Authors note: This fic was not meant to be like serious writing, just a little fun I had (yes, I know I'm sick and perverted) but anyway, Narcissa is very controlling/crazy in this fic, I suppose Draco comes across as a bit of a wimp. And it contains the beginnings of incest (but nothing terrible). Anyway, please R&R, I would be very grateful.
Charlotte (RedButtons) xxx
Narcissa Malfoy peered over the rim of her wine glass, observing her son as discreetly as possible, as she wondered just what was going through his mind. Damn Malfoy men, incapable of showing emotion. Yet she knows Draco is different, so much like herself in many ways. When Lucius is not around, when Draco does not fear the presence of his father, that is when she has seen him laugh, when she has seen him cry. How bittersweet it is, to see her child cry. Of course it is not pleasant, to see the tears run down that pale face, but it brings her a sense of ease, she experiences a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach when she knows that her son has emotions. She feels a sense of pride that, she is the only one that he will allow to see him break down, to comfort him, she is the only one that he fully trusts, and in a selfish way, she enjoys it.
She doesn't usually like the thought, of somebody being dependent on her, in fact, it scares her. With Draco though, with her precious child, it is different, much different. She does not need to feel needed by anyone...apart from Draco. He is much more than her son, he is the only person she would willingly die for, her angel.
He looks even more beautiful like this, the moonlight that streams from the window turns his skin translucent, makes his hair shine brilliantly like freshly-woven silk. It's his eyes that are the most important though, they make him complete, a finished piece of artwork. Oh, she has heard people drone on about Potter's eyes, comparing them to emeralds and other common stones. She would never do that, her sons eyes cannot be compared to anything, not even precious jewels, they are incomparable, one-of-a-kind, perfect.
Draco coughs, bringing her out of her daydream. She catches him staring at her, out of the corner of her eye, he quickly turns his head but she swears that she can see a slight tinge of colour creep to the deathly, white cheeks.
Hmm, maybe my sweet angel is not as composed after a few glasses of wine.
She gazes at him, a smile playing on her perfectly painted lips, and he meets her gaze, ice-blue meeting with grey. She knows that this evening will be the same as usual, Draco will make his excuses and retire to his quarters to do the thing that most teenage boys do, she will sit in her rooms, isolated and alone whilst her husband rots away in Azkaban. No, she decides that it will not happen again tonight, tonight will be different, new and fresh.
She drains the dregs of her wine so that she will not lose her newly found streak of courage. "It is a pleasant evening, is it not?" she has not intended this to be a question, so she presses on before she can receive an answer,
"we shall walk together, Draco". This is not a request, this is an order, as despite what everybody thinks, Narcissa Malfoy can give orders, and when she does, woe-betide anybody foolish enough to defy them. "Of course, mother" he murmurs, swallowing his remaining wine. She feels a twinge of annoyance, an obedient nod would have sufficed, she does not want this to feel like a casual conversation, she is the artist and he is her canvas, she is the one that is in control here, she is the one that shall decides what happens.
She must remind Draco of his place, like any loving mother would. She glides over to him and holds out her hand, insinuating that he should hold onto it. Oh how humiliating it must feel to him, he has not held onto his mothers hand since he was a small child, and how it must knock his pride, for him, a 17 year old man, to do so now. He dares not disobey his mother though, he would certainly never dream of intentionally disappointing her, and so he despairingly places his hand into hers, and lets her pull him up from his seat with surprising strength. Both Mother and Son's hands are extremely soft, but they still create friction and roughness between each other, Draco not being to suppress a gasp as their palms touch, the feeling is electric.
They walk around the grounds of Malfoy Manor hand-in-hand. Oh, if only people could see them now, and Narcissa cannot stop an inward snicker at the thought. She could just see the headlines, however would Draco live it down -
17-yr-old death-eater seen hanging onto mummy's hand.
It does not feel that way though, not to her at least, much to her frustration she cannot read Draco's thoughts (she never was that skilled at legilimency), but to her it feels more as if they are lovers than Mother and Son. The thought does not scare her as she supposes it should do, instead it gives her a warm, giddy feeling.
Suddenly, with lightening speed, she falls down 'accidentally' onto a nearby bench, and as she has not let go of her hold on Draco, he lands unceremoniously in her lap. In the darkness, Draco cannot see the triumphant smirk that has taken over her face, the smirk that is slightly sinister in nature, like a bird observing it's prey. Using his natural instincts, he stands to get up, but Narcissa holds his upper arms in an iron-like grip, her sharp fingernails digging into his flesh, bruising the sensitive skin.
"I do not recall giving you permission get up, Draco" she snarls, a fierce hiss of a sound that makes her breath dance and ghost over Draco's tingling ears. If people thought that Lucius was the scariest member of the Malfoy family, they had obviously never met Narcissa. She feels Draco refrain from squirming on her lap, and knowing that he is not used to physical contact this way, that he has probably not been touched by loving hands in a long time, she cannot help feeling slightly sad. However, she comforts herself in the knowledge that she will change that for Draco, soon being touched with be a part of his everyday life.
"Shhh, hush now darling, don't be scared" she says, her voice now a soothing, cooing sound, which would sound sinister and malicious to most people, but somehow makes Draco feel content. "It's OK sweetheart, Mother would never hurt you, your mine, aren't you sweetie? Say it". Draco shudders inwardly, trying to recall a time when there was a member of his family that wasn't crazy...unfortunately he cannot remember such a time. "Yes Mother" he whispers, inwards cringing at how weak his voice sounds, even to his own ears, "yours" he agrees.