|elfflame (elfflame) wrote in true_revenge,|
@ 2007-09-16 18:35:00
|Entry tags:||true revenge 1|
True Revenge Part 3
Title: True Revenge
Rating: Rish for abuse
Canon to: OOTP
Warnings: Spousal Abuse
Disclaimer: As we all know, that very lucky lady JK Rowling owns these characters, I’m just borrowing them for a bit.
A/N: See Part 1 for notes.
<<Last Chapter | Next Chapter>>
Then the Dark Lord’s fall came. Due to a boy not far from her own son’s age. A boy called Harry Potter. And Lucius returned. The boy’s name became a curseword in the Malfoy family—for more than one reason. His rise in power curtailed, Lucius required his arm decoration once more. And more, he had decided that one son would not be enough. But Narcissa knew it was no use. The constant beatings, and later the inattention after Draco’s birth had left her barren. There would be no siblings for Lucius’s son.
The beatings were worse than before. The names, too. She thought, if only she could leave—but then Draco came to see her one night, after a particularly intense beating. He stood in the door, and simply stared.
Old enough now to speak, it took a great deal of time for him to find words. “Mother?”
Narcissa looked up from the floor, where she lay battered, bruised and bloody. “What do you want?” It was the most she had ever said to her son, this clone of Lucius that she had borne.
He came over to her and looked down at her. “Why do you let him do this to you?”
As she looked at the boy she had thought she loathed as much as his father, something inside her broke. Silent tears slid down her cheeks. Tears for the girl who had given up her NEWTs, had left school, had given up her family—to marry a man she truly loathed.
But seeing Draco looking down at her with no more than curiosity on his face, she realized something that day. She could hurt Him, just as much, if not more, as he had hurt her—through his son. His precious, pure-blood, full-fledged Malfoy heir. She could turn him into something else. A Black. In heart if not in name.
And so Draco’s education in all things Black began. Lucius’s frequent out-of-town trips were spent with Draco cuddled against his mother as she recited the family tree to him, and listened jubilantly as he recited them back. She gave him the Black family ring—to be given only to the one he would marry, she told him. He soaked it up like a sponge.
She told him of her great-great grandfather, who had been headmaster at Hogwarts in his day. She told him also of her sister, Bellatrix, who had been sent with her husband to Azkaban for trying to find the Dark Lord. She told him the good, the bad and the terrible. He had to know. He had to be better.
Time passed, and Draco grew, immersed in two rich family histories, and Narcissa waited for the day she could finally show her husband her true contempt.
It came with Draco’s letter from Hogwarts.
Draco ran into her room with the letter, excited and happy, Lucius slowly following behind. His gaze told her to keep silent. She refused. “Draco, sweetie, that’s wonderful.” She kissed him on the head. “Perhaps we could make it a family outing to Diagon Alley to get you your things.”
Lucius scowled at her. “He’s not going. I’m sending him to Durmstrang.” He snatched the letter from his son’s hand, and glared down at it.
For the first time in her life, Narcissa advanced on her husband. “He’s going, Lucius. I will not have him sent to the wilds of the Arctic Circle just to please your silly pride! He’s as much my son as yours, and if you try to do otherwise, I will see that you suffer as much as I have suffered for seventeen years.”
Lucius, surprised at this outburst from a woman who had never so much as whimpered, even in the worst beatings he had given her, flinched and stepped back. Then he glanced at his son. Draco looked at the two of them, his pale eyes round. The only times he’d ever seen his parents together, his mother had been silent, accepting of all the abuse her husband had heaped on her, and Draco had always gone to his mother afterwards to comfort her. The Blacks were her comfort, and so he sat while she told him story after story about his long-dead ancestors, every bit as powerful and deadly as the Malfoys. Every bit as cunning and devious as well, he was beginning to learn.
This time, it was Narcissa who got her way.
And so Draco was to attend Hogwarts, like his parents before him. And with his first letters home, Narcissa began to learn of the “Boy Who Lived.” Draco was one of the first of his classmates to meet him. Though his father had told him to stay as far from him as possible, Draco, his mother’s son as well, had made a friendly gesture, friendly for a Malfoy anyway—and been rebuffed.
Narcissa received daily owls from her son, commenting on his annoyance about the boy. Narcissa gritted her teeth and told him to ignore the git.
Her home life slowly improved.
Lucius, amazed at the backbone he had never known his wife had had, stayed out all hours, and the two rarely crossed paths. They still attended events together, but always, after their “grand” entrance, they would immediately separate and not see each other until the end of the evening, when he would escort her home, and the two would separate once more.
The beatings no longer happened.
There was something new that she saw in his eyes, the rare times he looked at her. Something like fear. Or pride.
When Draco returned from Hogwarts, he was filled with venomously envious stories of the Boy Who Lived. How dare he be more noticed than him? How dare he be allowed to be on the Quidditch team for his house, when Draco was one of the best players he knew? Narcissa listened carefully, allowing her son to spill all the venom he had stored inside over the last year, and offered no advice until he was done.
She told Draco that the boy was beneath him. That to pay any attention to him only allowed him power over Draco. Draco, too much like his father, could not accept this answer. He scowled, but said no more about the boy to his mother that summer.
However, Lucius seemed to be enflamed by his son’s words. Narcissa knew he was planning something, and she wondered if the Boy Who Lived would be living much longer. After all, Narcissa wasn’t the only one who always got what she wanted.
When Lucius came back from taking Draco to Diagon Alley that summer with a bloody lip, Narcissa was almost concerned for that other boy’s safety.
That Christmas, Lucius insisted that Draco stay at Hogwarts. Narcissa wondered, but did not argue. Whatever plans he had for Draco, if she tried to argue against them, she knew the beatings would begin again. As it was, Lucius spent the holiday away from home a great deal. When he was home, Narcissa made sure to spend as much time in her own room as possible.
It was a miserable Christmas.
But she needn’t have been concerned for that other boy’s safety. The following spring, all Lucius’s machinations managed to do was decrease his own power, and lose them a house elf. Privately, Narcissa gloated. To her son, she showed only concern as he spilled his anger over yet another year bettered by that boy.