Imminent

Well, I've been afraid of changin', 'Cause I've built my life around you
But time makes you bolder, Even children get older
And I'm getting older too
(Landslide, fleetwood mac)

March, 1998

Narcissa paced incessantly around the chairs in the music room. Usually the picture of perfect elegance, she now furrowed her brows and pursed her lips, practically searing the plush carpet with her stare. One arm hugging herself around her waist while the hand of the other was at her mouth, so close to nibbling on her thumbnail. She thought wryly if only Mother could see me now. 

She mumbled to herself and shook her head before turning to pace the other direction. If you asked if she was nervous, she would vehemently deny it, stating that she was simply annoyed at having to wait. Narcissa Malfoy would never admit she was nervous—at least not out loud. Truthfully, she couldn’t help the small shivers skittering up her spine every time she wondered what the reply would be. She only wanted the best for her son, considering she felt she failed him over the years.

“Mother,” Draco drawled from his place on the chaise, his eyes closed to try to hide his irritation at her pacing, slowly working his Occlumency. “You’re going to wear a hole in the carpet if you keep this up.”

The Malfoy matriarch halted and whirled around to face her son, the skirts of her black dress swirling around her legs before settling. A perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched as her expression schooled. It was moments like this when Narcissa was torn between being proud or annoyed that her son inherited her quick wit and sharp tongue. She knew his sarcasm right now was a facade, hiding that he was as nervous as she. For this moment, she decided to be proud. This was a major risk for the both of them and her son wouldn't be just another casualty - she shuddered to imagine the penance the Dark Lord would require.

“My son,” she spoke softly but with a telling edge of frustration, “we have limited options and will run out of time if we do not-”

Draco’s exaggerated sigh cut her off and he opened his tired eyes to look at her, “Yes, Mother. I understand. But what good is fretting about it until they send you an answer?”

Narcissa dropped her hands to her side and held her son’s gaze with a hardened stare, her agitation slipping through, “Until I have the answer we need, I am going to worry. It is what a mother does. I did not think it would take the Order this long to decide.”

Her son huffed a laugh and smirked, still trying to ease his mother with some light humour. “You’ve asked the world of them. To trust your Death Eater son. That’s going to take quite a bit of deliberation, don’t you think?”

Draco ran a hand through his hair, the short blond locks falling right back into place as his mother sat gingerly on the loveseat across from him. Her hands settled in her lap, the urge to fidget withheld. Narcissa Malfoy did not fidget. At least, not visibly. Draco studied her, noting that her posture was stiff. Not the usual regal grace from years of etiquette. He raised a brow when she met his questioning gaze.

“Well…I suppose I was hoping Minerva could sway them to a decision faster than this. I had suspected hesitation but not such a weeks- long delay. Though we were not on the greatest terms, you know. What with her being the Gryffindor professor and I being a headstrong Slytherin.” Narcissa let a wry smile grace her lips at the memory. “She did turn into a dear friend after I left Hogwarts. I think I’ve told you before that she was my greatest friend aside from Dromeda before I married your father. Maybe I placed too much hope in that old happiness. I suppose I would be more concerned if there was an immediate answer. At least they are debating it…I hope.” 

She started picking up pace, her fidgeting almost showing through, “I just worry, my son. I cannot help but worry. If this fails, if they don’t accept, I will feel like I failed you, more than I already have,” A tear escaped that she swiftly cleared away with a light press to her cheek, “I love you dearly, my son, and I just can’t help feeling as though I’ve already had failures. And I am running out of other options to keep you safe—as safe as I can still make things for you. You know how much I hate being backed into a corner. Right now I feel as though I’m at the edge of a cliff about to be shoved away.”

Draco nodded stiffly and gave a small smile, hoping to calm her. His mother was always honest with him about her feelings of their current predicament. He was always at a loss of what he could do to dispel those concerns. Draco could offer comforting words and some small gestures but it always felt disingenuous. He was never fully able to protect her, to save her from his father. Especially when he was younger. He so badly wanted to get her away from their tainted home, away from all the fucking psychos that prowled the halls. He felt the same as she said, backed to the edge of a cliff with no way out but to jump. 

 “It’ll be alright. As I said, we shouldn’t worry right now. I’m sure we’ll get an answer soon. They need all the help they can get, even if it is from their friendly neighbourhood Death Eater.”

Narcissa’s nose scrunched, “I wish you would stop referring to yourself as that. Where on earth did you even hear such a phrase?”

“Overhead some muggleborns at school talking about some mutant man-spider-thingy. Rather odd if you ask me but an interesting concept nonetheless.” He shrugged, “Besides, it’s the truth.”

She huffed, “I wish it was not. Your father--”

“No,” Draco sat up abruptly, startling her, leaning forwards but being sure to speak softly, “Don’t make excuses for him. He is not the same man, you said so yourself, remember? You asked me to remind you of that. The man he has become is not deserving of your concern.”

Narcissa shook her head once and raised a hand to wipe away tears brimming in her eyes, disguising it as smoothing her already perfect hair.  “Yes. Yes, you are quite right. But I still worry. He was a great and caring man until that Snake poisoned him.”

Draco noted how her voice cracked just barely at the last few words. His heart ached for her. Silently, he moved to sit next to her and held her trembling hands. His thumbs rubbed soothing circles on the backs of her hands. He remembered the version of the man his mother referred to. Lucius Malfoy had been a wonderful father. Kind, caring, doting, perfection—until Draco was around seven years old. Then he noticed the changes. It had been a slow progression and only noticeable to himself and his mother. The affection he witnessed between his loving parents started to disappear. The praises he received withered until they were the rarest of occurrences. Narcissa tried to shield him from the brunt of it, but he vividly remembered when he stumbled upon one of the fights.

No, not fight.

 A fight is when two people are throwing blows. 

A beating.

That’s what he had found. 

An echo of a slap heard down the hall drew his attention from his trek to the library. 

A small Draco tiptoed to the door that was left ajar. He peered through the cracked open door. He felt his heart breaking for the first time at the sight before him

His mother…

She was holding one side of her face, downcast, her long hair limply acting as a curtain over her face. His father towered over her, practically snarling. Lucius held no wand, only his fists at his side, with his face twisted ugly and furious as he spat insults at her. Draco could only hear some of the words being thrown at her.

Whore

Ignorant bitch

A disgrace - undeserving of her place as his wife

 The small boy watched in silence as tears trailed down his mother’s cheeks. Her shoulders shook but no sound escaped her. Draco’s mind raced, not knowing what to do. He was frozen. Narcissa’s eyes lifted and widened as she met Draco’s stare.

Lucius had turned away, not seeing Narcissa barely turning her hand to Draco, motioning for him to leave, to not do anything. Draco’s small fists clenched at his sides and he tore his gaze from his mother to glare at the back of his father. He could feel magic sizzle under his skin. It was starting to boil, ready to lash out. Hot, angry tears fell from his eyes and he looked back towards his mother. He felt his chest squeeze as she silently begged him.

No, she mouthed, I am okay. Go.

But she wasn’t. 

He knew she wasn’t. 

He wanted so badly to stay and help. But he didn’t know how. How was he supposed to help his mother when his father was an imposing tower?

His father was supposed to help her, support her, not hurt her. Never hurt her. Never make her cry. He always told Draco to treat the women in his life with love and respect. To never, ever raise a hand or wand against them. He was to protect them, save them when needed. And if they cracked then it was his duty to break the world for them. But what was he doing now? This went against everything his father ever taught him. Why was he doing this? Why was he hurting his mother?

But Draco obeyed her and tore himself away from the door, running quickly down the hall, his booted feet making muffled thump-thump sounds, to escape to his room. She found him later, curled in a ball under his comforter, holding back his sobs. It had been over an hour and he didn’t dare make a sound, fearing his father might hear and hurt her even more. 

Not a word was said as she crawled under the comforter with him. Narcissa curled herself around Draco and held him tightly. She buried her nose in his soft blonde curls, brushing them away from his eyes. He felt the comforting blanket of her magic then the floodgates opened and he sobbed loudly when she gently whispered “He won’t hear you.” She ran her fingers through his hair, murmuring soothing words.

Everything would be okay. 

They would be okay. 

She loved him.

Her dragon, her son.

Draco was only ten years old at the time. He felt powerless and weak, unable to protect her. 

Their house elf Milly was always muttering when she thought Draco wasn’t listening. He would ask Milly to teach him how to heal things, telling her he wanted to know how to fix his own injuries when flying his broom. 

Milly agreed indignantly, muttering forlornly that it was her job to heal young Master and whimpering about young Master not needing her anymore. Draco cooed at her that he would always need his Milly and it was only for the tiny bumps; he would always need her for the life threatening injuries. Milly had perked up at the affirmation of her young Master always needing her and got right to work.

In reality, Draco wanted to be able to help his mother, though she would never accept it. He hated feeling helpless. He wanted to take care of his mother the way he had been raised to. So he learned everything he could about healing. Just in case.

Always just in case.

Everything changed when he reached fourteen. He had just woken up for the day and found them in a hallway: Narcissa backed up against a wall, Lucius’s hand around her throat. Fury coursed through Draco as he tore his father away from her and proceeded to unleash years of pent-up rage and hatred on him. Everything was a blur as he did it the “muggle way” and pounded his fist into his father’s face. 

The satisfying crunch of Lucius’s nose breaking, the blood splattering across his knuckle. He shifted his stance slightly and unleashed hell to his father’s ribs, feeling a few crack. The only thing stopping him from beating the man to death was the pull of his mother and Milly on his arms. The once proud man that Draco admired now lay in a heap on the floor, covered in blood and unconscious. 

Draco felt a sick feeling of glee at the sight. He recalled it to Milly later, worried that he enjoyed hurting others like his father. Milly told him he was being nonsensical, that he was the sweetest boy she had ever known. She made sure to mention that he had better change how he treated the young Miss at school that she heard him talk badly about all these years. He knew exactly who Milly referred to, realising the only reason he acted ruthlessly all these years was at the behest and earnest to receive the praise of his father. 

Now, there was no need for it ever again and he felt sick thinking about his actions as he fought to earn that praise.

Draco became a fierce protector and found his knuckles covered in his father’s blood several times over the next few years. It seemed no matter how many times Draco broke Lucius’s nose, the stubborn bastard didn’t learn the lesson and would still threaten his mother. It was always worse when Draco was gone for school, ordering Milly to reluctantly send him updates. Milly would try many times to urge Narcissa to stay in the music room, the one room in the manor that Lucius was never allowed to enter. Every holiday when Draco was home, he would loudly—much to his mother’s chagrin—make his presence known everywhere he went in the manor, attempting to ensure his father stayed as far away as possible. 

Now, he sat next to his mother, attempting to comfort her anxiety while waiting for a simple answer from the damned Order. A few weeks ago, Narcissa secretly sent a message to Minerva McGonagall offering their services to the Order. How long was a debate needed if they wanted their help in tearing down this regime? He supposed Potter and Weasley had to be consulted and were refusing to accept. That had to be causing the delay. He wondered if they would include Granger or if they would cast her aside as they seemed wont to do. Draco still couldn’t fathom what she saw in those dunderheads to consider them friends, but he reminded himself it was none of his business…not anymore.

A sharp tapping on the window pulled them from their reveries. Narcissa rose fluidly from the love-seat and walked to the window to allow the Greater Sooty owl in. The sleek owl swooped in and landed gracefully on the arm of the chaise. It hooted softly around the letter held in its beak. Narcissa stroked its head, offering a nearby biscuit before taking the letter. It hooted softly again before flying out the window.

Silently, Narcissa broke the wax seal and unfolded the letter. Her eyes quickly scanned the page before she breathed a sigh of relief. Draco quirked a brow and waited until she held the letter to him.

“They’ve accepted,” she allowed a smirk to cross her lips triumphantly.

He slowly read the elegant script, committing it to memory.

Cee,

Wonderful to hear from you, it has been far too long.

A dinner date is a wonderful idea.

And of course, please bring your pet.

I have the perfect friend for him to meet.

I will call on you in two weeks.

Minni

“Interesting,” he walked towards the fireplace and tossed the letter into the flames, “so, she will be coming here to collect us.”

Narcissa stood next to him, watching the flames as the letter curled into ash. Her eyes held a mysterious glint to them. Calm and calculating, her own Occlumency settling in place. “So it seems.”

The two weeks passed dreadfully slow for Draco. Being cooped up in a house of Death Eaters and other unsavoury company did that to a person. Even though the manor was expansive, there were very few times when one could truly be alone. Especially while he was slinking through corridors. 

Anxiety was his constant companion while waiting for the impending meeting. Who was the “perfect friend” McGonagall mentioned? Dear god, if it was Potter or any of the Weasleys he would protest vehemently. He had a thought on who it might be but didn’t linger on it. If he did, he was sure he would throw up his dinner. Where would they be carted off to? Was it all a ruse to just capture and cage them?

Draco played softly on the piano in the music room, taking slow, deep breaths. Eyes closed, he focused his mind on Occluding. He worked his mind slowly, taking several minutes to adjust everything into place. It was a welcoming relief from the usual quick work he had to do in the presence of the other Death Eaters. It was tiring to throw the walls in his mind up so fast but it was necessary. He never knew when anyone would try to creep in.

McGonagall would arrive any minute and he couldn’t help the sudden dread that settled in the pit of his stomach. He trusted his mother. He could trust McGonagall. He was not trusting of the possibility that the Order wouldn’t curse him upon his mere arrival, depending on who else was in attendance. 

Oh, wouldn’t that be a fun way to start this little coup.

Draco vaguely registered Narcissa entering the room and standing next to the piano, waiting for him to finish both the piece and his building. As the last chords sang out, he opened his eyes and looked up at his mother. Her gaze was soft as she looked over his face, taking note of the tight set of his jaw and his rigid posture. He noted her eyes were guarded, her own walls in place - she was so formidable. He couldn’t help but gaze at her in admiration. This woman was his rock and he would be damned if she had to suffer any longer in their own home.

“Time to go?” he asked softly.

A soft smile curved, “Yes, she has just arrived and is waiting in the library.”

Draco nodded and closed the lid of the piano. He walked with his mother through the maze of shelves to the front of the library. He almost wondered how his mother had snuck his professor through the house but then noted the Notice-Me-Not charm that was heavy in the air. Near the door stood Minerva McGonagall, who released the charm. His professor smiled genuinely as she looked him over.

“Mr. Malfoy. I wish it were under different circumstances that I am seeing you again. Narcissa, it really has been too long.” She clasped hands with his mother briefly before reaching into a pocket in her robes. She pulled out a ball of red cloth and began carefully unfolding it. “I assume Lucius will not notice you are missing for a short time?”

“You assume correctly,” Narcissa said, her chin raising a fraction, “He does not bother us when the Library is locked. But we don’t have much time either way. Milly will cover for us if anyone becomes suspicious.”

McGonagall raised a brow but said nothing and revealed the object in the red cloth— a black and silver harmonica. Draco noticed an engraving across the top.

For my little one

“For the first trip, we will travel by portkey. The barriers are set up to allow you entrance only once for now. They will be adjusted after the meeting if everything goes well and everyone is in agreement.”

The Malfoys nodded and felt the tug in their navels as they all touched the harmonica. Draco hated travelling by portkey. His stomach was already unsettled enough and this made it even worse. When they landed, he quickly readjusted his Occlumency walls before taking in the view before them. 

Draco stood with Narcissa and McGonagall in front of a dark-wooded,  A-frame house. It was partially hidden by foliage and vines, blending into the thick trees around it. To the side of the house was an area showing new growth from a freshly planted garden. It was serenely quiet with only a few birds singing in the trees. It was so…odd. Considering the rest of their world and the darkness that clouded everything.

As they walked up the small, tread-worn path, Draco couldn't shake the mixed feelings of calm and anxious. He took a deep breath and focused on his walls and locked books, feeling the anxiety ebb. McGonagall knocked three times before opening the door, beckoning them to follow her. A small entryway greeted them, opening to a large sitting area. He could see an open doorway to a kitchen off to one side, a hallway on the other side of the sitting area, and a staircase leading up to a loft with black curtains drawn. In the sitting area several couches were positioned around a fireplace with a bay window next to the French doors leading out to the small garden. Footsteps on the stairs caused all three to turn their heads as Remus Lupin greeted them with a warm smile. 

“Mrs. Malfoy, Draco,” he nodded to each of them and gestured to the couches, “Let’s have a seat, shall we?”

Draco stood behind a couch, resisting the urge to have his hands anywhere except clasped behind his back. Narcissa primly took a seat, Lupin and McGonagall sitting on the couch across. To the outside eye, Narcissa was once again the epitome of proper but Draco could see the rigidity of her spine, the forceful way she kept her shoulders held back. He knew she had spent her own time building her Occlumency walls before McGonagall  had arrived. Draco always wondered what she saw while she was wall-building. His was a library during a calm rainstorm. He was taught it was one of the most private aspects of your mind, unseen and unknown. Unless a Legillimens forced themselves in. 

Though it was supposed to be a friendly enough meeting, Draco remained tense and on guard in case this was all a farce. He wanted to place his trust in them wholeheartedly but there were only four people he trusted with his life. And only one of them was in this room.

“It’s been a while,” Lupin smiled again.

Narcissa nodded and offered a small smile in return, “It has. You look rather well. I remember you always looking rather peckish while at Hogwarts.”

“Yes, well, Tonks has helped quite a bit, along with some…other help.”

“How is Nymphadora?” Narcissa tried to not seem too eager at any news of her niece. Or her sister. “She’s doing well, I presume? Her mother as well?”

McGonagall offered a soft smile, “Andromeda is doing quite well. The last time I saw her she asked that I give you her well wishes if we crossed paths again.”

Narcissa stiffly swallowed and nodded, tightly holding on to the tears behind her eyes. Draco fought back the unyielding urge to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder. It may be received as caring in this company, but they were Malfoys til the end. And Malfoys showed unforgiving resilience to all things–unless behind closed doors. 

“Tonks is doing as well as she can be. She’s very headstrong. Stubborn. But admirable traits all around,” Lupin smiled sweetly and it almost made Draco want to vomit from the pure sugar. “We’re just waiting for one more person to join us.”

“Only one more?” Draco raised a brow, “Not Potter and Weasley?”

Lupin grimaced a little, “Actually, neither of them are aware of this meeting. Minerva and I decided it best if we were the only ones to see you. Many in the Order are quite obviously not accepting of outside help. Especially with the current events. Harry and Ron have their own tasks to focus on for the time being. Considering their history with Draco, this would undoubtedly cause them to lose focus and be- “

“Absolutely, incredibly, and utterly stupid,” said a voice across the room. 

Draco corrected himself: two of those people now stood in the room.