Gravity

Chapter 3

She arrived promptly at seven-thirty, announcing her presence with a sharp rap on the door. He opened it to admit her, and she smiled as she passed him. But they did not go into the sitting room for small talk, or to the kitchen for snacks as they had been doing for the last couple of weeks.

"Hey," she said, almost shyly.

"Hi. How are you?" It felt weird now, awkward. He had no idea why, no idea what had happened to insert this ... new, strange thing between them. He'd had, if he allowed himself to admit it, a good time with her the last time.

"I'm good. You?"

He nodded. "The same."

She smiled. So normal, and yet, not. "Good. Well, I'll just be going then."

He shrugged. "Sure."

She practically ran out of the room.

Draco was left standing by the door. Unease crept into his veins, much like it had that first time she had come over alone. It was being alone with her again, after the awkward twist. After their last time together, something had made them both run back to their respective sides of the invisible line faster than Crabbe and Goyle ran after sweets.

Draco grabbed a book-the first book he could find-and went to sit outside on the front stoop. Just like always. But this time, he was unable to concentrate. Inexplicably, his thoughts drifted to his mother. He thought about the day she had told him about his father.

Draco had always known his father was cold, calculating and a bit touched in the head. It was common knowledge that Lucius was intolerant, evil, and thought himself superior to most. Draco had even known that his father was deeply involved in the Dark Arts, and a little hidden-away part of him had long suspected that his father was a Death Eater. The only thing was, he had never seen the actual proof. It was not a topic brought up at mealtimes or discussed over tea. So it had not been real and the suspicions did not make it so. The idea that his father could be a Death Eater had remained nebulous. Of course, Draco hated Muggles, and Mudbloods, and television and Coca-Cola like every upstanding, respectable pureblood.

To Draco, however, being a Death Eater meant something entirely different than just hating Mudbloods. He had heard plenty of stories about Death Eaters even if his parents never talked about them. To him, becoming a Death Eater meant giving your life over to someone who would use and even torture his followers if sufficiently angered. He had decided after his fourth year, after rumors flew of the Dark Lord's return, never to do it, never to become one of them and lose himself to another living being. That summer had been the worst of his life. When he looked back, the signs about his father were so glaring that the only explanation of why Draco hadn't read them was that he simply chose not to. But that wouldn't work forever.

At the end of his fifth year at Hogwarts, Narcissa had met him at the train station alone. Lucius was in Azkaban, thanks to bloody Harry Potter. She held her head high, despite the sideways glances and straight-up glares from other parents and a few older students. She gave him a curt nod and motioned for him to follow her. Once out of the station, she Apparated them both to their house. Still she did not speak, her cold eyes uncharacteristically bright and frantic.

It was a convincing show, and Draco caught himself shivering once or twice as he followed her through the massive house and out onto the large balcony attached to the back of the house. Narcissa walked straight through the double French doors across the patio to the stone railing that edged the balcony. Draco almost thought she would not stop, but she did when she reached the railing and clutched it tightly.

Draco stopped a short distance behind her and waited.

After a few minutes, Narcissa slowly turned around and met her son's patient gaze. She straightened to her full height and said regally, "Draco. There is ... something we must discuss."