Chapter Text
Narcissa Malfoy prided herself on being observant. Growing up in a house full of volatile Blacks, knowing when it was safe to talk and when it would be good to flee kept her safe and cemented her position as the favorite Black daughter. During the war, her observantness kept her family alive, and when the war was over, it kept Lucius out of Azkaban. Now, in peace times, her sharp eye kept her on the top of the social ladder and in modish fashions.
It was a search for new apparel that led her to Little Whinging on the hunt for an elusive hat shop. It wasn’t easy staying on top of new fashions. All the ladies in the pureblood tea circles always cooed over the subtle but trendsetting pieces she wore. They incessantly asked her where she found her beautiful clothes. Narcissa knew that they thought that she didn’t lift a finger to be as perfect as she was, and she could only imagine their aghast faces if they could see her now, trudging through a labyrinth of ugly little muggle houses, searching for an atelier run by a squib.
Forty-five minutes of following a confusing muggle map later, Narcissa was just about ready to give up. The painting said that there was the most wonderful store somewhere in the vicinity, but what did the portrait know? Narcissa had decided, in desperation, to try one last thing before she headed back to the manor and made the elves draw her a bath.
A small boy, maybe five or six, was digging around in a flower bed in front of a particularly garishly muggle home. She walked over to him, trying her best not to dirty the hem of her fashionable trench coat as her heels sunk deep into the mid-April mud.
“Excuse me?” she asked, “is there a hat store near here? Amanda’s or Amelia’s or something similar?”
Narcissa knew something was wrong the moment the boy looked up.
He was skinny. Too skinny, his cheeks were sunken in, and bruises crept up the bony shoulder that peaked out from under his too-big t-shirt. He also had this look in his eyes, he seeed sorrowful, dead to the world in a way that no child should be. His skin was reddened and blistered with sunburn, his bottle green eyes were glassy, with heavy bags underneath them. The only healthy thing about him was his thick black hair that went this way and that creating a large mess that dwarfed the rest of him.
This was not a healthy child.
Her skill of observation was more than just her physical sight. When compared to Bellatrix Black and Andromeda Black, it was easy for her as the youngest sister to fade into the background, for her skills to be discounted but, of all of the Black girls, Narcissa was the most sensitive. If she opened her eyes to magic, she could detect almost any trace.
With some sort of knowing, she peeled open her sight, and when she did, the child was blinding.
This was a magical child.
Narcissa, the afterimage of the child’s magic still stained into her eyes, kneeled in the ground, her worry for her coat gone.
“What’s your name?” she asked softly, crooning almost.
He looked at her warily.
“I’m not going to tell my uncle’s and aunt’s business.”
Narcissa thought that was an unusual response, but there seemed to be nothing usual about this little boy.
“Is your name your aunt and uncle’s business?”
He looked taken aback as if he didn’t normally get asked a second question after the first.
“Well, honestly, I don't know, but I’m thinking that I should be safe rather than sorry.”
Narcissa thought that was a very sensible answer.
“Would you mind showing me to your house? Do your parents live with your aunt and uncle?”
The child got up with some effort. Pushing on his knees and wincing slightly as he straightened.
“It’s just around the bushes. And no, my parents are dead. They were stupid and drove drunk and killed themselves.”
Narcissa swept a lock of pale hair behind her ear, and tried to come up with an answer as they made their way slowly, towards the door. What do you say to a child who has just told you his parents are dead with such dull resignation?
Narcissa was still searching for an answer when they walked in. The small boy paused on the mat, to strip off shoes, bearing his grimy toes underneath. She stepped out of her own tall boots and did her best to not look at how small and worn his shoes looked compared to hers.
“Aunt Petunia! There’s someone asking for you!” he called.
Soon enough a pinched face woman in an offensively bright hot pink dress hurried into the room, her eyes looking this way and that as she took in the scene.
“Get in the kitchen!” she whispered to the boy, before she gave Narcissa a vapid simpering smile, her bloodless lips twitching upwards.
“Hello, I’m sorry that I don’t have anything prepared for tea. Please, please have a seat.”
The bony woman gestured to an overstuffed sofa, which Narcissa elegantly reclined on.
“and you are…” she said after she had taken a seat as well. She seemed to be scratching her brain to find where Narcissa knew her from.
Narcissa did not know her, but no one could say that Narcissa Malfoy wasn’t quick on her feet.
"My husband invests heavily, and I believe your husband works for one of the companies that he has a major stake in?”
The woman went crimson with joy, most likely at the thought of an investor's wife coming to her home.
“Oh yes, Grunnings is a phenomenal investment, we–”
Narcissa barreled ahead, a woman like Petunia would expect it.
“Well, we’ve been running a program where children of enterprising industrialists,” Narcissa knew that labeling this woman’s gnat of a husband as an industrialist would tickle her fancy, “spend time with us at our estate so that these great men have the peace and quiet to propel Britain to higher of economic heights.”
Narcissa would admit that this wasn’t her best work. She had waltzed into this woman’s home and implied that she would pay money to take her children away with her. Narcissa readied her wand or some sneaky spellcasting when the woman almost laughed with glee.
“Well, my Dudderkins, he’s delicate,” the boy in question, if the photos on the mantel were to be believed, had enough heft and vigor to wrestle a small bear, “but, my beloved,” when she said ‘beloved’ her mouth twisted up as if she had eaten a lemon but she barreled ahead with some determination, “nephew could certainly do with some time in the country, he’s such a picky eater and horribly clumsy.”
Narcissa kept her face placid but internally she was boiling. When this child was far far away from this place, this woman would get what she deserved. Narcissa loved her vengeance, she was a Black after all.
“How much did you say the stipend was?”
Narcissa hadn’t, but she just smiled anyway.
“Typically it is the same amount of the husband’s salary.”
The woman began to almost pant in her excitement. It was nauseating. However much this woman’s husband made wouldn’t be much more than pocket change for the Malfoys but she was drooling over it.
“When would we get this money?” Petunia asked, standing suddenly.
“Well, the soonest business day after the boy is home with us.”
“HARRY!” Petunia hollered, and in a flash, the waifish child was at her side.
“You are going to stay with these good people,” she said to the boy, and then, under her breath, she hissed, “ Do NOT do anything freaky!”
And in a minute or two more, Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black, was standing in the middle of a muggle neighborhood with a child she had bought instead of a hat.