A Gaunt Friendship.
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A/N: hello, everyone, and welcome to my first submission for the The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. I am the honorary Keeper for the wonderful Falmouth Falcons.
Prompt: " Friendship - A pairing of your choice, write something that is a platonic friendship between the two characters. Any two characters are welcome (canon or not), however, there must be NO hint of romance between your two characters."
I couldn't decide, so I found a list of characters on the web, and randomly chose two. :) Best. Challenge. Ever. I'm a new fan of any possible interaction between Marvolo and Narcissa.
Word count: Approx. 2987
Enjoy. :)
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Poke.
Narcissa stirred in her sleep, her shoulder throbbing as a rather unnecessarily deep prod sent a dull sting peppering across her flesh.
Poke... poke-poke...
"Wake up, Pretty," a slippery voice breathed into her ear, the overpowering scent of whiskey and tobacco sticking to the back of her throat like tar. "My father wants to speak to you."
When Narcissa didn't move, the bed dipped behind her; an overly hot, thin body sliding up behind the young heiress to press against her back.
Young Morfin Gaunt, a man true to his name - thin and sickly looking, with hair so dirty it was a true wonder what colour it actually was, and eyes, dark and crazed - curled around her with a leer, his hand sliding up her arm, across her chest, and up, up, til his dirt-stained, spidery fingers gently squeezed at her neck.
Morfin's smile grew wider, revealing a mouth full of rotting, yellowed teeth where they hadn't yet fallen out, the gums bleeding in a hapless attempt to restore the dead flesh. In an instant, Narcissa's breath came in a sharp inhale, and Gaunt was thrown off her, his body sailing in a sharp arc and cracking against the wall.
Narcissa shot up in her bed, blinking owlishly as Morfin Gaunt cursed up a storm while he picked himself off the floor. Her hand was raised defensively, her fingertips prickling with magic as she readied herself for another onslaught from the young Slytherin descendant. She hadn't been quick enough to throw Morfin off of her, but now she was ready.
"What did I tell you about bothering Missus Malfoy, boy?" Marvolo Gaunt's voice rasped from the doorway. He stood just inside the small bedroom, his wand raised to his only son, looking nothing but malevolent as he stared down the young boy like a wolf.
"You told me to wake her," Morfin barked back to his father, careless of the old man's wand trained straight to his forehead. He stumbled to his feet, leering at the young blonde woman as she eyed him warily. "I was just doing what I was told, wasn't I, Pretty?"
Before Narcissa could answer the boy, Marvolo sent a quick stinging hex to his son, purposefully dropping his wand and letting the spell hit him at the tender skin of his flank. Morfin yelped, his eyes tearing away from Narcissa long enough to tear his sweat-stained shirt up and scratch frantically at the red skin where the hex had hit him.
"I didn't ask you to crawl into bed with her, you little shit," Marvolo spoke, his voice barely raising beyond a murmur, but he might as well have been bellowing to Narcissa. Marvolo Gaunt was a man with bearing. No matter how far life had dragged him into ruins, he always stood straight and stubbornly proud.
Stubborn pride, it seems, is what had brought them so low, living in squalor as they scrambled for their basic needs.
"Go downstairs, Morfin, and tell Merope to get lunch started," Marvolo told his son, the older wizards voice inviting no defiance from his scion.
Morfin scowled at his father, idly rubbing his side, his shirt still bunched up rather unbecomingly beneath his armpit, revealing a mess of irritated red skin on his side where he had been scratching. "But-"
"I'll ask you once more, son," Marvolo didn't hesitate to cut his son off, his voice growing quieter and more ugly as a darkness settled over his features. Morfin paled, but his stubborn scowl remained rooted in the corners of his lips. "Go downstairs and tell your sister to make us lunch."
The two men - who looked so alike and yet worlds apart at the same time - seemed to silently square off in a test of wills, the younger folding after a few seconds or so. Morfin looked to Narcissa with a parting scowl; one that spoke of a worlds full of meanness and deviancy, which he wasn't allowed to unleash upon the young heiress while she was under his father's care.
Marvolo didn't move to the side when his son came to pass through the doorway. The sickly young boy was forced to side-step him, pressing into the wooden frame and slip by the older, more heavily built man in order to get by.
When Morfin's voice could be heard downstairs ("get up, you ugly sack of muck, and make us some food. Father says so."), Marvolo finally turned his gaze to Narcissa, who, under his piercing scrutiny, suddenly felt a chill roll up her spine. She resisted the urge to squirm, a nasty habit that came upon her whenever she felt out of her depth, and had often gotten her in trouble when she had done so in the company of others of her station.
"He used to be a pleasant boy, when his mother was still alive," Marvolo spoke softly, his rasp softened by the memory of his late wife, a distant cousin that had died from dragon pox, with whom he had loved fiercely. Narcissa knew little more. Marvolo guarded his past with the fierceness of a dragon over his finest treasure, and the young heiress knew well enough to let him tell her of himself in his own time.
Narcissa sat a little straighter, tucking her knees beneath herself and settled her hands in her lap. "Oh?"
Marvolo hummed, his gaze dropping contemplatively to his feet for but a moment, before they returned to her once more; dark , slightly cock-eyed, and utterly fierce. "Yes. He was a stupid little thing; unfortunately, having taken after my father's side of the family, but his mother brought out a gentleness in him that I haven't seen since. Not once was he ever cruel to his pets, and yet..."
Marvolo needn't finish his sentence. Narcissa knew full well what young Morfin was wont to do with his once beloved pets. She had come across the crucified carcass of one of his pet serpents the very day she had first been dumped here.
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"Lucius, please, I don't like it here," Narcissa quietly bespoke her husband, her hand rising to gently grasp his wrist. "Let us leave and return with a larger party. It's not safe."
Her husband turned to her, patient, but determined nonetheless. "Cissy, you know why I need to do this. Our master ordered it of me, and despite his apparent annihilation, I fear him too much to defy his instructions." He paused for a moment, his gaze searching her for a moment, before he brushed a delicate flaxen curl from her cheek and spoke quietly. "I understand that you're scared, and I admire your bravery for joining me, but please, for the last time, go home. I'll return after you shortly. I promise."
His wrist twisted in her grip, his fingers grasping hers so he could press a short kiss to her knuckles, before he swiftly turned and made his way up towards the Gaunt mansion.
That was to be the last time her husband would touch her, before she was sucked away, nearly ninety years into the past.
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"Missus?"
Narcissa was sucked out of her reverie as Marvolo stepped into her room, looking more curious than concerned as he asked, "You alright?"
Narcissa swallowed thickly, blinking in haste as she gave him a stiff smile. "Oh, yes, fine," she rasped, growing stiff as Gaunt gave her a piercing look, one that told her he didn't believe her words. She remained quiet for a few seconds, before deciding to warily return a private admission of her own. "I miss my husband, and oft find myself immersed in memories at the most inopportune of times. I apologize. I'll make more of an effort to not let it control me."
Marvolo waved her confession off with a snort. "I can hardly blame you, child. I understand your problem more than most. You, at least, get to see him again."
Narcissa allowed a small, fond smile to grow on her lips at the older man's words. Today, she was to be escorted down to the ministry, where the Unspeakables had ensured her that they had found a way back to her own time. A bubble of excitement - one she bore down hard to not let it show on her features - rose up in her belly.
Her hands fidgeted with her borrowed nightgown, wrinkling the loose cotton, a scraggly material that she now found rather itchy to wear, so accustomed was she to the soft, sweet silks of her own home. "I'm sorry that the same cannot be said of your own situation, Master Gaunt."
Marvolo waved her words away once more, his eyes hard and cold. "I came to terms with my wife's death long ago. It hardly bothers me, now, that your situation is brighter than my own."
Narcissa gazed at him shrewdly. A proud man he was, but he wasn't without his tells. He had waved away her attempt at comfort almost callously, and yet, she spotted the way his left hand flexed at his side, only to raise to his chest, where she knew an old locket lay; one that she was near positive held a much loved picture of the Masters late wife.
She didn't dare say any more, wary of his temper, one that his son had most assuredly inherited from him, and instead dropped her eyes to her lap.
Marvolo shuffled in her peripheral vision, his hand dropping to his side once more, white knuckled and held in a fist. "Lunch will be ready soon. Come down stairs when you're ready."
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Narcissa fell to the ground with a muted and muddy whump, her breath leaving her like she had run face-first into a brick wall.
The young heiress tried to hurl air into her lungs, but her chest felt half-crushed and didn't cooperate when she wanted it to expand. She had enough sense to roll over onto her back and gasp violently.
"The hell'r ya doing here?" a slippery voice hissed. Narcissa heard the squelch of boots stomping through a puddle, before she looked up into the grubby, greasy vision of Morfin Gaunt as he all but charged at her. "I've told you dirty muggles to keep off our land. How many times do I have to hex you nasty little buggers, before you get the point? Off! Get off our land!"
Narcissa scrambled backwards, her bottom dragging on the wet ground as Morfin raised his wand at her, barking a finger-removing jinx. Narcissa shrieked as deep green sparks erupted towards her, raising her hand and hoping beyond hope that her wandless protego would work.
She opened her eyes warily seconds later, a five-fingered hand raised above her head, ring finger glinting with her wedding band. She breathed out in relief and turned to look at the young man coldly.
"You'd dare knowingly hex a muggle?" she asked quietly, willing her fright away. The boy standing in front of her - obviously gobsmacked - couldn't be more than sixteen years of age, and as a result, would be all but harmless with offensive magic, but he held a frantic energy within him that instantly put her on edge.
"I'm not scared of them." His chin rose defiantly, staring down at her beyond his crooked nose. He was a tall and gangly boy, with narrow shoulders that were yet to fill out with manhood. His clothes were tatty, ragged, and held old sweat stains that suggested they were either incredibly dirty or old. Narcissa suspected it was both.
The young blondes hand slowly lowered, but she remained vigilant as she slowly picked herself up out of the dirt. "It's not the muggles you should be afraid of, young man. Casting magic at muggles -"
"Who the hell are you to tell me what to do, eh?" the boy barked at her, cutting her off rather rudely, and a nasty taste filled Narcissa's mouth as he advanced on her.
She resisted the urge to step back in fright as the boy stepped towards her with a menacing level of intent behind his movements. She was aware how strong young boys could be, bedraggled and awkward looking as they often looked. If his intent was to start a muggle brawl, she was sure she would be no match.
"Morfin!" a deep rasping voice barked from the old, rickety looking mansion doors. "Morfin, who are you talking to? Don't tell me you're harassing muggles again, boy. Mark my words, I'll not protect you a fifth time. If you get expelled from Hogwarts, be it on your head, you little shit!"
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"You ready to leave, girl?"
Narcissa's head snapped up as Marvolo's voice broke through her contemplations. He was standing, once again, in the doorway, as he was oft wont to do when they spoke. Narcissa had long ago come to the conclusion that he did it in order to ready himself for a swift getaway when their conversations became too personal. He had sat down with her once before, and had thrown the table on its side when she had carelessly asked after his wife's origins. Since then, they both had come to a silent agreement. He would not sit and, as a result, lower his guard, and she would not ask any personal details of him.
Since then, he had offered her little morsels of information, often at the most unlikeliest of times; times such as when she had been fiddling with her wedding band, wistfully thinking of her husband and baby boy, Draco.
Marvolo had barked at her then, sounding like an angry dog as he said, "you keep that wedding band on you at all times, girl, you hear me? That slip of metal will mean more to you than all the worlds gold as time goes by. I keep mine and my wife's together on a chain around my neck."
Judging by Morfin and Merope's wide-eyed looks that day, they hadn't been any more aware of that information than Narcissa had.
She looked up at Marvolo then, truly looked at him, and saw only a bedraggled, bitter man, with a worlds weight on his shoulders.
"Yes, I am," she answered quietly, rising from her chair, tucking it in out of pure habit, and moving past the eldest Gaunt to the main foyer.
He followed her to the main doors, not bothering to shrug on his heavy trench coat as Narcissa waited for him to open the door for her.
"I'll escort you down to the end of the lane," he murmured, cocked-eyes deep and dark and piercing as he looked at her. "You can apparate straight from there. Not many muggles come up this way if they can help it. We've made sure of that."
Narcissa felt an itch of annoyance settle within her. Sometimes, he completely muddled her senses with his rudeness. A woman of her standing, she was aware, was often expected to be escorted through an apparition in this age. Marvolo Gaunt was perfectly capable of chivalry; of that much, she was sure. He had displayed a fine set of manners to her on more than one occasion, and yet, as if he did it to purposefully vex her, he would sometimes present a level of boorishness to her that was near on par to belching at the dinner table.
She gave him a stiff smile in response, and said, "Thank you for escorting me, Master Gaunt. I appreciate it."
He snorted, a small, somewhat mean smile curving his lips as he gave her a sideways glance. "You're very good as tweeting useless courtesies, missus. Your mother taught you well."
Narcissa refused to allow his gruffness to prickle at her. Her chin rose slightly, prideful as she agreed, "She did."
Marvolo turned to look in front of him then, and a quietness settled over the pair that allowed to patter of soft rain to finally breach their ears.
"If only Merope were more like you."
His words startled Narcissa, and her head snapped over to stare at the defeated, bedraggled man. He stared has at his boots, a snarl twisting his lips, but he said no more.
Finally, they reached the end of the lane, and Narcissa stopped just outside of the broken gate, standing in the cobbled laneway that, she knew, used to be a popular thoroughfare between Great and Little Hangleton.
She took a final look at Marvolo Gaunt, and decided that, for all he was brutish and bitter, she held an odd sort of fondness for him, one that was borne, partly, out of pity. He wasn't a man whose personality she would enjoy - not in the least - and yet, she felt a level of camaraderie with him that was unparalleled.
His hand rose then, and Narcissa took it gently. His fingers squeezed her own, raising them to his lips and giving a short, stiff, whiskery kiss to her kuckles.
"Missus Malfoy," was his final farewell, and Narcissa watched him abruptly turn and make his way back to his old, rickety mansion.
Not for the first time, Narcissa wondered if her fondness for him was one-sided, but when Marvolo Gaunt turned and stood beneath the safety of his entryway porch, watching her, she decided that he had somehow grown to like her as well.
She turned her back to him then, smiling wanly, and let a small level of excitement bubble deep within her belly at the thought of returning to her sweet husband. The ministry awaited her arrival.
Before apparating, she took one final glance back at Marvolo Gaunt and found herself smiling. Memories of their time together would have to sustain her from now on, and she found herself oddly at peace with where they left their relationship.
It was a friendship, certainly, but a gaunt one.