Chapter Text
It all began on that warm June day in 1991. Young Draco Malfoy was filled with excitement as he prepared to embark on his Hogwarts journey. Throughout his life, he had been regaled with tales of his parents' Hogwarts experiences, eagerly anticipating his own.
On the morning of his 11th birthday, Draco awoke with a beaming smile. From the moment he brushed his teeth to his enthusiastic dash down the grand hallways and spiral staircase, joy radiated from him. Upon entering the dining room, he found his parents, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, seated at the ornate dining table, adorned with Draco's favourite dishes. Catching their son's excited yet breathless arrival, both parents couldn't help but beam.
"Hello, Draco dear," Narcissa greeted with a smile into her tea.
"Is it here?" Draco exclaimed, unable to contain his excitement. "Please tell me it's here!"
"Good morning, mother, good morning, father," Lucius teased. "I hope you both slept well."
"Good morning," Draco huffed impatiently. "Now, is it here or not?"
"We're not sure what you're talking about, love," Narcissa replied, raising an eyebrow.
"My Hogwarts letter, mother, obviously! What else could I possibly be talking about?" Draco clarified.
"Ah, is it your birthday already?" Lucius joked. "I had no idea."
Narcissa rolled her eyes at her husband's antics and turned to her son. "Not yet, dear, but I'm sure it will arrive soon. Now, have a seat and enjoy some breakfast. Dobby made all your favourites." Draco eagerly took his seat, across from his mother and beside his father, enthusiastically piling his plate with food.
Midway through his meal, a tawny barn owl flew in through the open window, dropping a letter on Draco's lap with the Hogwarts wax seal. A wide smile broke across Draco's face as he jumped up and down, opening the envelope with care.
Lucius smiled at his son, reminiscing about his own Hogwarts letter and sharing a knowing smile with Narcissa. It was a smile that conveyed more than words ever could—the anticipation of their son forming lasting relationships in a safe environment, far from the turmoil of a world at war.
Of course, that was before everything went wrong.
*7 years later*
Draco's birthday had arrived, a day he now dreaded. Slowly emerging from bed and preparing for the day, he couldn't help but reflect on the excitement he felt exactly seven years ago. Back then, Hogwarts held a promise of joy; now, it was a burden he wished to avoid. The hallway seemed to stretch longer each year, and as he entered the dining room, he barely glanced at the chair once occupied by his father, now his own as the head of the house.
"Good morning, dear," Narcissa greeted.
"Good morning, mother."
It seemed as though Narcissa Malfoy had hardly changed over the course of Draco's entire life, except for one notable difference—she looked more tired than usual. Events of the past four years were undoubtedly to blame for that.
"I have a birthday present for you," Narcissa said. Draco, feigning indifference, inquired, "Oh?"
Narcissa picked up a small box from the table that Draco had failed to notice earlier. He grabbed the box from his mother."It’s an heirloom from my side of the family," she paused before continuing. "The last person to have it was your uncle, Regulus. I like to believe he would’ve wanted you to have it." Draco opened the small box to find—
"This is the Black family ring," he observed.
"Yes."
"You gave me the Black family ring."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Narcissa rose and walked over, settling into the seat beside him—never the one at the head of the table.
"You may carry the Malfoy name, Draco, but you are still a Black. You and I are the last Blacks standing. Embrace it, dear." She placed the ring on Draco's right ring finger, the hand that once bore the Malfoy family ring, now relegated to a forgotten box in the back of his closet for the past month. As Draco felt the weight of the Black family ring on his finger, memories of his past flooded back—a time when Hogwarts was a place of dreams and possibilities. He couldn't shake the contrast between that eager boy from seven years ago and the weary man now staring into his mother's eyes.
"Mother, I appreciate the sentiment, but the Black family legacy has always been one I struggled to embrace," Draco confessed, his gaze fixed on the intricate details of the ring. "Especially given the recent events."
Narcissa, with a soft understanding in her eyes, nodded. "I know, Draco. The past years have been challenging for all of us. But this ring represents more than a family name; it's a connection to your heritage, to those who came before you. Your uncle, Regulus, believed in something greater. He made sacrifices for what he thought was right. Embrace it not just as a Black but as a symbol of strength and resilience." Draco looked at the ring with a newfound perspective, realizing that perhaps there was more to his family history than he had acknowledged. The burden he carried from the past seemed to ease, replaced by a sense of responsibility and connection.
"Thank you, Mother," Draco said, genuinely appreciative. "I'll... try to embrace it."Narcissa smiled, her fatigue momentarily lifting as she squeezed Draco's hand. "That's all I ask, dear. Now, let's not dwell on the past. We have a birthday to celebrate, even if it's not your favourite day." As they continued their conversation, Draco couldn't shake the feeling that this birthday might be different, marked by a shift in perspective and an acceptance of the complexities that defined him. The Black family ring, once a dormant relic, now held the potential to become a symbol of his identity and the strength to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
Over the course of the next few weeks, Draco had come to the decision that he would start to learn about the other half of his family. He had learned a fair share of the Malfoy family history from his father, but he knew very few things about his mother’s side of the family. Even Blaise Zabini, one of Draco’s best friends and confidant, knew more about his own father’s side of his family, and his father left when Zabini was only 3 years old. Growing up, his mother never shared a lot of stories from her family history, or even her own childhood. He remembers his father always telling him that recalling her childhood was always painful for her, that her older sister, Andromeda’s departure and disownment was always hard for her. Then her cousin, Sirius’ departure and disownment, and the war, Regulus’ death, Sirius’ arrest, Bellatrix’s arrest.
History and life had not been kind to the Noble and Ancient House of Black.
Draco’s mother often spoke of a time when Sirius Black, before being sorted into Gryffindor, had been inseparable from his siblings and cousins, a close-knit group united by family ties. It was during one of these conversations that she revealed a grim truth about his Great-Aunt Walburga, Sirius and Regulus’s mother: her use of the Cruciatus Curse as a twisted form of punishment and discipline. As the heir to the House of Black, Sirius had borne the brunt of her cruelty, his defiance and free spirit often making him a target. Draco began to understand that this rebellious streak might have been what led Sirius to be sorted into Gryffindor, breaking the family tradition of Slytherin lineage.
Narcissa shared vivid memories from her childhood—moments when Sirius and Regulus would arrive at her parents’ house through the Floo Network, battered and bruised. She recalled the night Sirius left the family for good, the image of Regulus weeping in her arms, devastated by the loss of his older brother. But it was the story of the night Regulus received the Dark Mark that struck a deep chord with Draco. He could sense his mother’s pain as she recounted these events, and for the first time, he truly grasped how deeply she had suffered.
The parallels between Regulus and himself were impossible to ignore. Like Regulus, Draco had faced the weight of family expectations and the shadow of dangerous ideologies. Narcissa’s determination to protect Draco from a similar fate now made perfect sense. She had been fighting against history, desperate to keep her son from becoming another tragedy. They had both taken the Mark at 16, trying to keep up the appearances that were expected of them.
But Draco never died. And sometimes, just sometimes, he wish he had.