For Her Son

Author's Note: Alright, this short little one-shot here could actually just be called a lengthy sort of drabble. It was written quite awhile ago - as in a year or two ago - for a drabble contest on the MNFF forums. It was based on Leanne (Dory_the_Fishie)'s Narcissa-centric one-shot, Fallen Petals of an Ambiguous Flower. (Just search for her username on MNFF, and you can find the story.) The prompt for this one-shot was to "write a drabble focussing on how Narcissa arrives at the decision to see Snape about the Unbreakable Vow". I've edited it quite a bit, mainly in terms of making parts longer, more detailed, etc., but the initial version of this drabble received Second Place in the contest! But now, I'll leave you to the story. So, for your reading enjoyment, I present, For Her Son.

~**~

For Her Son

By ForeverSirius77

~**~

The large, stone manor was one of the most elegant and luxurious in all of Britain. Surrounded by large forests, whose trees' branches swayed and bent in the wind, the home's grounds remained immaculately groomed and well-tended. Lush, green grass grew at just the perfect height, and the flowery arrangements that encircled the manor gave off their sweet scents.

But it was not only the outside that was something to be admired about the structure, for the inside décor was just as stylish and pleasing to the eye as the outdoors was. The finest furniture that Wizarding gold could buy was placed in the rooms of the large home, their darker colours matching the mahogany and darkened cherry panelling that lined the many walls. Portraits of richly-dressed ancestors and landscapes of some of the world's most beautiful places hung about the walls, adding a type of lightness to some of the rooms. Rugs made from the most renowned makers covered areas of the floor, their plush feel muffling the sounds of the many feet that traversed them.

And this stone home, this large and lavish manor, was completely empty - save for only a few of the house-elves, but if one really thought about, one could argue that they did not really count. Silence hung heavily over the home, and by all appearances, it did seem like there was no one present.

But they would be wrong if they had thought such. For the home, though it seemed to be devoid of inhabitants, was not.

Narcissa Malfoy, the Lady of the manor, sat on the very edge of her large bed, her blue eyes staring unseeingly out of the opened window in her room. Regardless of the torrents of rain that fell from the sky, plunging towards the earth and covering the grounds in puddles and puddles of water, she had not shut the glass window. No, she wanted to watch the rain; she wanted to hear the rain.

The rain was a lot like the tears that were making their tracks down her pale cheeks, tears that stained the pale beauty of her porcelain face, a face that clearly showed her Black family ties. Classical Black beauty had graced Narcissa, though she did not inherit the darker colours that her sisters and cousins shared. No, in hair and eye colour, Narcissa was a carbon copy of her mother; it was her structure, the shape of her face, that she shared with the Blacks.

And it was a beauty that was being marred by the rivers of salty water that trailed from her eyes - eyes that sparkled a bright blue with her unshed tears - as she thought about her son.

He cannot do this, she thought. He's not ready ... He is far too young for this. Her mind assaulted her with images of the boy - No, no, he was no longer a little boy. At sixteen years old, her son was a young man. He was no longer the little baby that she would hold in her arms, her fingers running over his tufts of white-blond hair. No longer was he the small child that would race to the back gardens to play, or the eleven-year-old who smiled upon receiving his letter to Hogwarts.

Her child had grown up, gone off to school, became a teenager, and was now only a year away from being recognised as an adult in society. Prepared he had been for his role as the heir to such an old and established family, but at sixteen years old, she knew that he was still too young. He would always be her little boy, after all.

But, deep inside of her, she knew that there was not anything that she could do to stop what was about to happen. At least, there was nothing more she could do; not at this point in time. It was already too late, to be honest. The time had already passed, and Narcissa knew that.

Draco had already chosen the path he wanted to take. He had already made the decision to join - a decision that Narcissa was sure had been helped along by her oldest sister, no doubt.

"Cissy, it's time to go. Draco's ready."

Speak of the devil, Narcissa thought as she raised a hand to hastily wipe the tears from her eyes, erasing the evidence of her crying with a muttered spell. Exhaling slowly, she turned to see Bellatrix standing in the doorway.

Long locks of black hair fell down her back, and darkly coloured robes covered her feminine form. She twisted her wand through her fingers, a habit that she'd had since childhood. Her hood was lowered, allowing her face to be fully visible. While it was true that Azkaban had indeed left its mark on the eldest Black sister, it was also evident that even fourteen years of imprisonment hadn't completely erased the inherent, aristocratic looks of the witch.

"I have been ready for awhile, Bella," said Narcissa, regally rising from the bed and making her way towards her sister. She followed Bellatrix from the room, the two sisters meeting Draco down in the entrance hall. He, too, was dressed in black robes, his hood lowered as well.

And, holding herself together, appearing as the perfect image of a pure-blood witch from such an ancient family, Narcissa was glad that there wasn't any sign she had been crying as the three of them Disapparated to the Dark Lord.

----

She stood with all of the other Death Eaters, appearing for all onlookers as a tall and proud member of two old families - a daughter of the Blacks, the current Lady of Malfoy Manor - as she gazed upon the scene of her son kneeling before the Dark Lord. She watched, her eyes glued to the happenings before her, as her only child received the Dark Mark, not a sound escaping his lips as the skull and serpent became a permanent feature on his pale-skinned arm. And as she watched, Narcissa's mind flew instantly back to the very first time she had argued with her husband over this very moment.

"He is not a child, Narcissa!"

"Our son, Lucius! Our only son!"

"This is the right thing to do. He is a Malfoy. He will become a Death Eater."

Well, you have your wish, Lucius, she thought bitterly. This was not a path she had wanted for her son; it was a path that had destroyed his father, a path that she knew little good would come from. She had fought with Lucius at first, pleading with him for the sake of their child.

But in the end, the fighting, the pleading, the negotiating - none of it mattered. Even when Lucius had been arrested after the disaster at the Ministry, the discussion hadn't ceased, for Bellatrix had soon taken over the argument against her sister. And in the end, Draco had made a decision himself. He thought he knew the path that such an action resulted in, thought it was the choice that he wanted, thought he was ready for this.

But he's not ... I know he's not.

"You will kill Dumbledore, Malfoy."

It took a bit for the Dark Lord's words to pierce Narcissa's mind, to break through the memories and thoughts of how things had ended up at this point that'd been assaulting her. What? she thought. He can't be serious. She looked around, somewhat surprised at the sight that met her eyes. Only her sister remained of the large gathering of Death Eaters, her sister, son, and the Dark Lord himself.

Draco will be killed if he tries to murder Dumbledore ... He's condemning my son to death! Anger bubbled up in her at the conclusion. But, like all such situations, there was always another inner voice to argue silently with her point.

Now, why would the Dark Lord choose to condemn Draco to death? He's a child - he's a strong, loyal, pure-blood wizard, an heir to one of the world's oldest families.

But Narcissa did not need a great deal of time to arrive at the motive behind the Dark Lord's decision. Regardless of how foolish it would be, how pointless a waste of ancient blood the death of her child would be, there was only one reason that made any sort of sense.

Lucius.

She knew it was correct the very instant she thought of the man. After all, there was no other reason for Draco - a brand-new Death Eater - to be handed such a suicide mission. The Dark Lord is angry at my husband, and because Lucius isn't here, he's taking it out on Draco! He only wants to punish Lucius because of the Ministry events; Draco's just his tool to do so!

Her conclusion made Narcissa want to do nothing more at that moment than to fire a Killing Curse at the tall, thin wizard across the room. Who cared if she had no chance of succeeding, no chance of destroying him like that? Who cared if such an action would be more than likely to result in her own death by the spell fired from his wand?

But the voice came back before she made any such foolish action.

And if he is just using your son to punish your husband, it said, what are you going to do about it, Narcissa?

She realised then that she had no immediate solution.

----

The meeting had soon ended, Narcissa thinking on that final question for the rest of the night. She had returned with Bellatrix and Draco to the manor, the three of them entering the large home and each going their separate ways.

Immediately upon closing the front door, Draco had left, climbing the stairs to his room and staying within. Bellatrix had followed her nephew up the staircase, though she did not head to her own bedroom. Rather, she'd walked past the darkly coloured door and further down the corridor, turning around the corner at the end and out of sight.

Narcissa had watched as the two of them disappeared, her mind still thinking over what she was going to do. She knew that Draco, at least for the moment, was fine, while her sister's whereabouts within the manor were unknown. But Bellatrix's location was not her chief concern at the moment.

Saving her son's life was.

Hours passed as she sat in her living room. Light from a roaring fire filled the large room, the flames wrapping around the logs in the grate. The rain had ceased, though the night sky still looked as if more precipitation was promised.

She sat, her gaze focussed on nothing in particular, her mind struggling to come up with any possible solution. Lucius would have done something, she thought, a mental image of the tall, light-haired man she'd married coming to the forefront of her mind. But that isn't even possible, the thought continued, forcing her to recall her husband's current location.

And then, like a bolt of lightning, the perfect idea came to the Lady of the Malfoy Manor. It was the only solution that she could think of, yet it wasn't so far-fetched it was impossible. On the contrary, it was a very good possibility.

There was one person that she trusted to tell her dilemma to. There was one person whom she knew that Lucius counted as trustworthy. There was one person who would be willing to help Draco ... in some way, at least.

Severus will help, she thought, relief flooding her veins as an answer was finally reached. He will know, and he'll help me ... and help my son.

Narcissa sighed, a small, slight smile gracing her face as she did so. Like a weight had been lifted from her heart, she felt better knowing that her plan would surely work. Severus wouldn't turn her away, she knew.

And with that, Narcissa grabbed her cloak, having already removed the garment upon returning home, and she made ready to leave.

~**~

Author's Note: There you have it. Thank you very much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the short little ficlet. I strongly urge anyone who is interested to read Leanne's fic, as it truly is a nice portrayal of Narcissa. Like I said, though, thanks for reading, and please, share your thoughts!

~Megan