even more control over Dumbledore.”
“He needs it,” you replied, scowling with a look of distaste that you’ve begun to acquire from Draco and Narcissa. “If anyone needs to be put in their place, it’s our ruddy old Headmaster.”
Narcissa entered the room, hair pulled up in a ponytail, noticing your mail, and made her way over to Draco, skimming his list from behind his armchair.
“I’ll make a trip to Diagon Alley this afternoon to buy your supplies,” she offered, taking Draco’s list from his hand. “And prefect! I’m so proud, my love.”
At that, she made her way around the armchair and kissed Draco on the forehead, a smug smile on her face, before making her way over to you, grabbing your booklist as well.
“Both of you prefects!” she exclaimed, smiling once she noticed your own badge. “I’m so proud of you as well, darling.”
At that, to your surprise (as well as Draco, from his expression that you could see over his mother’s shoulder), Narcissa leaned down and kissed the side of your head as well.
“You two behave yourselves,” she said, making her way out of the room. “I’ll take a trip down there as early as possible to get the best-looking ones.”
And she left the room, Draco turning to you with wide grey eyes.
“What did you do, threaten her or something?” he sneered, turning to face where she walked out at. “Be careful or she’ll start smothering you in hugs and kisses soon. Sometimes I can’t even get away from her.”
You snorted a laugh but didn’t reply, feeling like she only did that so you didn’t feel left out.
“She asked me to do a drawing for her the other night,” you said, bringing up that evening for the first time since it happened. “I’m not sure why.”
“Seems you’re finally growing on her,” Draco replied. “How are you and Father getting along?”
You scoffed. Having rarely seen Lucius home, the few occasions you’d get to speak he was usually sneering at you, or just flat out ignoring your existence. Sometimes he’d make a comment about how he can’t wait to get rid of you once the school year began, and as much as you wished he were joking, you knew that wasn’t the case.
“Believe me, he’s not exactly kind to me either,” Draco murmured. “It’s always, ‘Go do this and be evil!’ and never, ‘I’m so happy you exist, son!’ I know he cares about me, but he shows it in weird ways.”
“Do you…do you not want to be a part of this?” you asked him, surprised.
You’ve been interested in the Dark Arts, Death Eaters, and Voldemort since you were a child. Joining the group was somewhat of a dream for you.
“I didn’t get a choice,” he replied. “It interests me, of course. But when you’re not given that option to choose good or evil, it…makes you angry.”
You nodded your head. You understood that all too well.
Your parents restricted what you could do once they noticed your early signs of being interested in the Dark Arts, so you were forced onto the side of good as well. Of course, that didn’t work very well, because now you’re fifteen years-old, sitting in Draco Malfoy’s living room, working (or at least, living with people who work) for Lord Voldemort. Being too young to fully become a Death Eater, you thoroughly enjoyed sitting at the meetings, watching and listening to how each of the members are. You enjoyed trying to pick people apart and see how their brain ticks, and thankfully all of the Death Eaters were easy to figure out.
The only one you couldn’t get to was Voldemort himself. Being a skilled Legilimens surely meant being a skilled Occlumens as well, so you found it hard deciphering how he ticked. You liked to pick out weak points, but it seems that Lord Voldemort’s only weakness was Harry Potter.
You wanted to laugh at that. Harry Potter was a terrible wizard, someone who could hardly brew a correct potion, winning by pure luck, and constantly letting his anger guide him. He’s definitely not the type to be somebodys weakness.
You and Draco had spent the day finishing up the last of your schoolwork, waiting for Narcissa to return with your items. It wasn’t long after you finished that she came home, handing one stack of books to Draco and the other to you.
“Make sure you two are fully packed before the first of September,” she said. “I will not tolerate scrambling around at the last second before we leave for the train to pack your trunks.”
“I know, Mother,” Draco sighed with an eye roll.
“I’ll make sure I’m packed, ma’am,” you replied, still trying to remain as respectful as you could toward her. You didn’t want to destroy the nice relationship you finally seemed to be building.
She left the room again, ponytail whipping around dramatically as she exited.
The usually-bright living room was beginning to darken with late afternoon sunlight. A slight breeze blew in through the still-open window, cool in the hot summer air.
“Guess we should go pack, then,” Draco grumbled, grabbing his pile of stuff, before deciding to set it down and use his wand instead, levitating it.
“Draco, you’re going to get in trouble!” you hissed, knowing fully well that underage wizards couldn’t use magic outside of school.
“The Ministry won’t know who performed the magic!” he replied, waving his wand to your things as well. “I live in a house of adult wizards. For all they know, my mother or father are the ones doing the magic.”
At that, he led you through the house with your things trailing behind you, setting your stack into your room for you before heading off to his own.
You went inside and shut the door, pushing your stack over to your open trunk. You had some things in there already, such as your robes, and clothing. Moving your items around, you neatly stacking your books in as well, glad everything was fitting.
It wasn’t long before the two of you were called down for dinner, so you and Draco met up in the hall as you always did and made your way into the dining room.
You were surprised to see Lucius sitting there, reading a paper as Narcissa set the plates down on the tabletop, pulling the papers out of his hands.
“Dinner time,” she said, setting them off to the side. “You can read later.”
“You heard what happened with Sturgis?” Lucius asked, watching her as she came and sat down next to him.
“I’m assuming you had something to do with that?”
“Of course I did.”
You and Draco made your way over, sitting down in your seats across from them. Lucius gave you one of his signature dirty looks, but you chose to ignore it.
“Hello, Mr. Malfoy,” you greeted him, wanting to at least seem like you cared enough.
He didn’t reply, instead greeting Draco, who shot an apologetic glance at you.
Dinner was quiet, and when you went to leave, Lucius spoke.
“I’d like a word with you,” he said, causing you to stop in your tracks.
Draco had stopped as well, waiting for you.
“Out,” Lucius said, noticing his son in the hall, who gave you one last glance and walked off.
Now it was just you and Lucius alone at the table, so you sat back down in your seat across from him, making sure to be attentive.
“I don’t want you getting too comfortable here,” he began. “As much as Draco and Narcissa seem to enjoy you living here, and while yes, I do not mind your existence, I haven’t forgotten who your Mudblood father is. Tell me, did you think that this would be a permanent arrangement?”
“I…I’m not entirely sure, sir,” you replied, which was the truth.
You had never actually stopped to think about what next summer would bring, if you’d be welcomed back home or not.
“I will make sure I see to it that you do not return back here after this year,” he continued. “You will be going home to your own family. Our family cannot save you forever, and I will be having a word with your father about your living arrangements. You will be allowed back to grab your things out of your temporary room here, but that will be the last time I want to see your face in this house. Do you understand?”
You felt boiling hot rage growing in your stomach.
How dare he? This was the one place that you truly felt at home, and he was forbidding you to return.
“I don’t think I understand, sir,” you replied, trying to keep your voice even. “Why can I not stay?”
“You are not a part of our family,” he replied, eyes narrowing. “You never will be. You are trying too hard to fit in somewhere that you don’t. Now do you understand?”
You stared at him for a moment, processing his words, before glancing at his exposed arm, Dark Mark stark in contrast his pale skin.
This had something to do with Voldemort. You weren’t sure what, exactly, but it was something.
“I understand,” you murmured, still keeping eye contact, hatred toward him diminishing (only slightly, though).
After what seemed like a long moment of inquiring looks, Lucius said, “You’re dismissed.”