"Your dues?" Narcissa asked in disbelief. "So you are following in your father's footsteps? I would have thought you learned during the war that loyalties are too easily shattered." Downing the rest of her scotch in one undignified gulp, she considered pouring another glass but ultimately decided against it. The alcohol wasn't providing any warmth or comfort, and getting drunk wouldn't help her at all.
Sighing heavily, Narcissa looked at Draco. As much as she wanted to tell him no, that he couldn't get involved again with the Death Eaters, she couldn't. She'd already told him not to, and he'd disobeyed. Her little boy was a grown man now, capable of making his own choices, and she could either support him or alienate him. It wasn't as if she didn't believe in a Purist society -- she did -- but she didn't approve of the way the Death Eaters wanted to create it.
"There's really nothing I can say, Draco. I try and tell you that you're not allowed, but you wouldn't listen," she said humorlessly. "I will support and help you — to an extent. I do not want to see you coming home again like this." Putting down her empty glass, Narcissa went back to her bed and started using her wand to clean the blood of Draco's face. "You may as well tell me what else you've been up to."