|A Visit to London (Narcissa, Draco. PG)
||[Jun. 30th, 2011|02:17 am]
Title: A Visit to London
Characters: Narcissa, Draco, (off-screen) Draco/George
Word Count: 1,818
Summary: Narcissa goes to see her son in his new flat and perhaps confront him about his new romantic relationship and general “rebellious” attitude but Draco is not longer the pliant child he had once been.
Author's Notes: Written for hp_spring_fling.
On Apparating into Draco’s flat, Narcissa took a moment to look around and properly take in her surrounding. She had never been here before, although Draco had made the move to London almost five months ago. The place was small, containing a sitting room where the fireplace meant for the floo was, a kitchen and a hallway which probably led to the bedroom and perhaps a spare room or a study as well. The wallpaper was a neutral light yellow colour and the furniture simple and practical but of obvious quality. At least that was some consolation – Draco hadn’t lowered himself beyond all tolerance. Lucius had not wanted her to go see their son, partially because he saw this as some sort of concession to what he labelled as Draco’s delinquency. Narcissa just wanted to see her baby and make sure he was eating well and had a place to stay that was not too dreadful. But it seemed like Draco’s Potions Development job was paying well, even affording him the Medical Academy fees, which, he had written in his last letter, he was considering.
This wasn’t because they had cut Draco off financially – Narcissa would never allow it, even if Lucius might have considered it in a fit of anger – but because he had deemed it essential to live out his life and pursue his successes without financially relying on the family fortune. It was a radical decision, one that enraged Lucius on principle and made Narcissa uneasy and sick with worry, even though Draco had been doing fine. It had something to do with the war, she was sure, and the lack of control the boy had had during its trying times, but she was also convinced that this new lover of his was another reason. They didn’t talk about it at home, it was beyond inappropriate in many ways. Perhaps if Draco’s lover had been one of his school friends it could have been overlooked – Narcissa doubted it, Draco was the heir and only son after all and they were still a Pureblood family, war defeat or not – but this romance crossed every boudry possible. Even the slightest mention of it seemed to make Lucius’ skin craw which inevitably had her reaching for the anti-anxiety potions and Draco running into the night crying like he was still a child.
“Mother, is that you?” Draco’s voice carried to her from somewhere down the narrow hallway.
“Yes, Draco, it is. You said I could stop by for tea, dear.”
Draco emerged into the sitting room, blond bangs falling over crystal-grey Malfoy eyes, his robes unbuttoned so that the light grey waistcoat he was wearing underneath could be seen. “Hello, Mother. I’m glad you came.” He smiled and walked over to embrace her. Narcissa felt a wave of warmth wash over her. He was still her little boy, despite his desperate fight for independence.
“I’ll make tea,” Draco said, walking into the kitchen and directing the tea kettle with his wand to fill itself with water and then settle on the stove. Another two flicks and the cabinets opened. Out flew two cups and two saucers. “Are you hungry? I don’t know if I have anything sweet, but sandwiches maybe? I’m still getting the hang of the kitchen magic, it’s not as hard as I thought it would be though.” Draco seemed nonchalant but his back was stiff and Narcissa could tell that he was playing at casualness. This alarmed her, but just slightly.
“I don’t mind either way, dear, whatever you will have.” She sat on the couch and watched him closely, as though trying to remember his movements from before and comparing them to what she saw now, searching out the inevitable changes. “How is your work, Draco?”
“Alright. I am still considered the Academy but I don’t know if I want to go that much, really. I like working with potions and St. Mungos has always given me this strange feeling, like chills or something.” He demonstrated an exaggerated episode of shivering.
Narcissi smiled weakly. “And your colleagues? Are you getting along well with them? Have you been in touch with your friends from school lately?”
Draco turned to face her, holding one teacup in his hand, just as the kettle began to whistle. “Mother. I’m fine. Really, you and Father act like I am ten years old. I’m twenty for Merlin’s sake.” He made a face and turned away to pour the tea.
“You father is just worried about you and wants to protect you. My wishes are the same.”
“I don’t doubt your motives, Mother, but Father seems to care not so much about me as about the family fortune and name. About himself, really.”
Narcissa let out a long breath. She didn’t want to fight with Draco, not now that she was seeing him for the first time in so long. “You know that is not true. Whatever bitterness you hold against your father, do not let it blind you to the fact that he has always given you everything you could need or want and would do it now as well were you to ask it of him. But you are a Pureblood, Draco. That means something. Something specific. Or are you embarrassed of your family and your name now?” She tried to not sound bitter but it was difficult. Nor could she figure out what had done this to Draco – the war or his new lover? Or both.
The boy seemed to freeze and stay still for several long, pregnant moments with his back to her. “No. I am not ashamed. I’m proud, very proud,” he said finally, slowly, almost as though admitting defeat. “I’m not doing this to spite you or Father or anyone. I’m doing this for myself, to feel like I can achieve something on my own.” He finished pouring the tea and walked over to sit beside her.
Narcissa took her cup from her son and sipped at it daintily, closing her eyes against the warm liquid, finding the courage to bring up the topic. “And what of this lover of yours? Is this something you need to assert your independence as well? Independence and radical separatism are two different things, dear.”
Draco rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Mother, what George and I have has nothing to do with my decision to move to London or to make my own finances and life decisions.”
“Oh really?” Narcissa raised her eyebrows at the boy sceptically.
Draco attempted to stare her down but looked away after a moment, hiding his face behind his cup. “Mummy,” he said quietly, sounding like he really was ten again. “I’ve known that I like boys since I was thirteen. I can’t change that. I’m sorry.”
Narcissa set her cup aside and ran a hand through her hair. “Draco, this isn’t about that. Your father and I have known your attraction to men since we caught you and Steven Alzenski – that Durmstrang boy – fooling around in the gardens.” Draco flushed. Narcissa disregarded him and continued. “That was hard enough for us but... A Weasely? A blood traitor from a family that hates ours. I, personally, am simply afraid that he is using you for some…some dishonourable purpose.”
“He wouldn’t.” Draco looked up, eyes hard. “I know he wouldn’t, he’s not that sort of person. He’s not like his little brother or his pretentious older brothers. He’s…he’s like me in a lot of ways. George has had so much to deal with after the war and he… He loves his family but he doesn’t want to be defined by them.”
“Part of what he had to deal with was the loss of his twin brother,” Narcissa countered, trying to keep her voce gentle. “His twin brother who died fighting in the war on the side opposite to ours. You represent the enemy to him.”
Draco shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. You don’t understand.”
Narcissa threw her hands in the air in desperation, then brought them to her temples and pushed hard, trying to squeeze out the rambling thoughts in her head and leave herself with calm and peace. It wasn’t quite helping. “Then explain to me, Draco.”
The boy looked away, then down into his tea which he swirled around, watching the smooth surface of the liquid wrinkle into circles. Finally he said, softly, “I love him and he loves me.” Narcissa began to protest but Draco held up a hand. “He needs me and I think I need him, too. And…and I will not give up on us just because it is expected of me by tradition. This time, I’m not giving up what I want for what I’m supposed to want.”
Narcissa began to cry, involuntarily, hiding her face in her hands as the whole enormity of the situation came upon her. Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief of pure white silk with the Malfoy crest sewn into one of the corners. He pulled Narcissa’s hands down and gently wiped the tears off her face. “Don’t cry, Mummy,” he said in the same soft, gentle voice. “I’m happy. I know that’s all you ever wanted for me and I am very happy.”
Narcissa reached out and took hold of the handkerchief, letting it slide gradually, slowly through her fingers. “French. We gave it to you on your sixteenth birthday. Hand-made by the Veela silk seamstresses. Could never be replicated, completely unique.”
“And endowed with the family magic. I know.”
“You keep it?”
Draco shrugged and folded up the handkerchief, looking at it thoughtfully. “As I said, I am not ashamed to be a Malfoy or a Pureblood. But I need my own life, Mother. I can’t be happy without it.”
Narcissa stood, blinking residual tears out of her eyes. Draco stood with her and looked at her long and hard, as though willing her to understand. First willing, then pleading. She reached out and took his hand. “I love you, Draco, and your father loves you, too. Don’t renounce your family and we would never renounce you.”
“I haven’t and I would never.”
“Other than that…” She paused and forced a tearful smile which became more relaxed as Draco answered her with his own. “I only want you to be happy. No matter what it takes.”
Draco beamed and they said their goodbyes with Narcissa promising to come and visit more often and maybe even bringing Lucius next time. After she left, Draco scribbled a note and owled it to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes where he knew George would be working until sundown. The note read:
It went much better than I had expected. I admit, I didn’t tell her you’d moved in with me but I think that can wait until next time. See you tonight, don’t forget that special singing dildo.