Post by Deleted on Jun 15, 2013 23:15:12 GMT -5
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Narcissa had been spending the vast majority of her nights looking through old pictures and minding her own business in the least-populated corner of her home. While her days were spent bustling around and doing the duties of a proper house-wife, playing hostess and brewing the potions she was so often paid to make, Narcissa took solace in the hours of quietness and peacefulness that took over the Malfoy Manor several hours after the sun went done. Even the house-elves had stopped their seemingly incessant bustling about, and so she was finally given a chance to relax. A chance, however, was not enough to actually coax her body into a soothed sense of being. Cissa had paced her study mindlessly for a while, rearranging the books that lined the wall half a dozen times and in half a dozen different orders with practiced, bored flicks of her wand. Finally she had settled on an alphabetical system, first by titles, then by authors and had left them. The contents of her desk drawers received much the same treatment, though they would likely find themselves skewed beyond recognition once more soon enough. All of Narcissa’s habitual cleaning soon became tiresome, as she found she had tidied every last inch of the room. It shone with a preternatural sort of cleanliness that did take some of the stress from her, but it wasn’t enough to settle her deep enough into calmness so that she could sleep. Very little actually was, these days. Narcissa had never been a clingy mother, but these days, knowing what Draco was up again, well… she rested much better when he was safe in their home. She knew that he would succeed in his task, and that if he did not, Severus would step in and give him the credit. He had made a vow. That was, to some degree, a comfort. Yet again, unfortunately, not enough of one. The letters from Draco had been few and far between, and when they came they were short; often only long enough to thank her for whatever she had sent and to assure her that he was doing well in his classes. The long letters of his younger years, detailing every waking moment of his school career were long since passed and that told Narcissa very clearly that something was wrong. A good mother didn’t need her children to say when they were troubled – they knew it off hand, very distinctly, in a way that they often could not describe. Rising to her feet from the leather chair she had been reclining in, Narcissa pulled her spectacles from her nose and folded them, placing them neatly in the center of her desk. With a wave of her hand the candle’s flickering flames blew out, and the witch slipped from the sanctuary of her own personal library. Bare, well-manicured feet recoiled as they fell onto the cool white tile of the hallway’s floor but quickly adjusted as she moved through the dark house slowly, wand illuminated ahead of her. Narcissa had never been the paranoid type; even here in the barely-lit hall she felt no fear, no worry that something would jump out at her or that she might be attached, despite the fact that the possibility was all too real. There was no good that could come from nerves, no benefits to jumping at every creak, groan, or crackle one heard. Narcissa knew the dark well, and she knew that she could best most anything it had to throw at her. Her very stride screamed confidence despite the weary droop of her shoulders as she slipped down the elaborate staircase and moved towards the kitchen. She entered the room and with another wave of her wand lit the candles scattered about. The room sprung to life beneath the flickering glares of angry reds and oranges, casting a warm glow over the room as she moved to fill the tea pot, propping it on the stove. There were times, much like this one, when doing such things without magic proved to be at least somewhat soothing and therapeutic. When the teapot began to whistle, Narcissa was quick to fill an oversized coffee mug with the hot tea, foregoing the sugar she normally would have used. She took a seat at the small table she’d placed to the side years before, one used mostly for breakfast and informal dinners when she grew weary of staring at the high ceilings of their formal dining room. Sometimes even a woman as vain and materialistic as Narcissa could be grew weary of her grandiose things; simplicity was, at times, a gift that she knew how to appreciate. The sound of footsteps caught Narcissa’s attention and she straightened up, fingers closing around the warmth of the ceramic mug as she anticipated her husband’s entry into the room. It wasn’t her husband who moved into her line of vision, however, but rather a face she had hardly expected to see home, especially at this time of night. Draco tried to scurry past, likely not noticing his mother alone and silent, but she was quick to clear her throat and to call out gently for him. “Draco, sweetheart, what are you doing here? Is everything alright?” This was wrong, she decided immediately. Draco should have been very safely tucked in his bed in the Slytherin boys’ dormitory by this hour. If he was here, that certainly could mean very little good. Had Lucius known he was coming? Why had she not been informed? Furthermore, how had she not seen him coming in? He had to have been rather sneaky in the respect, for which she both wanted to commend him and scold him simultaneously. When it came to unexpected visitors – her son included – Narcissa was never pleased. “Why didn’t you tell me you were stopping by?” Cissa’s lips pulled into a line as her brow creased noticeably, a sign of worry she tended only to wear when her son was involved. Her fingernails clicked against the side of her mug for a moment before she stood, smoothing out the silk of the cream-colored nightgown she wore, adjusting it habitually as she moved towards the doorway. She reached out to Draco, beckoning him towards her with a curl of her fingers. “Come, Draco, have some tea and tell me everything.” |
Draco | 1060
