Marked

The Roots

Chapter 2: The Roots

Malfoy Manor, 1985

. . . . . . . .

Draco watched the light flicker under his door as he heard the purposeful clicks of his mother's stiletto heels.

"Is he asleep?" she asked harshly, as though steeling herself for the inevitable confirmation.

"Yes," his governess replied timidly. "I finished reading him some stories about half an hour ago."

"I told you that you were to inform me before he went to bed," Narcissa snapped, and Draco instinctively cowered in his blankets. He knew his mother's face when she was angry, and it would frighten anyone.

"I - I'm sorry, Madame Malfoy, I - I simply thought you were busy," the young girl squeaked meekly, and Draco could see through the crack in the door that she was shuffling her feet nervously.

Draco could already tell that this latest governess, a Parisian named Lydie, was unlikely to last. Pity, really; she always read him an extra story at bedtime, always at least one more than his mother. "Only one, Draco."

Lydie was very young, and a pureblood. This was important, Draco gathered. His parents had taken to selecting their governesses out of Beauxbatons, as these purebloods seemed to be hard to come by. "Hogwarts has considerably lowered its standards."

"I'm not too busy for my child," Narcissa replied coldly, and Draco saw another set of footsteps join his mother's.

"Cissy, you'll make the boy soft," his Aunt Bellatrix interrupted, the heels of her boots sliding across the floor as she pivoted to face Draco's mother and his governess. "You keep insisting on kissing him goodnight and you'll smother him right into Hufflepuff."

"Oh go home, Bella," his mother said bitterly. "You can tell me how to raise my son when you have any substantial evidence that you know how to do it - "

"Don't start with me, little sister," Bellatrix responded shrilly. "He's the only one left, you know. Andromeda gone - Sirius gone - Regulus gone - all worthless, of course, but still - "

"Whatever aspirations you have for him," Narcissa said, and Draco pictured his mother's blue eyes flashing, "he can still be the kind of child who has the comfort of knowing his mother loves him. Merlin knows weweren't." He watched her turn sharply back to his governess. "What did you read to him?"

"The Tales of Beedle the Bard," the young girl replied hesitantly. "He likes it - "

"I know what my son likes," Narcissa said defensively. "I was just making sure it was . . . appropriate . . . for his station."

"Yes, ma'am," Lydie said faintly.

"Come on, Cissy, let the boy sleep," Bellatrix said, and the shadows under his doorframe indicated that his aunt was trying to pull Narcissa along in her wake.

"Fine," Narcissa relented, sighing. "Is Lucius in his study?"

"Yes," Bellatrix said curtly. "Said he had some things to finish."

"Right," Narcissa replied absently. He heard his mother's skirts rustle. "Let me just - "

"Cissy - "

The dim light from the hallway flooded Draco's bedroom as his mother quietly opened the door, slipping inside and padding softly to where he lay sleeping. The bed was far too big for him - far too big for any boy of only five years old - but his parents spared no luxuries. He was where he always was, curled up around his stuffed dragon in the corner closest to the door. The corner closest to his parents. He was a child who slept comfortably in his overlarge quarters, safe in the knowledge that his father would fight away his monsters, and that his mother would soothe away his tears.