Promise to the Past | 🐾 ᴍᴀʀᴀᴜᴅᴇʀs ✓

Epilogue III: Bloom of Potential

 ̶«̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶̶ ̶«̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ・☽ ༓ ☾・  ̶»̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶̶ ̶»̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶  ̶̶̶̶

-- 1 YEAR AFTER THE WAR

Fabian could count the number of times he'd been in this historic building on one hand. Once during the final battle. Then again, a few months after. And finally, once again. Yet, the interior of the magnificent Malfoy Manor bore little resemblance to the cold, austere place it had been mere months ago. The once intimidating estate was now more open and welcoming, with light illuminating all its previously dark crevices.

"Mister Fabian!" A small creature in a pearl pillowcase called out. "It is so good to be seeing mister once again! Dobby remembers mister, he is being so kind!"

"Hello, Dobby," Fabian chuckled upon seeing the familiar face.

"Does mister Fabian have more bad news? Mistress was not being well after last time."

Fabian sighed deeply. The last time he came here had been a few weeks after the final battle. Despite Hermione's best efforts to reform Azkaban's protocols, some of the higher-ranked Death Eaters had still been sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss. Lucius Malfoy being one of them. Narcissus had taken the news with a stiff spine and a regal calmness but politely asked him to leave shortly after nonetheless. A small part of him dismayed at the sign of her mourning, yet he had to slap himself out of that unfair judgment quickly. It was not his place to judge Narcissa Malfoy for mourning the loss of the husband she'd once known- it did not make her evil or bigoted because she wasn't celebrating along with the rest of them. People were rarely simple, and Lucius Malfoy, as evil as the git was, was once a loyal husband and father. 

He had to be. Fabian could hardly comprehend what else would gain him the consideration of such a formidable witch, wife or not.  

This time, he came bearing better news. This time, he finally brought the ministry approved papers signing the manor and the entirety of the Malfoy fortune over to the baby Malfoy heir and his sole guardian, Narcissa Malfoy.

"Not this time, Dobby, I promise. Can you tell me where Narcissa might be?" 

"Mistress is out in the gardens, of course!" Dobby exclaimed cheerfully. "She be spending much of her time there!" 

Fabian followed after the chipper little elf. He wasn't quite sure what he expected when Dobby had said, 'she's in the gardens.' Perhaps a regal little courtyard? Maybe a grand outdoor tea room or something equally as ostentatious? While the wealth of the Prewetts had dwindled slightly over the years, he was raised among the same snobby circles that the Blacks and Malfoys ruled. And Narcissa Malfoy certainly fit right in. 

So really, the last thing he expected to see was the witch in question on her knees among her rose beds. Her usually immaculate hair was spilling out in tendrils from the confines of her sun hat. Her gardening gloves did nothing to spare her nor her light robes from the dirt of the ground. 

 ̶«̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶̶ ̶«̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ・༓・  ̶»̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶̶ ̶»̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶  ̶̶̶̶

Narcissa Malfoy was nothing if not a creature of habit and maintaining appearances. So when her sister had offered to house her and her son permanently after the war, she could hardly accept such an offer. She was tempted sorely. And perhaps had it just been her, she would've fled back to the sanctuary offered by her elder sibling. But she had her baby boy to consider, after all. 

He deserved the legacy he was born into. The Malfoys had been around long before the men of the family pulled them into this ridiculous war. Growing up, she'd always been so proud of the prestige of her name and history. The Blacks came from a long and noble line as well. Granted, she'd learned a lot in the past years about the error of her priorities. Purity and nobility certainly did not have the same confines she was once raised to indoctrinate. But once the dust settled, and the new world began to assemble, she was in the refreshing position of being completely and utterly in charge of her own choices for once in her life.