Of Choices and Regrets

12- Q & A

When Draco awoke once more, Narcissa was still by his side. It had not merely been a pleasant dream; she looked like she had not stirred from her vigil. His mother quickly floated to his bed, carrying a tray crammed with his favorite foods. She laid it on the table beside him, and smiled sweetly as he ate.

Miraculously, his headache was gone, as was the pain in his limbs, though it was replaced by soreness. He was able to eat a little, but his appetite was almost nonexistent.

Frowning slightly, he stared at Nacissa.

"What is it, darling?" she asked, suddenly worried that something was wrong.

Draco shook his head. "Why are you doing this?" he demanded. "You are never like this anymore."

"Darling... it's just, you know..." Narcissa played with her book and fidgeted in the chair, struggling to look cheerful. "I never meant to stop. You know I have always loved you, and always will, and would have spoiled you if your father had not stepped in." Breathing heavily she nodded as if she had made a decision.

A pause stretched between them, chilling the room slightly and making both Malfoys uncomfortable. Draco questioned his mother again. "But why did you act like you did not care? Why were you always gone?"

Narcissa laughed nervously and swatted at Draco's arm playfully. "These are very tough questions, Draco. You know that I do not like tough things, conversations that make me think too hard. What is wrong with not knowing, not having all the answers? I am not sure... I do not think I can really answer you as well as you would like me to. I was gone, because I needed to do my job, and you had acted like a normal teenager; you wanted your space and privacy. I had overbearing parents when I grew up and I was determined not to be like them. Of course, that means I traded bad parenting for none at all. I never thought it bothered you. Maybe it was because I knew that I would have wanted it, or maybe I was just blind, or maybe, just maybe, I did not know you because I was gone too much. You seemed happy enough; happier, I think, than you had since the beginning of the war.

"I know the war has been hard on you. It's been hard on all of us; you just feel it more acutely. We never meant to push you, your father and I. Its just... there are certain... expectations. As a son of two Death Eaters, and a high ranking one at that, you were expected to be a great and willing one also. Follow in your father's footsteps or whatever. At the very least, you were expected to finish your task. With all the help that was given, I almost thought it was impossible to fail. I had not realized that you would not ask for the help. I am sorry; I misjudged you, the person I am supposed to know the best. You were not ready for the burden, and I was pained to see how you struggled so. You needed time and guidance; cruelly, both were denied to you. I will not let that happen again, I promise.

"As for you other question, I could tell you that you were wrong in your observation, or that you just were not looking at the correct things, that I pulled strings behind your back, but that in itself would be cruel and unusual punishment. I was always gone, as you so aptly pointed out, so there were few opportunities for me to become reacquainted with your moods and personality. Like now: I do not know how to read you. I was not sure how you would react to failing your task: rage, depression, obsession, violence, pleasure, manic behavior, I have seen it all. I thought you might even blame me, as a fellow Death Eater, and as your mother. I could not protect you, and it tore me up inside. I tried; believe me, I did. I went to people to help you, but...

"When I told your father, the day after your ruined assignment, he commanded me to ignore you and stop worrying. He said that I must distance myself, for we both need to grow up and grow apart. We have jobs to do, and our work is affected by one another. You know how the Dark Lord does not care for love, and ever since the Potter problem, he cannot stand mother-son relationships unless he can manipulate and use them. I am truly sorry I have been so cold. I know that I am not a good mother; I never did get the hang of it. So many people told me what to do, and it turned out to be wrong. But believe me when I say I love you, and I always have and always will, no matter what."

Narcissa sighed and sank back into her chair. The long speech seemed to have taken everything out of her, but she looked content, albeit tired and a little anxious. Her limbs draped over the armrests as she waited for her son's response.

Turning from his reverie, Draco stared at his petite, elegant mother. She smiled at him weakly, and he smiled back.

"Its fine, mother. I understand."

Narcissa sighed, clearly relived. She gracefully got up and embraced her only child.

"I love you," she softly cooed.

"I love you too, mother."

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After two full days in bed, Draco grew restless. He demanded to be allowed outside for fresh air and exercise. Narcissa was hesitant and fearful at first, but she was soon worn down. She just wanted him safe and pleased.

With his mother at his side, Draco got out of bed tenderly. His leg had been broken at some point, along with his arm, nose, and ribs. Although he was sore, he had taken enough potions that he was not in pain. His bones had already been knitted back together, so there was no risk of re-injury.

Draco liked that his mother was doting and being overprotective. He had not had that type of attention since he was a baby. To say the least, Narcissa was not a traditional, loving mother, but now she was trying. Most people would have been irritated, and many would have shaken her off. Conversely, Draco allowed and, to some extent, encouraged his mother's attention.

As they slowly walked around the gardens, the two caught up on lost time. Draco talked of school, books, and quidditch, whereas Narcissa spoke of Death Eaters, parties, purchases, and old acquaintances that Draco only half remembered. They said anything that popped into their minds.

The conversation flowed peacefully and easily. The subjects, though random, linked beautifully in neutral territory. Everything they had wanted to say spilled off their tongues and into the other's waiting ear. They talked as they had never before.

Draco felt as though it was all a pleasant dream. If he had not taken the potions and felt the pain, if he had not awoken every day, he would have scarcely believed the change in his mother. He wondered at what had brought it about, but quickly put it out of his mind. It was better to not question more that he already had.

The next day was much of the same. While walking in the garden, with Narcissa chatting away cheerfully, Draco stopped walking. It took Narcissa a moment to notice that he was not by her side anymore. She turned to find him staring intently at the ground.

"Darling, what is it?" she asked lightly.

Draco pursed his lips, and remained as unmoving and blank as the statue beside him. Suddenly, his eyes snapped up and he swiftly blurted out, "Are you happy?"

Startled, Narcissa laughed, trying to remain lighthearted. "What ever do you mean?"

"Are you," Draco asked gravely, "happy with your life, your situation?"

Narcissa tilted her head daintily, frowning slightly at his abrupt change in mood, and a little put out over the change in conversation. "Yes, I should say I am quite content."

"And are you happy with the war?"

Narcissa was taken back by such a blunt question. With her hand on her heart and a bewildered look on her face, she solemnly answered. "No, no. I am not happy at all with the current state. But everyone hates it. Why do you ask? I thought the interrogation was over."

Draco ignored her question. He turned to show his profile to her, as to not look at her face.

"Why are you a Death Eater?"

"Draco - darling! Why are you asking me - "

"Why," Draco asked forcefully through clenched teeth, "are you a Death Eater?"

Narcissa's bottom lip jutted out as she pouted. The conversation was not going her way, and she did not like it. "I do not see why you are interrogating me. We were having such a nice day."

"Why, mother?"

Narcissa closed her eyes. "I do not want to set a bad example for you, and I certainly do not want you to think less of me, or your father." Draco tried to speak, but she held up her hand to stem his words. "Let me finish. After this, please, no more questions. At least not for a while. If you need to know, which I do not think you do, but if you think you do... Your father made me. He gave me to the Dark Lord, much in the same way he offered you. It was to increase Lord Voldemort's favor. It was not my choice, but my life was never mine. I love your father and would do anything for him. He decided this would be best, and it is. But please, I still do not need to know. That is between your father, the Dark Lord, and myself." Narcissa looked at Draco with anticipation and puzzlement, her eyes trying to understand what Draco was thinking.

Draco stared at the ground once more, determined not look at his mother. He nodded once and spun on his heel. "I guess we are on the same page, then." He stalked away, leaving his mother confused in the dying garden.

"Draco - please!" his mother cried after him. "What are you talking about? Draco!"

But he was already disappearing out of eyesight.