I've been playing with this idea for the past few days, and thought I'd write a fic about it. Tell me if you like it!
A bloody house-elf.
That's what the famed Dark Lord had reduced her son to. A childlike mess of a boy who cringed at every sharp word, shuddered at every criticism, winced at every sudden flick of the wand. He gulped when anyone but Narcissa said his name, and spent much of his vacations locked in his room or pretending to read a schoolbook. He rarely spoke unless spoken to, and even then his answers were short: "Yes," "No," or "I'm not sure." It didn't take a genius to see that Draco Malfoy was a shadow of his former self.
Narcissa Malfoy was not a genius, by any stretch. Her grades at Hogwarts were above average, but below excellent. Nor was she a psychologist. But she was a mother, and she knew when her son needed help.
He wouldn't accept it, of course. Men rarely did, and men of his social class were expected to refuse it at all costs. War didn't strengthen the fragile male ego.
Neither did the Dark Lord.
Narcissa had waited a year before taking matters into her own hands. The Unbreakable Vow with Severus had ensured Draco's success, but not without a price. When the Dark Lord learned the truth about Dumbledore's death, he turned on Draco.
"You were supposed to kill him! Not Severus!"
He had taken a step backward, toward the manor. "I-I'm sorry, my lord...I tried-"
"You tried." The Dark Lord gave out a cold, high-pitched laugh that made Narcissa shiver. "I gave you a year!"
"He's dead, isn't he?"
The Dark Lord's thin mouth twisted in revulsion, and his reply was a single word: "Crucio."
Narcissa wanted to scream. She wanted to shout her frustration, her rage, her fear for her son, but all she could do was stand there and watch, tears blurring her vision.
He had left Draco alive, and expected her gratitude in return. Her son survived, didn't he? He was punished for his wrongdoing and rewarded with his life.
Gratitude was the last thing she wanted to give that monster.
It took her two weeks to work up the nerve to visit her sister. Not Bellatrix, but the other. The one whose name had been burned from the family tapestry.
Once she recovered from the shock of seeing her sister, she asked the obvious question: "Why?"
Narcissa framed the words before she spoke them. "I will not lay my son on the Dark Lord's altar, Andromeda," she said quietly. "If Lucius wants to slit his wrists for the bastard, that's his business."
Andromeda stood and poured them each a cup of tea. "What are you willing to do, Cissy?"
"Anything."
Her sister smiled a wry sort of smile and handed Narcissa a cup. Then, she outlined a plan.
"That won't work," Narcissa had said. "We're- they're watching the owls. I can't communicate with you."
Andromeda had smiled. "There are other, more secure ways of communicating."
It took her weeks to cast her first Patronus, and even longer to turn the silver-white sparrowhawk into a messenger. As Andromeda would later inform her, this was no small feat. It took most wizards months to master the Charm, and many spent weeks trying and failing to send messages through it. For Narcissa, the thought of Draco's freedom was too powerful to resist. She thought of it whenever she conjured the slivery bird and bent it to her will.
Potterwatch was the kind of thing the Dark Lord would give his right hand to discover: a wealth of information on the Order's progress, a treasure trove of knowledge for those patient enough to listen and interpret. Narcissa was only too happy to send Death Eater plans and tactics through her Patronus, when plans and tactics came to her attention. She never asked for information- Lucius and Bellatrix would become suspicious, if she did- but she listened carefully when they spoke, staring at a book or her plate or a spot on the wall, preserving her cover as the supportive, ignorant wife.
She read Lucius' letters whenever she could. This often meant creating a distraction on the other side of the manor or in the garden, scanning his half-finished letter quickly, setting it back on his desk, and dashing off to decode what she had memorized. Yaxley had sworn up and down that the owls were secure, but you could never be too careful.
Draco came home for Christmas more depressed than ever. The weight of his responsibilities- real or imagined by the Dark Lord- were taking their toll. Narcissa saw it in his averted gaze and the way he let his white-blond hair fall over his eyes. She heard it in his voice and saw it in his slow, unconfident gait. He used to walk like a prince, but now his heavy stride and quick, nervous glances reminded her of Dobby.
Dobby. All those years and Narcissa had never considered how the house-elf might feel. He was a house-elf, after all, not her son.
If she saw Dobby again, she would apologize. Not nearly enough to compensate for his treatment, but it would have to do.
On the morning of Christmas Eve, Lucius went to his study to write a letter to the Ministry. Narcissa took a handful of potatoes, lit them on fire, and tossed them into the oven, then added a spell to ensure the fire wouldn't be easily dealt with. Instructing the house-elf to tell Lucius about the smoke, she Apparated into the bathroom next to her husband's study so she could listen and not be seen. Despite the manor being the Dark Lord's new headquarters and Bellatrix being their new roommate, the bathroom was usually empty.
As luck would have it, that was not the case.
When Narcissa appeared, Draco jumped, slicing into his cheek with his razor before he dropped it in the sink. He whirled around, eyes wide. "Mum! What are-"
Recovering her wits, Narcissa clapped a hand over his mouth. "Sh! Not another word!" she hissed, then listened intently. Lucius was hurrying out of his study, the house-elf close behind, repeating the excuses Narcissa had given her. Feeling a stab of relief, Narcissa released her son. He stumbled back against the counter, grey eyes round as Sickles, blood dripping down his pale cheek. Words seemed to have fled him.
Narcissa took a bottle of dittany from the cupboard over the sink and poured a drop onto the cut. It healed instantly.
"Mum?"
She exhaled, wiping the blood from her hand while she racked her mind for an explanation. "Your father and aunt will be gone tonight," she said at last. "I'll explain then."
"You're mental."
Narcissa said nothing, hands clasped in her lap.
Draco gripped the edge of the counter until his knuckles turned white. "Why did you tell me? Why didn't you..." He trailed off, clenching his teeth as he gazed out at the snow-covered courtyard.
"What would you have done, if I hadn't told you?"
He gave a mirthless laugh. "I wouldn't have thought you lost your mind."
"I'll tell you what you would have done." She stood, crossed the kitchen, and leaned against the counter. "You would have told your father."
Draco looked at her, then looked away.
"You would have told him," she continued, "and he would have asked me. No explanation I gave him would have satisfied him, so he would have mentioned it to Bella, and we both know what she would have done."
He still didn't look at her, but he paled a shade.
"Look at me, Draco." She held his gaze. "The only reason I'm doing this is to keep you safe."
"Safe? Mum, you're putting us all in danger! You know what the Dark Lord will do if he finds out?"
"It can't be any worse than watching him torture my son!"
"I failed, Mum! That's why he did it!"
"No." Narcissa took his face in her hands. "No, Draco. The task was too much for you. You knew it. I knew it. He set you up for failure, then made an example of you when you did what was expected of you."
He pulled away, walked a few paces, and turned around. "He'll kill us all, Mum."
"Not if Potter kills him first."
At the mention of Potter's name, Draco looked away. "Potter. What can he do? He's my age!"
"Potter defeated the Dark Lord when he wasn't yet two. I'm sure he can do it again at seventeen."
A moment passed; neither spoke. Narcissa stared out at the courtyard. Snow sifted gently down from a velvet sky. "I'll help you, then."
"I can't let you."
"And I can't let you spill our secrets to the Order, but here we are, talking about just that." He drew a breath. "Two are better than one, Mum."
Narcissa turned away. He was right, of course. Now that he knew, she would have to recruit him somehow. Two against the Dark Lord stood a better chance than one.
But getting him involved...
"I can't risk your life like that, Draco."
"Mum." She looked at him. "I'm already risking my life. I'd rather risk it for you than for him."
Tears stung her eyes, and she looked away. "If I lost you..."
"Look at me." His voice was gentle, his eyes moist. "I'm joining you, whether you like it or not."
She nodded. She didn't trust herself to speak.
By the end of the Christmas holiday, Draco still hadn't grasped the Patronus Charm. Narcissa wasn't worried. It had taken her nearly a month, practicing every spare minute, to master the charm. "You'll have it down by Easter."
"Where am I supposed to practice?"
Narcissa shrugged. "Hogwarts is a big castle. Surely there's some place that isn't monitored by the Carrows."
Evidently he found one, because in mid-February, he sent her a letter. Once she decoded it, she had to restrain a whoop of joy; he'd cast his first Patronus, and it was a falcon.
She wrote back with instructions for turning the bird into a messenger. Send all sensitive information to me through your Patronus, she wrote, burying the words in other sentences and paragraphs, hiding "Patronus" in several words. I'll relay it to the Order.
Narcissa tied the letter to the family owl's leg, then sat back in her chair. Her heart pounded in her ears.
If the Order lost the war, she and Draco would be the first to die.
So yeah...this will be short. A two- or three-shot, at the most. Just tell me what you think, 'kay?