Fic: The Course of Empire (5/5)
The Course of Empire
Summary: As the world goes down in flames, Narcissa Malfoy tries to hold on to everything she once thought was dear.
Pairings: Narcissa/Lucius, eventual Draco/Ginny
Rating: PG-15/R
Notes: Thanks to Rainpuddle13 for beta reading! This story was influenced by and has some scenes based on Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell. Story title/chapter titles come from a series of paintings by Thomas Cole, seen here.
Part One: The Savage State
Part Two: The Pastoral or Arcadian State
Part Three: The Consummation of Empire
Part Four: Destruction.
Part Five: Desolation
“Draco never visits us,” Narcissa said, looking sadly at the short note their son had sent them. “I think we saw more of him when he was at Hogwarts than we have lately.”
“He’s been spending time with them,” Lucius said darkly. “Severus has convinced the boy of... Something.”
“Why would Draco look up to Severus, of all people? It’s not as though he’s a stellar example of wizardkind,” Narcissa said. “That man is just so cantankerous! Being near him always reminds me of my Aunt Merope, who couldn’t say a single thing if it didn’t insult someone.”
“I don’t think we did right by our son, Narcissa,” Lucius said. Narcissa had never heard him say such, even though sometimes, she quietly wondered. “He’s never been as strong or independent as I would have liked.”
“We did everything possible to ensure he had a good life and a future worth living in,” Narcissa said. “Remember those books we used to read him, before he decided they were too childish, just in the hope that he would grow to appreciate knowledge?”
“I remember those atrocious things. K is for Kneazel, or some such nonsense,” Lucius said. “I always felt like a prat reading those, but Draco loved them.”
“All I ever wanted was for him to be happy,” Narcissa said. “But I never imagined that his happiness would be found with that sort.”
“They all have an aura of self-righteousness and brute power,” Lucius said. “Maybe Draco just can’t tell the difference between people playing the part of leader and those who truly lead.”
Narcissa sighed. “I just wish our family lines didn’t end on such a sad note. Maybe things would have been different if Draco had had a brother to keep him on track.”
“What’s to stop us from fixing that?” Lucius said.
“What?” Narcissa asked. “Have another child, hoping that this one will understand our values? It’s madness, Lucius. We’re the outcasts of society. We haven’t enough money to support ourselves, much less a child. What sort of life could we provide?”
“We have room for a child,” Lucius said, motioning around their grand, decaying surroundings. “We have all the time in the world to devote to someone new.”
“But children eat, and need clothing. We can barely provide for ourselves. Not to mention what the healers at St. Mungo’s charge,” Narcissa argued, though the thought of a baby filled the hole that had been growing in her heart. “It’s utter insanity to plan a child now, Lucius. We must forget this idea.”
Lucius, after some coaxing, agreed, but Narcissa kept one traitorous thought from being voiced. Accidents do happen.
***
Draco’s shirt was crisp and new.
Narcissa had nearly forgotten the look of sharp white collars against the baby pale skin of a Malfoy, or the way bright blond hair looked against midnight black robes. Their clothes were soft and spiderweb thin from repeated washings and being worn without rest, their black robes gone soft Azkaban gray.
But her son stood in the empty, dusty foyer of Malfoy Manor wearing perfect, new clothes and Narcissa felt betrayal rise in her chest.
“Where did you get that?” she demanded, her voice sounding shrill and shrewish.
“Mother,” he said calmly. Lucius emerged from his study, and stood in the corridor, watching the scene unfold.
“Draco, please. I can’t bear it if you-“
“If I what? Want to live, rather than rot away here?” her son interrupted, anger flushing his face pink.
“Don’t do this!” Narcissa replied. “Don’t become like them, a blood traitor...”
“I’ll do whatever I damn well please,” Draco snapped. “I’m happy.”
Narcissa remembered happiness, remembered sun drenched days in the green grass, surrounded by family and friends in a world they ruled.
“Happy?” Her voice rose to a high pitch. “How does betrayal make you happy?”
“I’m going to ask Ginny Weasley to marry me,” her son continued. Now that she had grown used to seeing something fresh and new, she could see imperfections in her son’s attire. The crisp cotton shirt held imperfections - a mismatched button, snags in the fabric - and the robes were of a poor quality. Her son was wearing new clothes, yes, but they were obviously the cheapest ones off the rack. She wondered if this Weasley girl could even discern the difference between sale rack and tailor made robes, and decided not.
“A Weasley!” This time, Lucius spoke. “Draco, have you lost all self-respect?”
“Times have changed! If I change with them, eventually people will forget that I was born into such a small-minded family!”
“Small-minded? Draco, listen to yourself! I’m your mother, the only one you’ll ever have. You are only born into one family. Don’t betray us, love,” Narcissa implored.
“I’m not betraying anything!”
“You’re betraying your family. You are a Malfoy, boy. Act like it,” Lucius said coldly.
“That’s right. I’m a Malfoy and I’m taking what I want. You only disapprove because you wish you were part of the new aristocracy. I’m in love, and I have new things, and if I just break free of you then I won’t have this stigma anymore. Your grandchildren will be pureblood. Be happy with that.”
Her son dismissed them as though they were dogs begging for scraps.
“I’m sorry you feel this way,” Lucius said coldly. “Now leave.”
“But-“
“Leave,” Lucius said, his voice going low and dangerous. For a moment, he was the man who thought he could take on Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort and the entire Ministry without losing face.
For a minute, he was whole again, and it was to throw his son out. The son they had done everything for, the son he and Narcissa had devoted their lives to.
Draco looked between his parents as though he were seeing them for the first time, then said stiffly, “I thought you would want to know your son was happy.”
“Go,” Narcissa said. “Have your happy ending. We aren’t stopping you. You know as well as we that we’re powerless to keep you from them.”
“You could be happy too,” Draco said. “I could tell them that you’ve--”
“That we’ve what? Decided that we can’t handle the repercussions of our actions? Decided to betray our own beliefs for what is acceptable by the masses?” Narcissa asked. “We’ve fought tooth and nail to keep what we have, Draco. We’ve forged our lives out of the need to create a better future - to preserve the ways of our ancestors, the way we were brought up. I can’t abandon everything I hold sacred.”
“But this isn’t sacred!” Draco said. “It’s the past. The past doesn’t mean anything.”
“If you really believe that, then you are a fool,” Lucius said.
***
By the time Narcissa was sure, Lucius had already figured it out.
She announced the news over lunch, and her husband merely raised an eyebrow and said, “I thought you said we couldn’t provide a good life for a child.”
“Accidents do happen,” she said coyly, and took a dainty bite of her sandwich.
“Maybe we’ll have a daughter,” Lucius said. “A little girl as pretty and wicked as yourself.”
“Nonsense,” Narcissa said. “As though any child of ours will be wicked. Besides, I’m hoping for another son. I’m sure we will have regained our former status by the time he’s of age, and it’d be nice to have another Malfoy to inherit.”
“I haven’t disinherited Draco yet,” Lucius said.
“Only because he’d laugh at you,” Narcissa said bluntly. “Because we haven’t anything for him to inherit, other than the Manor.”
“He’d be fool to laugh at that,” Lucius said. “I taught him myself that this land is more precious than gold in the bank.”
Narcissa shook her head. “He doesn’t believe that. I’m not sure I do.”
“This is the house my ancestors built,” Lucius said. “Their accomplishments, their ambitions are what raised these walls. Generations of Malfoys have loved and died within this house, and that is important in a way that being able to afford racing brooms or bribes can never be.”
“I felt that way about the Black home,” Narcissa said. “Though not as strongly. I always knew that I would leave, and cease to be a Black. But you’re right. There is something special about walking the same halls as your long-dead ancestors, but I don’t think Draco remembers that. Look at who he associates with. Not one of them has the family history, the material manifestation of family pride to respect, that we do.”
***
Narcissa’s dream for a better future did not last long.
By the time she acknowledged something was deeply wrong, nothing could be done. She lay on blood soaked bed sheets as the Healer comforted her, casting spells and administering potions to keep Narcissa calm and to keep her life’s blood from leaking out with her dead child.
Lucius was not present.
“I’m sorry,” said the Healer, an old pureblood woman who had delivered Draco decades before. “You’ll never bear another child.”
Narcissa’s soul was as barren as her womb.
“You’ll still have your health, which is all that you could hope for, really,” said the Healer. “Though I am worried for you.”
“I’m fine,” Narcissa said weakly.
“Losing a child--” the Healer began.
“Are you sure that I won’t be able to have another child?” Narcissa inquired quickly.
“Positive,” the Healer said. “But you should be worried about your own health. You’ll be weak for a good while.”
Narcissa tuned her out and stared listlessly at the wall. Lucius would be devastated. She was devastated, and there was no one to blame but herself and fate. There was no place for her type in the world any longer.
She would continue along, just as she always had. Even though her dreams were dashed against the rocky shore of reality, even though she wanted nothing more than to simply curl in bed and never wake again, even though she knew there was nothing left in this world for her, she would continue to exist.
***
Have your happy ending, Narcissa thought bitterly. Pretend like the world is just and happy, just like you always imagined it. Pretend like there’s nothing amiss, there’s no reason to cry, pretend like the world is a beautiful utopia you’ve designed.
Pretend, because the truth is so far away from utopia that it aches.
They couldn’t understand, Narcissa knew. They were all so caught up in their own lives and own triumphs and failures that they couldn’t see that they had destroyed everything. Destroyed her, and her family, and all her hopes and dreams and aspirations.
She couldn’t bear the thought of her former friends, rotting away in the broken shells of their formerly beautiful homes. She hated to think of the ones who went to Azkaban, the ones driven mad by their imprisonment, because she felt as though they were the lucky ones. In their fevered, mad brains they could imagine the world was any way they wanted, and they were the only ones miserable.
Narcissa knew better than to hope that reality was better than madness. She only had to see what was going on around her to know that she was a relic of the past, outdated and left to molder in a forgotten case.
In her dreams, she saw the smiling face of a pretty young girl, blonde and happy, playing in the gardens and with broken dolls that held infinite, sentimental meaning to her. She wasn’t sure if the girl was herself or the daughter she had tried so hard to keep, and she wasn’t sure it mattered. Neither girl would ever have a happy life. Both were dead, in their own ways.
Lucius had taken the news well, as though he had realized all along that they were striving for an unattainable dream. As though he knew they had nothing left to fight for.
Narcissa wished she could tell Innogen of her dreams, but it was always a shock to remember that Innogen was gone. She wasn’t dead, but Narcissa thought she would have been happier had she died during the war like her daughter.
Narcissa had dreamed once upon a time that her son would marry Innogen’s daughter. It had seemed such a natural, simple thing at the time, and now it was nothing more than ash, filling her mind with the embers and broken remains of what she had once hoped.
Draco was never around. He rarely owled, as caught up in his new life with the new people who had taken over society. She ought to feel grateful that her son was making something of his life, changing with the times, but still the only emotion she felt was betrayal. She had done everything possible to ensure him the life she had wanted, and she hadn’t been good enough.
Nothing they had done had been good enough to withstand the sands of time. Her House had fallen, her family was in ruins and the only thing she had left in the world was her husband, and the hollow, decaying walls they lived between.
Time slid past her, unnoticed in the monotony of days. Her beauty had faded, but she did notr mourn its loss. Seeing a pretty, unaffected face in the mirror would have been the ultimate irony, and one Narcissa did not wish to occur. Her hair was storm-shot with silvery grey, her face wrinkling and puckering around the edges, and Narcissa felt old as time itself.
It was only years, years of sorrow and hatred and broken thoughts, but they affected her like centuries.
***
The next time she saw Draco, he was married.
He’s sent them a note a week previously informing them of such, and had said he would bring his bride for them to meet at a specified time. He didn’t suggest meeting outside of the Manor. Narcissa could only suppose he was embarrassed by them, by their poverty and their infamy. She couldn’t say that she blamed him, exactly, only felt vaguely it would have been nice to leave the Manor.
At the appointed time, a knock came at the front door, and Lucius and Narcissa rose to meet their son’s bride.
The girl wasn’t quite the dirty-faced urchin Lucius had given Tom Riddle’s diary to lifetimes ago, but her appearance hadn’t gone through any radical change to erase the traces of her humble roots. Now, her face was clean, and she wore bright, expensive robes that Narcissa privately thought erred more on the side of gaudy than fashionable.
“It’s nice to meet you again,” she said politely, and Narcissa appreciated that she was trying to be civil, though the tremor in her voice and her clenched fist gave away her discomfort.
“Likewise, I’m charmed,” Narcissa said, smiling thinly. “Of course, it would have been more appropriate had we met before you married my son.”
The girl looked at Draco nervously. He glared at her, and said, “Mother, I thought you agreed to be civil.”
“I’m disappointed in you as well, Draco. You’re my only child, yet you didn’t even invite me to your wedding,” Narcissa continued. He was the only child she would ever have and he no longer wanted her. The war had taken everything from her, and given nothing back.
“Isn’t this the Weasley whelp who was so easily taken by that old diary?” Lucius asked conversationally. “Are you sure she’s bright enough for you? You don’t want to be rearing halfwits.”
Draco looked despairingly between his parents while his wife looked increasingly uncomfortable. Narcissa felt a vague stab of guilt, remembering how warmly Lucius’ family had welcomed her into the Malfoy fold. She would make an effort, at the very least.
“Let’s go to the garden,” Narcissa said. “I thought we’d have lunch outdoors since it’s such a lovely day.”
The girl look startled, as though she had expected to only see the foyer before being thrown out, but she and Draco followed Narcissa’s lead obediently. Narcissa tried to ignore the disrepair the Manor had fallen into over the years since the end of the War, but knew that Draco and his wife would be seeing everything - the worn, damaged furniture, the dust and grime over once spotless surfaces, the crumbling plaster - in fresh, startling relief.
Narcissa pretended as though her home was as grand and beautiful as the day she moved in, but could not block out the girl’s whisper of “What happened here?”
Lucius’ shoulders stiffened, and Narcissa reached over and touched his forearm, hoping to calm him before he faced their errant child. They reached the back entrance and descended the stairs into the garden proper, where a table had been set up with a light lunch.
Narcissa had spent the morning doing preparations to make it look as though a house-elf had done everything. Cut flowers formed a centerpiece around china emblazoned with the Malfoy crest - the only thing that had saved them from the Ministry’s greedy hands. Narcissa knew from learning about her own family’s china that it was intentional, simply so no one could filch a piece or have a financially burdened descendant sell it out of desperation. She felt a stab of shame every time she realized she had become the scorned descendant who would sell her history for money.
“This is lovely!” said the girl, looking around with a rapt expression. “Your garden is beautiful, Mrs. Malfoy. However do you keep it up?”
“It’s a hobby of mine,” Narcissa replied wryly. “And do call me Narcissa - I’m not the only Mrs. Malfoy present, after all, and I wouldn’t want things to become confusing.”
The girl smiled weakly and said, “Thank you, Narcissa.”
As they began their meal, Narcissa noticed how terrified her new daughter-in-law seemed of Lucius, in particular. Every time he made a motion, she gave a little start. Lucius became increasingly annoyed, until he finally set down his fork and announced, “I have no plans to harm you, girl.”
“W-what?” she said, eyes darting rodent-like. “I didn’t think you were going to--”
“Then why have you been so jumpy?” Narcissa asked, delicately biting into her sandwich.
“I haven’t!” the girl protested. Silence greeted her proclamation. “Well, you’d be nervous, too, if you were dining with people who tried to murder you!”
“I don’t recall ever trying to murder you,” Lucius said glibly.
“I can’t do this,” the girl announced. She stood, and glared at Draco. “I tried to be courteous to these monsters, but I just can’t. I’m leaving.”
“Gin!” Draco said, reaching out to take her arm. She shook her head as she pulled her arm away, and Apparated out with a faint pop.
Draco looked at them, obviously dying to chase his bride and sooth her mangled feelings.
“Draco, if you leave me like this, don’t bother to return,” Narcissa said. “You know perfectly well nothing out of line has been said. The girl is weak.”
“Ginny is not weak!” Draco said. “She’s the strongest person I know.”
The way he was looking at them made it obvious who he was comparing his wife to.
“Don’t insult your mother like that,” Lucius said. “It hurts her to see you wasted on that sort, after everything we’d done for you.”
“You aren’t on top of the world anymore,” Draco snapped. “Look at you! The house is in ruins, and yet you still act as though I’m the one who’s fucking everything up. Why can’t you just change with the times?”
“Because I have more respect for our ancestors, the ones who forged this life for us, than that,” Lucius replied. “Those people don’t understand.”
“You act as though I’m surrounded by Muggleborns! I know just as many purebloods and none of them are as stuck in the past as you are,” Draco replied. “Ginny’s as pure as any of us, and yet you treated her like rubbish!”
“She was acting like a cornered rabbit!” Narcissa said. “Draco, do try to understand that we aren’t trying to be the enemy. We’re just doing what’s right.”
“But you aren’t right! The war is over, and you lost!”
“We lost, Draco,” Lucius said. “You only changed sides when you knew there was no hope.”
“And you should have too! Then you wouldn’t be living like this!”
“I know it’s easy to save your own skin at the expense of your principles,” Narcissa said. “We’ve done it too. But sometimes, Draco, sometimes things are worth fighting for.”
“Prejudices and moldering stories are worth fighting for?” Draco asked, giving them a disbelieving look.
“Our way of life, our past and our future were worth fighting for,” Narcissa said. “The freedom of knowledge, the freedom to choose our own paths in this world are worth fighting for. Look around you, Draco. Really look at what you see out there. Is burning books that contain what some believe to be evil magic really how things are supposed to be? Is destroying history really the way to restore the future?”
He shook his head slightly, in an unfocused manner. “I can’t believe you’re still clinging to that old rhetoric.”
“They’ve painted over our family portraits, Draco,” Lucius said. “The knowledge my mother and father had to impart on me is gone forever. The knowledge that generations upon generations of Blacks and Malfoys had to share has been erased. Is that the sort of world you want to live in?”
“I have to go,” Draco said. He looked sadly between them. “It hurts me to see you like this.”
“Think about what we’ve said,” Narcissa said. “And look at what they’re doing to our world.”
“Goodbye,” her son replied, giving them a tight, uncomfortable smile before Apparating away.
***
She cancelled her subscription to the newspaper, deeming it a waste of hard-earned money.
They were determined to erase the memory of the Death Eaters, of the pureblood aristocracy, of the Wars from everyone’s mind. The news spoke of nothing but the most recent of events, and everything else - all the history so fresh in everyone’s minds - fell to the wayside.
Lucius spent his days in his study, writing down his life’s story, the things he remembered and the knowledge he had gained. All of it was information deemed classified by the Ministry- deemed inappropriate and unnecessary for the general populace to know.
Dark magic had no place in a peaceful society. Tales of war and injustice had no place. Anything not adhering to the official version of events was treason.
Narcissa knew that Lucius’ work would be burned when he died, when she died, when they died and their bodies were discovered decaying within the halls of their rotting mansion.
They had no place in the world they had fought so hard for. They were obsolete, and the new order had no interest in history.
That was their folly, Narcissa knew. Those who failed to learn from history were doomed to repeat it, and all the books that included dark magic could not be burned. Even if they removed every bit of dark knowledge from the British Isles, the rest of the world would not follow suit.
Narcissa was content to roam the halls of her home and occasionally tell Lucius the stories of her past to include in his work. She had a fanciful idea that Draco would like to read it one day, when his head wasn’t quite so full of ideals and optimism, and wanted him to know all of his history.
History was what was important in this world. It was her legacy, her family’s legacy and all that she could do to achieve immortality. Her father’s quiet insistence that keeping family traditions was the sole path to immortality had been true; more true than he had probably ever imagined.
Staring at the world past the end of her era, Narcissa Malfoy understood what made legends important. Legends were what kept the still-living ghosts pacified until they could die. Legends were the parts of history that gave hope. Legends proved that their struggles were not futile, even if they did not live to see the resolution.
Narcissa was resigned to become part of a history written by the righteous victors. Narcissa’s dreams and aspirations were the villainous thoughts of an evil, deranged woman. Narcissa was nothing more than a footnote in the course of an empire.
*
And it's complete! Thanks to everyone who has read, and comments are adored.
Summary: As the world goes down in flames, Narcissa Malfoy tries to hold on to everything she once thought was dear.
Pairings: Narcissa/Lucius, eventual Draco/Ginny
Rating: PG-15/R
Notes: Thanks to Rainpuddle13 for beta reading! This story was influenced by and has some scenes based on Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell. Story title/chapter titles come from a series of paintings by Thomas Cole, seen here.
Part One: The Savage State
Part Two: The Pastoral or Arcadian State
Part Three: The Consummation of Empire
Part Four: Destruction.
Part Five: Desolation
“Draco never visits us,” Narcissa said, looking sadly at the short note their son had sent them. “I think we saw more of him when he was at Hogwarts than we have lately.”
“He’s been spending time with them,” Lucius said darkly. “Severus has convinced the boy of... Something.”
“Why would Draco look up to Severus, of all people? It’s not as though he’s a stellar example of wizardkind,” Narcissa said. “That man is just so cantankerous! Being near him always reminds me of my Aunt Merope, who couldn’t say a single thing if it didn’t insult someone.”
“I don’t think we did right by our son, Narcissa,” Lucius said. Narcissa had never heard him say such, even though sometimes, she quietly wondered. “He’s never been as strong or independent as I would have liked.”
“We did everything possible to ensure he had a good life and a future worth living in,” Narcissa said. “Remember those books we used to read him, before he decided they were too childish, just in the hope that he would grow to appreciate knowledge?”
“I remember those atrocious things. K is for Kneazel, or some such nonsense,” Lucius said. “I always felt like a prat reading those, but Draco loved them.”
“All I ever wanted was for him to be happy,” Narcissa said. “But I never imagined that his happiness would be found with that sort.”
“They all have an aura of self-righteousness and brute power,” Lucius said. “Maybe Draco just can’t tell the difference between people playing the part of leader and those who truly lead.”
Narcissa sighed. “I just wish our family lines didn’t end on such a sad note. Maybe things would have been different if Draco had had a brother to keep him on track.”
“What’s to stop us from fixing that?” Lucius said.
“What?” Narcissa asked. “Have another child, hoping that this one will understand our values? It’s madness, Lucius. We’re the outcasts of society. We haven’t enough money to support ourselves, much less a child. What sort of life could we provide?”
“We have room for a child,” Lucius said, motioning around their grand, decaying surroundings. “We have all the time in the world to devote to someone new.”
“But children eat, and need clothing. We can barely provide for ourselves. Not to mention what the healers at St. Mungo’s charge,” Narcissa argued, though the thought of a baby filled the hole that had been growing in her heart. “It’s utter insanity to plan a child now, Lucius. We must forget this idea.”
Lucius, after some coaxing, agreed, but Narcissa kept one traitorous thought from being voiced. Accidents do happen.
***
Draco’s shirt was crisp and new.
Narcissa had nearly forgotten the look of sharp white collars against the baby pale skin of a Malfoy, or the way bright blond hair looked against midnight black robes. Their clothes were soft and spiderweb thin from repeated washings and being worn without rest, their black robes gone soft Azkaban gray.
But her son stood in the empty, dusty foyer of Malfoy Manor wearing perfect, new clothes and Narcissa felt betrayal rise in her chest.
“Where did you get that?” she demanded, her voice sounding shrill and shrewish.
“Mother,” he said calmly. Lucius emerged from his study, and stood in the corridor, watching the scene unfold.
“Draco, please. I can’t bear it if you-“
“If I what? Want to live, rather than rot away here?” her son interrupted, anger flushing his face pink.
“Don’t do this!” Narcissa replied. “Don’t become like them, a blood traitor...”
“I’ll do whatever I damn well please,” Draco snapped. “I’m happy.”
Narcissa remembered happiness, remembered sun drenched days in the green grass, surrounded by family and friends in a world they ruled.
“Happy?” Her voice rose to a high pitch. “How does betrayal make you happy?”
“I’m going to ask Ginny Weasley to marry me,” her son continued. Now that she had grown used to seeing something fresh and new, she could see imperfections in her son’s attire. The crisp cotton shirt held imperfections - a mismatched button, snags in the fabric - and the robes were of a poor quality. Her son was wearing new clothes, yes, but they were obviously the cheapest ones off the rack. She wondered if this Weasley girl could even discern the difference between sale rack and tailor made robes, and decided not.
“A Weasley!” This time, Lucius spoke. “Draco, have you lost all self-respect?”
“Times have changed! If I change with them, eventually people will forget that I was born into such a small-minded family!”
“Small-minded? Draco, listen to yourself! I’m your mother, the only one you’ll ever have. You are only born into one family. Don’t betray us, love,” Narcissa implored.
“I’m not betraying anything!”
“You’re betraying your family. You are a Malfoy, boy. Act like it,” Lucius said coldly.
“That’s right. I’m a Malfoy and I’m taking what I want. You only disapprove because you wish you were part of the new aristocracy. I’m in love, and I have new things, and if I just break free of you then I won’t have this stigma anymore. Your grandchildren will be pureblood. Be happy with that.”
Her son dismissed them as though they were dogs begging for scraps.
“I’m sorry you feel this way,” Lucius said coldly. “Now leave.”
“But-“
“Leave,” Lucius said, his voice going low and dangerous. For a moment, he was the man who thought he could take on Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort and the entire Ministry without losing face.
For a minute, he was whole again, and it was to throw his son out. The son they had done everything for, the son he and Narcissa had devoted their lives to.
Draco looked between his parents as though he were seeing them for the first time, then said stiffly, “I thought you would want to know your son was happy.”
“Go,” Narcissa said. “Have your happy ending. We aren’t stopping you. You know as well as we that we’re powerless to keep you from them.”
“You could be happy too,” Draco said. “I could tell them that you’ve--”
“That we’ve what? Decided that we can’t handle the repercussions of our actions? Decided to betray our own beliefs for what is acceptable by the masses?” Narcissa asked. “We’ve fought tooth and nail to keep what we have, Draco. We’ve forged our lives out of the need to create a better future - to preserve the ways of our ancestors, the way we were brought up. I can’t abandon everything I hold sacred.”
“But this isn’t sacred!” Draco said. “It’s the past. The past doesn’t mean anything.”
“If you really believe that, then you are a fool,” Lucius said.
***
By the time Narcissa was sure, Lucius had already figured it out.
She announced the news over lunch, and her husband merely raised an eyebrow and said, “I thought you said we couldn’t provide a good life for a child.”
“Accidents do happen,” she said coyly, and took a dainty bite of her sandwich.
“Maybe we’ll have a daughter,” Lucius said. “A little girl as pretty and wicked as yourself.”
“Nonsense,” Narcissa said. “As though any child of ours will be wicked. Besides, I’m hoping for another son. I’m sure we will have regained our former status by the time he’s of age, and it’d be nice to have another Malfoy to inherit.”
“I haven’t disinherited Draco yet,” Lucius said.
“Only because he’d laugh at you,” Narcissa said bluntly. “Because we haven’t anything for him to inherit, other than the Manor.”
“He’d be fool to laugh at that,” Lucius said. “I taught him myself that this land is more precious than gold in the bank.”
Narcissa shook her head. “He doesn’t believe that. I’m not sure I do.”
“This is the house my ancestors built,” Lucius said. “Their accomplishments, their ambitions are what raised these walls. Generations of Malfoys have loved and died within this house, and that is important in a way that being able to afford racing brooms or bribes can never be.”
“I felt that way about the Black home,” Narcissa said. “Though not as strongly. I always knew that I would leave, and cease to be a Black. But you’re right. There is something special about walking the same halls as your long-dead ancestors, but I don’t think Draco remembers that. Look at who he associates with. Not one of them has the family history, the material manifestation of family pride to respect, that we do.”
***
Narcissa’s dream for a better future did not last long.
By the time she acknowledged something was deeply wrong, nothing could be done. She lay on blood soaked bed sheets as the Healer comforted her, casting spells and administering potions to keep Narcissa calm and to keep her life’s blood from leaking out with her dead child.
Lucius was not present.
“I’m sorry,” said the Healer, an old pureblood woman who had delivered Draco decades before. “You’ll never bear another child.”
Narcissa’s soul was as barren as her womb.
“You’ll still have your health, which is all that you could hope for, really,” said the Healer. “Though I am worried for you.”
“I’m fine,” Narcissa said weakly.
“Losing a child--” the Healer began.
“Are you sure that I won’t be able to have another child?” Narcissa inquired quickly.
“Positive,” the Healer said. “But you should be worried about your own health. You’ll be weak for a good while.”
Narcissa tuned her out and stared listlessly at the wall. Lucius would be devastated. She was devastated, and there was no one to blame but herself and fate. There was no place for her type in the world any longer.
She would continue along, just as she always had. Even though her dreams were dashed against the rocky shore of reality, even though she wanted nothing more than to simply curl in bed and never wake again, even though she knew there was nothing left in this world for her, she would continue to exist.
***
Have your happy ending, Narcissa thought bitterly. Pretend like the world is just and happy, just like you always imagined it. Pretend like there’s nothing amiss, there’s no reason to cry, pretend like the world is a beautiful utopia you’ve designed.
Pretend, because the truth is so far away from utopia that it aches.
They couldn’t understand, Narcissa knew. They were all so caught up in their own lives and own triumphs and failures that they couldn’t see that they had destroyed everything. Destroyed her, and her family, and all her hopes and dreams and aspirations.
She couldn’t bear the thought of her former friends, rotting away in the broken shells of their formerly beautiful homes. She hated to think of the ones who went to Azkaban, the ones driven mad by their imprisonment, because she felt as though they were the lucky ones. In their fevered, mad brains they could imagine the world was any way they wanted, and they were the only ones miserable.
Narcissa knew better than to hope that reality was better than madness. She only had to see what was going on around her to know that she was a relic of the past, outdated and left to molder in a forgotten case.
In her dreams, she saw the smiling face of a pretty young girl, blonde and happy, playing in the gardens and with broken dolls that held infinite, sentimental meaning to her. She wasn’t sure if the girl was herself or the daughter she had tried so hard to keep, and she wasn’t sure it mattered. Neither girl would ever have a happy life. Both were dead, in their own ways.
Lucius had taken the news well, as though he had realized all along that they were striving for an unattainable dream. As though he knew they had nothing left to fight for.
Narcissa wished she could tell Innogen of her dreams, but it was always a shock to remember that Innogen was gone. She wasn’t dead, but Narcissa thought she would have been happier had she died during the war like her daughter.
Narcissa had dreamed once upon a time that her son would marry Innogen’s daughter. It had seemed such a natural, simple thing at the time, and now it was nothing more than ash, filling her mind with the embers and broken remains of what she had once hoped.
Draco was never around. He rarely owled, as caught up in his new life with the new people who had taken over society. She ought to feel grateful that her son was making something of his life, changing with the times, but still the only emotion she felt was betrayal. She had done everything possible to ensure him the life she had wanted, and she hadn’t been good enough.
Nothing they had done had been good enough to withstand the sands of time. Her House had fallen, her family was in ruins and the only thing she had left in the world was her husband, and the hollow, decaying walls they lived between.
Time slid past her, unnoticed in the monotony of days. Her beauty had faded, but she did notr mourn its loss. Seeing a pretty, unaffected face in the mirror would have been the ultimate irony, and one Narcissa did not wish to occur. Her hair was storm-shot with silvery grey, her face wrinkling and puckering around the edges, and Narcissa felt old as time itself.
It was only years, years of sorrow and hatred and broken thoughts, but they affected her like centuries.
***
The next time she saw Draco, he was married.
He’s sent them a note a week previously informing them of such, and had said he would bring his bride for them to meet at a specified time. He didn’t suggest meeting outside of the Manor. Narcissa could only suppose he was embarrassed by them, by their poverty and their infamy. She couldn’t say that she blamed him, exactly, only felt vaguely it would have been nice to leave the Manor.
At the appointed time, a knock came at the front door, and Lucius and Narcissa rose to meet their son’s bride.
The girl wasn’t quite the dirty-faced urchin Lucius had given Tom Riddle’s diary to lifetimes ago, but her appearance hadn’t gone through any radical change to erase the traces of her humble roots. Now, her face was clean, and she wore bright, expensive robes that Narcissa privately thought erred more on the side of gaudy than fashionable.
“It’s nice to meet you again,” she said politely, and Narcissa appreciated that she was trying to be civil, though the tremor in her voice and her clenched fist gave away her discomfort.
“Likewise, I’m charmed,” Narcissa said, smiling thinly. “Of course, it would have been more appropriate had we met before you married my son.”
The girl looked at Draco nervously. He glared at her, and said, “Mother, I thought you agreed to be civil.”
“I’m disappointed in you as well, Draco. You’re my only child, yet you didn’t even invite me to your wedding,” Narcissa continued. He was the only child she would ever have and he no longer wanted her. The war had taken everything from her, and given nothing back.
“Isn’t this the Weasley whelp who was so easily taken by that old diary?” Lucius asked conversationally. “Are you sure she’s bright enough for you? You don’t want to be rearing halfwits.”
Draco looked despairingly between his parents while his wife looked increasingly uncomfortable. Narcissa felt a vague stab of guilt, remembering how warmly Lucius’ family had welcomed her into the Malfoy fold. She would make an effort, at the very least.
“Let’s go to the garden,” Narcissa said. “I thought we’d have lunch outdoors since it’s such a lovely day.”
The girl look startled, as though she had expected to only see the foyer before being thrown out, but she and Draco followed Narcissa’s lead obediently. Narcissa tried to ignore the disrepair the Manor had fallen into over the years since the end of the War, but knew that Draco and his wife would be seeing everything - the worn, damaged furniture, the dust and grime over once spotless surfaces, the crumbling plaster - in fresh, startling relief.
Narcissa pretended as though her home was as grand and beautiful as the day she moved in, but could not block out the girl’s whisper of “What happened here?”
Lucius’ shoulders stiffened, and Narcissa reached over and touched his forearm, hoping to calm him before he faced their errant child. They reached the back entrance and descended the stairs into the garden proper, where a table had been set up with a light lunch.
Narcissa had spent the morning doing preparations to make it look as though a house-elf had done everything. Cut flowers formed a centerpiece around china emblazoned with the Malfoy crest - the only thing that had saved them from the Ministry’s greedy hands. Narcissa knew from learning about her own family’s china that it was intentional, simply so no one could filch a piece or have a financially burdened descendant sell it out of desperation. She felt a stab of shame every time she realized she had become the scorned descendant who would sell her history for money.
“This is lovely!” said the girl, looking around with a rapt expression. “Your garden is beautiful, Mrs. Malfoy. However do you keep it up?”
“It’s a hobby of mine,” Narcissa replied wryly. “And do call me Narcissa - I’m not the only Mrs. Malfoy present, after all, and I wouldn’t want things to become confusing.”
The girl smiled weakly and said, “Thank you, Narcissa.”
As they began their meal, Narcissa noticed how terrified her new daughter-in-law seemed of Lucius, in particular. Every time he made a motion, she gave a little start. Lucius became increasingly annoyed, until he finally set down his fork and announced, “I have no plans to harm you, girl.”
“W-what?” she said, eyes darting rodent-like. “I didn’t think you were going to--”
“Then why have you been so jumpy?” Narcissa asked, delicately biting into her sandwich.
“I haven’t!” the girl protested. Silence greeted her proclamation. “Well, you’d be nervous, too, if you were dining with people who tried to murder you!”
“I don’t recall ever trying to murder you,” Lucius said glibly.
“I can’t do this,” the girl announced. She stood, and glared at Draco. “I tried to be courteous to these monsters, but I just can’t. I’m leaving.”
“Gin!” Draco said, reaching out to take her arm. She shook her head as she pulled her arm away, and Apparated out with a faint pop.
Draco looked at them, obviously dying to chase his bride and sooth her mangled feelings.
“Draco, if you leave me like this, don’t bother to return,” Narcissa said. “You know perfectly well nothing out of line has been said. The girl is weak.”
“Ginny is not weak!” Draco said. “She’s the strongest person I know.”
The way he was looking at them made it obvious who he was comparing his wife to.
“Don’t insult your mother like that,” Lucius said. “It hurts her to see you wasted on that sort, after everything we’d done for you.”
“You aren’t on top of the world anymore,” Draco snapped. “Look at you! The house is in ruins, and yet you still act as though I’m the one who’s fucking everything up. Why can’t you just change with the times?”
“Because I have more respect for our ancestors, the ones who forged this life for us, than that,” Lucius replied. “Those people don’t understand.”
“You act as though I’m surrounded by Muggleborns! I know just as many purebloods and none of them are as stuck in the past as you are,” Draco replied. “Ginny’s as pure as any of us, and yet you treated her like rubbish!”
“She was acting like a cornered rabbit!” Narcissa said. “Draco, do try to understand that we aren’t trying to be the enemy. We’re just doing what’s right.”
“But you aren’t right! The war is over, and you lost!”
“We lost, Draco,” Lucius said. “You only changed sides when you knew there was no hope.”
“And you should have too! Then you wouldn’t be living like this!”
“I know it’s easy to save your own skin at the expense of your principles,” Narcissa said. “We’ve done it too. But sometimes, Draco, sometimes things are worth fighting for.”
“Prejudices and moldering stories are worth fighting for?” Draco asked, giving them a disbelieving look.
“Our way of life, our past and our future were worth fighting for,” Narcissa said. “The freedom of knowledge, the freedom to choose our own paths in this world are worth fighting for. Look around you, Draco. Really look at what you see out there. Is burning books that contain what some believe to be evil magic really how things are supposed to be? Is destroying history really the way to restore the future?”
He shook his head slightly, in an unfocused manner. “I can’t believe you’re still clinging to that old rhetoric.”
“They’ve painted over our family portraits, Draco,” Lucius said. “The knowledge my mother and father had to impart on me is gone forever. The knowledge that generations upon generations of Blacks and Malfoys had to share has been erased. Is that the sort of world you want to live in?”
“I have to go,” Draco said. He looked sadly between them. “It hurts me to see you like this.”
“Think about what we’ve said,” Narcissa said. “And look at what they’re doing to our world.”
“Goodbye,” her son replied, giving them a tight, uncomfortable smile before Apparating away.
***
She cancelled her subscription to the newspaper, deeming it a waste of hard-earned money.
They were determined to erase the memory of the Death Eaters, of the pureblood aristocracy, of the Wars from everyone’s mind. The news spoke of nothing but the most recent of events, and everything else - all the history so fresh in everyone’s minds - fell to the wayside.
Lucius spent his days in his study, writing down his life’s story, the things he remembered and the knowledge he had gained. All of it was information deemed classified by the Ministry- deemed inappropriate and unnecessary for the general populace to know.
Dark magic had no place in a peaceful society. Tales of war and injustice had no place. Anything not adhering to the official version of events was treason.
Narcissa knew that Lucius’ work would be burned when he died, when she died, when they died and their bodies were discovered decaying within the halls of their rotting mansion.
They had no place in the world they had fought so hard for. They were obsolete, and the new order had no interest in history.
That was their folly, Narcissa knew. Those who failed to learn from history were doomed to repeat it, and all the books that included dark magic could not be burned. Even if they removed every bit of dark knowledge from the British Isles, the rest of the world would not follow suit.
Narcissa was content to roam the halls of her home and occasionally tell Lucius the stories of her past to include in his work. She had a fanciful idea that Draco would like to read it one day, when his head wasn’t quite so full of ideals and optimism, and wanted him to know all of his history.
History was what was important in this world. It was her legacy, her family’s legacy and all that she could do to achieve immortality. Her father’s quiet insistence that keeping family traditions was the sole path to immortality had been true; more true than he had probably ever imagined.
Staring at the world past the end of her era, Narcissa Malfoy understood what made legends important. Legends were what kept the still-living ghosts pacified until they could die. Legends were the parts of history that gave hope. Legends proved that their struggles were not futile, even if they did not live to see the resolution.
Narcissa was resigned to become part of a history written by the righteous victors. Narcissa’s dreams and aspirations were the villainous thoughts of an evil, deranged woman. Narcissa was nothing more than a footnote in the course of an empire.
*
And it's complete! Thanks to everyone who has read, and comments are adored.