The Tempest

The Tempest


By: Max

[Disclaimer: see chapter 1]

Chapter 3: Narcissa’s Journal, part 3: The son and heir


In August I went back to England. The birth of my child was close and my father-in-law demanded that the future heir would be born in the mansion. So I came back and did what was expected from me: I gave birth to a baby boy who was named “Draco Achilleus”. I wasn’t asked in this matter, but it was only two days, I was angry about that because then I learned something which made me forget my dislike of the name.

The horror started with my harmless question why I couldn’t breastfeed my baby, but had to bring him to a wet nurse although my breast dripped with milk. My mother-in-law who I had asked and from who I expected to hear something like “it would ruin the shape of your breasts and Lucius wouldn’t like that” or “You’ll have soon to do your social duties again” suddenly looked very sad and with more warmth than I had ever gotten from her she answered: “It’s better you don’t become so attached to him, Narcissa. Keep distance until it’s clear that you’ll keep him.”

I didn’t understand. Draco was a strong and healthy child. There was no danger of him falling sick, so I told my mother-in-law.

For a few seconds she was quiet. Then she said: “Jullus was a strong and healthy child too …”

“Jullus?” I had never heard the name before.

“Lucius’ elder brother,” Valkyrie said with an almost toneless voice. “My first son. He was born 12 years before I got Lucius.”

“What happened to him? Did he die?” I was already in fear so much I actually wanted to storm out of the room and up to the nursery where my son slept in his cradle.

Valkyrie looked at me, her blue eyes as lifeless as the wall behind her. “Narcissa, you know the Malfoys are an old family. That means a risk for their children – and my Jullus was one of the pureblood children who was a victim of this risk.”

I still didn’t understand. I only looked at her out of terrified eyes.

“Jullus was a squib,” Valkyrie explained, her voice as motionless as her face. “As it became clear in his 11. Year Achilles made a potion for him.”

“What?” I screamed. “You stood by as your hus poi poisoned your son?”

Now it was Valkyrie who obviously didn’t understand. “He was a squib, Narcissa!” she repeated as if this would explain everything.

“How did you know for sure? You know, some children develop their magic late …” I cried.

“It doesn’t matter when a child develops magic,” my mother-in-law explained. “If it is a wizard or a witch its name appears in the Hogwarts register on the day of his birth. But only the headmaster knows – and he doesn’t tell. The day it comes out is the day in the child’s 11. Year when the Hogwarts letters are sent.”

I felt cold to the bones. “So if my son didn’t get the letter, he would be to die too?” I asked.

“Yes, Narcissa,” my mother-in-law answered. “He would die; you’d get another child …”

“And if it were a squib too?” I demanded to know and added rather cynical: “How many attempts would I have to make? Considering a woman isn’t fertile for an infinite time …”

“I know.” Valkyrie was as calm as if she’d given me advice for the next dinner seating. “I was already 50 when I got Lucius. If he’d been a squib too, Achilles would have divorced me and married a fertile young witch.”


In the middle of that night I sneaked into the nursery and took my sleeping son into my arms. I swore to him and myself that I would not stand by if his father would try to poison him and that I would love and protect him if he’s a squib or the best wizard alive.

I believe it was that night I started to think about you again, but this time not as the lover of my dreams, but as the unfortunately pretty powerful wizard I would have to fool to save my son’s life.

Toady I wonder. The idea to ask you never occurred to me. I was probably too long a child of the darkness to hope somebody would help Draco and me without getting any profit of his own by it. Besides I didn’t know the reason for Hogwarts headmasters keeping the register as a secret. I thought of it as a magical contract. I didn’t know you and your predecessor had made it secret to save the life of squibs. Both of you had experienced that wizard parents poisoned newborns after learning that their name hadn’t appeared in the register. By keeping the register a secret you and Dippet made the family raise all their children and so most squibs had a chance to survive because in the 11 years their parents lived with them they had learned to love them and therefore tried to give them a chance to live as muggles after learning that they were squibs. Only a few pureblood families – like the Malfoys – still refused to do so. They saw a squib as a shame for the family and their rather twisted sense of honour demanded to get rid off him as soon as possible.

For me it was clear: I wouldn’t allow that. If Draco were a squib, I would run away with him into the muggle world. Yet I knew too, that for doing so I’d need a good plan and money. And so I decided that I would learn as soon as possible if Draco was a squib or not. This meant I had to get you to tell me.

I spent four weeks thinking about it. I thought about – please, don’t laugh! I knew myself that at least half of my ideas simply were ridiculous, but I was desperate! – kidnapping you. Of course I knew that one could never kidnap you while you were at Hogwarts – as my unfortunate cousin Sirius Black later proved: It’s easier to break out of Azkaban than to break into Hogwarts. But I know about your flat in Rome and I really considered catching you there. But what to do then? I wouldn’t have mind using an unforgivable on you – to save my son’s life and safety I would do an “imperio” without thinking twice about it and if I couldn’t help it, I’d even cast a “crucio”.

So I got myself a spare wand for exercises. It wasn’t difficult. Lucius was by now a death eater and I only needed to stroke his vanity a bit. After acting a round as the caring little woman – “But Darling, what if they track your wand? I do so worry about you!” – he told me that he’d solved that little problem where I told him how much I’d admire his cleverness and I really couldn’t imagine ho had had managed that. Half and hour and a disgusting oral act later he told me about this “Romanian wand maker who’s in trouble with the law”. Two days later my husband’s friend Geoffrey Husher told me where to find the man and then it was child’s play: Brewing a polyjuice potion, steala haa hair from our Cornelius “m’dear” Fudge – by slobbering in my cleavage he even wouldn’t have noticed if I’d have changed his hair colour to lime green suiting the ghastly hat he liked to wear – apparating to Bucharest – it was the work of one afternoon after I had the potion and even cheaper than I had expected.

With the spare wand I started exercises. I made mice I found in the fields around the mansion dance, I got bees and later birds in fly, I made horses waltz and a cow chasing a fox who probably got the shock of his life and in winter I used the rest of my polyjuice, went again as Fudge to Bucharest and tried my “imperio” on a prostitute. It worked perfectly. My obliviation charm worked too, so I started the next phase of my project: I convinced Husher that he could rise in the dark lord’s esteem if he’d provide him with a file about your whereabouts, especially if it would contain information about your activities in the time you didn’t spend at Hogwarts. And because Husher couldn’t have written such a file even if his life would have depended on it, it was me of course me, who “helped” him with it.

Luck was with me: Only a few days after I had got the information from Husher he got himself killed by the attack on the Potter house and my father-in-law decided that in times like these woman and children were to be kept safe and away. So I was sent to Rome once again and even better than the first time: Because of my and Draco’s entourage – the wet nurse, the nanny, the two house elves – and my father-in-laws dislike of my “mediocre” friends Persephone and Salvatore he rented a house for me. And because it’s always the best for Malfoys it was a house in the noblest part of Rome’s wizard district – and so I became your neighbour. My house was just the one next to the one where your flat was in and even better: Because the houses were old, they shared one wall. That meant that between your terrace and mine was only a little fence and, of course, your wards.

They were good. I needed three months – the entire spring – until I didn’t only manage to get them down, but afterwards up again.

Then, one night in May, I dropped your wards, climbed over the little gate and broke into your flat. Of course, I didn’t steal anything, but I must admit that I sneaked through your rooms, telling myself I’d be only looking for the best place to install a little spell – no more than one which allowed me to look through the wall we were sharing. In fact I was curious – I wanted to see how you lived, with what colours and things you surrounded yourself, which books were in your shelves and yes, Albus, I was aware that I violated your privacy and that one shouldn’t do that.

A week later the alarm spell became active – you were there. Yet you came in the middle of a Saturday afternoon and I knew I wouldn’t stand a chance against you as long as you were awake. So I prepared myself for a nightly attack. As Draco slept I changed into the black muggle wear I’d bought especially for this occasion – thigh black trousers and a black shirt with a hood.

My alarm spell told me you weren’t there, so I sat down on my bedside and waited – for one hour and 46 minutes. Then the little globe I held in my hand filled with blue mist – you were at home finally. Cautiously I took a look through the wall of your drawing room – and set the wall back as quickly as possible because I really didn’t want to eavesdrop how you just undressed a lady with long, blonde curls.

Sitting back on my bed I waited for another two hours. I was pretty sure you’d take your sweet time, but I really couldn’t imagine a man needing longer then two hours – except if his name is Lucius Malfoy who sometimes needed even longer until he’d persuaded his member to cooperate.

Anyway – after two hours I took my next look – and learned that you’ve got stamina. Blondie just did a little riding – and because I’m really not in voyeurism I closed the wall immediately again.

I think I mustn’t given you a detailed file for this and the next weekends. You probably remember yourself that you only left your blonde friend and your bed for the bathroom and getting some food.

Three weekends and after I had almost died on choking – I had just a piece of a prawn in my mouth as Rasmus Hollander mentioned a lunch meeting with “old Dumbledore on Monday in the morning – and hell, the man’s really overworked! He yawned through our entire conference!” I was near to giving up. I thought I’d never get a chance to catch you in Rome on your own and so I started working on plan B: Seducing you.

For this I joined – very much to Persephone’s amazement because she actually knows how boring I found the sentimental losers – the “Club of supporters, friends and former alumni of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry” – in short “CSH”. The pompous president of the pompous club was at this time no other than pompous Cornelius Fudge and he was of course delighted to hear from me and even more delighted to get a rather big donation (I’ve convinced my father-in-law that one couldn’t soon enough start to work on Draco’s standing in school) and so I didn’t need to persuade him to make me the member of one of this oh-so-important committees which are always sing ing your time. In fact: I would have needed effort to avoid Fudge’s offer – but of course I wanted just that because I thought it would get me a chance to see you without the current affair sitting on your lap.

So I prepared myself for climbing on your lap as soon as possible – and Merlin, I was almost glad I have had several looks through the wall because they’d taught me that you like blondes too.

Only the idea of seducing you for getting the information I wanted so very much I did actually hate. You were still and even more the man of my dreams and this dreams were still what made me able to bear my reality. I didn’t want to lose this chance to escape into another world and I didn’t want to mix up this world and the man of my dreams with the cruel reality I had to live in.

But it was for Draco and for him I wouldn’t only sacrifice my dreams, but my life.

Nevertheless I was glad you came to Rome this last weekend in June – my last weekend there because my father-in-law had fallen ill and wanted me back at the Mansion soon. And I was even gladder that my look at you this evening showed me something new: You, sitting on your terrace, watching the stars and listening to a string quartet of Beethoven.

At midnight you went to bed and as I had the next look one hour later you were sleeping. I changed in a hurry into the black muggle wear, I put both my wands – the “official” and the spare one – in my sleeves and then I climbed over the fence and sneaked on naked feet into your bedroom.

Standing in front of your bed I took your wand from the nightstand and put it on the mantelpiece. I didn’t want to steal it – I only wanted it out of the way. Then I directed my spare wand at you. I intended to cast a binding charm first – you’re too good with wandless magic one should risk dabbling around with you when you’re not tied up like a package for posting.

Yet I couldn’t cast the charm. I stood there, telling myself that it was for Draco, that my son needed me to do it, that I would never forgive myself wasting such a chance, that you wouldn’t suffer any lasting damage by it, that this would certainly hurt you less than if I would seduce you – remember: I had planned to obliviate you afterwards. Yet I couldn’t. I simply couldn’t speak the words. And the longer I stood there, the more my fingers started to tremble and finally it was my hands and my arms and my entire body and tears were rolling over my cheeks and I hated myself for being so weak – but I couldn’t attack you, even not for my son’s life.

I turned away. Almost blinded by tears I went to the door as I suddenly heard your voice: “Lumos!”

The candles in the room became lightened and I stood there as if you would have stunned me. I couldn’t move, I even couldn’t turn around and although I still held the wand in my hand I didn’t think of using it.

Your sheets rustled. I felt more than I heard that you were out of bed and approaching me. And then you said, as casual as if we’d have just met on the street: “Fallen through the wall, Narcissa?”

At last I could move. I pushed the wand into my sleeve and turning I said: “Headmaster, it is …” I don’t know what I actually wanted to say, perhaps something as stupid as “it’s not what it looks like …”

My gaze fell on you. It was a warm night and you only wore silken, blue boxer shorts, but as you noticed my eyes on you, you waved your hand: “Accio dressing gown.” A silken dressing gown floated through the room and slipping into it, you smiled at me: “You look very uncomfortable, Narcissa. Obviously you’re not in the habit of visiting bachelors in their bedchambers. So let me accompany you back to your house.”

You took your wand from the mantelpiece – as if you had put it there – and with one wave and a murmured incantation you made the wall between our rooms drop and stepped through to my bedroom where Draco in his cradle just had started to cry softly. I ran to him and took him in my arms. I needed the comfort of his solid warmth – probably even more than he needed me. Cuddling him to me, I suddenly felt you in my back. You were looking over my shoulder to the baby and in the moment Draco saw you, he stopped crying and looked up at you.

“Cute little fellow. He is as beautiful as his mother,” you said and then you stretched your arms. “I’d like to make his acquaintance – it’s always nice to meet a future student as long as he likes to be cuddled. When they come at school they’re already feeling too adult.”

I only heard “future student” – and I felt as if I’d faint the next moment. You noticed and took Draco – with a grip so expert I wondered where you learned to hold babies. And Draco who had never been in the arms of a man before – neither his father nor his grandfather had ever wanted to hold him – obviously liked your strong grip very much. He chuckled and tried with both hands to get at your beard and you let him tug at it, laughing: “It’s always the same – all babies like my beard.”

“Headmaster …” At last I’d found my voice again. “Do you really believe he’s to become your student in the future?”

You didn’t look at me. Draco had your beard in his right hand and with the left he was just gripping your finger. “You’re a strong boy!” you praised him and then you answered my question: “I don’t believe it, Narcissa. I know it. He’s in the register.”

I had to sit down. My legs didn’t support me any longer and I became dizzy with relief. I didn’t notice if you looked at me or not, I even didn’t raise my head as Draco started to cry again.

It was you who laid him down on my bed, saying: “I’d cry too if my butt were as wet as yours, child. Let’s see what we can do …” Directing your wand at him, you chanted a cleaning charm, then you pushed your wand in your sleeve and took my son up again.

It was then that I looked at you again and – perhaps I sound very silly now, but it’s the truth – the belt of your dressing gown had opened and so my baby son who only wore his nappies in this hot Roman summer night, was snuggled against your naked chest, his tiny butt in your left, your right hand bracing tenderly his head – and it was the most erotic sigh I’ve ever seen. It was all what I had always felt in you and what had made you the man of my dreams: Infinite tenderness, protectiveness against the weak, strength and even power and passion. I knew at that moment you’d protect my son with your life.

And I knew that you knew why I had been in your bedroom. There was no need to talk about it – I was sure you even felt how ashamed I was of myself.

Draco fell asleep and you put him down in his cradle, kissing his forehead. Turning to me you smiled: “I think you should go to sleep too, Madame Malfoy. Take care of your son and yourself.”

Before I could answer you vanished into the wall and my room became dark.


The next years I hardly saw you. I was back in England, living in the mansion – now, after my father-in-law had died and Valkyrie had gone back to Germany – a quiet and mostly peaceful place. Even Lucius seemed to have calmed down and as Draco became older, Lucius started to spend time with him.

We didn’t sleep together anymore – much to my relief Lucius kept a mistress in London who obviously fulfilled his needs better then I had ever and without the humiliation, sex with him had always been we developed a kind of “agreement” which suited both of us. I never complained when he was away in the nights, he showed me his best manners when ever he was around me and: We had Draco and although Lucius never cuddled or kissed him – he was interested in Draco and took him with him when he was to inspect the farm on his horse and he was proud when people told him the “young master” would be a handsome boy.

For a few years I almost believed Lucius would be able to love – of course not me, but our son.

I was wrong. Lucius is not able to love. He never cared about Draco - I mean the person Draco really was the boy who loves books and music, who is a talented flute player and was afraid of heights as I am. Lucius never wanted this Draco. He wanted a son who played quidditch and tried to run away from his tutor as young Lucius had done. But Draco always loved learning and he always wanted not only to learn how something worked, but why. Draco was even interested in muggle science, but only until Lucius learned about it. He told Draco immediately that muggles didn’t know anything that could be of interest for a wizard. Draco adored Lucius and he wanted his father to be proud of him. So he never looked at a muggle book again. And the older Draco became, the harder he struggled to be the son Lucius wanted.

I lost my influence on him more and more. When Draco was eight or nine, he sometimes even sneered at me. He didn’t play his flute anymore; he didn’t talk with me much I felt as if I would have lost him. I have to admit: My son became a spoiled brat. His father bought him everything he asked for and he taught him the “rules of being a Malfoy” like “For a Malfoy only the best things are good enough” and “You can demand everything – you’re a Malfoy!”

I hated it and I started to hate Lucius again. But I was too weak to do anything against it. I had felt strong as long as Draco was close to me and as long as I had thought that his life could depend on me.


To be continued …