The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across Malfoy Manor's perfectly manicured grounds as Narcissa Black Malfoy moved through her home with the mechanical precision of someone whose every action had been carefully programmed for maximum efficiency. Her platinum blonde hair was arranged in its usual elegant chignon, not a strand out of place despite the tremor in her hands that she couldn't quite suppress. Her pale blue eyes held the glassy quality of someone looking at the world through layers of magical compulsion so deep they had become indistinguishable from natural thought patterns.
She paused in the nursery doorway, watching her eighteen-month-old son play with toys that had been carefully selected to reinforce proper pureblood values—miniature Dark Arts texts that sang lullabies about blood purity, building blocks carved with family crests that glowed when arranged in hierarchical order, stuffed animals charmed to demonstrate proper deference to magical authority.
Draco looked up at her approach, his pale gray eyes carrying the same unsettling awareness that seemed to mark children born into families where cosmic forces were at work. But unlike Harry's confident curiosity, Draco's expression held wariness that no child his age should possess, as if he had learned to be careful about trusting the adults in his world.
"Mama," he said quietly, reaching toward her with small hands that shook slightly—not with normal childhood energy, but with the kind of nervous tension that came from existing in an environment where love was conditional and safety was never guaranteed.
Narcissa lifted him with movements that were perfectly correct according to every childcare manual ever written, but lacked the natural warmth that should characterize maternal affection. When she spoke, her voice carried cultured tones that had been trained to express appropriate emotions without actually feeling them.
"Hello, darling," she said, the endearment delivered with the precise inflection that suggested proper maternal sentiment without any of the spontaneous joy that normally accompanied it. "Have you been practicing your letters today? Daddy will want to see your progress when he returns from his meeting."
Draco nodded solemnly, pointing to a slate covered with carefully formed characters that spelled out concepts like "blood purity," "magical superiority," and "proper deference." The letters glowed with faint magical approval, responding to his young magic in ways that reinforced the lessons they were meant to teach.
But as Narcissa watched her son demonstrate his educational achievements, something flickered behind her glassy expression—a moment of genuine maternal concern that managed to penetrate the layers of magical compulsion that controlled her thoughts and actions.
*This is wrong,* came a whisper from some deep, protected part of her consciousness that had been locked away for so long she'd forgotten it existed. *This isn't how children should learn, isn't how mothers should love, isn't how families should function.*
The moment passed quickly, her programmed responses reasserting themselves with the inexorable force of magical bindings designed to prevent exactly this kind of dangerous independent thought. But the flicker had been there, and in a realm where golden eyes could see across all dimensions simultaneously, even the briefest spark of authentic emotion was visible to those who knew how to look for it.
---
In Asgard's strategic planning chamber, Heimdall straightened from his position at the cosmic monitoring array with the kind of sudden alertness that made every god in the vicinity pay immediate attention. His golden eyes blazed with the intensity that came from perceiving something significant across the vastness of the Nine Realms.
"Allfather," he said with the formal precision that characterized his most important reports, "I observe a situation requiring immediate intervention. Narcissa Black Malfoy—sister to Bellatrix and Andromeda—demonstrates signs of the same magical compulsion patterns we identified in Bellatrix's case. The artificial personality construct appears to be weakening, creating windows of authentic consciousness that suggest the original personality remains recoverable."
Odin looked up from battle plans that spanned multiple realms, his single eye focusing with the intensity that had made him legendary for seeing patterns that others missed. "Time frame for complete psychological collapse?"
"Days, not weeks," Heimdall replied grimly. "The magical bindings are beginning to destabilize as her sister's rescue creates sympathetic resonance across family blood connections. If we do not act quickly, the resulting psychological trauma could destroy both personalities—artificial and authentic—leaving nothing recoverable."
"And the child?" Frigga asked, her maternal instincts immediately focusing on the innocent party in the situation.
"Draco Malfoy is currently being subjected to systematic magical indoctrination designed to shape him into a weapon for his father's political ambitions," Heimdall continued, his voice carrying disapproval that made the very air around them seem to grow colder. "The methods being employed are... comprehensive in their cruelty. They are attempting to prevent him from developing natural empathy, genuine emotional connections, or independent moral reasoning."
"Creating another artificial personality," Loki observed with the kind of cold fury that suggested he took magical manipulation of children as a personal insult. "But starting earlier, working more subtly, ensuring that the false self becomes so integrated with natural development that removal becomes impossible without destroying the child's essential nature entirely."
"Exactly," Heimdall confirmed. "Within months, possibly weeks, the damage will become irreversible. The boy will become exactly what his father intends—a perfectly loyal weapon with no capacity for questioning authority or feeling genuine compassion for others."
The strategic planning chamber fell into the kind of profound silence that comes from cosmic beings contemplating the systematic destruction of innocence for political gain. Even by the standards of those who had witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations, the scope of calculated cruelty involved was breathtaking in its comprehensive evil.
"They must be rescued," Frigga declared with maternal authority that brooked no argument, her usually gentle demeanor hardening into something that reminded everyone present why she had once been known as one of Asgard's most formidable warrior-queens. "Both of them. Immediately. Before more damage can be done to either the mother or the child."
"The complications," Odin pointed out with the careful consideration of someone who had learned to weigh consequences across multiple realms, "will be significant. Lucius Malfoy is not some random Death Eater—he's a major political figure, closely connected to Ministry operations, wealthy enough to command considerable resources and ruthless enough to use them without constraint."
"More importantly," Loki added with characteristic analytical precision, "he'll realize immediately what happened when his wife and son disappear. He'll understand that the same forces that rescued Bellatrix have now targeted his family. He'll know that his own magical compulsion techniques are being systematically exposed and countered."
"Meaning he'll either flee or double down," Thor concluded grimly, his usual cheerful demeanor replaced by the tactical awareness that had made him effective as both warrior and prince. "Either way, he becomes a problem that extends beyond simple rescue operations."
"Then we ensure he can't become a problem," Sif said with the kind of casual lethality that had made her legendary among Asgard's warrior elite. "Remove the source of the threat along with rescuing the victims."
"Sister," Aldrif interrupted gently as she entered the chamber with Harry in her arms and an expression that managed to combine divine authority with very mortal maternal concern, "while I appreciate the sentiment, assassination creates more problems than it solves. Dead martyrs inspire followers. Living examples of consequences, properly managed, serve as warnings to others."
Harry looked around the assembled war council with that unsettling awareness that characterized his interactions with strategic planning, then pointed toward the cosmic viewing array with obvious interest.
"Bad man hurt lady?" he asked with the kind of directness that only small children could manage, cutting through complex political analysis to focus on the essential moral question.
"Yes, little prince," Odin confirmed gravely, moving the viewing sphere to show Harry the images Heimdall had been monitoring. "A very bad man is hurting a lady and her little boy, trying to make them forget how to love and be kind to others."
Harry studied the magical projections with intense concentration, his green eyes tracking details that most adults would miss. After a moment of serious consideration, he looked up at his grandfather with the expression of someone who had reached an important decision.
"Fix it," he announced with cosmic authority that made reality itself seem to lean forward and listen. "Fix bad man. Save lady and baby. Make better."
*From the mouths of babes,* the Phoenix Force observed with something that sounded like proud amusement. *The child sees moral clarity where adults perceive political complexity.*
"The rescue operation itself is straightforward," Aldrif continued, settling into one of the strategic planning chairs while keeping Harry positioned where he could continue observing the proceedings with obvious fascination. "Loki can extract both Narcissa and Draco from the manor using the same techniques he employed for Bellatrix's rescue—dimensional manipulation that bypasses all known magical defenses."
"And Lucius?" Frigga asked with the practical directness of someone whose maternal instincts demanded comprehensive solutions to threats against children.
"Lucius Malfoy," Aldrif replied with smile that carried both cosmic fire and very mortal satisfaction, "is about to discover that there are consequences for magical crimes that span realms. Not assassination—justice. The kind of cosmic justice that ensures he can never again use magical compulsion to destroy minds and corrupt children."
Harry clapped his hands together with obvious approval of this plan, his small face brightening with the kind of joy that suggested he understood exactly what was being discussed and thoroughly approved of adults who took child protection seriously.
"When?" Thor asked, his hand moving unconsciously toward Mjolnir as combat instincts began preparing for action.
"Now," Aldrif replied, standing with fluid grace while shifting Harry to a more secure position. "Every moment we delay is another moment of psychological torture for both of them. Some forms of justice cannot wait for perfect timing."
Loki was already beginning to shimmer with transformation magic, his form blurring at the edges as he prepared for dimensional travel. "I'll need approximately seven minutes to extract them from the manor and return. Longer if Lucius is present and attempts to interfere with the rescue operation."
"And if he does interfere?" Sif asked with the kind of professional interest that suggested she hoped he would try.
"Then he discovers what happens when someone threatens children under Asgardian protection," Loki replied with that sharp smile that had once terrified enemies across the Nine Realms. "I imagine the experience will be quite educational."
As rainbow light began building around the strategic planning chamber, preparing to transport the rescue team across dimensions, Harry reached toward the cosmic viewing array one more time.
"Tell nice lady," he said solemnly, his green eyes blazing with authority that exceeded his apparent age, "tell her Harry says everything going to be okay now. Family comes help. No more bad man."
The words carried harmonics that seemed to resonate across multiple dimensions, reaching toward a woman whose artificial personality had been programmed not to hope for rescue but whose authentic self, locked away behind layers of magical compulsion, suddenly felt the first warmth she'd experienced in years.
In Malfoy Manor, Narcissa Black Malfoy suddenly straightened as inexplicable hope flooded through her consciousness, bringing with it memories of sisters who had loved her unconditionally and the growing certainty that somehow, impossibly, help was finally coming.
The rescue was about to begin, and with it, the systematic dismantling of magical compulsion techniques that had destroyed families across pureblood society for generations.
Some forms of evil, it seemed, were about to discover that there were powers in the universe that took child protection very, very seriously.
---
Loki materialized in the shadows of Malfoy Manor's grand foyer with the kind of theatrical precision that had made him legendary for dramatic entrances across the Nine Realms. The ancient mansion's oppressive atmosphere—all dark wood paneling, portraits of disapproving ancestors, and furniture designed to intimidate rather than comfort—seemed to recoil slightly from his presence, as if the very architecture recognized that something fundamentally more powerful than its usual occupants had just arrived.
He stood perfectly still for a moment, extending his senses through the building with the methodical precision of someone who had spent millennia perfecting the art of infiltration. The magical signatures told him everything he needed to know: Narcissa and Draco were in the family wing, Lucius was thankfully absent on some Ministry business, and the house's defensive wards were impressive by mortal standards but laughably inadequate to contain someone whose existence transcended normal dimensional limitations.
*Too easy,* he thought with something that might have been disappointment. *Where's the challenge in rescuing victims from people who think magic stops at the boundaries of what they learned in school?*
He moved through the manor with the fluid grace that had once allowed him to infiltrate the treasure vaults of the Dwarven Kings, his footsteps making no sound on marble floors that had been designed to announce the approach of anyone without royal-level stealth training. The family wing lay ahead, its corridors lined with portraits that seemed to follow his progress with expressions of aristocratic disapproval that suggested the paintings themselves were offended by his presence.
The nursery door stood slightly ajar, and through the gap he could see Narcissa sitting in a rocking chair with mechanical precision, reading to Draco from what appeared to be a children's book about the superiority of pureblood magical theory. Her voice carried the cultured tones that had been trained into Black family daughters, but underneath the proper diction was something hollow, as if the words were being spoken by someone who had forgotten why language was supposed to convey meaning.
Draco sat in her lap with the careful stillness of a child who had learned that spontaneous movement often resulted in correction, his pale gray eyes focused on the book with the kind of intense concentration that suggested he was trying very hard to please adults whose approval came with conditions he was still learning to understand.
But as Loki watched, something shifted in the carefully controlled domestic scene.
Narcissa's voice faltered mid-sentence as she reached a passage about the natural inferiority of Muggle-born magic users, her cultured composure cracking slightly as some deeply buried part of her authentic personality recoiled from the concepts she was being compelled to teach her son.
"Mama?" Draco asked with the worried tone of a child who had learned to monitor adult emotional states for signs of approaching danger, his small face scrunching with concern that no eighteen-month-old should have to feel. "Mama sad?"
"No, darling," Narcissa replied automatically, her programmed responses reasserting themselves with visible effort, "Mama is perfectly fine. Let's continue with your lesson about proper magical hierarchies and the importance of maintaining blood purity in wizarding society."
But even as she spoke the required words, tears began flowing down her cheeks—not the controlled, appropriate tears of someone experiencing proper emotional responses, but the desperate, confused grief of someone who was being forced to poison her child's mind while some protected part of her consciousness screamed in horror at what she was being made to do.
Loki chose that moment to step into the nursery with the kind of dramatic flair that had made him famous for perfectly timed revelations.
"Lady Narcissa," he said with cultured precision, his voice carrying authority that made the very air around him seem to stand at attention, "I bring greetings from your sisters, Andromeda and Bellatrix, who are currently safe in Asgard and quite concerned about your wellbeing."
Narcissa's reaction was immediate and dramatic. She pulled Draco closer with protective instincts that transcended her magical programming while simultaneously trying to process the appearance of someone whose very presence suggested that everything she thought she understood about reality was about to be fundamentally challenged.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice carrying the kind of aristocratic authority that had been trained into her since childhood, though underneath the proper diction was barely controlled panic. "How did you enter this house? The wards should have prevented any unauthorized magical intrusion by persons unknown to the family bloodline protections."
"I am Prince Loki of Asgard," he replied with a bow that managed to be both perfectly respectful and subtly mocking, "God of Mischief and Lies, brother to Thor the Thunder God, Uncle to young Haraldr Potter, and currently your designated rescuer from circumstances that would make the Norns themselves weep with fury."
His green eyes studied her with the kind of analytical intensity that seemed to catalog not just her physical form but the layers of magical compulsion that constrained her thoughts and emotions. "As for your wards, they're quite impressive by mortal standards. Unfortunately for their effectiveness, I exist partially outside the normal dimensions they were designed to monitor and control."
Draco stared at Loki with the wide-eyed fascination that small children reserved for genuinely extraordinary discoveries, his natural curiosity apparently overriding the careful wariness he'd been taught to display around strangers.
"Pretty man," he announced with scientific precision, pointing at Loki's elaborate armor and perfectly arranged dark hair with obvious admiration. "Shiny man. Magic man."
"Thank you, young prince," Loki replied with genuine warmth, his expression softening considerably as he addressed the child directly. "You have excellent observational skills and impeccable taste in dramatic presentation. I suspect you're going to be quite impressive when you're older and have had proper instruction in appreciating theatrical excellence."
But even as he charmed Draco with natural ease, his attention remained focused on Narcissa, cataloguing the signs of magical compulsion with professional expertise that had been honed through centuries of studying various forms of mental manipulation.
The glazed quality of her eyes that suggested thoughts being guided rather than chosen independently. The mechanical precision of her movements that indicated behavioral patterns imposed through magical conditioning rather than developed through natural habit. The way her emotional responses seemed to cycle through approved options rather than arising spontaneously from genuine feeling.
And underneath it all, the desperate struggle of someone fighting to maintain some small core of authentic self against systematic reconstruction of everything that made her who she was.
"You mentioned my sisters," Narcissa said carefully, her voice carrying hope so faint it was barely detectable, as if she was afraid that speaking it aloud would make it disappear entirely. "Andromeda and Bellatrix. They're... they're alive? They're well?"
"Very much alive, and improving rapidly," Loki confirmed with gentle honesty, studying her face as authentic emotion began breaking through the artificial constraints for the first time in years. "Bellatrix has been freed from magical compulsion similar to what you're currently experiencing, and has recovered her authentic personality completely. She's currently learning to process five years of suppressed memories while planning creative revenge against those who enslaved her mind."
"Freed from magical compulsion," Narcissa repeated slowly, as if testing the words to see if they could possibly mean what they seemed to suggest. "You're saying that Bellatrix's... that her behavior, her cruelty, her apparent devotion to..." she struggled to speak the name, "to You-Know-Who... that wasn't really her?"
"Marriage contracts," Loki replied with the kind of cold fury that made reality itself seem to grow sharper and more dangerous around them. "Ancient Black family magic designed to ensure compliance in arranged marriages, but modified by the Lestranges to create complete personality reconstruction. They destroyed who she was and built something more suitable for their purposes in her place."
The words hit Narcissa like a physical blow, her aristocratic composure shattering completely as implications crashed over her in waves of growing horror and recognition.
"Oh gods," she whispered, her voice cracking with the weight of understanding that exceeded her ability to process rationally. "Oh gods, the same contracts... Lucius made me sign the same binding documents. He said they were standard marriage agreements, traditional protections for family bloodlines and proper magical inheritance patterns..."
She looked down at Draco with an expression of such pure anguish that Loki felt something twist in his chest—not just sympathy for her suffering, but rage at the systematic cruelty that had turned maternal love into a weapon against both mother and child.
"What have I been doing to him?" she asked, her voice hollow with horror as suppressed memories began surfacing like air bubbles rising through deep water. "What have I been teaching him? What kind of poison have I been pouring into my baby's mind while the real me screamed and couldn't stop myself?"
Draco looked up at his mother with growing confusion and concern, his small hands reaching toward her face as if trying to wipe away the tears that wouldn't stop falling. "Mama crying," he observed with the worried precision of a child who had learned to monitor adult emotional states carefully. "Mama hurt?"
"Yes, darling," Narcissa whispered, gathering him closer with the first spontaneous maternal gesture Loki had witnessed since entering the manor. "Mama's been hurt for a very long time, and Mama has been hurting you too, without meaning to. But it's going to be better now. The pretty man is here to help us."
She looked up at Loki with desperate hope that was almost painful to witness. "You can fix this, can't you? You can do what you did for Bellatrix? You can burn away the false personality and let me remember who I'm supposed to be?"
"The Phoenix Force can," Loki confirmed gently, already beginning to weave the transportation magic that would carry them across realms to safety and healing. "Princess Aldrif—who you knew as Lily Evans Potter—has cosmic fire at her command that can burn through magical compulsion and restore authentic personality patterns. It's not a pleasant process, but it is completely effective."
"Lily Potter," Narcissa breathed, her eyes widening with something that looked like wonder mixed with growing understanding. "The mudblood who married James Potter and supposedly died defending her son from You-Know-Who. You're telling me she was..."
"Princess Aldrif Odinsdottir of Asgard," Loki confirmed with obvious satisfaction at her astonishment, "daughter of Odin All-Father, vessel of the Phoenix Force, and currently one of the most powerful beings in the known universe. Her 'death' was merely a transformation back to her authentic nature, triggered by threats against her family."
He paused, then added with that characteristic sharp smile, "She sends her regards, by the way, and wants you to know that she's looking forward to properly meeting you once your personality has been restored to its authentic state. Apparently, she always suspected there was more to you than your public behavior suggested."
Before Narcissa could formulate a response to revelations that exceeded her capacity for rational processing, the manor's front door slammed open with enough force to rattle portraits throughout the building.
Lucius Malfoy's voice echoed through the corridors with barely controlled fury mixed with what sounded like genuine panic—not the manufactured outrage he typically employed for political effect, but authentic fear of someone whose carefully constructed world was being systematically dismantled by forces he couldn't control.
"NARCISSA!" he bellowed, his usually cultured tones strained with desperation. "WHERE ARE YOU? THE MINISTRY CONTACTS SAY THERE'S BEEN ANOTHER INCIDENT, ANOTHER IMPOSSIBLE RESCUE BY UNIDENTIFIED FORCES! WE NEED TO IMPLEMENT EMERGENCY PROTOCOLS IMMEDIATELY!"
Loki's expression shifted from gentle concern to something considerably more dangerous, his green eyes blazing with the kind of cold fury that had once made frost giants flee in terror rather than face his particular brand of justice.
"How wonderfully convenient," he murmured with theatrical satisfaction, beginning to weave magic that made the air itself seem sharper and more combustible. "I was wondering if I'd have the opportunity to have a direct conversation with the architect of this particular atrocity."
"He'll try to stop us," Narcissa said with growing panic, her programmed responses warring with authentic protective instincts as she held Draco closer. "He has contingency plans for situations like this, magical bindings that will prevent me from leaving the manor without his explicit permission, compulsions that will force me to obey his direct commands regardless of my personal desires..."
"Had," Loki corrected with that razor-sharp smile that suggested he was about to enjoy himself immensely. "Past tense. He had those protections. Current tense: he's about to discover what happens when someone threatens children under Asgardian protection."
Lucius's footsteps were approaching rapidly now, accompanied by the sound of magical equipment being activated and the distinctive crackle of defensive wards being raised to maximum power. When he appeared in the nursery doorway, his usually immaculate appearance showed signs of genuine stress—his platinum blonde hair slightly disheveled, his aristocratic features taut with barely controlled panic, his pale eyes blazing with the kind of desperate fury that came from watching carefully laid plans crumble beyond his ability to control or repair.
But when his gaze fell on Loki, his expression shifted from panic to something approaching cosmic terror.
The God of Mischief stood in the center of the nursery with casual confidence that suggested he found the entire situation mildly entertaining, his armor gleaming with divine authority while reality itself seemed to bend slightly to accommodate his presence. Power radiated from him in waves that made Lucius's most impressive magical artifacts look like children's toys, and his smile carried the kind of predatory amusement that suggested he had been looking forward to this particular encounter.
"Lucius Malfoy," Loki said with cultured precision, his voice carrying harmonics that seemed to make the very walls of the manor vibrate with barely contained force. "How delightful to finally meet you in person. I've heard so much about your... innovative approaches to family management and child education. I've been quite looking forward to our conversation."
"Who... what are you?" Lucius demanded, though his voice carried none of his usual aristocratic authority—only the desperate confusion of someone whose worldview was being systematically demolished by evidence that exceeded his understanding of what was possible.
"I am Prince Loki of Asgard," Loki replied with theatrical formality, "God of Mischief and Lies, Brother to Thor the Thunder God, Uncle to the boy who will reshape the balance between realms, and currently the instrument of justice for crimes that span dimensions." His smile turned genuinely terrifying. "I'm here to collect your wife and son, whom you have been systematically psychologically torturing through magical compulsion techniques that violate every principle of cosmic law regarding family bonds and child welfare."
"They belong to me," Lucius snarled, raising his wand with trembling hands while attempting to reassert control over a situation that had already spiraled beyond his ability to manage. "They are mine by marriage contract and blood right, bound to my will by magical agreements that transcend any external authority!"
"Were," Loki corrected with gentle precision that was far more threatening than any dramatic declaration could have been. "Past tense again, I'm afraid. Your magical compulsion techniques became void the moment they came to the attention of forces that operate on cosmic rather than local scales."
"NARCISSA!" Lucius commanded with desperate authority, turning toward his wife while brandishing his wand like a weapon rather than a magical tool. "COME HERE IMMEDIATELY! BRING THE CHILD! WE HAVE PROTOCOLS FOR SITUATIONS LIKE THIS!"
But Narcissa, instead of responding with the mechanical obedience that had characterized her behavior for years, simply held Draco closer and looked at Lucius with an expression of dawning recognition—not fear, but the kind of profound disgust that came from understanding exactly what had been done to her and why.
"No," she said quietly, and the single word carried more authority than any of Lucius's shouted commands. "No, I don't think I will."
The sound of his own wife defying him hit Lucius like a physical blow, his aristocratic composure finally cracking completely as he realized that the magical controls he had spent years perfecting were not just failing but being systematically destroyed by forces that exceeded his comprehension.
"You can't," he whispered, his voice hollow with disbelief and growing terror. "The compulsion spells, the binding contracts, the psychological reconstruction—it's all designed to be irreversible. You can't resist my direct commands. You can't protect the child from proper instruction. You can't—"
"Can't I?" Narcissa interrupted with growing strength, her authentic personality finally finding the courage to speak directly to the man who had destroyed her mind and corrupted her child for his own political benefit. "Watch me."
And with that declaration of independence that carried the weight of years of suppressed rage and maternal love finally given permission to exist, she stood and walked toward Loki with Draco secure in her arms, each step an act of rebellion against magical compulsion that had defined her existence for years.
Lucius raised his wand with desperate fury, clearly preparing to cast something that would restore his control over his wife and son through whatever level of magical violence proved necessary.
He never got the chance to complete the incantation.
Loki gestured with casual precision, and Lucius found himself frozen in place—not paralyzed, but simply unable to move as reality itself politely declined to accommodate his intentions. His wand remained raised, his mouth opened to speak forbidden magic, but nothing happened. It was as if the universe had decided that his contributions to the conversation were no longer welcome.
"Now then," Loki said with satisfaction, beginning to weave the dimensional magic that would transport them across realms to safety and healing, "I believe we have somewhere else to be. Lady Narcissa, young Master Draco, are you ready to meet your extended family and discover what love looks like when it's not twisted into a weapon?"
"More than ready," Narcissa replied with growing strength and determination, holding Draco close as rainbow light began building around them. "More than ready to remember who I'm supposed to be."
As cosmic forces swept them away from Malfoy Manor and toward Asgard's healing halls, Draco looked back at his frozen father with the solemn expression of someone far too young to understand political complexity but old enough to recognize the difference between safety and danger.
"Bye bye, scary Daddy," he said with the matter-of-fact precision that only small children could manage. "Going to see nice people now."
The last thing they heard before the Bifrost claimed them was the sound of Lucius Malfoy screaming in frustrated rage as he realized that his carefully constructed world of magical compulsion and psychological control had just been systematically dismantled by forces that treated his most sophisticated techniques as minor inconveniences.
Behind them, Malfoy Manor stood empty except for one man whose power had always depended on his ability to control others, now facing the reality that some forms of love were strong enough to break any chain, cross any distance, and overcome any obstacle in defense of family.
The rescue was complete, but the healing was just beginning.
And across multiple dimensions, the systematic liberation of magically enslaved minds continued, one impossible salvation at a time.
---
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