Red Betrayal
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
A/N: This is for the Disney Character Competition for the character Queen of Hearts. Please enjoy and review!
Exhaustion attacked Narcissa as she returned home early from her spa vacation with Mrs. Zabini and a few other society girls in celebration of a new marriage. The bride was a quiet little thing, but she was also very kind. Narcissa genuinely hoped for her continued happiness. Marriage was not an easy thing – she should know, after spending twenty-six years with her husband. Though her marriage was a rough rollercoaster at times, with the war ending and the Dark Lord gone things had settled down to a tranquil pace.
For the first time in decades, she felt free and at peace.
Narcissa knew that there was something missing in her marriage, but she remained confident in her belief that things would be fine. Lucius was struggling in the new world order and thus had grown cold and distant. It didn't help her marriage that they didn't marry for romantic love (even though she did develop a love for him over time). Perhaps he was trying to discover who he was in the world. A mid-life crisis, Naricssa supposed.
Narcissa had the house elf who'd accompanied her on the trip Apparate inside the manor to open the door. Pondering the enigmatic Lucius would have to wait for another time.
Stepping into her home, she noticed the sheepish, frightened look on the little elf's face. What had the other elves done in her absence? Narcissa didn't know, but she was sure it was going to annoy her.
"What's the matter? Can't I leave my home for a few days without something going wrong?" Narcissa shut the front door and stalked up to the house elf and its associates clustered around it, all wearing identical expressions of guilt. They refused to answer despite her icy glare, and she walked around her home before making it to the parlor.
"Lucius," she growled. "Pick these clothes up!" Narcissa ordered the elves.
She'd always known he was a bloody prick, but now it had been confirmed yet again. Lucius was a cold-hearted man, who lacked the simple decency not to throw his clothes around the house. Narcissa was simply repulsed. Lucius was better than this. Had he really disrespected her and her house to the point of trashing it while she was gone? Lucius' robes were on the parlor floor, his tie on the stairs; his shoes were in the second-floor hallway, his belt further down the same hallway, his shirt carelessly on the floor, and—finally—his pants lay before the bedroom door.
The clothes were arranged in almost a trail. Were they there on purpose? A wave of heat embraced her cheeks, and her rage was subdued by the seemingly possible effort to rekindle the passion in their marriage. Narcissa ran her hands through her hair and fidgeted with her blouse and her robes, smoothing out the wrinkles that had settled into the fabrics.
She wasn't a young girl anymore – she was a mother approaching fifty. Was she even still desirable? The flash of insecurity gnawed at her heart, but she shrugged it away before forcing her shoulders back and taking a deep breath. She was born a Black – she was still beautiful. Age had only softened the harshness from her face and left her looking kinder. Her aristocratic face was timeless. Narcissa was eternal, and Lucius would take her now the same way he had when she was younger. She was still the same woman, with the same beauty – just wiser and more experienced.
She still felt a little hesitant, so she soundlessly opened the door and stepped inside.
The first thing she saw was crimson, in the form of skimpy, lacy underwear that wasn't hers. The first thing she heard was the moans of another woman. The first thing she touched was her heart, in sheer pain and shock. The first thing she smelled was betrayal.
They didn't hear her come in, and Narcissa didn't know what to do; she walked back into the hall and closed the door. How could they hear her? Everything in that room was pure sex, and their groans and moans and screams drowned everything out, especially the soft whisper of her heart breaking. She was Narcissa Malfoy, and her husband was in bed with a loud, redheaded whore.
Red. Everything was red. But the most important thing – the trigger - had been that crimson lingerie on the floor. Narcissa hated red because of her skin tone – she couldn't pull it off – and because of that color, she couldn't pretend everything was normal. She couldn't pretend she was the mistress in there. She couldn't ignore this moment. She couldn't ignore the signs screaming at her, his distance and his clothes strewn all over the manor.
What do you do when you catch your husband having an affair, and he didn't even have the decency to hear you walk into the room?
Or maybe he did, and he simply didn't care. The thought made Narcissa sick, and she shoved the bile back down her throat before running – sprinting— away.
Narcissa didn't realize she had Apparated until she slammed into someone, and she stammered an apology before ducking into the nearest building.
Oh, how the world loved its cruel irony. Narcissa was surrounded by blushing women, white tulle, and dreams of bliss – a damn bridal store. Her marriage was destroyed, and she was surrounded by women planning for the start of blissful lives.
She slipped out of the shop with the giggles of naive girls tickling her ears mockingly. Narcissa wasn't in the mood for joy – she wasn't in the mood to be a stark contrast to happiness. With that in mind, the blonde looked across the street and spotted a familiar name sure to be filled with patrons of a similar disposition as hers. Narcissa walked into the Leaky Cauldron and took a booth far in the back.
Alcohol sounded like a wonderful distraction at the moment.
After her third Firewhiskey, Narcissa was deliriously happy. She didn't have to be associated with her prick of a husband anymore. She was free – she could find love. Narcissa was no longer bound to the pretentious rules of pureblood society that practically fell apart after the war. She was one of the few that still bothered with old traditions, but who was she kidding? It was all so stupid – the world had changed, and she should change with it.
After all, didn't she save Harry Potter's life and lie to the Dark Lord? She could do with a little freedom and happiness.
"And another Firewhiskey." Narcissa watched with wide eyes as it slid into view, and she looked up (which left her feeling as though someone had plunged a knife into her temples) to see a haunting memory of the past.
"I heard it was your poison of choice tonight. How are you, love?" Thick locks of onyx threaded with silver, a sharp jawline, orbs of melted sapphire, and lips Narcissa could never forget greeted her as if they hadn't been missing for years and weren't in danger.
"W-What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be dead?" Narcissa was shocked, and watched Rabastan smirk at her slurring. Cheeky bastard.
"So little faith in me? Such a shame, darling. Those Aurors will never catch me, or kill me. I'm one step ahead of them, and besides, I had to see you alone. Do you know you're hard to find in public alone?" Rabastan asked, and Narcissa had barely opened her mouth to reply before he continued. "Of course you do. You purposefully surround yourself with people so that you can fight your loneliness."
Yes, Narcissa finally displayed the loneliness she felt in her heart in her surroundings. She was damaged and flawed - broken.
"You're ruining my happy buzz. I deserve to be intoxicated, and you're sobering me up. Stop," she growled, chugging the Firewhiskey down – it burned her throat and tears burned at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away and looked back into puzzled eyes.
"What's wrong, darling?" Rabastan looked genuinely concerned and intrigued - a look Narcissa dreaded and loathed - and the Firewhiskey loosened her tongue.
"I'm plagued by a pair of scarlet knickers." Narcissa confessed, and watched the confusion crawl and grow across his face like wisteria through a garden.
"What?"
Narcissa cursed his question. She didn't want to admit the truth just then, but she supposed it was time to get acquainted with her new reality.
"They're not mine - I literally caught Lucius fucking a whore in my bed. It was such a wonderful idea to come home earlier than expected." Her voice dripped with enough venom to kill thousands, but Narcissa's fuzzy mind made her wonder if perhaps it was a good thing that she found out.
Why couldn't the Firewhiskey bury her problems? Wasn't that why people became alcoholics - to hide from their problems? Why did Narcissa have to be a philosophical drunk? Couldn't she get a break from people and thinking, just once in a while?
"The bastard!" Rabastan exclaimed.
Yes, yes, he was. Narcissa could now, finally, understand that. She just hoped she could get the red lingerie and those moans out of her head sooner rather than later.
"Let's get you out of here."
"Where do I go? I don't really have a place now," Narcissa slurred. She traced the scars on the table shakily - she couldn't stay in that house with Lucius anymore, but where could she go?
"What about the Black Manor?" Rabastan suggested, and Narcissa's intoxicated mind scrambled and somehow managed to paint a picture of the estate. It had been empty for years – decades, truly.
"I haven't been there in years," she admitted.
"Things change."
Narcissa hated change.
"You're telling me." She left the money she owed on the table and stood. She held out her hand; Rabastan took it and guided her out of the pub. Then, as she lost track of time, she somehow managed to Apparate to her childhood home, but when she opened the door, she was shocked. The banisters gleamed, and everything looked like only yesterday her parents had died and the house had been full of life.
"How -" Narcissa was flabbergasted, and Rabastan only chuckled before interrupting her.
"I may have ordered a few house elves to restore it," he explained vaguely, and Narcissa's brain, while overwhelmed on the glorious stimuli of the manor and drunk, noticed he was shifting his feet - something he only did when nervous.
"Why?" She was so perplexed and overwhelmed, and nothing seemed to make sense, especially as she found herself caught in Rabastan's embrace.
"Because I lost you once, and I don't want to lose you again." The kiss that followed the statement was wonderful - passionate, but gentle. Narcissa could tell he loved her still - even after all these years and the arranged marriage that nipped their budding romance.
This was exactly what she needed after Lucius had cheated on her, because while he hadn't loved her or vice versa when they married, she had developed a love for him - perhaps not romantically, but she did love him. He was family. And he had destroyed her - in her bed! All Narcissa wanted at the moment was to feel loved, and it didn't hurt that her old flame - the one who got away - was the one who made her feel this way.
It was almost a fairy tale ending - almost.
"Ma'am?" A soft voice called through the kiss, and Narcissa jumped, eyes that she hadn't known were shut suddenly wide open. The Leaky Cauldron. She was still there. She whipped her head around - that motion caused excruciating pain - to see that it was all a dream. She was still with her demons.
"I'm up." Narcissa's voice trembled with the fear that arose from her falling asleep in such a public place and disappointment. Of course Rabastan was dead - it only made sense. "Here." Narcissa shoved the galleons she owed into the barkeeper's hand and quickly walked away.
Life was not a fairy tale - she was drunk and alone. Narcissa's eyes, when she blinked, still haunted her with the picture of betrayal. The moans still chased her, and no matter how much she tried to tell herself otherwise, she loved the bastard who had cheated on her.
Just as much as she hated the color red now.
Narcissa had to remember her fantasy, though, because it meant that she could move on. She would fight for survival - through her divorce - and she would be fine. She was a Black first and foremost - she was strong, and she would do it. It was the only thing she could do.
She Apparated to the manor and quickly sought her destination (the house elves were beyond terrified at this point).
"I want a divorce!" she called out, and smirked at the confusion and horror she left in her wake.