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Getting sliced up like a Sunday roast was almost worth it, Draco decided, just to hear Mother shout like that. True, he could have done without the whole “nearly drowning in blood followed by his mother’s tears” part, but the rest was pure gold. Dumbledore ought to get shouted at far more often, in Draco’s opinion.
“How could you let something like this happen?! My only son was nearly killed at this madhouse you call a school! How do you justify such lackluster supervision of our children? I want that evil boy expelled this very hour! Expelled, I say, and nothing less will do!”
“Please, Mrs. Malfoy, I must ask you to calm yourself.” Dumbledore’s calm voice drifted across the hospital wing. “You would not want to distress your son further, I am sure.”
Narcissa Malfoy lowered her voice, but it still carried to Draco’s bed. “That boy is an absolute menace! He must be punished! Surely you will not allow him to remain at Hogwarts after this? Or will you give him preferential treatment yet again? It is no secret you favor the boy!”
“I assure you, Madam, that we do not tolerate violence at Hogwarts,” Dumbledore said mildly. “The matter has not yet been settled, but I assure you—”
“I want him expelled!” Narcissa repeated. “This is completely unacceptable! It is all well and good to say you don’t tolerate this sort of behavior, but if you do not back it up with actions… I really must insist you expel that boy, or I shall go to the Ministry, the governors, whomever I must! I shall—I shall remove Draco from the school if it comes to it! What sort of mother would I be to allow my only son to remain in a school where attempted murderers are enrolled!”
“As I have said, I take this matter very seriously, and I intend to investigate it fully. However, you must do what you feel is best for your family, of course. If you wish to prepare Draco for his N.E.W.T. exams at home, then that is entirely your choice as a parent. I’m sure Draco’s teachers would be happy to provide you with a copy of their curricula for the rest of term, as there are only a few weeks left, should you choose to teach him yourself.”
“Yes! Perhaps I shall do exactly that!” Narcissa sounded slightly flustered at having her bluff called. She clearly knew she’d backed herself into a corner, but she would sooner die than admit it. “I have been teaching him during the summer for years now, and I have not been impressed by the education he has received so far! Especially in defensive magic! I am no doubt more qualified than half his teachers!”
“No doubt.” Dumbledore spread his hands out in acknowledgement. “Seven N.E.W.T.s, if I recall correctly?”
“Seven Outstandings!” Narcissa snapped. “And two Exceeds Expectations!”
“That’s right,” Dumbledore said pleasantly, as if they were reminiscing over a cup of tea. “You have always been impressively gifted.”
“And I suppose you think I wasted it by becoming a housewife and mother?” Narcissa shook her long hair with the kind of haughtiness only a Black could pull off.
“Quite the opposite,” Dumbledore said. “I know only too well that children are our future. If you’ll recall, many people were surprised that I did not become Minister for Magic. I know, perhaps better than most, what it means to pursue one’s calling in life against other people’s better judgment. We must follow our passions as much as our potentials.”
Draco heard his mother inhale deeply, and he imagined her nostrils must be flaring, how white with rage her face must be.
“We shall, of course, be disciplining Harry for his actions,” Dumbledore continued gently, “but Draco is not entirely innocent in this situation, either. A witness to the incident—one far more sympathetic toward Draco than Harry, I might add—has admitted that Draco not only attacked first, but he also attempted to use the Cruciatus curse.”
“But he did not succeed, did he?” Narcissa said. “And if Draco is equally guilty, then how come he is the only one lying in the hospital wing, covered in his own blood—”
She gestured toward Draco, who quickly shut his eyes and gave a low groan of pain. Snape had healed him so adeptly that Draco was barely even sore, but he intended to take any sympathy his mother felt inclined to give him. Besides, it wasn’t as if he wasn’t covered in his own blood. His robes were sliced to tatters, and his skin had tight, pink lines drawn all over it.
“As we speak, Professor Snape is investigating Harry’s side of the story,” Dumbledore said. “I have no doubt he will get to the bottom of the matter and ensure Harry is disciplined appropriately. In fact, I expect—ah, Severus. Impeccable timing. Perhaps you could help me put Mrs. Malfoy’s mind at ease regarding the matter of Harry Potter?”
“I have spoken with Potter,” Snape said. “He claims not to have known what the spell would do. Stupid boy. If it were anyone but Potter, I would not believe him capable of such idiocy. As it is, I have assigned him detention for the rest of the school year—every Saturday, all day. He will not enjoy what I have in mind for him, I assure you. And as an added benefit, he will be forced to resign from the Gryffindor Quidditch team.”
“Will that be satisfactory, Mrs. Malfoy?” Dumbledore asked.
“It most certainly will not be! I told you, I want him expelled! I do not feel safe with him in the same school as Draco! I shall remove Draco at once if that horrible boy remains—”
“Let’s not make hasty decisions, Narcissa,” Snape interrupted. “Draco is nearly of age, and he will no doubt want a say in this matter. It is his future we’re discussing, after all.”
“I don’t care!” Narcissa began crying again. “He is not of age yet, and he should not be able to make decisions that might get him killed! I am his mother! I don’t care if he will turn seventeen in a month! I shall remove him from this school, by force if necessary, until the moment he is officially of age! He is my only son! Oh, my sweet boy, my only son! I simply cannot bear the thought of anything happening to him!”
With that, she collapsed dramatically onto the floor. Draco smirked. He’d learned everything he knew about being dramatic from his mother, and he was thoroughly enjoying watching her unleash the full extent of it on Dumbledore.
“Come now, Narcissa.” Snape sounded uncomfortable. “There is no need for hysterics.”
“There is every need for hysterics!” Narcissa shouted. “My only son was nearly murdered, and I seem to be the only one with any common sense in this school! Why does no one but me care whether Draco lives or dies?! I shall send an owl to Scrimgeour himself, if that is what it takes to keep Draco safe from this damned criminal! ”
Draco’s smirk faded. His mother must be genuinely distressed to be swearing in public. She didn’t sound like she was crying for attention, either; she was sobbing so hard she sounded as if she could scarcely breathe. He wanted to climb out of his bed and comfort her, but he didn’t dare draw attention to himself.
“Poppy?” Dumbledore said.
The nurse bustled out of her office at once, a potion flask and small glass in hand. Draco supposed she must have been eavesdropping.
“Severus!” Narcissa was now weeping into Snape’s robes. “Oh, Severus, if you hadn’t been there— oh, my poor Draco, my poor little boy, his poor, beautiful, handsome face! And what if next time— oh, Severus, you must protect him, you must stay close to him, you must, you simply must! I cannot bear this anymore, Severus! I cannot bear to lose my only son! This is too great a burden for him! He is still so very young!”
“That is enough, Narcissa,” Severus said with a sharpness that surprised Draco. “Remember where you are—and who might be listening—and mind your words carefully here.”
“Yes,” Dumbledore agreed, like he had any idea at all what Snape was talking about. “Please, Mrs. Malfoy, I must ask you to stay calm for Draco’s sake.”
Narcissa only sobbed wordlessly in response. Snape and Dumbledore lifted her by the arms and helped her into the bed nearest Draco’s.
“Calming draught, I think,” Dumbledore said quietly to Madam Pomfrey.
“I’ve already got it,” she replied, pouring a generous measure of the potion into the little glass. “I’m sure you still remember how this goes, dear. Drink up.”
Narcissa tipped back the glass with a practiced hand and returned the glass to Madam Pomfrey. Draco wondered how often she’d been brought to the hospital wing for a calming draught as a student. A lot, by the looks of it.
“There’s a good girl.” Madam Pomfrey patted Narcissa’s blond hair and bustled off.
Most people would have fallen asleep after that much calming draught, but not Narcissa. Whether she was too distraught or too used to taking calming draughts, she only lay there staring at the ceiling with tears spilling out of her eyes.
“Perhaps it would be best to take Draco home for a few days to recover,” Dumbledore suggested. “As you pointed out, you are a rather talented witch, and you are accustomed to teaching Draco at home. Why not let him recover away from nosy classmates and noisy common rooms while you help him prepare for end-of-year exams? That way, he will not fall behind in his studies if he returns. Besides, it will give you both time to think and discuss the matter before making a decision.”
“Yes.” Narcissa sniffled. “Perhaps that would be best.”
“Wonderful,” Dumbledore said. “I shall have Draco’s belongings sent to your home. You may leave whenever Madam Pomfrey allows it. Please let me know if I can be of further assistance.”
With that, he bowed low to her and then swept out of the hospital wing.
“Severus.” Narcissa began to cry again as soon as Dumbledore was gone, though much more softly than before. “If you hadn’t been there, Severus, oh, it’s too much to even—”
“Hush now, Narcissa,” Snape said impatiently. “Draco is alive and well. I doubt he will even experience much scarring. Madam Pomfrey is quite capable. I shall send a powerful anti-scarring salve home with Draco, if you’d like.”
“The scarring is not the point! I very nearly lost him today.”
“Yet, thank Merlin, you did not.”
“No, thanks to you,” she retorted.
“I was only fulfilling my vow,” Snape said very quietly. “Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”
“No,” Narcissa said. “Thank you again, Severus. I can’t bear to think what nearly happened—what would have happened if you hadn’t been there.”
“It was sheer luck Potter used a spell I myself invented,” Snape said. “All the same, it was not luck that placed me close by. I have upheld my vow to the very best of my ability, Narcissa. You must surely realize Draco has no choice but to return here and complete his task?”
Still looking miserable, Narcissa nodded.
“Then you may also take comfort in knowing that I shall continue protecting Draco to the very best of my ability,” Snape said. “By all means, take him home if you like. But Draco must return sooner or later. When he does, I shall be protecting him as always.”
“Thank you,” Narcissa whispered.
Like Dumbledore had, Snape bowed and then glided out of the room.
Although Madam Pomfrey had made Narcissa swear not to use magic for another hour, Narcissa promptly apparated herself and Draco home the moment they crossed into Hogsmeade. Draco’s trunk was already waiting in the foyer of Malfoy Manor. Atop it sat several rolls of parchment—schoolwork from Draco’s teachers, he supposed—and a small tub of something labeled in Snape’s handwriting.
Narcissa took off her traveling cloak and tossed it on top of a house elf who had come running to greet them. The house elf struggled under it for a moment before hanging it up with magic. Draco copied his mother in removing his cloak and boots.
“What would you like for dinner?” she asked him.
“I'm not hungry,” he said. “I think I’ll go to bed early.”
“Are you sure?” she asked him. “Not even an apple? Some milk and cakes?”
Draco’s stomach turned at the idea of his favorite foods. “No,” he said. “It turns out nearly being cut into a thousand pieces robs one of his appetite.”
Narcissa’s blue eyes filled with tears again. “Oh, Draco! You must have been so frightened!”
Draco forcibly recalled lying on the cold floor of the girl’s toilets again, choking on his own gushing blood and listening to Myrtle shrieking. He shuddered and tried to focus on the present. He was in his own home, safe from enemies, taking a much-deserved break from his mission. He couldn’t afford to take a long break, of course, but he was glad for the chance to clear his head.
“I was a bit frightened,” he admitted at last. Then, seeing her expression, he decided to lighten the mood. “I'll tell you what I was most afraid of, though. As I was lying there bleeding all over the tiles, I thought, ‘My god, I’m really going to die a virgin like Myrtle!’ And the funny part is, I suppose I still will.” He gestured to the fresh raw scars on his cheek.
Narcissa didn’t laugh. She turned away from him and wept into her hands.
“Really, Mother!” Draco said in exasperation. “It was only a joke! Am I really that hideous-looking?”
“No!” she said. “You are still handsome to me! I only hope the rest of the world will see it. Oh, Draco, I’m so sorry!”
“Sorry for what?” he asked. “You didn’t try to kill me.”
“I’m sorry I cannot help you! You work so hard! I wish there were something I could do. But there is nothing! Nothing! I am as helpless as ever while you are in danger.”
“I’m not in danger now, Mother,” he reminded her. “And I still have time to finish my mission.”
She didn’t reply, other than to keep crying. Draco sighed.
“I’m going to bed,” he said. “Good night.”
He trudged upstairs and prepared for bed. After catching a glimpse of his face in the bathroom mirror, he decided to brush his teeth with the lights off. He cast his tattered school robes over the standing mirror in his room, and he didn’t even look down at his body as he changed into his pajamas. He supposed it could be worse; he could have lost an arm. He could even have lost his eye and nose, like Moody. Somehow, though, knowing it could have been worse didn’t comfort him.
Too tired to be properly bad-tempered over his new lot in life, Draco climbed into bed and fell asleep within minutes.
He awoke long before he was ready to, and it took him a moment to realize why. It was still quite dark in the room, but there was a flickering candle on his bedside table now. Someone’s weight shifted on the bed, as if they were climbing in next to him.
Draco lay very still, heart suddenly racing. Was he in danger? Surely no self-respecting assassin would light a candle, much less climb into bed with a victim. As he woke up more, he recognized the scent of his mother’s lotions and perfumes. Layered over her comforting smell was some other scent, new and medicinal-smelling. He lay still and breathed deeply, curious what his mother would do.
She leaned in close to his face and kissed each of his wounds. When her lips touched his left cheek, they left a nerve thrumming through his entire mouth. Draco barely stifled a gasp. His mother went on kissing him until she reached his neck. There, she smeared something tingly onto his new scars—Snape’s dittany salve, Draco thought. Her fingers felt amazingly soothing as they massaged the salve in. Draco felt himself grow slack and sleepy under her adept hands.
Just as he thought he might doze off, his mother unbuttoned his pajama top. She removed one arm at a time from the sleeves, thoroughly tending to his injuries before returning each limb back to the clothing. Draco’s heart sped even faster when she began rubbing the salve into his chest and stomach, but this time it was not because of fear. He could only pray it was still dark enough she wouldn’t notice his erection.
As if reading his mind and acting the contrarian, his mother tugged down his pajama bottoms. Her knuckles brushed the sensitive new scar tissue on his hips, and Draco nearly came off the bed. Narcissa stopped, perhaps worried he was stirring in his sleep. Draco relaxed again into the bed, and she concentrated on the exposed parts of his hips. Meanwhile, his cock stood pointing at the ceiling, barely covered by the waistband of his pajamas. He was so mortified he could barely breathe. He wondered how thoroughly his mother planned to treat him.
Very thoroughly, it turned out. Once she’d finished with his hips, she left him throbbing in his pajama bottoms and went to his feet. She pushed the legs of his pajamas up to his mid-thighs and massaged him from the feet up. Draco lay as still as possible and tried to concentrate on his breathing. It was bad enough when she touched his feet, but then his legs, his thighs? Her touch excited him, but it also brought back all the warm memories of her massaging away his growing pains in the dark when he was small. He relaxed once again, and for a long time, the touching stayed motherly.
Eventually, however, her fingers reached the rolled-up pajama bottoms. She slid them underneath, treating his scars by touch. She pressed her fingers into his skin for a moment, and then she spoke.
“I know you are awake,” she said. “I can feel your heartbeat in your femoral artery.”
“Oh,” was all Draco could think to say.
“I’m sorry to disturb you. But since you are awake, will you please take your pajamas off so I can treat your scars properly?”
Draco didn’t know what to do except obey. He helped her pull down the pajama bottoms and remove the shirt. She lit the lamp, rolled him on his side, and quickly repeated her process along his back half.
“How bad is it?” Draco asked.
“Not bad,” she lied.
“It looked bad in the mirror,” Draco said.
She rubbed his last patch of scar tissue, on the back of his shoulder, a little roughly. “It will heal, I’m sure.”
“It’s all right, Mother. You don’t have to lie. I’ve nearly made my peace with dying a virgin. Ow! Mother!”
She’d smacked him on the shoulder she’d been treating. “Stop saying that, Draco! You will have a long, happy life. I’ll make sure of it, if it’s the last thing I do!”
“Really?” Draco sneered. “No offense, Mother, but how are you going to do that? Are you going to kill Dumbledore for me?”
She froze for a moment, and he could tell she was considering what to do.
“I shall do the next best thing,” she said at last. “Roll onto your back again.”
Draco did. To his astonishment, his mother straddled his hips. She wasn’t wearing anything under her nightgown. Draco could feel her heat radiating just above his cock.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I am tired of you obsessing over your virginity,” she said. “You are a teenaged boy; of course you are too distracted by sex to focus on this ridiculous mission for the Dark Lord.”
Draco found himself literally speechless. She took him in her hand and held him in place so she could rub herself against him. Draco groaned and nearly came right then.
“You have been given a man’s job, Draco,” Narcissa said. “But you are not a man. Not yet, at least. I have been trying to protect you by treating you like a child, by trying to make others realize that is what you are. I see now, however, that you will only survive by becoming a man. So that is what I must do—I must make you a man. Will you allow me to do that, Draco?”
“Yes!” Draco gasped. “Yes, Mother, please!”
“I am doing this to help you succeed, but in exchange, you must promise to stay alive.” She guided him to her entrance; her body was warm and wet against the tip of his twitching head. Her voice lowered to the faintest of whispers. “You must swear to me you will do whatever it takes to survive, even if it means forsaking the mission, or me, or the Dark Lord.”
“Mother, that’s treachery!” Draco hissed.
“I don’t care.” She withdrew from him, leaving him twitching against cool air. “Swear it, Draco.”
“Fine, I swear it!” He would have sworn anything at that moment. “I swear to survive by any means necessary. Now please, Mother, please—I need to be inside you so badly. Go on, please. I nearly died today, after all.”
She leaned down and kissed his forehead as she lowered herself onto him. “Yet, thank Merlin, you did not.”
Draco could no longer speak. She felt beyond incredible. She was warm and wet, and she smelled like the finest mead. This was nothing like Draco’s own hand—not that he properly remembered what even that felt like. He hadn’t focused on anything but The Mission in nearly a year. It took every bit of self-restraint he had not to come instantly.
“I love you,” Narcissa said into his ear. “I love you so much, my Draco.”
“I love you too,” he breathed. “Thank you, Mother. This is exactly what I need.”
“I know.”
She moved slowly, stopping altogether whenever his breathing became too ragged—which was often. Draco wanted to touch her all over, to kiss her and taste her, but the thought overwhelmed him. Instead, his hand caught her long hair like he was small again, pulling her close so he could kiss her on the mouth once more. He had never kissed anyone like this, not like their bodies were melding into one, like their souls were touching. They'd had to share so many terrible secrets for the Dark Lord; it felt only right they should have one beautiful, romantic secret like this between them.
Narcissa stroked his cheek in that same throbbing spot from earlier, and Draco knew all was lost. He half-broke away from the kiss to breathe, “Oh, fuck!” as he came. Narcissa’s hips slowed to a halt, but her lips kept kissing his.
“Better?” she asked as she finally rolled off him.
“Nearly,” Draco said.
“Nearly? What do you mean?”
“Well, I don’t think I’m quite a man yet.” He grinned. “I think I came a bit too quickly. Will you lie here with me and let me try one more time? I’m nearly hard again.”
“Of course you are.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Teenagers! Whatever shall I do with you, Draco? You ask too much of me. You ought to be grateful for what I have given you and go back to sleep.”
But to his delight, she didn’t leave. She rested her head on his shoulder and tossed a protective arm over his chest. Her foot caressed Draco’s calf, indirectly coaxing his cock back to its full height. He reached down to feel between her legs, and she repositioned to allow him access. She was even gracious enough to whisper the most beautifully desperate encouragement as he slipped two fingers inside her.
When he finally flipped them over so he was lying on top of her flushed body, she wrapped her legs around his back to urge him on. When her fingers guided him inside her, she gazed at him like he was the most handsome man to ever exist. When his own fingers clumsily rubbed her, she put her hand over his and showed him how to do it. And when—after a half hour of patient caressing—she finally came, it was his name she screamed over and over.
In that moment, Draco forgot his scars, his exhaustion, and his failures. Instead, he was every bit as handsome, clever, and competent as his mother saw him. As amazing as it felt to climax at the same time as his mother, knowing how intensely she loved and believed in him felt a hundred times better. Besides, if he could make the most beautiful woman alive come that hard, he could surely do anything he set his mind to.
Really, Draco thought as he cuddled up to Narcissa afterward, it was absolutely worth getting cut up just to hear Mother shout like that.